Creepy - Creepaway Camp 2025: Day 7 - Rock Camp & Cabin from Hell

Episode Date: April 24, 2025

Rock Camp***Written by: Hope Despair and Narrated by: Ashley McAnelly***Hear more from Ashley and the It's All in the Cards podcast at: https://open.spotify.com/show/0igUtt5vHhmtWfnL7u5qnI?si=f987e38cf2134bf7***Cabin from Hell***Narrated by: Heather Thomas***Story link: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Cabin_from_Hellcontent is available under CC-BY-SA***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit nangely. Which, listener discretion is advised. Okay. Who's gonna do it?

No, no, not me. That goes. Come on. Someone's got to. Why are you all just staring at me? No. Seriously. No.

Fine. I'll do it. You chicken shits. Hey, John. the other narrators and I were talking and... You wanted to apologize for being wrong? That this entire time my gut feeling that shit was going to go pear-shaped was right all along. That you all should have listened to me when I said we should have killed them all in their sleep

and absorbed their downloads as our own? Wait. What? When did you say that? He cries about it every morning around 6 a.m. Jesus. Well, if it makes you feel any better... That absorbing download thing isn't real.

You don't know that. And now we never will. Fine. Whatever. But John, I think it's in everyone's best interest if we get going. Whatever is going on here is probably best left without us. Don't you think? Oh, it's too late for that, Danielle.

Let me guess. No one can get their cars or the bus to work. Well, no. Uh-huh. and you want to, what, walk out of here? Have you taken a look around at what's going on? It's not that bad. Oh, really?

And what about that person over there? The one wearing the goat skull for a mask and crimson robes. Anything concerning about that, do you? Anything concerning about the fact that a goat head would be far too small for an adult to wear the mask? Anything concerning about the fact that that person must have brought it with them and either bought it from some badass Etsy shop or made it themselves under the impression that things would devolve so much out here that they would need to set themselves up as some sort of forest deity?

Any concern there? Or why there are so many goat masks around it all? What's with all the yelling? Goathead panic again? Yeah. Why aren't you all panicking about the goat heads? Or the boarheads or the crowns of antlers? Or the fact that there seem to be new languages emerging from different cults?

Or all the naked dancing at midnight? Actually, I like the midnight naked dancing. Me too. Listen, I appreciate you all staying so calm in a situation that is clearly spiraled very out of control. We're used to it. Yeah, we're all used to it. That should make me feel better. It doesn't.

Listen, we still don't know what happened to all the cars, or even who sent out the invitations to... Oh, hey, it's Ashley McCannley from the All in the Cards podcast. Oh, um, hi everyone. Sorry, it's taken so long for me to come over and introduce myself, but, well, camp is a little different than I expected. It started out great, but I'm not sure how to ask this, but are there always so many cults around here? Not this far away from vegan restaurants and CrossFit gyms. Hey-oh! Please, no emails.

Okay, well, I just wanted to let you know that if you need anything, I'm evidently a high priestess in the cult that's over by where the archery range used to be. Used to be? What's there now? It's still an archery range. The targets are just different now. I wouldn't get too close. Thanks for the heads up.

Hey, while you're here, mind if I ask you a few questions? Sure. Great. First, do you have food? Second, do you know who sent you the invitation to camp? Third, does your car work? Fourth, do you have any experience treating Gain Green? I'm going to have to say no to all of the above.

Damn. Well, do you have a story to tell? That I can do. It's called Rock Camp. I'm no skeptic. I'm simply a realist. In my personal opinion, anything is possible. probable even. As a woman of science, I have always approached the world with an open mind,

a characteristic that many of my field do not share. Some healthcare workers view themselves as omnipotent beings who understand the nature of their patient's body better than the patients know their own bodies. Conversely, I find fulfillment and learning from my patients by servicing their very individual needs. I'm also far too empathetic, to say the least. Maybe I wasn't cut out for such a position. Maybe I'm just doomed to invest too deeply in my patience and forget about my own needs. Regardless of what I am, I needed a vacation from the demands of being a PA, which, in my opinion, is far more daunting than any wilderness retreat could be. My exhausted mind and body craved a weekend of relaxation. And that's why Justin, my husband, suggested we go camping for a couple of days.

