CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "WARNING Never Camp Outside a Haunted Tree" Creepypasta

Episode Date: December 11, 2020

WARNINGCREEPYPASTA STORY►by lngrediableman: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm...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...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Petr Štich: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Jl...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA 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-

It all started when our annual camping trip had taken quite a detour. Instead of our usual spot by Beed Lake, Peter wanted us to hike deep into the woodlands for what he called, quote, a special surprise. I was not happy to find that he led us into a literal uncharted territory. This isn't on the State Park's map. I noticed this as we left my car behind in a clearing and embarked under rugged foot trails that looked more fit for deer than humans.

I know, we're going somewhere that's not technically, allowed, Peter replied, with an all too confident grin. Peter and Henry were always the outdoorsy types, but I was always more of a city boy. I like my hikes on well-manicured paths and my campsites sanctioned by the government. I know this makes me sound like a pris, but... Well, yeah, I am one. I am at least aware of it. Peter and Henry might have thought putting on a flannel and some old boots

could suddenly transform any really armed teenager boy into a rugged mountain man, but I knew better. I knew that I was a liability enough as it is in the woods, and all the way out here, I might be in real danger. If only I knew how right I really was. I'm going back into my car to put my camera back, I said to them before we got too far in. Michael, no, Peter shouted at me.

Trust me, there's a good reason I wanted you to bring it. What is it? I asked. You'll see. Peter was always a cryptic little turd. Henry started to chuckle to himself, and when I asked him if he knew what Peter was up to, he replied, Dude, I don't even think he knows. The next two or three hours was spent hiking through some of the worst trails I've ever seen. Something tells me the state parks funding must have been cut, and so they left this area to be reclaimed.

Peter had to clear us away through the brush, as the already fading foot trail had become flanked by thorny bushes and branches that continue to encroach our path as we venture deeper. I kept asking if we were close to anything and Peter would snap at me to be more patient Neither Henry or I were willing to say it out loud But we were pretty sure we were lost Then Peter let out a loud gasp Oh my God, I think that's it The swings of his machete had gotten quicker and more decisive

What is it? I asked You'll see God damn it Peter, stop stalling and tell me Wait, what is that? that, Henry interrupted me and pointed up ahead. I leaned around to get a better view and could see a maple tree that looked, indifferent. Peter cleared the last bit of brush ahead of us and stepped into a clearing.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present a you. He put his arms around us like he was on a game show, and the tree in front of us was the grand prize, the tree of lost souls. There, in front of us, in the middle of a small clearing, was a tree. whose trunk was adorned from top to bottom in missing person posters. What the hell is this? My tone was a mixture of being confused and a bit disturbed. The tree of lost souls, didn't you hear him?

Henry seemed a bit too nonchalant about what we were staring at. Each person on here is someone who's gone missing in a state or national park. Isn't that freaky? Peter was as good as a schoolboy. I went up and scanned the names, and when I found one that I recognised from a tree, true crime podcast, I realized Peter wasn't lying. These posters were real.

Do you recognize anyone, Sherlock? Peter asked me. Yeah, a few. After giving the tree another once over, I turned to Peter. Why would someone do this? I don't know, maybe to freak people out, Henry answered. Mission accomplished, I replied. You want to hear something even freakier?

Apparently there are trees like this across the United States. No one knows who put them up, and no one knows which tree was the first, but there are dozens of them out there. There's even a map on the internet with all the ones that have been found marked on it. When I saw that there was one near Beed Lake, I knew we had to go see it for ourselves. Peter loved creepy stuff like this. Me, I was a little less enthusiastic about it. This feels morbid, I said. Yeah, and awesome.

Peter failed to see the problem with taking posters of real missing people, and pinning them to a tree in the woods. He would go on to explain that these trees were supposedly beacons for paranormal activity, a claim that I immediately thought to be dubious. So, are we camping by the ghost tree or what? Henry butted in after Peter finished explaining. Hell yeah, Peter exclaimed.

We'll hopefully catch something supernatural in the process. He gave me a nudge, and I suddenly realized why he had asked me to drag my camera and tripod all the way out here. Wait, you want to stay here overnight to try and catch footage of a ghost? I asked with an exasperated tone. Or a cryptid, the trees attract anything generally supernatural, whether that be corporeal or not. Peter's earnest delivery of such an absurd statement was almost charming.

All right, well, we better start to fire, because it's going to be dark soon. Henry interjected, he always was the pragmatic one. We spent the next hour and a half gather. potential firewood, setting up our tent, and, once the fire got going, cooking our instant meals, as we huddled together by the fire and ate our food, I quickly grew to hate my surroundings. The clearing we were in was small and muddy. If it rained, we would see our campsite turn into a mire, and, with how thick the brush was all around us, that could make fleeing, with a potential dangerous bog forming beneath our feet very difficult, and I felt trapped.

