Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 5 Scary Forest Stories | Deep Woods Horror Stories for Rainy Night

Episode Date: August 28, 2024

These are 5 Scary Forest Stories | Deep Woods Horror Stories for Rainy Night Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ ►Complex_Glove1124 Timestamps: 00:00 Intro 00:00:18 Story 1 00:19:16 Story 2 00:30:35 Story 3 00:38:22 Story 4 00:48:07 Story 5 Music by: 'Decoherence' by Scott Buckley - released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wM_AjpJL5I4&t=0s Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #deepwoods #forest 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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for the stay. It might have been the peak of stupidity, but there I was again, listening to those horror stories. I was 12 and had just discovered an endless supply of horror. Every day followed the same routine, waking up,

listening to people read these stories. and then being unable to sleep at night. Now that I'm older, I find it humorous how I would regret it at night, and then be filled with excitement during the day. That's just who I was. I had loved the idea of cryptids and skinwalkers roaming in the thick woods and deep in mountain caves, but as I grew older and my rational thinking overtook my naivete, those thoughts became just that.

Thoughts. It may come as a surprise, but I don't believe in the supernatural. With the digitalization of the world, how could there not be video evidence of the supernatural? Sure, there are videos out there, some easier to debunk than others, that claim to have definitive proof of the supernatural. I never found a video convincing, and as I studied CGI and SFX, well, a video could no longer cut it for me. I had to experience it.

I guess that's what pushed me into solo camping in the first place. Experiencing something firsthand would change my entire. life and way of thinking. It'd go beyond my thought that all we were here for is to be, just as a leaf blows in the wind. But let me reiterate, this story I'm about to tell isn't about the supernatural. No. It's about a horror that's scarier than any ghoul, ghost, or crypted. It's about a horror that can only be produced by one thing, another human. At the tail end of my last year in college, I had finally decided what I wanted to do with my life. I moved to Lexington. Kentucky, while continuing my studies of CGI and special effects, I'm from New York and found

that Lexington provided the perfect balance of city life and space to keep me happy. On Friday nights I'd go out on the town, and on Saturday nights I'd choose to spend them out in the wilderness. The Appalachian Mountains were, not accounting for the two-hour drive, practically in my backyard. I was no stranger to the stories and legends the Appalachian Trail held, and the countless warnings against solo camping. Still, many did it, and many returned, disappointed that their hopes of an unexplainable occurrence were crushed. Nothing ever happened, but yet the reputation of the trails grew darker. Naturally, if I wanted firsthand experience of something otherworldly, this had to be the place to go. The first time I went camping, I went with two of my co-workers

who were quickly becoming my best friends, Eric and Nate. So do you believe, all the stories, I asked. We had just gotten out of the city and were making our way deeper into forested areas. Believe what? Eric asked as he drove us along with Nate in the passenger seat. The skin walkers and the urban legends, you know, the don't be out past dark stuff. Eric and Nate looked at each other and then began laughing. What's so funny? I asked while cracking a smile. Ah, nothing, Nate sighed. Just the longer you live here. the more you'll get it. So you don't believe it?

Eric followed the curve of the road and up ahead I could see trees becoming thicker. The seemingly ending fields had turned into mountains and small rocky cliffs. I don't believe in a lot of things, but I tell you what, you will not see me out there alone, especially not at night. Nate scoffed.

There are only two things to be scared of, and they ain't only from these woods. Yeah, yeah. Okay, if you're so certain, then what are they? Eric asked. Just then I felt my ears pop. Silence and darkness. If you've got those two things, suddenly you're in a nightmare. Sit alone, in the dark, and in your silent bedroom.

You'll start thinking things that aren't there. Nate pointed to his temple. Your mind is the most terrifying place you can be. We pulled into a visitor center deep in the smoky mountains and began the hike to our campsite a couple of hours before noon. When asked where I'd like to camp, I told them the most reclusive and cut-off place we could go. Nate said he knew a spot, but that it would take a couple of hours of hiking. I said that was fine.

Hiking can for most people be very fun, but there's another side to hiking that isn't known until you've actually experienced it. It's grueling. There are bugs, sweat, hills, sun, and if you aren't wearing the proper shoes, like Eric, there are also blisters. Nate and I had a better time. Sure, there were moments when I felt each step, but when I looked up and around at where I was, those steps seemed to fade. And then, before I knew it, we were at our campsite. To call it a campsite was a massive understatement. It was more of an open field, nothing more, and nothing less. But it did offer one thing that was unique.

There was a shelter a little over a mile away. After setting up our tent, we ventured to the shelter before it would be too dark. We were about halfway there, according to my estimation, when a sign on a tree caught my attention. Rusted and faded as can be, it read, Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ. Right underneath it were two tall stones sticking out from the ground. Gravestones, Eric said. He must have seen me staring. I looked at Eric. For what? Eric began walking past me and stopped. I don't know, but I've never seen a hidden burial ground this hidden. Then Eric continued walking. I hesitated for a moment, taking one last glance. The tree broken light from the setting sun bathed the sign and stones in an orange glow.