He's the golden retriever type, bursting with an endless supply of energy, and pleading puppy dog eyes. The kind of confident adventurer who somehow convinced me, a workaholic who would much rather spend my time indoors in the sterile environment of a hospital, that a vacation is warranted. That I, a human being, am allowed to bathe in cricket chirps in sunsets, as opposed to my daily exposure of vomit on white tiles

in the migraine-inducing glare of fluorescent lights, is quite a novel idea to me personally. Justin also wanted an excuse to have baby, making time, which doesn't usually fit into our busy schedules or my busy schedule. He's an accountant, and although I know he supports my career, I also know that he just doesn't get it. The baby idea is a perfect example of this. My work is my baby. I don't hate children. Justin just wants one a lot more than I do. Motherhood is not a priority for me, but I wouldn't mind having a child to love. And Justin, without being insistent, was casually drowning me in this baby fever mindset.

And he knew a little getaway wouldn't hurt in that respect. So anyhow, that's how I ended up in the middle of nowhere. Justin had planned our weekend out to take place at Estellan State Park, which isn't too far from our home in Madison. Yes, the park with the infamous rock lake. The park was named Astellan by early settlers who came across indigenous earthwork mounds, that resemble the architecture of an ancient ASTIC culture in Mexico, which isn't what usually comes to mind when one pictures the great outdoors of southwestern Wisconsin.

Evidently, the indigenous community of Aston, were a Mississippian civilization whom mysteriously abandoned the town around 1,200 AD, before the unexplained disappearance of the Mississippian culture from the Midwest. Also mysterious were the claims of pyramids beneath Rock Lake. Yes, ludicrous, as it may sound, pyramids, similar to the ones in Egypt, and you guessed it, the Aztec Empire. Legend has it, there are just a bunch of rock formations built by pre-Columbian settlers on land that was flooded in the 1800s, which is easier for me to believe than the appealing

theoretical situations presented by some UFO enthusiasts, who suggest that perhaps humans have been looking to the skies, when all along we should have been exploring the watery depths of the earth for answers. After all, water makes us a lot of the world. After all, water makes us up 71% of our planet, and only 20% of the ocean has been explored so far. Not to equate a minuscule lake to a vast ocean, of course, but there are possibilities of connection between all bodies of water. I know all this because Justin informed me repeatedly the entire way to the park. The way he gushed about past events and nature was cute and endearing, but I wasn't sorry to end the history lesson by the time we reached our destination. Justin was always open to the idea

of extraterrestrial beings, and it was a favorite subject of his. He had more free time on his hands than I did most days, obviously. I'm a tiny bit less inclined to jump to conclusions about the unknown, but I wouldn't disagree that humans can't be the only beings in the universe, and I wasn't about to debate his solid belief in underwater aliens. Not today. Also, I loved my husband and wanted to engage with his ADHD brain in a way that brought us closer together verbally,

so I'd humored him with discussions about aliens, encrypted, and things that go bump in the night. If nothing else, it earned me brownie points towards bringing us closer together in the night as well, if you catch my draft. Anyways, we quickly found a spot to make our campsite and set up the camper we'd borrowed from my in-laws who'd raise their son to love the outdoors

just as much as they did, as luck would have it. We spent the day hiking and enjoying the fresh air, even visiting two of the remaining mounds, now restored, that had inspired the naming of Astonin. As the sun began to set, we trout along the lake one last time before heading back to our camp for the night. I paused, taking in the peace and relief that surrounded me after this recuperative day. Justin smiled at me and said,

Wasn't this just what we needed? Aliens be damned. He shouted out across the lake, his deep voice booming well into the surrounding trees. I grinned back at him playfully before leaning in for a serene, contented kiss. Later that night, I awoke to the sound of rustling and opened my eyes to the deep, deep void of darkness. It must have been around three in the morning, I deduced, as we hadn't retired to our camper until a while after midnight. A glance at the red light of the clock proved

me right. We'd spent the evening sitting by our little makeshift fire pit, looking up at the brilliant stars and drinking our way into the night, at last drunkenly flirting with one another, as we stumbled into the camper and onto the bedside. I lifted my head with considerable assertion as it spun, and my blurry eyes searched the blinding blackness. "'Justin?' I called, flailing out my hand reluctantly. I heard the clink of a lighter and blinked as he held it up to his face where he stood near the camper door. "'Shh, it's okay, babe. I'm just heading outside for a smoke,' he said, fumbling in his noisy jacket pocket for cigarettes. He never smoked inside, knowing how much I detested his bad habit.

