Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 5 NEW Scary Deep Woods Horror Stories

Episode Date: May 17, 2024

These are 5 NEW Scary Deep Woods Horror Stories Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to www.justcreepy.net Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:09:47 Story 2 00:18:13 Story 3 00:44:44 Story 4 00:55:27 Story 5 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #deepwoods #forest #scarystoriespodcast 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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Bad advice. You talking to me? Kayak, got that right. It was back in the 1980. At the time, I was in my late 20s and would often grab my collie, lacy, and drive my Mustang convertible to the park not too far from our home to go hiking. Although I was a single female, I always felt safe hiking in that park. It was like my second backyard.

It was a hot Sunday morning in July, with a slight breeze and a beautiful blue sky. It was pretty early, around 8.30 a.m., and the park was deserted when we pulled up into the parking area. The parking lot was near the picnic area and restrooms, and it would get crowded later in the day when families arrived for their picnics, and fishermen made their way out to the lake to try their luck at catching that elusive big one. This park covers 1,900 acres of land, and has miles of wooded dirt trails that intersect each other. There are a few main trails that pass by a lake, meander along a lazy river, and lead to three hidden, breathtaking waterfalls. It heavily forested and in the summer when the leaves are all on board the trail's

visibility is limited to the path I loved that park hiked it often knew the trails like the back of my hand and enjoyed having it to myself I intentionally chose times when I knew it would be less crowded the lot I parked in is across a little road from the head of my trail which is my favorite as I called Lacey out of the car and snapped on her leash another car pulled into the lot He parked rather close to me, which I found rather annoying and a bit strange. I go there for solitude and peace, and there were plenty of other parking spots. There was no need to crowd me.

The trail Lacey and I wanted to hike on was across the road, so I headed that way. We started up the hill and onto a heavily wooded hiking trail. For some reason, I was feeling a sense of dread, and glanced at the man as he was getting out of his car. I am somewhat suspicious when hiking alone and immediately found him a bit off. Something about him was setting off alarm bells in my head. He appeared to be in his 40s and was by himself, which is not unusual. A lot of people hike by themselves. It was his attire and demeanor that caught me off guard.

He was dressed like no other hiker I have ever seen. He had on dress pants and shiny black dress shoes, like the ones my dad would always wear going to church. The clothes and shoes were a bit shabby, but still not something somebody would wear when hiking. None of the trails in this park were paved. They were all dirt and often muddy since they crossed meandering streams. But it was his expression that struck me the most. He was staring intently at Lacey and me with no expression on his face, and it was making me extremely uncomfortable.

I thought to myself, who does that, and who wears dress shoes hiking? I began to feel uneasy. There was just something creepy about him. Most people who hike the trails keep to themselves, but will say a brief, Hi, how are you doing? Or wave something like that. This man simply stared intently at Lacey and me with no expression in his blank eyes. I knew somewhere deep down inside of me that it would be the best plan of action to avoid him entirely.

It was a little voice in my head that I had to listen to. I considered giving up my hiking altogether that day, but I had been looking forward to it. and Lacey was raring to go, and maybe I was just being paranoid. So, I turned back around and began walking up the main hiking trail. I decided to veer off onto one of the many little paths that branched off the main trail. I chose this trail, as it was not marked with any signage, and did not go towards the falls or the river, but winded through the dense, heavily forested woods.

It was not as popular as the other trails, and I figured I could avoid the man, as he probably would choose one of the more popular, popular marked trails that most hikers would. As Lacey and I walked along, I glanced around to see if I could still see him. To my dread, I realized that he had also chosen the trail we were hiking. I looked around to see if there were any other hikers out, but it was just him, myself, and Lacey. I was not concerned to the point of panic, but still somewhat freaked out. I decided it was best to continue to steer clear of him, and as soon as I was able, I took a different cross-trail to avoid him. The trail I chose headed off in an entirely different direction from the way he was

headed. I kept walking at a fast pace, trying to put as much distance between me and him as possible. I tried to enjoy the gorgeous, beautiful day, but I could not shake the feelings of unease, and all the while walking, tried to stay diligent of the man's location. After hiking for about five minutes, I began to feel my sense of unease increasing. I turned back to notice that the same figure once again was following us in the distance, gaining on us slowly but steadily. He had taken the same intersecting trail as Lacey and I, and was following behind us again. He did not appear to be enjoying the walk, was not looking at the nature around him, just staring right at Lacey and me. He continued to stalk us at a quick pace, with a sense of purpose in his

stride. His face was motionless, his eyes never leaving us. As I glanced at him, it's seemed waves of malice were emanating from him, and I was more scared than I had ever been in my life. By this time, Lacey was beginning to feel my anxiety. She was a beautiful dog and looked a lot like Lassie. She was a good 65 pounds, and, unlike most collies, did not care for strangers or anything else out of the ordinary. She was also beginning to pick up on my emotions and starting to perceive this danger. She began stopping and turning, looking back at him, perceiving this person as threat. I knew all of these trails like the back of my hand and was quite sure we could lose him. I crossed into another trail, and I thought surely we had gotten far enough ahead of him that

he would be unable to determine which trail we had walked. Glancing nervously behind me, but much to my horror, when I looked up the trail ahead, I saw him walking straight towards us at a determined pace. He had somehow found the trail that circles around and then crossed over to head us off. This could be no accident. It was obvious to me now that he was intentionally following us, but why? My brain went into overdrive. All of my senses were telling me that I was not in a good situation. I wondered what I could do. I had a very bad feeling about this man and had to find an escape route and get back to the safety of my car as quickly as I could. I hastily looked around for another trail that I could take before he would reach us. There was nothing. I quickly

thought it through and determined that my only options were to turn and run back in the opposite direction, dash into the heavily forested woods, or walk right past him. I looked at him, judged the distance, and knew if I ran, even with his street clothes on, he could possibly catch me on the trail. I had no desire to run off into the woods, as the grounds are heavily covered with tripping hazards, and I've watched enough horror movies to know that the running victim always trips and falls out of panic. I contemplated all of those options, and you're probably going to think I'm crazy, but I decided the best course of action was to keep walking straight ahead and walk past him. I was not alone. I had Lacey, and she gave me the courage to confront the