And suddenly, I had second guesses about staying the night. You coming? Eric yelled. That feeling disappeared. Yeah. And I left the rusted sign and stones behind. The shelter was pretty underwhelming. From what I've come to learn, shelters have a sort of negative connotation to them. The amount of bugs, mice, and snakes aren't the only off-putting aspects of a shelter for hikers. Sometimes shelters can be filled with campers, and sleeping next to someone you don't know in a secluded area

is worse than any mouse or snake. But there is one thing about shelters that I didn't know about until that night. There are shelter logs. For those who don't know, some shelters have a notebook for hikers to write in. It's Nate's favorite. part of hiking along the Appalachian Mountains. He pulled the black notebook out from a Ziploc

bag. You can find good stories in these things. It's fun to see the changes from shelter to shelter. I asked what it was, and Nate explained it to me. We began from the beginning, everything from short-dated logs to drawings. That was, until Nate flipped to the last two pages. Holy crap, he said. Eric, who was taking pictures, was now intrigued. What is it? Nate dropped the notebook showing us what was inside. There, from top to bottom, was the same phrase, God help me. It was written large, and then small. Sometimes the ink was dark and rips in the paper.

Other times the ink was thin and almost faded. This is new writing, Nate said. Well, that's a bit unsettling. Eric nervously chuckled. I grabbed the notebook for a closer look. Man, I don't believe in God, but this is a bit of a bit of something. pretty creepy. Nate took the notebook from my hands and put it back in the Ziploc bag. Hey, probably just some kids messing with everyone. We need to get back anyway. It's getting too

dark. Nate was right. By the time we got back to camp, the sun had completed its daily rotation and plunged us into darkness. And after starting a fire, the night went by without any complications. We roasted hot dogs, burnt s'mores, told childhood stories, and eventually tried our best to sleep. I think I was the last one to fall asleep. I remember thinking that night just how vulnerable sleep truly is. All of our senses are briefly shut down, and for those who are heavy sleepers, their muted senses don't return until the body allows them to. I was a heavy sleeper and couldn't hear those nighttime forest sounds. That night was normal, and so were the other couple of times I went camping with those two. I had learned to appreciate the stiffness of the

ground, the dirt, the bugs, and most importantly, the quiet noises at night. I don't know if it was the overconfidence or me being naive, but today, almost two months later, I returned, this time alone. Nate gave me the address and the trail map. This was all after I assured him that I wasn't going alone. Before I left work that Friday afternoon, he got real quiet. You have to be careful. Of course, I said. No. He looked at me more seriously than I'd ever seen him look. I mean really careful. What do you mean?

He sighed. Last week I went camping just down the trail from where we all went. Most hikers hiked the same direction. So logically I checked the log from the next shelter in line. There was nothing. Oh, I said. All right. You don't get it, man.

There was nothing like what we saw. No God save us. No writing from the top to bottom, not even a mention. of God. Wait, so. Bring your 9mm, he said, while walking back towards his desk. I know we told you not to bring it last time, but this time, I would. And then Nate disappeared around the corner. The next day, I arrived at the visitor center around noon. With it being in the middle of summer, the sun would stay out for just a bit longer, and without Eric's stops, I was in no rush. I made it to my campsite within five hours. It was a little bit of summer. It was a little bit of

was exactly as I remembered it, a small open field hardly with enough room to fit more than a tent and a campfire. The sun was still out, but it was late afternoon and nothing came quicker than nightfall. I settled in, and then I set out to find that shelter. After what Nate told me, the shelter log was the first thing on my mind. I had no idea where exactly it was. There were only two things I knew. One, the general direction, and two, there would be a distinct landmark. And so I set off. If I could find that graveyard, then I knew I was on the right track. I pushed through trees and bushes and wasn't too concerned with stepping in the right spots,

because the moment I stopped and looked up, I saw it. That same rusted and faded sign. Only this time, the G and God, was faded almost completely off. I approached the tree and placed a lantern from my bag on one of the stones. I would be back here once night hit. As I imagined, the shelter wasn't hard to get to after finding the hidden grave site. It was in the same state of underwhelmingness as before. I wouldn't imagine a hiker staying in this.

This time, I noticed something carved into one of the logs. It was tally marks, and after counting, I determined there were 57 tallies, and that's when I grabbed the shelter log. This time, though, the notebook was significantly, lighter than last time. In fact, there were only a couple of sheets of paper in it. I opened it to see the same God Save Us messages. And then I saw that all the other pages of logs were ripped out. The next page was different, only slightly. This time, God Save Me was written from top to bottom. I kept flipping the pages until I read what sent chills down my spine. Your God can't save me.

