CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I rented a cabin in the Appalachian mountains. I saw horrifying things" Creepypasta

Episode Date: March 25, 2025

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Frequent-Cat:   / i_rented_a_cabin_in_the_appalachian_mounta...  Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep...  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / creepsmcpasta  CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only

My life had turned into one of those cliche country songs. I was divorced, broke, unemployed, and annoyed at the world. Five years down the drain with a woman I thought I spent my life with, only to come home one day to find it already packed and halfway out the door. The job loss came a month later, and at that point, I figured the universe was just trying to kick me while I was down. I needed space, no well-meaning friends telling me to focus on myself or find the silver lining. To hell with all of that.

I didn't want silver linings. I wanted silence. So, when I found a listing for an off-grid cabin in the Appalachian Mountains, it felt like the perfect escape. It wasn't some cozy rental package with a hot tub and a fire pit on air. Airbnb, just a bare-bones cabin buried deep in the mountains. The description was short. Remote off-grid cabin in the Appalachian Mountains, no service, no electricity for those looking to truly disconnect.

No reviews and the pictures were blurry, but it looked beautiful. I didn't even have an exact location. a general area and a contact number. Normally, I'd be wary of something that vague, but at that point, I didn't care. I booked it for a full month. The guy who owned the place was weirdly insistent that I couldn't drive there myself. He said the trails were too easy to lose and that GPS was useless that deep in the mountains. Instead, he arranged for a local guide to take me up. It made perfect sense. Mountain roads, rough terrain, the risk of getting lost. Didn't seem that strange. I met the guide at a rundown general store about an hour outside

the nearest town. He was already waiting when I pulled into the lot, standing beside an old ATV with a trailer hitched to the back. The guy looked like he'd been living in the woods his entire life. Try picturing a stereotypical park ranger that's been doing his job for a few years too long. That kind of guy. You the renter, he asked. I nodded, tossed my backpack onto the trailer. That obvious? He grunted and climbed into the ATV.

Get in. The ride up was rough as hell. The trail was barely more than an overgrown deer path, full of sharp turns and sudden dips. After about an hour of bouncing over rocks and weaving through dense tree cover, we hit a clearing with no more roads. This is where we walk, he said, already unloading my gear. I stared at him.

How far is the cabin? Few miles. I grabbed to my bag, adjusted my jacket, and followed. him into the trees. The hike took another hour and the deeper we went, the more I realized just how far removed this place was. There truly was nothing here, just solid forest pressing in from all sides. I expected to hear birds, bugs, maybe a distant stream, but at some point the woods got quiet, not in a normal way. Not in the peaceful, wow, nature is so relaxing way.

I mean quiet. I noticed that the guide also hadn't spoken in nearly half an hour. When the cabin finally came into view, I exhaled. It was exactly what I wanted. Small, sturdy, a simple two-floor set up with a wood stove and a creek nearby for water. Just me, the trees, and miles of untouched wilderness. The guide set down my gear on the porch and adjusted his cap. You will be fine, he said, finally breaking the silence,

long as you don't wander too far. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the trees. The first few nights were exactly what I needed. I woke up when the sun came in through the windows, spent my days hiking, reading and just... Existing. I finally didn't have my ex-wife's lawyer blowing up my inbox. The first time I realized how deep I really was in the mountains was on the second night. I stepped outside to do my business and was hit with a kind of silence you don't get in normal life.

It wasn't just quiet. It was absolute. At the time, I figured it was just how the forest worked. I read once that predators moving through an area could cause sudden silences. Probably just the bear passing through, right? So I shrugged it off and went to bed. By the fifth morning. I started noticing things.

It wasn't anything obvious of it. first, just the sense that the landscape was slightly different. The bushes by the tree line looked disturbed, like something had moved through them, probably deer, plenty of them in the area. But as I walked over, I saw the dirt was churned up, like something had been digging or shuffling around. Further along, I found scratches on a few trees, deep ones. I ran my fingers, along the grooves. I had no idea what kind of Mark's bear claws would leave, but I figured this must have been a big one. That was the first time I got that nagging feeling, that weird, gut-level discomfort, that something was off, even if my brain was trying to logic

its way out of it. I pushed it down, bears, dear, mountain lions. This was the will If I was going to start jumping at every broken branch in disturbed bush, I was going to drive myself crazy. So I went back inside, made coffee, and told myself to stop being paranoid. But for the rest of the day, I couldn't shake it. By the 12th day, I was feeling at home in the cabin. It was still eerily quiet most of the time, but I convinced myself that's just how it was out here.