alarming, disconcerting stranger. As we walked closer to him, he said nothing but kept staring at us intently with his blank, emotionless expression. His eyes were very dark and menacing. I walked nervously towards him, and as we got closer and closer to him, I began talking to Lacey under my breath, urging her on with a desperate voice, pleading over and over,

get him, get him. Lacey felt my fear. She felt it to her very core and fed off of it. She began growling low in her throat. The closer he got to us, the louder and more profound the rumbling from within her became. By the time we passed, him, I was physically holding her off by her leash. She was lunging at him, snarling, and bearing her

teeth. He did not react like someone being threatened aggressively by a dog. There was no resentment, no irritation. Strangely, he said nothing to me, and I said nothing to him. He passed by us and gave Lacey a wide berth, no longer looking at us or showing any interest at all. I lightly said, that's not nice, Lacey. As I was petting her and encouraging her, her to growl at him the entire time, though she continued to give him the Clint Eastwood stare and kept barking until he was well past us. I kept an eye on him, ensuring he did not back away or turn back towards us. I was eventually relieved to see that he made his way to a trail that led to the parking lot, got in his car, and drove away. I continued my hike, heading to a different

section of the park. I kept thinking about the man and wondering what he had been doing. To this day, I think Lacey saved me from an awful situation. When we returned home that day, I made sure she got an extra special treat. My name is Johnny. This story happened on June 2017 in the northern region of Florida. I was 21 years old, working as a beach photographer that summer with my buddy who had just graduated from college. We both attended the same college in Pennsylvania. Our company housed us in a four-bedroom townhouse with about 10 other people.

It was a Friday, and I had the day off while everyone else was working. I spent the day relaxing in the house. As the day went on, I became more and more anxious because I had not done anything active. Usually I walked at least 10 miles a day on the beach, taking photos of vacationers. Another day on the beach didn't sound as appealing as taking a break inside with the AC and some quality Netflix. But today, I felt I had been too lazy with my time, so I didn't. decided to go for a night walk throughout the neighborhood behind our housing development on this nice little nature trail. It's enjoyable to walk there at night because it's always tranquil,

and there is a lot of lovely foliage, mansions, etc. On this walk, I discovered a bike trail that I did not know existed before and decided to check it out. It goes into the woods, and I thought, why not? Maybe being in the trees would remind me of home in rural Pennsylvania and relax my mind. Little did I know, it would be the exact opposite. The bike trail runs perpendicular to the road and goes along a narrow field of power lines that cut through the woods. I would guess it goes for about 15 miles at least. I had been walking for 20 minutes, and all I could hear was the sound of nature around me. It was very calming. However, the woods, always did give me a spooky feeling. It was a full moon that night, so I wasn't in complete

darkness and could see pretty much all around me. About 10 to 15 minutes into my walk, some clouds came in and covered the moon. It got much darker out of nowhere, so I turned on the flashlight on my phone. I heard a strange noise coming from my right, across the field. It sounded like a boar or a pig, emitting a long, low grunt. It didn't sound like the normal sounds I was used to. It sounded like something had caused it to stress. I stood there listening for another sound, but there were no more. I kept walking, hoping I wouldn't hear it again, as it had come out of nowhere and startled me. Suddenly, I got the feeling that something was not right. All the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I was very unnerved, feeling like I was being watched. I tried to find

where I was on Google Maps, but it would not load because the service was very weak. I eventually ran into another path that veered off into the woods, and there, luckily, was a map on a board beside it. I stared down the course for a few seconds, contemplating whether to take it. It looked like that cliche shortcut that looks super scary, but gets you to your destination a bit quicker. This one was dark, and I mean dark. There was a thick canopy above, as this part of the woods had only a about a foot between the dense trees and the path on both sides. Without the light of my phone, I would not have been able to see a thing in there. I decided to turn and walk along this path as it was a quicker way home instead of going back around the way I had originally come.

Then, as I was about to head down the set path, I heard footsteps. I stopped and turned my flashlight off to listen. I wanted to make sure I wasn't being paranoid and scaring myself, but I could indeed still hear them. They were coming towards me. from the direction I was headed on the main path. I ran over into the trees and hid because I wasn't about to run into some potentially crazy people out here in the woods. As I was hiding in the trees and waiting for them to pass me, I suddenly smelled something terrible.

I thought maybe I was just so scared that I soiled my pants, but that was not the case. Instead, it smelled like something decomposing, like the smell of a dead deer carcass baking out in the sun. If you've ever been hunting, you definitely know that smell. The footsteps became increasingly closer, then they passed me. I counted three people, or should I say, silhouettes, and I couldn't make out their faces or even their clothes. They walked in a straight line, their heads staring straight ahead of them,

and none of them said a single word. The one in the middle was dragging some sort of bag behind them along the concrete. I waited for about five minutes until I could no longer see, hear them, or smell that smell anymore. I started walking down the dark path slowly, but surely. I tried walking quickly, but I wanted to stay quiet as I was pretty freaked out. I was wearing flip-flops, and they clicked my heels with every step, so the slower I was, the quieter I was.

I walked for about ten minutes, and I started to hear footsteps again. I stopped and turned off my flashlight. The footsteps were coming from behind me this time. I ran back into the trees and waited to see if those people were going to come back again, and inevitably it was they. They brought that awful smell back with them, and walked past me the same way, dragging the bag behind them. Were these people following me? Why did they happen to turn around and come onto this path as well?

I stayed out there in the bushes for about 20 minutes or so, unsure of what to do. I didn't know if I should keep going the way I was going or run back. I hope they didn't hear me, though, as I waited. They came by again, which is the freaky part. I heard a man's voice say a girl's name this time, though, Barbara and Willicks, or something like that. I waited another five minutes and just started running down the path. I picked up my flip-flops to make sure I didn't make any noise and didn't even turn my flashlight back on. I ran for what honestly seemed like ten minutes until I eventually had to stop to take a breath.

