We'd been on the road for hours, our laughter filling the cramped space of our old station wagon. It was a spontaneous camping trip, an escape from the tedious reality of our daily lives.

We finally arrived at our secluded campground, the sun setting, casting long shadows that danced upon the tall trees. We began setting up the tents, anticipation bubbling within us.

Later, as we sat around the campfire, I noticed Annie looking at an odd, weathered stone statue near our site. It depicted a figure, half-human and half-beast, with piercing eyes.

"Strange," she murmured, her brow furrowed in curiosity. "I wonder what it's doing out here." We all shrugged, our interest fleeting as we returned to our jokes and stories.

That night, the tranquility of our secluded haven was broken by a chilling, inhuman howl that echoed through the woods. We woke up, fear gripping our hearts.

We ventured outside, flashlights in hand. The statue stood ominously under the moonlight. But something was different. Its eyes seemed to glow with an eerie, red light.

Suddenly, the ground beneath us shook violently. Roots erupted from the soil, twisting and turning, as if trying to pull us down into the earth itself.

We ran, our hearts pounding, as the woods around us seemed to come alive. A haunting roar echoed behind us, the sound filling us with sheer terror.

We hid, trembling, our breaths shallow. I glanced at Annie. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear. Our little adventure had turned into a nightmare.

The inhuman howls continued until dawn, leaving us shaken. When we emerged, the statue was back to its original state, its eyes no longer glowing.

We packed up in silence, our laughter from the previous day replaced by a heavy, fear-induced silence. We left, vowing never to return to the haunted woods.

Now, back in our daily lives, the memory of that terrifying night still haunts us. But we've grown from it, realizing that some things are better left undisturbed.