"'Okay,' I mumbled, snuggling back up to my pillow. The camper door creaked open as I nodded off. back to sleep. I was disturbed once again, as the door opened and moonlight poured in over my blankets. I sighed and rolled over, lifting my heavy eyelids as Justin reappeared, and the door groaned shut on its hinges. A sliver of silvery light fell over his face, glistening temptingly, and my lips twitched with a smirk. Come here, you, I murmured, as I heard his steps moving closer to the bed. He slid onto the lumpy mattress beside me, like a sultry automaton. and I felt goosebumps raise over my arms as I pulled the blanket over us both.

It was a chilly night for the end of July. His skin brushed against me, cool and clammy from his jaunt outside. I burrowed into the cork of his arm, trying to get warm. He turned to face me and pushed his familiar body into mine, caressing me with his freezing hands. I laughed as I mimicked his motions, finally surrendering my eager flesh into his advances. I shivered with the cold as he entered me, surprised by how intense our movements became. A sickly cold sweat enveloped us both. My pleasure was interrupted by an irritating concern that we'd be sure to catch something from the unprecedented temperature tonight.

I moaned with a start as he mirrored my efforts to bring him closer to finishing, and all at once a terrifying, icy rush shot into the deepest part of me, faster and harder than frozen steel. I clutched at his damp skin as I collapsed. into the bed and he lifted himself from me. Through my now exhausted half-open eyes, I saw him get up, heading for his jacket pocket and another smoke. I let sleep overtake me as he stepped outside once again. The sun was halfway in the sky when I exited the camper the next morning, looking for Justin, who hadn't been next to me when I woke up. I wasn't worried, figuring he'd probably be out exploring

or whatever he usually did on these excursions. After a mug of gross instant coffee, in a granola bar, both barely edible, I decided to do a little exploring of my own and headed off in the direction of the lake. As I approached the beach, the sun grew directly overhead, and I began to regret my breakfast. Churning erupted in my stomach,

and I resolved to sit down and rest as soon as I could see the water. All I remember next is shock. I had no past, no present, no future, no identity. My nerves turned to electrical wire. and my blood stopped in my veins like cement. My eyes fixed on the single spot in the middle of the lake.

I couldn't look away, and I couldn't really see what I was seeing at that moment. Disbelieve hit me in the stomach like a sucker punch, and my guts heaved from within me. Justin was floating, face up, unholy arms outstretched like he was on a watery crucifix. His eyes staring straight up, red, swelling to boiling point, popped by the direct light of the scorching summer sun, which left his skin a disgusting bloated orange color in his posthumous state. I fell into my knees in the puddle of Polk, gasping and unable to move, to scream, to cry. Weeks have passed since then. It's now August, and I still haven't shed a single tear. I'm still in shock. I've taken an indefinite leave of absence from work. The only reason I've been

backed at work at all was because I was admitted after the incident as a patient, but not in my department, in the psych department. I'm too out of it to even feel slightly humiliated by that. I saw Justin, or Justin's body, right before the autopsy. I identified it as him, but it wasn't the real him. It was nothing more than an inanimate object, a shell, a carcass filled with water in every pore. The autopsy revealed drowning as the cause of death. Everyone involved assumed the poor guy had gone for a still-drunken stroll, tripped, and fell in the lake. Lungs filled up with fluid, breath expired, etc., etc. Cut and paste.

The autopsy also ruled that Justin had been deceased by 3.30 a.m. that fateful morning. The exact same time we would have been making love. I've thrown up every morning since then. I'm losing weight, and my hair is in shreds. I can see my scalp. I lie on the couch. I don't shower. I don't eat. My family, friends, and in-laws check in on me constantly. Not that they're any better at pulling me out from the depths of grief and mental breakage than I myself am.

And I see my therapist twice a week. I don't know if I'll ever be able to return to my life, to the outside world. There's something wrong out there. I can feel it. It crawls in my muscles. It shakes my very bones. I wasn't aware of it before all this, but it has certainly made itself known to me now. Today, while hunched over gripping the toilet bowl and grieving the mornings, I used to instead spin eating out of a cereal bowl. I felt a small squirming beneath my stomach, like a worm on a fishing hook, or in a mother bird's beak. It twisted itself around, sloshing violently inside of me, pressing its slimy tissue against my uterine nest and producing excruciating cramps.