I'd been living off canned food and dried goods, but I still had a good supply of vegetables, rice and seasonings. I figured I'd treat myself to cooking something hot, a big potter stew. I knew cooking food outside was a gamble in the wilderness. Even with scent blockers, it wasn't foolproof. If an animal got a whiff of it, I'd probably lose the whole thing. But at that point, I didn't care. Worst case, I'd be out of some food.

So, I built up the fire in the stone-ringed fire pit, set up my cast iron pot, and threw in everything I had. Let it simmer low and slow, covered it with a heavy lid, and just to be extra safe, wrap the whole thing in a a scent neutralizing tarp. Then I went inside, stretched out in bed, and fell asleep to the distant crackling of the fire. The next morning, I stepped outside, and the yard was completely destroyed. At first, my brain couldn't even process what I was looking at. The dirt had been torn up in massive swaths, like something had been clawing or shoving at the ground. Chunks of earth had been thrown in long, scattered arcs, as if something had raked through it with oversized limbs. The bushes near the tree line were flattened, smashed down into the soil. Some of them

were uprooted completely, lying in mangled piles with their roots exposed. Several small trees were bent at unnatural angles, their barks scraped away in places. I'd expected to find it gone, obviously. Maybe the pot knocked over. the food licked clean. Instead, the pot was shattered, split into pieces, scattered, scattered across the yard. Chunks of food were everywhere, rice, carrots, potatoes, smeared into the dirt like something had deliberately flung them around. It looked like someone had picked up the entire pot and slammed it into the ground, over and over. I stood there, a long time, gripping the railing of the porch, trying to wrap my head around it.

A bear would have eaten the food, even a raccoon would have at least picked through it. This felt like something had been angry, like it hadn't been looking for food, but throwing a tantrum. I swore under my breath and ran a hand through my hair, feeling annoyance outweigh the unease. I had been careful, and now I was down an entire meal and a good cast iron pot. Great, I muttered, bending down to scoop up some of the mess. For the next hour I cleaned up, trying to convince myself it was just some animal acting weird. I buried the ruined food deep in the woods, scrubbed the yard down as best I could, and sat on the porch as the sun sank below the mountains.

I wasn't scared exactly, just annoyed. The whole thing felt like some bizarre prank, except there was no one around here but me. Whatever had wrecked my yard, throwing my food around, and smashed my pot, had done it for no good reason. And now I was down a solid meal and cooking equipment. I sat on the porch for a while after dark, sipping from my flask, staring out of the tree line. The night air was cool, the forest stretching endlessly into blackness beyond the dim glow of the cabin's lantern. I tried listening for anything. I laughed dryly, shaking my head.

That's what I thought. I spoke into the silence before finally heading inside. I bolted the shutters, stoked the fire and crawled into bed, still smelling the faint scent of stew on my hands. And then, the noises started. It wasn't loud at first, just a faint disturbance, something pressing into the earth outside the cabin. A long, dragging sound. I lay completely still, eyes locked on the ceiling, heartbeat picking up. Another step, then another.

I wasn't just imagining it. Something was walking through my yard. In all my nights I'd spent here, I had heard nothing come this close to me yet. The weight of the footsteps was deep, solid, not a small scavenger, something big. I strained my ears trying to track its movement. It wasn't the erratic rustling of a hungry animal. I wasn't snuffling through the dirt looking for scraps. It was just walking.

I swallowed, forcing myself to stay calm. Of course it was back. Whatever wrecked my yard last night was probably checking for more food, but there wasn't anything outside this time. I smirked myself, rolling onto my side and pulling the blanket up. Jokes on you. I close my eyes. Listening as the footsteps circled the cabin, closer now, a slow, steady crunch of something huge, pressing into the soil.

Then, for a long moment, there was nothing. So, I fell asleep. When the sun finally climbed over the mountains, I was itching for answers. I grabbed my boots, stepped outside, and just stared for. a second. There, pressed deep into the damp soil, were tracks. At first I thought they were hoof prints, maybe from a deer or an elk, but as I crouched down, my stomach tightened. They were massive and wrong. The spacing, the weight distribution, they weren't four-legged. Whatever left these tracks had been walking upright, a bipedal. I traced my fingers along the edge of one,

feeling the way the dirt had been compacted, picturing the size of the thing that could leave prints this deep. My head buzzed with static. No, that didn't make sense. I stood up, scanning the yard, following the trail with my eyes. They led from the tree line straight to the porch. And then they stopped. Like whatever made them had just disappeared. That night, I didn't even try to sleep. I was done pretending this was normal. Whatever had been coming to my cabin wasn't just looking for food.