I was still in complete darkness and turned my flashlight back on to ensure I wasn't being followed. I didn't smell that horrible smell, so I turned the flashlight back off to save my phone's battery and not give myself away. I didn't know how much longer I had to keep going, as this path did not look nearly as long on the map. I began to hear sticks breaking in the woods. They didn't sound like footsteps, but somewhat random. One would break to the left, then to the right a few minutes later. Finally, they started to get louder, and eventually, I bolted again. I ran and ran, afraid that there would be something chasing me if I ever turned around. The sticks breaking seemed to follow along on both sides, not too far behind me. It was a fight or flight situation,

and I fled as fast as I could. After what seemed like running for an hour, I eventually saw lights and came out of the woods next to a sewage plant. I hurried home along the high. I hurried home along the highway. No one was home when I returned to the townhouse, as they had all gone to a beach party, so I sat down, got a glass of water, and searched the name I heard on Google, Barbara and Wilcox. This is where it gets strange. In a nutshell, Barbara and Wilcox and a friend were from Iowa and were hiking through Florida in the 1970s. On their trip, they were murdered by a man named Gerard Cher. The cherry on top of the cake is that it happened in 1973. and the skeletal remains of the girls were found scattered throughout the area,

which is known as Oak Hammock Park in 1977 by a group of fishermen. Why were three people, if that's what they were, walking through the woods at night in the pitch black, saying the name of a girl that died 40 years ago, about seven hours away in a different part of Florida altogether, and what the hell were they dragging behind them? I'm not sure if I want to know the answers. Throughout the rest of my summer working in Florida,

I continued to do my night walks, but I never went on that bike trail again. So if you're ever alone in the woods, please be careful. You never know who or what you will find, or worse, who might see you. How many discounts does USAA auto insurance offer? Too many to say here.

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Thinking about it now, the word life has a whole new damn meaning. I'm a deputy in a small town in Alabama that has a bit of history to it. I'm not going to tell you where. I don't need all the wannabe monster hunters coming down here. And honestly, I don't feel like dealing with body parts and paperwork. The alphabet soup guys get real pissy when bodies start dropping,

and questions start getting asked. Yeah, they know about this stuff. Does that surprise you? They pay us very well to keep the bull crap to a minimum around here. So, yep, monsters are real. So are a bunch of other beings, gods, and other spooky things. You'd be surprised how many of them really don't want anything to do with humans. Hey, I can't blame them. I'm not really a fan either. At least with monsters, you know what you're getting, which is probably eaten.

People, on the other hand, that's a crapshoot. Well, I guess a little background is in order. I spent a few years in the military and contracting after that. I ended up buying a house at the edge of this town. before I knew all the bull crap that was going on around here, got bored and went down to the local sheriff, Jack, and asked about an opening. Didn't even fill out an application. I got the job on the spot. For the first few months it was the usual. Speeding tickets, drunk and disorderly, normal human crap, right?

Well, let the crap commence. I had been a deputy for seven months when one of the local farmers called in and reported that some animals were killed last night and wanted someone to come out to his house. John Nixon was a 60-year-old farmer who lived by himself. His wife had passed away years ago, but he never remarried, and they never had kids. We met one day at the local tackle shop. Me being new in town, he took me to some good fishing spots. The man was a huge military history buff and would always ask about my time in. I thought I knew him personally, so I took the call. As I rolled up to the gate on his property, I saw John standing in a man

standing at the gate with a shotgun. Hey John, can I ask why you are standing there with that cannon in your hands? No response. He just stared at me. John, put that damn shotgun down, I yelled. It's like he snapped out of a trance. Mason, I need you to come around the backside of the house to the barn. Now, he snapped. Okay, okay, let me get out of the car and grab some gear, I said, opening the car door. While I was grabbing my gear, John was standing there. eyes scanning the tree line. Come on, Mason, you need to see this, he said, heading towards the back.

I closed the trunk and started walking over in his direction. So what the hell is going on that's got you walking around here with that damn bazooka? No response. He just keeps walking and scanning the tree line. We finally got to the back of his house, where the barn is. It looked like a horror movie in that pen. What the hell happened here? I said, covering my mouth. There were pieces of chickens and goats everywhere. A few pigs looked like they had been fallated. It's back, Mason. After all these years, John mumbled.

John, what the hell are you talking about? What did this? I asked. John took his eyes off the tree line and looked me dead in the face. You're not from here, so you don't know. Know what, man? What are you saying? I asked, getting annoyed now. Years ago, the same thing happened to a few guys I know.

all of their livestock had been killed. Not killed and eaten, just killed. It got people around here up in arms. Well, a few of us got together and decided we were going to look for whatever did it, he said. What the hell are you telling me, John? I interrupted. There were four of us. We were young, thought we were bulletproof. We went out into the woods one morning, determined to find the damn thing that had been killing our animals.

Tommy was the first to say something. Hey, did you guys hear that? The rest of us didn't hear a thing, so we kept moving. We got about three miles deep into the old pine forest at the edge of town. Will was the next to say something. What the hell? He yelled out while looking down at the mud. We ran over to where he was standing to find him wide-eyed.

I don't know what the actual hell did this, but we... We need to go, and I mean right now, he said, pointing. This track was huge, at least four. 14 inches long with huge claws. Gerald spoke up, let's go guys. We started backtracking out of the area when we were stopped cold in our tracks. We all heard it this time. It was coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same damn time. A sickening, shrieking laugh was coming from all around us. We panicked and started running. As soon as we did that, whatever was making that noise centered as if right behind us, and it was coming fast, ungodly fast, John said,

eyeing the remains of a chicken that was torn apart. We were about a mile from the trucks when I heard a thud and a scream. When I looked back, Gerald wasn't there. Will and Tommy were right behind me, terror all over their faces. Tommy pulled his pistol and started shooting backwards. Only one shot rang out before something tackled him and Will. I stopped, raising my rifle, but they had already been torn apart. It was seconds, and they were in shreds, John said. Mason, what I saw standing over their shredded bodies has haunted me since then. The thing was nine feet tall, shaped like a man, but not.

Its skin, or scales, was a mixture of black and gray, and it looked slimy. It looked like a damn bodybuilder with huge claw-like hands. Its head was massive, with what looked like horns coming from the jaw to, around the chin. Its eyes glowed bright green in the middle of the day, and it had a mouthful of messed up jagged teeth, he said, lowering his head. I just, just stood there waiting for my turn. This thing paced back and forth, staring at me with this creepy damn smile. It looked down at Will and Tommy, then it looked back up at me. My heart almost stopped when it pointed and shook its head at me. It started making that shrieking laugh as it grabbed what was left of my friends in each

giant claw and walked off into the woods, still laughing. I fell to my knees as it vanished into the trees. I stood there thinking he had lost his damn mind. John had stopped talking. He had this way-off look in his eyes. John. His eyes snapped back to mine. So what are you telling me? A nine-foot creature with claws killed your friends and animals. I half mocked. Yeah, that's what I'm telling you. It's back for me. I know it. What makes you think it was this thing you say killed your friends? It could have been coyotes, I asked. I know Mason. I heard that same horrible shrieking laugh in the woods behind the barn last night. Now I've heard some real bull crap in my time, especially during my time in the contracting field. but this was the most out-there crap I had ever heard.