As it grew darker, our campsite grew smaller in my mum. mind. I felt my claustophobia starting to kick in as the sun finally set. Any attempt to distract myself from the oppressive darkness was thwarted by Peter rambling on about stories he heard about the trees. Those damn trees. I read this girl who camped by one in Michigan found massive footprints around a tent in the morning, he said. So what you're saying is we might see big foot? Henry asked. Well, we are in the Pacific Northwest, so it's possible. But she was in the Great Lakes area. So my mind. theory is it was a wendigo that was walking around a tent.

I'm going to go take a leak, I said, while stifling a laugh. I got up from the campfire and turned around to be greeted by complete darkness. Make sure you don't pee on the tree, Peter said. He had been very anal about us not disrespecting the tree, as it was a one-way ticket to get yourself cursed according to him. I, he did his advice, as curse or no curse, I think it's in bad taste to pee on the tree covered in the face of missing people.

I turned my cell phone's flashlight on and walked the eight or so feet into the edge of the clearing. I began doing my business and, as I did, my eyes wandered over to the tree of lost souls. Even without all those posters,

I could not deny that the tree had an imposing presence. It was tall, looking to be maybe over 50 feet and had a decent girth to it as well. Pending those posters must have been a real pain in the ass for whatever calm or hungry predator

came here to create this little messed-up monument. I thought at the time that this was some sort of creepy internet fad that grew out of control. Some people like freaking others out and other people like to be freaked out. Peter was always in the latter group. I didn't want to tell him

that I thought this was all a load of bull, but him dragging me out to this awful place had certainly tested my patience for his out-of-control superstition. I think Peter deep down must have thought this was BS too, because if you had known what might actually happen, I'd like to think he'd never have made us come out here at all.

You're peeing a storm over there, Henry shouted over to me. Or that hiking made me thirsty, I shouted back. I briefly turned my head to the tree, and for a split second, I swear I saw a person peeking out from behind it. When I whipped my head back to look again, all I saw were the faces of the missing posters. My mind must be playing tricks on me. I thought.

I finished up and returned to the campsite a bit more on edge. Peter told a few more spooky stories about the trees before we all decided that it was time to hit the hay. I set up my camera for Peter and pointed it at the tree. I told him that the battery should last all night and that it was set to night vision mode. I can't wait to see what it picks up,

Peter, Gidley said, as we all packed into the tent. We'd be lucky if he catches squirrels, I thought. We all went to bed without another one. word. The next morning, we awoke to the camera being dead. That wasn't super surprising, but I thought the battery life was better than that. Peter was a bit flustered. He couldn't immediately look at the footage and decided to go around and examine the campsite for clues instead, of which he found none. Well, there's no physical evidence of anything. We'll have to see what the camera caught once we get back, Peter said. I grabbed the tripod and only briefly thought

it was strange that it had moved a few inches to its right. I could tell that it did by the marks in the mud, showing that it had been planted and then replanted. I would have pointed this out, but I assumed at the time that I had just adjusted the tripod when we were setting it up. We packed up the camp and began the hike back to my car. When we reached it,

I remember Henry proclaiming that we had, quote, survived the tree of lost souls. I got my extra battery from the trunk and gave it to Peter so he could change out the day. dead one and go through the footage. We began a drive out of the state park, and we were about halfway, when Peter said, Whoa, that's creepy.

The camera shut off for a little, and then turned back on. I was going to tell him that it does that when he's about to die, but then he said, Uh, is it normal for the camera to take pictures along with footage? Peter's question seemed innocuous at first. Uh, no, I replied. I could hear Peter scrolling through the photos, and as he did, his silence grew more and more concerning. And then like that, he shouted, What the hell? What the hell? That's...

His voice trailed off into nervous laughter. Let me see. Henry, who was in the passenger seat, took the camera from Peter and went silent as he looked over the pictures. They... they just keep going. I know right, but like, who took them? them, and that last one. I could hear the sound of Henry scrolling through the photos before suddenly stopping. Henry went quite for a moment before falling into his own fit of nervous laughter. Oh, screw you guys, you're messing with me. This can't be real. I swear to God, I have no

idea what these are, especially the last one. I mean, how could any of us have taken them? We're in all of the pictures together, Peter said. I don't know, maybe... What the hell? I mean, you can set the camera to automatically take pictures overnight, but... Peter trailed off, sounding genuinely worried. You can't set a camera to move itself closer and closer like that. Yeah, but you can do that with auto zoom or something, right, Michael? Peter hesitantly asked, as I tried to keep my eyes on the road.

No, I don't think you can do that. At least not with my camera, that is. Now, what are these pictures you guys keep talking about? You should see them for yourself. Henry tried to show the camera in my face. I'm driving, I yelled. Then pull over, Henry yelled. I let out a long sigh and pulled off the dirt road.