The first pregnancy test from the drugstore nearest my house read positive. Good thing I bought five, each one a different brand. I'm heading to my workplace after this and checking myself into the ER if need be. I'm waiting on the fifth test for a result, as the other four are all positive, but I need to be sure. As I sit on the edge of the bathtub, gripping my abdomen as I rock back and forth in pain, I hear a knock at the door. In the hallway, the knocking grows louder, banging, rattling the frame with its force. Fear strikes me like a lightning bolt.

The first emotion I've felt since Justin's death. Without thinking, I've already turned the knob and open the door. And there he is. Justin. Just as he was the day I last saw him alive. The last day I would ever be happy. I wasn't happy to see him. Terror caught me up in a wildfire, and I would have slammed the door shut if I could have gotten my limbs to move.

Instead, I just stood there, dumbstruck. A grin lights his face with an eerie light, reminding me of the glowing shadow of moonlight that touched him the night we'd spent together in the camper, or whoever it was, I spent that night with. You can't be him, I whisper. The thing that looks like Justin has not stopped grinning. I've come to take you both with me, he says, teeth gritting from the strain. It's Justin's deep voice, but I hear a touch of something otherworldly. It sounds as though he's speaking from underwater,

and I half expect bubbles to come pouring out from behind his mullers. You know what I was thinking? How this kind of reminds me of that TV show Yellow Jackets. Ever seen that? I love Yellow Jackets, but I was thinking this seemed more like Lord of the Four. flies. Oh, I was thinking that book Fantastic Land. Not everything has to be an original idea,

okay? John, you know that I'm your ride or die, right? I don't like where this is going. But don't you think that it's time we took a serious look at what's going on around here? Owen. How uncharacteristically pragmatic of you? Wait for it. And finally admit that we are in the

middle of a huge alien experiment? There it is. Um, that's one theory, sure. Could be right for all I know. I really don't have any idea how any of these events are going to end when I first start planning them. Or even once things officially kick off, so... Maybe? But for now, maybe we should just take a walk and...

You gotta be... Did John get caught in another snare trap? Yes. That makes four. Who had the over for... John getting stuck in snare traps? Shoot, Michelle, it's really cleaning up this year. Oh, ha, ha. John got stuck in a trap again.

You aren't aiming for them, are you? They're really easy to see. Can someone please just cut me down? How long does he usually take to pass out? A couple minutes. But I think the more it happens, the quicker he goes out. Seriously, everyone, this isn't funny. I'm really starting to get concerned about the long-term effects of...

So, who's up next to tell a story? I think that's me. This story is called Cabin from Hell. Let me tell you a story. There is a small town on the outskirts of a slightly larger town. The people there call it a city. This is where I live. I live in a big house with a lot of land,

though my favorite place to go has always been the forest. I love the big trees and the dense. bushes and the howl of the animals at night. In a small clearing in the midst of the woods and boarded by a field, stands a lone cabin. This was my clubhouse, my base of operations, my castle, my home away from home. I loved it. I decorated it and called it my own. My favorite times were when I could spend the night out there, my friends and I telling ghost stories and squealing late into the night.

I didn't always stay out with a friend, though. The woods were my home. I loved them. I was never afraid. I would pack up my sleeping bag and march proudly down the trail with my little lantern until I came upon my cabin. I would unlock the door with my special skeleton key and set up my bag on the cot my mom had given me.

I did this one night. One clear summer's night. I settled in, per usual, and listened to the sounds of nature, the chirps of crickets and whews of owls, my lullaby, soothing me to sleep. I don't know when exactly it changed. I only know it was dark. The once abundant noise of the nocturnal forest faded, and the silence was so loud, it jolted me awake. The forest only goes quiet for one of two things. A storm, or a predator. I glanced up at the window and the wall above my head,

and saw at once there was no storm. The moon and stars shone down on me like a million diamonds, illuminating the black velvet of the night sky above the clearing. I figured there must be a predator, some wolf or cougar, on the prowl. The window was locked and the door barred, no matter what creature may be out there, I was safe. I snuggled back in and rolled to face the room, back against the wall.

I began to drift back to sleep, reassured by my logic and the security of my little abode. A soft grunt came next to my ear, clearly heard through the paper-thin wooden walls of my cabin. My eyes shot open and I laid perfectly still as a subtle sniffing followed the grunt. I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath, hoping the creature would go away before making an attempt to break into my cabin. I smelled like prey and was on ground level. Of course it would attempt to pursue me. I only hoped it wouldn't hurt itself trying to break through the walls. My hope was misplaced, though. The sniffing stopped. I waited a few moments and sighed.