All right, all right. Let's just take a big step backwards. I need to wrap my head around all of this, I said, taking a deep breath. John laid the shotgun down to his side. I'm telling you the truth, Mason. I'm too old and tired to lie about stuff. He said, shrugging. I looked deep into this man's eyes.

When I did, I saw something that told me this was the absolute truth as he knew it. You haven't given me any reason to doubt you. But man, this is hard to swallow. I need proof, John. That's the way this works. A look of frustration washed over his weathered face. Proof? You want proof, huh? Follow me, John groaned. He started walking towards the trees behind the barn. As we got closer to the trees, I started to smell rusty copper. Blood, I thought out loud. John raised his shotgun as we walked closer. That damn gun had to be illegal, but this wasn't the time for that. Him raising that gun made me a little uneasy,

so I pulled my Glock 9mm out and flipped the safety off. John owned about 90 acres, most of it unkempt. A lot of the land was behind the barn, which butted up to a state forest. We took about 12 steps into the wood line when the smell of death hit me like a brick. I'm taking you to where I heard the noise coming from, night. Your proof is out there, Mason, he said with a slight edge to his voice. We walked almost a hundred yards into the woods when John stopped in front of a tree. It looked twisted and warped all the way to its top. I stepped around John and saw huge claw marks

cut deep all the way around the base of the tree. It's hard to even call it that. What the hell is this? I said looking up. This is a marker. Its territory starts here, John replied. I looked at John like he was crazy, which at this point. I thought he was. This thing travels throughout these woods. I found five more of these trees in our town, he said, putting a hand on the tree. This isn't telling me anything, John, just that you've got a weird tree on your property, I said back to him.

Do you hear that? To move this mess forward, I stopped talking and just listened. I hadn't noticed that during our walk into the woods it had got quiet, and I mean not one sound. What the hell? Where did all the animals go? I asked, looking around. They're scared, Mason. You should be too.

Let's get back to the house. We turned and started making our way out of the woods. We were damn near the tree line when I heard a snap. I turned around, gun raised, to see a black streak dart back deeper into the woods. What the hell was that? All John said was, We need to leave, now.

We turned and started sprinting the rest of the way out of the woods. I was surprised at how fast John was for an old man. We got all the way back to my patrol car. I don't know what that was, but I don't think you should stay here tonight, John. Pack some stuff and come to my place, I said, pointing my gun at the trees. John just let out a sigh as if frustrated and defeated. You weren't listening.

The pine forest, these trees, it's all connected. I'm talking about before this area was even in. inhabited by native peoples. This thing has been around for a very long time. I have been looking into this since that day. I had to find out what it was, and if it can be killed, he tried to explain. The whole time John was talking, I had my eyes and weapon pointed at the trees. You can put that down, Mason. It just wanted you to know it's here, he said. John, I need to process this crap. I've never seen or heard anything like this, and to be straight with you, I'm at a loss right now, I said, opening the trunk. I get it, I get it. Sheriff Jack was a deputy back then. When you see him,

tell him I said the dark is here. And with that, he just turned his back and walked back into his house, not saying another word. I got back in the car and sat there, looking at the tree line. After a few minutes, I went back to the station. I must have walked in with that universal, what the hell look on my face, because Kathy, the clerk, asked what was wrong with me. I told her I was fine and asked if she had seen the sheriff. Yeah, he's in the gun cage.

Are you sure you're okay, Mason? She asked again. Yeah, I'm good, just need to talk to Jack. I started walking towards the back of the building when Jack came around the corner. Hey Mason, what's up? He said, walking up to me. I just got back from John's house.

The look on his face completely changed. He had a bunch of animals killed last night. It looked like a slaughterhouse. He told me to tell you the dark was back, I told him, noticing his reaction. Jack stiffened up and without saying a word, gestured for me to follow him towards the back security door. We headed towards the back and out the door. Jack had stopped to make sure the door.

was secure, then pointed at his truck and said, get in. After getting in, he looked over, I need some coffee, then started the truck up and headed west out of the parking lot towards the coffee shop. He ordered a large black coffee with extra sugar and then asked if I wanted one. I'll take a small black, no sugar. We pulled out and headed east back past the station. We ended up driving towards the edge of the county. What's going on? And why are we heading way the hell out here? I looked at Jack and said. Jack just took a long sip of his coffee and then placed it back in the holder. After a long breath, he said, you want some answers about what happened at John's house. I'm sure he told you about a few other things about this town. Well, we're going to go get you some

answers, he said, looking at a black sedan passing in the opposite direction. I't, so, like you, Mason, I'm not from here either. I was a trooper in New York. for a few years before I came down here. I resigned after a call to an old couple's house, he said, reaching for his cup. My partner Jake and I responded to what was thought to be an animal attack. We were the first on the scene, having been a couple of miles away looking for speeders. When we rolled up, an older woman came running over to the cruiser.

She had a panicked look on her face and just kept repeating. They're dead. They're dead. We hopped out and sat her in the back of the car. Then asked what happened. I came over to talk to Gloria and... And I saw the door open. I walked in, yelling her and Alan's name, but they didn't answer.

I found them upstairs. It's horrible, she said, sobbing. Jake and I drew our weapons and started making the move inside. Like the witness said, the front door was open, so we moved in. It smelled like sulfur and blood when we entered. We started clearing rooms. The first floor was closed. so we made our way up the steps. The smell was overpowering now. We cleared the bathroom,

and the two smaller rooms were clear also. The door to the master bedroom was slightly opened. I motioned to Jake, and we hit the door. It looked like some movie stuff. I kid you not. Jake turned and went back into the hallway and threw up. I stepped into the room, and, listen, I had never seen anything like this before, Jack stammered out. These two people were in shreds on the bed. Their insides had been yanked out and thrown around the room. After looking at the bodies, I noticed these huge claw marks in the wall. I'm talking as if Andre the giant had had a Kruger glove. I stepped back out of the room and told dispatch that we needed more units.

