I’ve heard the tales of the Tsuchinoko—a rare, snake-like creature with a plump body and a wide, almost mischievous grin on its face. Locals say it’s as elusive as it is strange, often heard but rarely seen, and only by those with the sharpest eyes. I didn’t expect to stumble upon one myself, but in the quiet mountains of rural Japan, I did.

It was early morning, just after a summer rain. The forest floor was still wet, and the air was filled with the smell of damp leaves. I was following a narrow path along a stream when I heard a strange sound, like a low, rhythmic squeak, almost like a hiccup. I stopped, looking around, and there it was—half-hidden under a bush. The creature was about a foot long, with a thick, round body and scales that glistened in the morning light. Its head was wide and almost cat-like, with two bright, curious eyes staring back at me.

For a moment, we just looked at each other. It had an almost… knowing expression, like it was sizing me up. Then, in a blink, it coiled its short body and leapt—not slithered, but actually jumped—over a rock, disappearing into the underbrush with a soft rustling sound. I tried to follow, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

I’ve heard the Tsuchinoko can bring good fortune, but some say it also brings mischief. Whatever it was, I feel lucky to have caught a glimpse. Maybe next time, I’ll get a photo… if it lets me.

The strangest part was the silence that fell over the area. The schools of fish around us scattered, and even the birds above went quiet. The water became completely still after it disappeared, like the ocean itself was holding its breath. I tried to snap a picture, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight of that giant fin disappearing into the depths. If the Megalodon is out there, it’s hiding well, and it’s every bit as terrifying as the stories say.