For the previous pages the handwriting was scribbled, hard to read, and ugly. This time the handwriting was clean, like it had come from a typewriter or printer. I flipped the page, immerse your soul before your God fails you, yet again. I flipped to the last page. He's awake. There was something very wrong. These weren't preachings of religion. And if the messages weren't enough, the ink on the last page looked wet. the messages on the last page had just been written.

I suddenly felt as though someone had been watching me. I threw the log down and looked through the trees. It was all nothing but silence. From what I could see, there was no one near me, no one watching me, but I knew I had to get away from that shelter. I hiked away from that place and kept looking behind. My nerves didn't calm until I had made it to the hidden gravesite. To do what I had planned, it needed to be nighttime.

I tied a string to a nearby tree and then made my way back to my campsite. There I made dinner, and when it was too dark to see more than 20 feet in front of you, I grabbed my 9mm and followed the string. With a flashlight you can hardly see in the dark. Sure, it helps, but it only illuminates the things nearest to you. What a flashlight in the dark does more effectively is let anything else see you. I was thinking about that at the time. Before long, I was back at the gravesite.

I kneeled before the stones and opened my bag. There, I took out an EMF reader. I had read that this would help me communicate with spirits. And where else would be a better spot than to ghost hunt by a hidden grave site, at night, alone, and in the middle of the woods. I turned off my light, but before I could turn on the EMF reader, I heard it. I see you. It was a high-pitched playful voice, like a man trying to intimidate a child.

My heart dropped and beat out of my chest all at once. Regret instantly filled my blood. I had to be anywhere else but here. I didn't respond and put my hands over the flashlight. Then I turned the flashlight on. With my hands letting out a small amount of light, I grabbed onto the string and tiptoed through the leaves. Every second I prayed I wouldn't hear another voice,

or more leaves rustling, other than my own. Even when I saw my campfire, I didn't feel any relief. I was a five-hour hike away from my car, and at night, the hike would take much longer. I had no other thing to do but stay the night. There was nothing interesting for me to stay awake. I poured water on the fire and then climbed into my tent. I brought everything inside my tent, including my 9mm. In the middle of the woods, and without the snoring of your camping buddies, every sound is amplified and imagined into something that it's not. The small breeze of a wind can cause sticks to fall, sounding like heavy footsteps. The nightly routine of a raccoon can sound like a person walking up to your tent.

The howling of a coyote can sound like demented screams of a lost hiker. Owl screeches, crickets chirping, cicadas buzzing. All of these can play tricks on your mind. Nate was right. your mind can turn nothing into something horrid. This would already be true, but with the pressing concern that I was not alone out here, it wasn't the noises that got to me. It was the anticipation of a noise.

Sitting in silence, hoping that you don't hear something is almost worse than actually hearing it. And that's the state I laid in for an hour. Holding my 9mm and paranoid, I rested my head against my pillow, praying that I'd make it through. My eyes became heavy, my breathing slowed, my senses started going out starting with my smell, and thankfully my hearing was last to go out. Because just then, I heard the faintest laugh. My eyes shot open and adrenaline took the place of melatonin. I gripped the 9mm and felt my heartbeat through my fingers.

Help me! This time the voice was much louder and closer, but once again sounded high-pitched. I didn't get a chance to think or respond because just then I heard someone running straight towards me. Leaves and branches flew through the forest as this man flew towards me. Get the hell back! I have a gun! I yelled while raising the gun to the tent door. The man stopped running. For a moment there was a pained silence while I began to feel tears fall down my eyes. I want to see you again. Then I shot my gun. I hadn't actually shot my gun with without ear protection on.

I always heard that gunshots were loud, and I was prepared for it. Or at least I thought I was. A gunshot is louder than you'd imagine. My ears started ringing, and I couldn't tell whether the man left or stayed. I couldn't move. I laid there pointing the gun at the zipper until my body gave out. Eventually, I fell asleep and woke at sunrise. I don't imagine I need to oversell how relieved I was once I had woken up, but I can't

begin to describe the despair I felt. when I slid open the zipper to the tent. There on the ground in front of me was the head of a bunny, nothing else but the head. I screamed then in horror. Being a heavy sleeper didn't just mean I tuned out Eric and Nate snoring. It tuned out everything.

After grabbing my backpack and leaving my tent behind, I made the hike back, only putting away my 9mm halfway down the mountain. I got home early in the afternoon. I began to unpack my bag, but there was something in it that wasn't mine. It was the shelter log. That man was in my tent.