I swear to God, if this is just a trick to get me to look at a picture of Peter's hairy knots, I'm going to make you two walk the rest of the way home. I took the camera from Henry and began to scan through the photos. I knew something was off right away when I noticed that the album was full. I knew that I took a lot of pictures. early in the day, but I didn't think I took that many. It seemed as if most of the pictures were duplicate, as there was this massive stream of, what at first glance looked at the same picture over and over again. It was of all of us in the tent, sleeping. You guys took these,

didn't you? I was skeptical of my friends immediately. How could we? We were in all of them. They could have set the camera on a timer, but I knew both henry. Henry and Peter well enough to know they can't work a camera like that. Not to mention, someone had to make the camera gradually zoom in as we slept with three straight hours and to take a photo every two or three seconds with a flash on. You can set the camera to do that automatically, but like I said, I doubt either of them would know how to.

Not to mention that the zooming in would have to be done manually. Though, I'm not sure if these pictures are gradually zooming in, or if whoever is taking them is just getting physically closer and closer. The frame seemed to be pushing in on me, slowly cutting my friends out as it went. I felt a deep pit within my stomach form as I continued to scroll through the pictures, only for my heart to drop when I reached the last one. He was right up against my sleeping face, and there was a hand in it, a black gloved hand hovering over my face.

Please tell me this is a joke. The car went completely quiet, with only the sound of the hazards blinking in the silence. Michael, I swear on my mother's name that I did not stage that. I knew right then that Peter wasn't lying to me. He would not swear on his late mother's name lightly. I was in the pictures with you, Michael. I didn't do this either. That means there was someone else out there with us, I finished. I turned off my hazards and rerouted the GPS on my phone to the nearest ranger station. We told them about the tree and what happened to us. We showed them the pictures and how we were there to capture something paranormal.

That detail seemed to immediately disqualify our story in the ranger's eyes, not to mention they were unhappy with us camping in a closed area of the park, as it was illegal to erect such a monument on public lands, but that we should never have gone out there in the first place. We almost got a fine, but Peter was able to talk them down to just giving us a warning. After only an hour at the Ranger Station, they told us to leave and that they'd call if they had any more questions. The three of us sheepishly left the station, and I drove us out of the park as quickly as the speed limit would allow. As we were driving back, Henry said,

I took one of the posters. The car had been completely quiet up until then, but as soon as he said that, Peter gasped. You didn't, Peter exclaimed. I thought it would be a cool memento. He pulled the crumbled poster out of his pocket. It was of a man from Minnesota who went missing in the Paul Bunyan State Park. This isn't disrespectful, is it? Henry seemed genuinely afraid that he had cursed himself.

No, Henry, the tree isn't cursed all right. There was just some crazy dude out there with us. The tree is just a tree. We need to go put it back, Peter said. Peter, shut the hell up. I'm done with this tree of lost souls. nonsense. Henry isn't cursed. Curses don't exist. You can't deny that there is something more going on here, Peter said. It was a crazy squatter, Peter, nothing more. Hell, this myth you believed in

probably attracted him out there for all we know. He was probably some deluded man on the internet who got a little too into this urban legend. You should take him as a cautionary tale of why you should never let superstitious nonsense like trees of lost souls control you. My outburst of extreme anger ensured the rest of the car ride was completely silent. I dropped Henry and Peter off at their homes and attempted to apologize to them over text

but decided to just wait and let things simmer. When I did text them that I was sorry about how I acted two days later, I received no replies. I assumed they were still mad and hoped that they would get over it in time. I realized why they had not text me back

when two police officers had come to visit me. They had gone missing after telling their parents they were going back out at Beed Lake to camp. I knew where they were actually going and told the officers about the tree and what happened there. I spent the next several days anxiously awaiting news of their whereabouts. Search teams found the site of the tree of lost souls, but there was no sign of them there.

They decided to keep the posters up on the tree as it made for a good landmark for the search crews. They combed the nearby area for weeks, but nothing turned up. I can't tell you the pain I felt, as I had to accept my friends were probably dead. I think about what happened to them every day of my life. Those woods were dangerous. They could have got caught in a bog or gotten lost in the thicket. Maybe they even could have been killed by that psycho in the black gloves.

The police found no signs of any person camping or living in the woods when they were looking, but the pictures of my camera proved that there was someone else out there with us that night. It's too bad the cops don't believe me. They think we staged the whole thing. Once the search was finally called off to ensure that no one ever came out to those desolate woods again they cut down the tree and burned all the posters on it.

I still, to this day, attend the forums where people talk about the trees. My friends have become legends in these circles and their names are spoken about with an almost religious reverence. The stories of people finding footprints outside their tents or seeing lights in the sky are little to nothing in comparison to the tale of the two teenagers who went missing after trying to return a poster they had taken from a tree of lost souls. My part of the story and the photo of the black-gloved hand is but a cherry on top. Part of me wants to be outraged at them but sensationalizing my friend's disappearances.

The other part of me knows that Peter and Henry would have loved this. I cried when a picture of a tree of lost souls found in Montana showed their faces among the myriad of missing posters pinned to its trunk I could have been right there with them and I should have been right there with them Thank you.