I walked back to the front door where Jake was standing hunched over, looking out of it. Parked outside were three black SUVs and a black sedan. I counted 11 men dressed in black tactical military gear, some with a type of rifle I had never seen before, but you could tell it was large caliber, the rest with SMG weapons. When I looked over towards the patrol car, one of the men had the door opened and was talking to the witness. He saw us and started our way. He was dressed in all black too, and carried what looked like a desert eagle in a chest holster.

When he got closer, I got a better look at him. He looked to be in his late 40s with salt and pepper-colored hair and a big scar that he was a big scar that. that ran down the right side of his face. He got about 10 feet from the steps. We appreciate the assistance, but you are no longer needed, he said in a deep voice. As he was saying this, one of the other guys escorted the witness out of our car

and into the back of that sedan. The guy started walking away from us. Who are you? And what the hell is going on? I yelled at him. He turned with a look on his face that you only see in movies, then took a few steps towards us. Your command has been in front.

formed and you are to leave now, he said, raising his hand up towards that holstered pistol. Jake looked at me and shook his head. Screw it, let's go. Let them deal with that mess upstairs, he said, still coughing, then started heading towards the car. I followed him down the steps, looking this guy up and down, checking out the vehicles, and looking for anything that might tell me who we were dealing with. The only thing I saw was on the dude's uniform. There was a patch on his shoulder.

It was an all-black diamond with a weird-looking black M in the middle of it. The guy stared us down until we were in the car driving away. He had that pistol in his hand, and the other men started moving into the house. Jake and I didn't say a word until the radio squawked, and we were told to head back to the barracks. When we got there, we were told to report to the troop commander's office. Commander Thompson was sitting in his office, along with a man. in a nice two-piece suit. The man in the suit stood there quietly, while Thompson told us that we never responded to any call out to that farmhouse, and that this was the first and only

time he would say it. With that, he dismissed us, and we walked out. The crap didn't sit well with me, and I ended up resigning a few months later. I came down here, and then that stuff in the woods happened. I was on the scene. I saw the claw marks. They looked just like the ones in New York, and the same damn truck showed up with different personnel. I knew just to shut up and walk away, and after making that choice, I have had a pretty good career here. He finished, grabbing his cup out of the holder. My brain was in overdrive.

I was just about to completely question Bomb Jack when he said, We're here. He pulled off onto this overgrown driveway and drove for about a quarter mile. We pulled up to an old two-story house that looked like it was in ruins, But the lights were on. Where the hell are we? I asked as the last word of that question left my mouth. The front door of the house opened.

Standing in the doorway was an old man, dressed in weathered black clothing. Jack leaned over to me. You wanted answers. Well, there they are. As we got out of the truck, the old man approached us. His face was marked with years of weathering, and his eyes held a depth that seemed to pull at the

darkest corners of my soul. He extended a rough hand in greeting. Jack, Mason, come inside. We've got a lot to cover and not much time, he said, his voice gravely with age. Inside, the house was surprisingly cozy, despite its dilapidated exterior. Books and papers were stacked high in every corner, and strange symbols were scribbled across numerous chalkboards. The old man motioned for us to sit at a large, sturdy wooden table covered with maps. and various artifacts. As you might have guessed, I'm not just a hermit living out here in the middle of nowhere,

the old man began, his eyes scanning both of us. I've been tracking, studying, and sometimes confronting these creatures for most of my life. What happened at John's farm, what you saw Mason, it's just the tip of the iceberg. Jack interjected,

Mason, this is Henry. He's sort of a legend around these parts, used to work with the government on these matters until he decided going solo was the safer bet. Henry nodded slightly. The creature you're dealing with is ancient, more intelligent than you might expect, and extremely dangerous.

It's part of a species that predates most of human history, and it's not the only one of its kind. There are others, each with their territories, patterns, and appetites. The room grew colder as he spoke, and the gravity of the situation began to weigh heavily on me, Why is it back now after all these years? I asked. My voice barely above a whisper. That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? Henry replied, pausing to sift through some papers before continuing. These creatures, they're connected to the land, to the history of this place.

Changes in the environment, certain alignments, activities of certain, let's call them cults, can awaken them from periods of dormancy. He pointed at a series of marks on one of the maps. These incidents aren't random. There's a pattern, and it's starting to accelerate. Something big is coming, something that hasn't happened in over a century, and I believe it's related to why the creature attacked John's farm. Jack looked solemnly at me.

That's why I brought you here, Mason. You're new, yes, but you've seen enough now to know that this isn't just local folklore. We need to prepare, and we need all the help we can get. Henry stood up, walking over to a large cabinet and pulling out several old leather-bound books. I have compiled research, evidence, accounts, and theories here. If we're going to stand a chance, we need to understand what we're dealing with fully. And Mason, you need to decide how deep you want to go into this, because once you're in, there's no easy way out.

The weight of his words settled in as I looked over at Jack, who nodded in agreement. The night ahead would be long, filled with revelations and decisions. But one thing was clear. My life as a deputy in this small town was about to change forever. As the night pressed on, the thick air inside Henry's cluttered study became almost suffocating. The ticking of an old clock was the only sound

that punctuated our hushed voices as we poured over ancient texts and cryptic maps. Henry's revelations painted a picture so sinister, so beyond the realm of our understanding, that my gut churned with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. I need a moment, I mumbled, standing to stretch my legs, feeling the weight of every story, every encounter pressing down on me. Jack nodded, his face etched with lines of concern and weariness. Stepping outside, the chill of the air slapped me,

a welcome respite from the stifling atmosphere within. The night was pitch black, the moon a mere sliver, barely casting shepherding, shadows on the ground. I walked a little way off from the house, my thoughts swirling. Every rustle in the bushes, every snap of a twig underfoot spiked my heart rate. I tried convincing myself it was just the wind, just a small animal scurrying about. But after tonight, nothing seemed innocuous anymore. As I turned back towards the house, a sudden movement in the periphery of my vision caught my attention. I froze, squinting into the darkness. There it was again, a sort of a sudden movement. A sudden swift, shadowy figure darting between the trees. My hand instinctively went to my side,