He saw me sleeping. Besides my cards and my wallet being out of order, there was nothing else gone or added. It's hard to remember the exact way your wallet is, but I always keep my debit first. Now it was in the middle. With the knowledge of what it contained, I stared at the shelter log for what seemed like forever. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. I had to open it. The first couple of pages were the same religious.

scripture. What terror the first pages had had nothing compared to the next. There was only one sentence on the next page. I will see you again, Caleb. And I started crying. I don't know how he knew my name. Then it clicked. My cards in my wallet were out of order. He hadn't just been inside my tent. He was also in my backpack. But that was hardly the worst of it, because if he had seen my ID, my name wasn't the only thing on there. My address was, too. Yamava Resort and Casino at San Manuel is California's number one entertainment destination for today's superstars. Catch the Jonas Brothers return to the Yamava Theater stage on April 30th, the powerful vocals of Demi Levato on May 17th,

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All made with no artificial dyes. Try Welch's fruit snacks today. I've never been much for rules, not like some folks seem to be. You know the type. With their meticulous habits and self-righteous talk about leaving the woods better than they found, them. My old man wasn't cut from that cloth, and neither am I. When we camped, it was about freedom, the kind that doesn't sweat a trail of empty beer cans or a crushed styrofoam cooler left behind. The woods are old, they'd survive us. That Friday, I loaded up the back of my pickup,

a few crates of beer, a pack of hot dogs, and my trusty old hammock. My buddy from work had been running his mouth about some overlook an hour outside the city, near the Santa Lucia Mountain Range. Perfect spot to unwind, he'd said. Maybe he was right. I needed the kind of weekend where the world shrunk down to a fire pit and a piece of sky. The drive out there was typical California scenery, rolling hills giving way to rugged mountain vistas. By the time I turned off the main road, the city noise had faded, replaced by the sound of my tires crunching on gravel and dirt. I found the overlook around noon, just as the day was heating up.

It was more beautiful than I'd expected, a sweeping view of the valley below, thick with greenery and silent as a promise. I set up camp with practiced ease, slinging my hammock between two sturdy pines and setting out my fire logs. I wasn't planning on much, maybe read a bit, or just watch the clouds roll by while I let the calm of the place seep into my bones. First order of business, though, was lunch. I made a sandwich, popped open a beer, and rolled a joint to take the edge off the week.

It was as I settled into my hammock, the buzz of the high mingling with the drowsy afternoon heat, that I first noticed them, just silhouettes at first against the bright sky on the ridge across from me. My heart kicked up a notch. Rangers, cops, I couldn't be sure. They just stood there, wide-brimmed hats like something out of an old cereal box cartoon, not moving, not speaking. I watched them, and they watched me. My fire was small, but it would be visible from up there. A chill ran down my spine despite the warmth of the day. Why were they just standing there? Did they expect me to pack up and leave, or come down and slap a fine in my

hand? But as the sun dipped lower, they vanished as quietly as they had appeared. I told myself I was being paranoid, city nerves that didn't know how to handle the deep quiet of the wilderness. The rest of the evening passed in a haze of smoke and the crackle of fire. I roasted my hot dogs as the sun set, painting the sky with strokes of orange and purple. By the time I crawled into my hammock, the only sounds were the distant calls of nightbirds and the whisper of the wind through the trees. But sleep didn't come easy. I twisted and turned. The image of those figures burned into the backs of my eyelids. When I finally drifted off, it wasn't to rest, but to dream. They were there in my dreams too, those watchers on the ridge, close enough now that I could almost

touch them. They stood silent and judging, their outlines sharp against the firelight. And me, I could only lie there, caught between sleep and waking, wondering what they wanted for me. The morning light crept through the pines like a slow apology, but it did nothing. to ease the weight of my dreams. I woke with a start, half expecting to find those silhouetted watchers still standing around my hammock, but there was only the empty forest and the remains of last night's fire. Maybe it had all been just a whiskey dream, stirred up by too much solitude and the eerie quiet of the mountains. Still, as I fired up the stove for breakfast, the egg sizzling in the pan couldn't drown out the whispers of unease that buzzed at the back of my mind.

I scanned the ridge repeatedly, half expecting to see the watchers return with the morning mist. But the ridge remained empty, and I felt foolish for the fear that nagged at me. I washed down breakfast with a cold beer and decided a long hike might clear my head. I packed up some beers in my backpack, slinging it over a shoulder as I set off deeper into the woods. The forest was dense here, the sunlight dappling through the thick canopy overhead, head, and every snap of a twig underfoot echoed like a gunshot. I tossed empty cans into the underbrush, a breadcrumb trail of aluminum and disregard, telling myself it was no big deal.