It had left, but something else was wrong. The light, the moon had cast a light through the small window above me, but that light was gone. Not completely, though. There was enough left to show the silhouette of a head and shoulders, blocking the window. I rolled onto my back as quietly as I could and looked up. There was indeed something. in the window, something for which I have no words.

I stopped moving, paralyzed, mouth open in a mock scream. When it turned, it cast its head downwards and its eyes. Those awful, soulless, red eyes looked into mine, peering into the depths of my soul. That is when I screamed, loud and shrill. A cry for life. Mercy. Help. And that is when it moved. Faster than the eye can follow. The cabin, my safe haven, crashed in on me.

The world went black. Now, let me tell you another story. There is a small town on the outskirts of a slightly larger town. The people there call it a city. This is where I lived. I lived in a big house with a lot of land, though my favorite place to go has always been the forest. I love the big trees and the dense bushes and the howl of animals at night. The big house no longer exists, replaced by a worn-out shell comprised of a few sorry, crumbling walls.

The woods are still there, though, and the field, too, though now overgrown. and unkempt. In a small clearing in the midst of these wild woods stands a lone cabin. Many a stories are told about this cabin and about the things that happened there all those years ago. What exactly happened, though? Nobody knows for sure. Some say it was a madman, escaped from a nearby prison. Others say it was a case of child abuse.

Others still say it was an accident or an attack from a rabid animal. These are among the prominent logical theories. Hidden among these, though, mostly popular with the kids, are other theories. Supernatural theories. These theories range from demon to werewolf,

but the major theme is curiosity. All their lives, children are told to stay out of those overgrown, grown woods, but children never do as they are told. They are told that there is no cabin there, that the tales of the supernatural are wives' tales. The children have a different idea, though. The cabin, they say, still stands, and whatever was there that night still lurks inside that wooden house from hell. This scares the children for a while, but as they grow older, and more adventurous, they begin to question it. Then the dares start.

I dare you to spend a night in hell's cabin. And they do. Curious youngsters come every so often. I see them. Their nervous faces flushed from the effort of the truck through weeds and ivy. The looks of surprise and suppressed fear on their faces, when they see the cabin is there looming in the middle of the clearing. They usually come in groups, fear suppressing the desire to come alone.

These groups stay, scared through the night. Then they leave. I watch, sad that they have come and gone. But some come alone. It is for these brave souls that I wait. I watch as the sun goes down. and the crickets chirp, their noise lulling the child to sleep. I watch as the moon rises and the stars twinkle, and I leave my hiding spot.

The forest goes quiet, and I watch as this silence disturbs the child. I watch through the window. My silhouette cast down onto the floor. I see the child freeze, fighting the urge to look out the small. window. Sometimes I have to knock, but they always give in to their curiosity eventually. With the turn of their head and mine, I meet their eyes. The look of confusion, then fear, as my deep red eyes penetrate deep into their soul, seeing their past, present, and reading their future.

I grin, showing my pointed yellow teeth. They open their mouths and scream. The cabin crashes, and the world goes black. I slip away as the sun peaks over the horizon, and I watch as yet another victim is found in the cabin from hell. Well, that never stops hurting. You think you could have a lot of. maybe woke me up before cutting me...

Hey, where is everyone? Hello? Anyone? Guys, this isn't funny. As much as I panic spiral with all the weirdness, the fact that everyone has suddenly gone feels so much worse. I didn't eat more mushrooms.

Did I? No. That's crazy. People be so pissed if this was just some drug-induced hallucination instead of an actual event with lasting physical and psychological consequences for all involved. Oh, thank God. I knew someone had to be...

Oh. Hello there. I don't know that we've been introduced. I know that sounded oddly vague, like the victim of some 70s TV detective show who knows the name of the person about to kill him but doesn't want to give away the secret until the third act reveal. But given your choice of headwear,

I can only assume that you're one of the many sects of woodland and cults that have developed at a staggering rate around here. You, um, aren't gonna say anything? Listen, I don't want trouble, but at the same time, I should warn you that I... Oh, didn't see that person over there. Or over there. Or the one over there. Huh.

Looks like I'm completely encircled. Any chance that all of you advancing very slowly and menacingly at the same pace toward me is going to end up in a group hug. Shit. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration, please visit creepypod.com. You can also follow us at creepypod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through Creative Commons share-a-like licensing,

or with written consent from the author. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the creepy podcast production team and the stories author.