only to remember I'd left my gun inside. Jack, Henry, I called out, but my voice seemed to be swallowed by the thick forest air. Turning back to the house, I hesitated, every instinct screaming at me to run, to get inside. But then, the shadow moved closer, unafraid, deliberate in its approach. My breath caught in my throat as the details of the creature became clearer. It was massive, its body covered in what looked like slick black scales, reflecting the faint moonlight. The limbs were grotesquely long, ending in sharp clawed fingers that scraped the ground with each movement. But it was the eyes that held me frozen, glowing a fierce, unnatural green. They bore into me, paralyzing me with dread. Then it smiled, or,

at least, it seemed to smile, an expression so twisted and malevolent that my blood turned ice-cold. The creature turned its head, as if amused by my terror. I wanted to scream, to call out again but my voice was gone, trapped somewhere in my chest. With what felt like excruciating slowness, it took another step toward me, the ground seeming to shudder under its weight. I could hear the faintest sound now, a sickening, gurgling chuckle that seemed to come from the creature itself. My mind raced, desperate for a plan, but my body refused to cooperate, refused to run. Just as the creature raised a clawed hand, a loud gunshot shattered the night. The creature recoiled, a shriek piercing the air that made my ears ring. Another shot rang out,

and then another. Jack and Henry rushed out, guns pointed at the creature, which was now writhing and howling in pain. get inside mason jack yelled firing another round my legs finally sprung to life and i sprinted towards the house not daring to look back as i reached the door another scream echoed through the forest a sound so filled with rage and agony that it promised retribution we barricaded ourselves inside listening as the creature's cries faded into the distance henry's face was grave as he reloaded his gun it knows we're here now, he said quietly, and it won't stop. As dawn broke, the terror of the night lingered. We were no longer hunters, but prey, waiting in the eerie silence for the creature's next move. The truth was clear. We had only glimpsed the darkness that lurked in the shadows, and the real nightmare had just begun.

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I've never been one for ghost stories. Out here in Fairbakes, Alaska, you learn to respect the wild for what it is, cold, brutal, and unforgiving. But there's a stretch on the eastern side of Farmer's Loop that I can't explain. It's the one place that chills me to the bone. Ten years ago, that road changed everything

I thought I knew about the dark. Mom and I were driving home from the hospital that night. The air was crisp, the kind of cold that bites at your cheeks and makes your eyes water if you're outside for more than a few minutes. Inside the car, the heater fought a losing battle against the creeping frost on the windshield. We were quiet, each lost in our own thoughts. Mom had just gotten her cast off, her wrist finally healed from a fall on the ice, and the relief hadn't worn off yet.

We took the eastern side home because it was shorter, though rarely traveled late at night. As we turned on to Farmer's Loop, I remember feeling uneasy, like the darkness itself had weight, pressing in around the car. There was this clearing coming up, a large open field with a single metal tower standing sentinel in the middle. It was just a patch of land, but at night it seemed like a gaping mouth waiting to swallow us whole. Mom flicked on the high beams and the world in front of us flooded with light. That's when we saw it. At first, I mistook it for a large dog rummaging near the ditch. But as it crawled into the beam of our headlights, my stomach twisted. This was no dog. It was a thing. Pale and grotesque. Its limbs contorted as it moved on all fours.

Its skin seemed to glow faintly in the harsh light, like the underbelly of a fish. It stopped and turned towards us. Where its eyes should have been, there were only dark, empty sockets, a void that seemed to pull at the very light around it. And its mouth. It was a jagged line, stretched into a grimace that might have been a smile in another life. Mom screamed, a sharp, piercing sound that seemed to crack the silence like ice. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, and the car lurched forward as she stomped on the accelerator. I pressed my back into the seat, my heart hammering against my chest like it was trying to break free. We didn't speak. What was there to say?

In the rearview mirror, the clearing disappeared into the night. swallowed up by the darkness as if it had never existed. But the image of that thing stayed with me, burned into my eyelids every time I blinked. We never talked about it, not really. Mom would change the subject or brush it off with a nervous laugh whenever I brought it up. But there was a look in her eyes sometimes, a shadow that passed over her when she thought I wasn't looking.

She remembered. She had to. I've driven past that stretch of road since then, always during the day and never alone. There's something about that place, something poisonous that lingers in the air like a bad memory. It's a part of the road that feels wrong, like a note played off key in an otherwise perfect song.

And maybe I'm just a local scared of a shadow, a man too quick to feel the cold, but I'll tell you this. I believe in what I saw that night, and I've learned the hard way that some roads in Fairbakes are best left untravelled after dark. I've never been one to leave things be, especially not after what I'd seen as a kid on farmer's loop.

So when curiosity got the better of me one late night, I found myself steering my truck down the familiar road towards Sheep Creek, driven by a mix of dread and determination. The sky was clear, stars twinkling coldly above, their light dim compared to the vivid memories that haunted me. The university was quiet as I passed, its buildings dark silhouettes against the night sky. The road to Sheep Creek was less traveled, more isolated.

I felt every mile stretch out, unwinding like the stories told in hushed tones around the fire back in town. Stories of lights, strange sounds, and shadows that moved with intent. As I approached the infamous bend near Sheep Creek, that's when it started. Flashes of light, brilliant and blinding. They erupted at intervals, lighting up the night like paparazzi at a scandal. At first, I thought it was lightning, but there was no thunder, just silence after each flash. A heavy expectant silence, as if the night held its breath.

The phenomenon was unnerving. Each flash seemed to originate from the same spot in the sky, then streaked downwards, bending unnaturally towards the ground. My grip tightened on the steering wheel, the leather creaking under my hands. I slowed down, straining to make sense of what I was seeing. It was like nothing natural I knew, more like a scene from a sci-fi movie, unsettling in its precision and repetition. I wasn't the only one out here.

Shadows moved at the edges of the road. People from nearby homes, drawn out by the spectacle, or perhaps by the same morbid curiosity that had snagged me. But their faces weren't filled with wonder, they were etched with fear, their eyes wide, their movements jittery. This community, once vibrant, now seemed cloaked in a collective unease, a shared secret that no one wanted to acknowledge. Turning back seemed the sensible thing to do, yet the part of me that needed answers pressed on.

I drove further, the road now less a path and more a passage through a waking nightmare. Then, as I rounded the curve where the creek was closest, the entire area exploded in light. A flash so intense, it turned night into day for a heartbeat, revealing the stark fear on the faces of those outside their homes. In that burst of light, I caught a glimpse of something more, a shape, a figure outlined against the brightness. It was human-like, yet distorted by the intensity of the light. Its features blurred and shifting.