But the deeper I wandered, the more I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't alone. It wasn't just the usual rustle of wildlife or the whisper of the trees. It was like something was watching me, a presence I felt in the pit of my stomach. The shadows seemed to stretch and twist, forming shapes that were all. almost human, almost too real. I tried to laugh it off, blame it on the beer and the isolation, but laughter died in my throat as quick as it came. When I stumbled upon a stream, it's water clear and cold. I plunged my face into it, trying to wash away the cobwebs of fear. My father's words echoed in my mind. Running water is fine, as I drank deeply. But then, a branch snapped nearby, sharp and

close, and I jerked upright, water dripping from my chin, every sense suddenly alert. I scanned the trees, heart hammering in my chest. Nothing moved, but the feeling of being watched grew heavier, more oppressive. I felt it then, a primal urge to flee, the instinct of a prey animal when it knows a predator is near. I didn't wait. I ran, crashing through the underbrush, driven by a fear I couldn't name. The forest blurred past, a smear of green and brown, until I tripped over a root and went sprawling. I lay there, chest heaving, waiting for the end I was sure was coming. But nothing happened, only the forest, watching and waiting. When I finally stood, it was with a grim determination. I couldn't spend another night here,

not with the shadows and the watchers and the whispers. The walk back to camp was torturous, every rustle a threat, every shadow a watcher. By the time I got back, the sun was low and the fear had settled deep in my bones. I couldn't bear to look at the ridge, but I couldn't keep my eyes off it either. And there they were again, just as before, silhouettes against the dying light. dinner was a hasty affair. I burnt the hot dogs, my hands shaking as I turned them over the fire. The watchers didn't move, didn't speak, but their silence was louder than any threat.

As darkness fell, I crawled into my hammock, every muscle tensed for flight. That night the forest seemed to hold its breath. And as I lay there, the watchers whispered their judgment, and I finally understood, I was the intruder here, and it was time to make things right. The final night in the mountains arrived like a verdict. Despite my attempts to rationalize the day's eerie happenings, a cold dread had settled deep within me, one I could no longer ignore. My hammock swayed gently as the shadows lengthened,

and the sun dipped behind the ridge, casting the forest into an early gloom. I lay there, too frightened to close my eyes, watching the ridge where the watchers had stood. As twilight deepened into night, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to change, something final and terrifying. The air grew thick, the usual sounds of the forest muted, as if nature itself held its breath in anticipation.

I strained my ears, hoping for any sound that would break the silence, but there was nothing. Only the oppressive, thick quiet of a forest too still. The ridge was a dark outline against the starless sky, but I knew they were there. The watchers. I could feel their eyes on me, their silent judgment heavier than the darkness itself. The fire I had kept small and controlled flickered, as if it too felt the weight of their gaze,

its light stammering like a failing heartbeat. Then as the last light of my fire died down to glowing embers, they appeared. Not on the ridge this time, but all around my campsite. shadows within shadows darker than the night their forms more distinct now more threatening they were no longer merely watching this time they approached a slow and deliberate procession that surrounded me there was no escape i tried to stand to flee into the protective embrace of the forest but my legs wouldn't obey paralyzed not by the cold but by an unearthly fear i could only watch as they drew closer Each step seemed to drain the warmth from the air, a creeping chill that whispered a forgotten things, ancient and vengeful. The leader, taller and more imposing than the others, stepped forward. His silhouette was blurred, like a smudge of darkness, but his presence was commanding,

almost royal in its disdain. He carried a staff, or perhaps it was a branch, twisted and gnarled like the trees themselves. He stopped just at the edge of the firelight, the end of the embers casting eerie shadows across his formless face. You have been warned, his voice was the rustle of dead leaves, the crack of breaking branches. You have seen the signs, yet you persist in your ignorance. I tried to speak, to plead for understanding, to explain that I had learned my lesson, that I would change, but my voice was gone, stolen by the wind that now rose around us, carrying with it the cold of the deep woods. Too late, he whispered, and the forest echoed his verdict. The womb of creation does not suffer fools. With a sweeping motion, he brought

the branch down, striking the ground with a force that seemed to shake the earth itself. The world spun, the ground beneath me opening up, swallowing the light, the warmth, the very air I breathed. And then, there was nothing but darkness, a suffocating, all-encompassing black that filled my senses. I could no longer see the forest, the watchers, or the sky above. I was alone, utterly alone in a darkness that would never end. As I lay there, consumed by the void, the last thing I heard was the fading whisper of the forest, a mournful sound that might have been the wind,

or perhaps a final chilling farewell. You will never desecrate these woods again. You will remain forgotten as a warning to all. The darkness was complete, and I knew no more. I never thought a small town like Millbrook could feel so eerie. As soon as I stepped off the bus, I could tell this place was different. The air felt heavy, and even the way people glanced at me made me shiver a little. I pulled my jacket tighter around me, clutching my bag which held my camera, notebook, and recorder.

Tools of my trade as a freelance journalist who chases stories about unknown creatures and spooky legends. I made my way through the narrow streets of the town to the only inn around, called the sleeping bear. It looked quaint and cozy from the outside, with its flower boxes and warm light glowing from the windows. But the second I mentioned why I was there, the mood shifted. The innkeeper, a burly man named Tom, frowned deeply. You're here about the whisperer, aren't you? Tom's voice was rough like gravel, and it made me more nervous than I wanted to admit. I nodded, trying to seem braver than I felt.