It was looking for me. So, I stayed up, killed the fire early, doused myself and sent me. blocker and sat in the darkness, knife in hand, waiting for it to come back. On 43 a.m. The sound was distant, a rhythmic crunch of heavy footsteps pressing into the dirt. I gripped the knife tighter, barely breathing. It was back. The footsteps approached the porch, and then Wood groaned under an impossible weight.

Something was standing right outside. The floorboards creaked, a slow, dragging inhale. It was breathing. I could feel the weight of it through the walls, the pressure in the air, like the whole cabin was shrinking around me. I'd planned to peek through the window, maybe even step outside and see what it was. But I wasn't so sure in the moment, because whatever was standing on my porch wasn't a deer or a bear or anything else that belonged in these woods.

It sounded huge. I stayed completely still, every muscle locked, gripping the knife as hard as I could. Then, just as suddenly as it had come. It left. The weight pulled away from the porch, the footsteps retreating back toward the trees. But I knew somehow that it wasn't really gone. It was just waiting for the right moment. I didn't sleep.

I just sat there in the dark, staring at the door, knowing that I had no way out of these mountains until the guide came back. I should have grabbed my pack, walked until sunrise, and never looked back. But I was too afraid of getting lost. So, I made a plan. I wouldn't try to fight it, I wouldn't try to see it. I would just hide. The following night, I did everything I could to erase myself.

I douse myself in scent blocker, rubbing it deep into my skin, my clothes, my hair. I piled furniture in front of the bedroom door. Not that I thought it would help, but it made me feel safer. Then, gripping the only weapon I had, a rusted hunter knife I'd found in the cabin, I squeezed into the wardrobe and pulled the door shut. I sat in the dark, knees to my chest, breath slow and controlled. And then? I waited. This time, it didn't make me wait long.

At midnight, I heard it. It led out a sound. like a hyena choking on its own laughter. Then a loud bang. The door downstairs shattered inward, the whole cabin shaking from the impact. Heavy footsteps, wood splintering, furniture shattering. The thing wasn't searching cautiously anymore.

It was tearing through the cabin, breaking things apart as it moved. A deep sniffing sound filled the air, dragging inhales like a dog trying to catch a scent. I pressed myself deeper into the closet, tightening my grip on the knife. The sniffing stopped. For a long moment, there was silence.

Then, from just outside the bedroom, a heavy creek. It was at the door. I held my breath. I wanted to close my eyes, to squeeze them shut and pretend I wasn't there, but some horrible part of me needed to see it. So I shifted just slightly, just enough to peer through the slats in the wardrobe door, and that's when I saw it. It had to dock under the doorframe as it stepped inside, tearing easily eight feet tall.

Its body was a grotesque mixture of animals, as if something had stitched it together from several different corpses. Its arms were long, ending in disturbingly human-like hands, except the fingers were doubled, two sets of knuckles, each twisting and crackling. Its body was covered in thick, matted fur, except for its torso, which was strangely bare, pale, scarred skin stretched tightly over its rib cage. A pair of antlers curled from its skull, but they weren't symmetrical. One was twisted, bent at the wrong angles, jutting out unnaturally.

Its jaw didn't match its face. The mouth was wide, gaping too far, filled with teeth that didn't seem to fit together. But it didn't seem to have any eyes. Herod's eyes should have been, there were only patches of dark, sunken, sunken, skin. It was safe to assume that it was blind, but that didn't seem to matter. It sniffed the air, turning its massive head in slow, jerking movements. It's breathing deep and uneven. It knew something was here, and it was angry. It took another step forward, shifting its weight onto the wooden floorboards. The scent blocker was.