It was there, and then it wasn't, as if it had never been more than a trick of the light. The darkness returned, oppressive and complete. I pulled over, heart pounding, my mind racing. What was happening here? Was it related to what I'd seen as a kid? Was this natural or something else? The light never came again that night, but the chill that settled over me felt like it might never leave.

I drove home in a daze, the echoes of those flashes like after images on my retinas. I knew I'd be back, though. Some part of me couldn't let me. go, couldn't stop until I understood. But another part of me, the primal, instinctive part, whispered that some things, once seen, can never be unseen, and maybe, just maybe, they're not meant to be. The drive back to that forsaken stretch of road near Sheep Creek was a journey I made out of desperation more than courage. Every mile closer to where I'd seen the bizarre

lightning and the shadowy figure, my resolve twisted with a nod of fear. but the need for answers, for some resolution to the haunting questions that had followed me since childhood, pushed me onward. That evening, the sky was a bruised mix of purples and blacks, clouds rolling in thick over the horizon, like a curtain about to drop on the last act of a play. I parked my truck off the side of the road just before the bend that led to the heart of the disturbances. The air was electric, tinged with the scent of an oncoming storm, and for a moment I hesitated, my hand on the door handle, wondering if some stories were better left unfinished.

Stepping out, I felt the static cling to my clothes, prickle at my skin. The wind picked up, carrying whispers of the past, echoes of my mother's scream, the haunting voids of that creature's eyes. I walked toward the bend, my flashlight cutting a swath through the darkness, every shadow making me jump, every rustle in the bushes tightening the grip on my nerves. As I rounded the curve, the ground suddenly vibrated underfoot. A deep, resonant hum filled the air, a sound that seemed as if the earth itself was groaning. Ahead, the sky split open with a final, cataclysmic flash of light. It was unlike any lightning I'd ever known. It struck the ground, sending up a plume of sparks

and dirt, and for a split second, it illuminated everything. The trees, the road, the fear etched deeply into my own features. In that glare, I saw it again. The figure from before, clearer now, unmistakably human in shape yet otherworldly and presence. It stood at the center of the luminous storm, arms raised as if commanding the elements themselves. The sight of it rooted me to the spot, a primal part of my brain screaming to run, while another, deeper part urged me to stay, to understand. then just as quickly the light was gone sucked back into the clouds and with it the figure disappeared the darkness returned deeper than before a blanket that smothered all my senses

i stood there heart pounding breathing ragged as the realization dawned on me the figure wasn't just a figment or a shadow it was real as real as the fear that clawed at my throat I don't know how long I stood there, caught between the world I knew, and one that defied explanation. When I finally turned back to my truck, the dread that had accompanied me felt lighter, replaced by a weary acceptance. Some mysteries aren't meant to be solved, not completely. Some truths are too vast, too ancient, bound up in the very fabric of places like Fairbakes. As I drove home, the first drops of rain began to fall, tapping against the windshield in a slow, methodical beat. They seemed to cleanse the air, wash away some of the night's sharp edges. I knew I wouldn't return to Sheep Creek. I had seen enough to know that some roads, especially those we

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It's time we started hunting them. I can work with that. This should be tons of fun. Marvel television's daredevil born again, now streaming only on Disney Plus. The storm caught us off guard, pummeling the countryside with a fury that seemed almost personal. Rain lashed against the windshield like gravel as Kayla's friend Nick squinted into the unrelenting night. My hands clutched the cold passenger seat, my knuckles white, my stomach churning with every flash of lightning that illuminated the sky. Can't see a thing out here, Nick muttered. His voice tinged with worry. He slowed the car to a crawl.

The headlights caught glimpses of water flooding the ditches beside the road, turning our route into a treacherous stream. Kayla leaned forward from the back seat, her usual bubbly self oddly quiet. There's a place up ahead, she said. We can stop there until this lets up. I twisted to look at her, trying to read her expression in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. What place, I asked. Just an old shack my uncle used to talk about. He said it's been empty for years.

We'll be fine there. Nick didn't argue. The fear of a crash in this downpour seemed a greater risk than taking. taking refuge in some deserted building. We turned off the main road at the next gap in the hedge, tires sloshing through mud and water. The shack appeared as a dark silhouette against the stormy backdrop, its shape blotchy and indistinct like a smudge of charcoal on wet paper.

We parked and dashed through the rain, which by now felt like icy needles against my skin. Inside the shack was grim and unwelcoming. The air smelled of damp wood and mold. my flashlight beam danced across bare walls and an uneven floor strewn with leaves and debris a couple of broken chairs and an old table were the only furnishings it was far from a haven but it was shelter we'll be okay here until morning nick declared more to convince himself than us i thought he checked his phone frowned and shoved it back into his pocket no signal kala pulled a couple of candles from her bag she always was the prepared one and lit them. The small flames flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls. It's kind of creepy, huh? She said with a half smile, trying to cut the tension. I forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow even to my own ears. Yeah, just a bit. We set up in one corner of the shack,

laying out our wet jackets to dry and huddling together for warmth. The storm outside did not abate, each thunderclap a reminder of how isolated we were. As the hours ticked by the initial adrenaline of our mad dash into the shack faded, replaced by an uneasy silence. Every sound seemed amplified in the small confined space. The wind howled through cracks in the timber, and somewhere in the distance, a branch snapped. Thunder rolled over the hills like a series of explosions. And then, amidst the cacophony of the storm, I heard something else, something that didn't fit. A soft, moaning wail that seemed to come from inside the shack. I sat at up, my heart hammering in my chest. Did you hear that? I whispered. Nick and Kayla were still,

listening intently. After a moment Kayla shook her head. It's just the wind, she said. But the sound came again, a mournful cry that sent shivers down my spine. This time, I wasn't the only one who heard it. What in the world is that? Nick breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. We stared at each other in the dim candlelight, the shadows around us suddenly menacing. Outside the storm raged, but inside a different kind of fear was taking hold. Morning never felt more like a continuation of night. The storm still rattled the old shack, pressing us into another gloomy day. I woke to the chill of dawn, an unwelcome cold seeping through the thin walls.