Yes, I've heard stories. I want to find out more about it. Tom glanced around nervously, then leaned closer. Listen, miss, it's best if you forget all about those tales, and head back where you came from. Nothing good comes from stirring up old stories, especially not here. But I wasn't about to leave, not when I was this close to discovering something big. Over the next couple of days, I talked to as many locals as a lot of people.

I could. They were reluctant at first, but my curiosity seemed to win them over. I learned that the whisperer was a creature of the shadows, as old as the forest itself. Some said it was a beast with glowing eyes and sharp claws, while others whispered that it could look just like a person to trick you into following it. Each story added to the chilling picture of what might be lurking in Blackwood Forest. Despite the warnings, I knew I had to go see for myself. I planned to take a short trip into the forest to gather some photos and maybe record any strange sounds. I couldn't shake off the feeling that this might be my biggest story yet. On the morning of my hike, the air was cool and misty. I packed my backpack with everything I might need, extra batteries,

a flashlight, some snacks, and plenty of water. Just as I was about to head out, Tom stopped me at the door of the inn. Please, he said. His eyes filled with genuine fear. Don't go into that forest. My daughter, she went in and, and. He couldn't finish, but he didn't have to. I could see the pain in his eyes, and it made my heart sink. I'm really sorry about your daughter, Tom, I said softly. I'll be careful, I promise. With that, I stepped outside, feeling the weight of his gaze on my back. The forest loomed in the distance, tall and foreboding, the trees like dark sentinels guarding their secrets. I took a deep breath and walked towards it, my boots crunching on the gravel road.

The moment I crossed into the shadow of the trees, the world seemed to change. The sounds of the town faded away, and a deep silence enveloped me. It was like stepping into another world, one waiting just for me. I turned on my voice recorder and whispered into the microphone. Here goes nothing. As I ventured deeper, the light dimmed and the air grew colder. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me, waiting. But I pushed forward, determined to uncover the truth hidden in the shadows of Blackwood Forest. The deeper I walked into Blackwood Forest, the stranger things felt. The trees grew so close together their branches tangled up like they were holding hands, blocking out most of the sunlight. It was like walking into twilight, even though it was like walking into twilight, even though it was. was only midday. The air was cool and damp, and everything was so quiet, too quiet. I kept expecting to hear birds or see squirrels, but there was nothing. Just silence. I kept my camera ready and my ears open, hoping to catch any sign of the whisperer. With each step, I told myself I was just here

to take some photos and record sounds, nothing more, but a part of me was both scared and excited at the chance of actually seeing something. As evening approached, I decided to set up camp. I found a small clearing and pitched my tent. Then, I gathered some sticks and lit a small fire to keep warm and maybe roast some marshmallows I brought along. Sitting there, with the fire crackling, the forest around me felt less scary. I pulled out my notebook and began writing down everything I had seen and heard so far, which wasn't much. That's when it started. At first I thought I was imagining it, the faintest whisper, like someone saying, Come, closer.

I froze, my heart thumping hard. I grabbed my voice recorder and held it out, hoping to catch the whispers again. Hello? I called out, trying to sound braver than I felt. Is someone there? The whisper came again, a bit louder this time. Closer, come closer. It felt like the voice was coming from all around me, swirling in the wind. swirling in the wind. I shivered, not just from the cold. I grabbed my flashlight and

shined it around the clearing, but there was only the forest, dark and silent beyond the firelight. Suddenly a twig snapped behind me. I spun around, my flashlight cutting through the darkness. For a split second, I saw two glowing eyes high off the ground, watching me. Then they disappeared. My heart raced, and I could barely breathe. Was that the whisperer? I didn't sleep much that night. I kept hearing whispers and every little noise made me jump. By the time dawn broke, I was a bundle of nerves. I quickly packed up my camp, eager to get back to the inn. But as I tried to find my way back, nothing looked familiar. The trail I had followed into the forest seemed to have vanished. I walked and walked, but everything just looked the same.

Trees, mist, and more trees. It was like the forest had changed overnight. Panthers. started to set in. The mist grew thicker, making it hard to see very far. I kept hearing those whispers, now saying things like, lost, so lost, and stay with us. Then, when I thought things couldn't get worse, I stumbled upon a creepy old cabin in the middle of nowhere. The door creaked open as I approached, like it was inviting me in. Inside, the cabin was dark and musty. Drawings and writings covered the walls, all of them about the whisperer. I barely had time to look around when I heard a loud shriek outside. Something slammed against the cabin, shaking the walls.