was working, but I didn't know if it would be enough. I stayed still, silent, I didn't breathe. For a moment, I thought I was safe. Then, it lunged. Not toward me, but toward everything else. It roared, slamming its fists into the walls, a gutural, furious sound, frustration, twisting, its movements into wild, jerking violence. It ripped through the room, tearing the bed apart, knocking over the dresser. I gritted my teeth, trying not to flinch. Then its hands landed on the closet. My breath hitched. The wardrobe shook. I pressed myself as far back as I could, feeling the rough wooden panels against my spine. The thing sniffed again, growled. low in its throat. Then it shoved the closet over. I crashed to the ground, tangled in wooden

fabric, my knife slipping from my fingers. For a single, agonizing moment, I thought, this is it, but as I lay there, frozen, waiting for teeth and claws and death, I heard it shuffle. And then It left I don't know how long I stayed there Lying in the wreckage Staring at the ceiling

Shaking so hard I thought my ribs might crack Eventually the sun rose I was out of the cabin Before the sun fully broke over the horizon No hesitation No second guessing I didn't care about my supplies My food

or the fact that I still had weeks left before the guide was supposed to come back. I just grabbed whatever I could carry. My backpack, a flashlight, the knife, a bottle of water, and I ran. I didn't look back. If I got lost, so be it. It was better than waiting to get killed by whatever that thing was. All I knew was that I couldn't be there when night fell again. I tried to retrace my steps, following the same path the guide had led me down almost two weeks ago.

But the deep I went into the woods, the more uncertain I became. Everything looked different. The trees felt denser, closer together, the trunks pressing in around me. The light filtering through the leaves felt dimmer than before. I tried to focus, tried to match landmarks in my head. The rock formation, I'd passed that on the way in. That fallen tree, had it been on my left before or my right? Doubt crept into my mind like rust.

The oppressive silence returned, and I thought back to that article I'd read how the entire forest goes silent when there's a predator around. I wanted to believe it was an animal. A bear, a deer, a goddamn crocodile if that's a predator around. that was even possible, anything, but what I knew it really was. I wiped the sweat off my brow and kept moving. For whatever reason, it never showed itself during daytime. I walked for hours, the sun climbing higher in the sky, my legs burning from the effort.

But no matter how far I went, the feeling never left. I was still being followed. not hunted in the way a predator goes after prey. This was different. It was letting me tire out, toying with me. All I saw were more trees. And behind me, just at the edge of my hearing,

that awful sound. One moment I was forcing my legs forward, dragging my body through the thick forest, lungs burning with exhaustion. The next, pure survival instinct took over. Branches whipped against my arms, roots snatched at my boots. My breath came and went.

My vision blurred with sweat. And still, the feeling of being followed never left. The sun was lower now, the trees stretching into elongated shadows. And just as I thought I couldn't take another step, I saw it. The break in the trees. Houses. I stumbled forward, my body moving before my brain could process what I was looking at. A small village, old buildings, wooden storefronts, a few houses tucked between them,

a church steeple rising in the distance. It wasn't modern, not a row of houses with mailboxes and streetlights. This place felt old, weathered. like it had been sitting here, untouched for decades. I didn't care how strange it was, didn't care how it wasn't on any map I had seen before. All I cared about was that it was civilization. I had made it. I was safe.

Relief flooded me so hard I almost collapsed. For the first time in hours, I felt something other than sheer terror. I was out. I turned. I shouldn't have. I should have kept walking, should have run straight into that village, screaming for help. And that's when I saw it. Standing just beyond the tree line.

A figure, motionless. The last light of the sun stretched long across the dirt road, painting the sky in shades of gold and deep violet. And just as the final sliver of daylight dipped below the mountains, moved slowly. It got down to a crouching position, like it was getting ready to run. The first building I reached looked like an old general store. The wooden sign above the door had long since faded, but I didn't care what it was. I just needed to find someone.

I pushed through the door, the bell above jingling as I nearly collapsed inside. The air was thick with a smell of dust and aged wood, dim lantern light flickering from the walls. A few people stood inside. Men in old work jackets, a woman behind the counter, a boy sitting on the stool near the stove. They all turned at the same time. Their expressions were blank, not surprised or alarmed, but definitely curious. I gasped trying to catch my breath. My throat felt raw, my lungs burned.

I must have looked insane, covered in sweat and dirt, shaking like I just crawled out of a grave. I tried to speak, but my voice cracked. I need help, I managed, gripping the doorframe. Something's out there, in the woods. They said nothing. No, what are you talking about? No, slow down, son. No, that sounds crazy.

Just silence. Then, after a long pause, the woman behind the counter stepped forward. She didn't even ask what I'd seen. She just looked me dead in the eye and asked, calmly, carefully. Did it follow you?