Nick's bed, nothing more than a pile of old blankets in the corner, was empty. The blankets folded neatly. His belongings gone. Nick, I called out, my voice sounding strange in the confined space. No answer. I nudged Kayla awake, her eyes fluttering open with confusion. He's gone, I said, gesturing to the empty corner. Her expression shifted from sleepiness to concern as she scanned the room.

Maybe he went outside, she suggested, though her tone lacked conviction. We dressed quickly and stepped out into the room. the gray wash of early morning. The rain had turned into a drizzle, the clouds hanging low like a shroud over the landscape. There was no sign of Nick, no footprints in the muddy ground outside the shack. The car, our lifeline to the outside world, was also missing. Panic fluttered in my chest like a trapped bird. He wouldn't just leave us here, I muttered more to myself than to Kayla. Let's check around, she said, leading the way as we circled the shack. The surrounding fields, barren and soaked, offered no clues. We called his name until our voices grew hoarse,

the only replies the rustle of wind through the wet grass and the distant rumble of thunder. Back inside, the shack felt smaller, the air heavier. We rummaged through the scant provisions we had, some protein bars, a half-empty bottle of water, and realized how dire our situation had become. I'm going to check the shack again, I declared, determined to find anything Nick might have left behind, or overlooked clues about the building itself. The interior of the shack seemed unchanged at first glance, but as I moved a candle closer to the walls, something caught my eye. A seam, not quite natural, suggested a door where none had appeared before. My heart raced. I pressed against it, the wood cold and unyielding under my fingertips. It's like a secret door, I whispered to

Kayla, who joined me with a skeptical frown. It's just an old shack, Cora. These places have weird construction, she said, but her voice faltered when she saw the outline I was tracing. Together we pushed. The door remained firm, mocking our efforts with its silent, stoic facade. Discouraged, I stepped back, my foot catching on a loose floorboard. It creaked ominously. revealing a hidden space beneath. Look at this, I said, kneeling down. Inside, we found a small box, dust covered and forgotten. It contained a few old photographs and letters,

nothing that explained the door or Nick's disappearance but a glimpse into the shack's mysterious past. The day waned, and with each passing hour, the shack seemed to close in around us. The moans from the previous night returned, this time louder, clearer. We clung to the light of our candles as shadows stretched and twisted along the walls. We're not alone in here, I said, my voice barely a whisper, dread settling in my stomach like a stone.

Kayla nodded, her eyes wide, I know. As night fell, our resolve hardened. We had to understand the shack's secrets, confront whatever lurked within or beyond that strange, immovable door. Fear twisted with curiosity. The need to know, overriding the impulse to flee. We'll find him, I said to Kayla, though I didn't know if I was promising her or myself. We prepared to face another night, the storm outside mirroring the turmoil within.

The morning light did nothing to alleviate the darkness that had settled inside the shack. I awoke with a start, my heart pounding, the dream of Kayla's transformation still vivid in my mind. She was different now, her once warm eyes replaced by an ominous glow that seemed to pulse with malice. Cora, are you okay?

Her voice broke through my thoughts. Too sweet, too calm. I nodded, keeping my eyes on her, watching for any signs of the creature I'd seen in my nightmare. But all I saw was Kayla, looking concerned and slightly perplexed by my intense gaze. We need to do something, I finally said, my voice firm despite the shaking I felt inside.

We can't just stay here. Kayla agreed, though reluctantly. The storm has lessened. Maybe we can find the car, or at least get a signal on our phones. We ventured outside, the air fresh with the scent of rain and earth. The ground squelched under our boots as we trudged through the muddy field. The shack, viewed in the light of day, was even more desolate, a stark reminder of our isolation. As we walked, the landscape seemed to shift subtly, the familiar becoming foreign.

trees appear denser and darker than I remembered, their branches twisting into grotesque shapes. The sky, a dull gray expanse when we started, now pulsed with a deep, unsettling red. Kayla, do you see that? I pointed to the sky, my voice barely a whisper. She looked up, her brow furrowing. It's just the storm, Cora, weird weather out here. But it wasn't just the weather. The air felt charged, heavy with a presence that watched. waited. We reached the spot where we thought we'd left the car, but it was gone, replaced by more dense, impenetrable woods. Panic rose in my throat. We should go back, I said, turning to Kayla, but she was no longer beside me. Turning around, I saw her standing

several feet away, her back to me. Kayla? I called out, but she didn't respond. As I approached, she turned slowly, her eyes now glowing that dreadful red. The sight of her stopped me cold. This wasn't my friend. This was something else. Something dark and terrifying. Kayla? I tried again, my voice trembling.

She smiled, but it was all wrong. A grotesque mimicry of human emotion. We can't leave, Cora. We're part of this place now. I backed away, my mind racing. Everything inside me screamed to run, to escape the nightmare that had ensnared us. I turned and fled, not knowing where I was going, only that I needed to get away.

The woods closed in around me, branches clawing at my clothes, tripping my feet. I heard her behind me, her footsteps unnaturally silent. The red light from the sky seemed to guide her, a beacon for the darkness that had consumed her. Exhaustion overtook fear, and I stumbled to the ground, gasping for breath. I looked up, expecting to see Kayla. But instead, the woods parted, revealing a massive, shadowy figure. Its countless eyes burned with the same red light, and I knew this was the source, the heart of the darkness.

I waited for the end, for the creature to consume me as it had Kayla, but it merely watched, its gaze heavy and sad. As if disappointed, it turned and vanished into the trees. I lay there, the cold seeping into my bones, the silence oppressive. After a long moment I gathered my strength and stood. The shack was visible through the trees, a beacon of relative safety in the madness. I made my way back, the door creaking ominously as I entered the familiar yet tainted refuge. The shack was empty, Kayla was gone, and I was alone with the haunting red light that filtered through the cracks.

Sitting down, I pulled out my journal, the pages fluttering in the faint breeze. I began to write, not sure who would ever read it, but needing to record the truth of what had happened here, in this place where reality bent and darkness dwelt. Outside, the red sky darkened, and I knew that whatever piece I'd found was only temporary. But for now, it was enough to have a moment to breathe, to gather my thoughts, and prepare for what was to come,

whatever that might be. Spring just slid into your DMs. Grab that boho look for that rooftop dinner. Those sandals that can keep up with you, and hang some string lights to give your patio a glow up. Springs Calling. Ross, work your magic.