I dropped to the floor, covering my head, as the whole place trembled. The last thing I remember before everything went quiet was thinking, I should have listened to Tom. When I dared to look up, the cabin was still. I was too scared to move, but I knew I couldn't stay there. I had to get out and find my way back. But as I peaked outside, the forest seemed even, denser, the trees closing in around the cabin, and on the nearest tree carved deep into the

bark where the words, we'll be waiting. I knew then that the forest and the whisperer weren't going to let me go easily, but I also knew I couldn't give up. I had to get back to Millbrook and warn everyone about the whisperer before it was too late. Transport your senses with Sol de Janato's limited edition perfume mist collection at Sephora, sprits on lush notes of rainforest orchid and sea breeze with hafresco paraizzo. Embrace a floral and fruity scent inspired by Rio's nude beach with cheeky bikini or capture

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Really? To me, it's the runway-approved vehicle for its amazing style. What about remarkably adaptable vehicle because of its versatile cargo space? Or really admired vehicle? Oh, or really awesome vehicle. It really is the recreational activity vehicle. The stylish 2026 Toyota Rav4 Limited. What's your Rav for? My name is Alex, and I was super excited to go camping at Point Lookout State Park with my boyfriend, Dan, and another couple who were our friends. We were all looking forward to getting away for a weekend in May 2016. hoping to relax and have some fun. When we got there, the park was beautiful,

sitting right at the southernmost tip of Maryland, surrounded by the Chesapeake Bay. As soon as we arrived, we picked the best spot to set up our camp. It was right on the water, but hidden from the main road by a tall curtain of grass. It felt like our little private hideaway where we could hang out without anyone bothering us.

This was perfect, because we had brought along some snacks and stuff to chill out with. Dan and I weren't really experts at camping. In fact, this was my first time, and I was just thrilled to be out there, even though our tent setup was pretty pathetic. It was loose and wobbly, but we didn't mind, since we planned to spend most of our time outside exploring anyway. After setting up the tent, we all decided to walk around and check out the area. The park was huge, with different camping loops. Two of the loops were tucked away in wooded, areas, but we chose the one by the water because it felt special and had fewer people around.

There was also this old lighthouse not too far from our loop. We made a mental note to visit it the next day since it looked really neat and mysterious. As we walked, I felt a mix of excitement and a weird kind of feeling I couldn't quite place. The place was stunning, with wide open spaces and a quiet that was different from the city noise I was used to. It was peaceful, yet there was something about it that felt heavy, like when you're happy, but you can't shake off a slight worry at the back of your mind. While we were exploring, I needed to take a quick break, so I headed to the bathroom by myself.

On my way, something really strange happened. I saw a huge tortoise crossing the path right in front of me. It was massive, way bigger than any tortoise should be, and it looked straight at me as it passed. It didn't seem scared or in a hurry. It just walked slowly, watching me as I watched it. By the time I came out of the bathroom, the tortoise was gone. It had been moving so slowly, but there was no sign of it anywhere.

I looked around thinking it couldn't have gone far, but it was like it vanished into thin air. That really spooked me, but I shrugged it off and went back to find my friends. The first night was the toughest. Our campsite, although perfect during the day, felt different as the night rolled in. The wind picked up, and since our tent wasn't pitched properly, it flapped and rustled all night long. It felt like it would just lift off the ground and fly away with us inside. I barely slept, listening to the sounds of the tent and the wind howling around us.

It was an adventurous start to our camping trip, but little did I know. The real adventure hadn't even started yet. The next morning, after a night of barely sleeping, thanks to the noisy flapping tent. We all woke up a bit grumpy, but excited for the day ahead. We had planned to visit the old lighthouse we had seen the day before. It was just a short drive from our campsite, and I couldn't wait to check it out. I've always loved lighthouses. There's something magical about them, like they're from another time. After a quick breakfast of cereal and fruit, we headed over to the lighthouse. The weather was perfect, sunny and clear, not too hot, just right for exploring. When we got to, got there, we joined a small group of tourists for a guided tour. The tour guide was an older man

who knew lots of stories about the lighthouse and the area around it. As we climbed the narrow stairs inside the lighthouse, the guide told us about the people who had lived there long ago. He mentioned something that stuck with me, the man who built the lighthouse, and the next two owners all died not long after moving in. He said it so casually, but it sent chills down my spine. It made me wonder if there was something mysterious or even haunted about the lighthouse. The view from the top was breathtaking. We could see the entire park and the sparkling water of the Chesapeake Bay. It was beautiful, but standing there, looking out, I couldn't shake off the eerie feeling the guide's stories had left in me. Later that day, we went back to our campsite

and spent the afternoon hiking around the park. We found a little secluded spot by the shore, and hung out there, skipping stones and laughing a lot. It was fun, and for a while I forgot about my uneasy feelings. But as night fell, everything changed. The wind that had howled the previous night was gone. Instead, there was a deep, unsettling silence that settled over the campground. It was so quiet. You could hear a pin drop. That silence was creepy, and I felt exposed and vulnerable out there in the open. We had a campfire going. and we roasted marshmallows and told silly stories to try and lighten the mood. But I couldn't fully relax.

I kept looking over my shoulder, half expecting to see something or someone lurking in the shadows. We eventually put out the fire and crawled into our tents. I was exhausted and hoped I'd sleep better than the night before. Just as I was drifting off, Dan shook me awake. His face was pale and his eyes were wide with fear. Babe, did you hear that? He whispered. Hear what?

I was almost asleep, I whispered back, my heart starting to race. I heard someone yell hey outside our tent, he said. His voice tense. I think there's someone out there. At first I thought he was just trying to scare me, but then we both heard it. Footsteps. They were slow and heavy, crunching on the gravel around our tent. It sounded like someone wearing big, heavy.

boots was walking around our campsite. The footsteps went around and around the tent, and then they stopped. Dan and I lay there, hardly breathing, listening to the silence that followed. I was terrified, and from the look on Dan's face, he was too. We didn't know what to do, just hoping whoever it was would go away. But the night was far from over, and the real fright had just begun. The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Dan and I decided we couldn't stay another minute at that creepy campground. We woke up our friends, who were surprised to see us packing up so early. They had slept through everything and didn't understand why we were in such a hurry to leave. As we packed, I told them about the strange noises and the footsteps we heard circling our tent. They looked at

each other, half in disbelief, but they knew we were genuinely scared. So without much discussion, everyone agreed it was best to head home. The drive back was quiet. Dan and I kept replaying the sounds we heard, trying to make sense of it all. The eerie silence, the heavy footsteps, it was all too much. When we finally got home,

I was relieved, but still felt uneasy. I needed answers. I spent the rest of the day online, searching for anything that could explain what happened. That's when I stumbled upon the history of Point Lookout State Park. My heart raced as I read about its, passed. During the Civil War, the park had been a prison camp where many Confederate soldiers were kept in brutal conditions. It was notorious for its overcrowding and the harsh treatment of

prisoners. Many had died there, and it was said that their spirits still haunted the park. I read stories from other visitors who had experienced strange occurrences, just like us. Some heard voices, others saw ghostly figures walking through the park at night. There was even a tale about a woman who roamed the beach, asking people to help her find her missing headstone. I called Dan over, and we read the stories together. It was chilling to think we might have encountered the ghosts of Point Lookout. Knowing the park's haunted history made our experience feel even more real. It wasn't just our imaginations. Others had felt the presence of the past there, too. The more I learned, the more I felt a strange pull to go back. I wanted to see if we

could experience these things again, now that we knew what to look out for. I shared my thoughts with Dan, and surprisingly, he agreed. Maybe next time, we'd be more prepared to face the ghosts of Point Lookout. I decided to write about our experience and share it on a blog for people who were interested in haunted places. I asked readers to share their stories if they had been to point lookout. The responses poured in, with many recounting their eerie experiences. Each story was different, but they all had a similar feeling of an unseen presence. As the days passed, my fear turned into fascination. I read every book I could find on the paranormal and started planning our next trip to Point Lookout.

This time, we would go with more friends, better equipment, and maybe even a professional ghost hunter. The thought of returning to the park was both terrifying and exciting. But no matter what, I knew one thing for sure. point lookout had left a mark on me, and I couldn't wait to uncover more of its mysterious past. Maybe, just maybe, we'd come face to face with the ghosts that still wandered its grounds. In the fall of 2017, a friend and I decided to go hiking late in the afternoon in a densely wooded wilderness area of a state park in the mountains near Fayetteville, Arkansas. My friend Ron, close to 60 at the time, and recovering from a triple bypass he had undergone around

16 months earlier, had been hiking this and other trails for about a year to strengthen his cardiovascular health. On that day, a weekday, I hiked with a bottle of water, my wallet, and my keys, but nothing else, nothing to protect myself. The trail we picked was popular and usually had a lot of people hiking on the weekend. We had hiked this spot dozens of times before. We were both comfortable with the hike and had never had any problems on the path or any other for that matter. While Ron is older and at the time a little feebler after his health problems, I was in my mid-40s, well over six feet tall, and in fairly good shape, so I was not very worried about our safety. The trail we were on is in a state park adjacent to federal parkland. It is an outdoor enthusiast's dream.

Most of our track that day was completely uneventful. We just enjoyed the autumn leaves and chatted casually as the sun dropped lower in the evening sky. We had seen nobody else that, day, which was probably to be expected given that we chose to hike late afternoon on a weekday. We had completed about four miles of the six-mile loop, and up to that point it was as uneventful as any other. On our way back to the car, and about two miles away from the parking area, we spotted someone through an opening in the trees. I saw a young woman, probably a college student, on the trail ahead of us, moving in our direction. At first I paid her extraordinarily little attention. As the distance between us narrowed, that changed.

I did not know her, so I could have been mistaken, but there was something about her posture and expression that just seemed off. As she got closer, it struck me that she had a semi-panicked look on her face as she was moving quite quickly. She was in athletic gear, so maybe she was just booking it for some cardio. However, she occasionally turned her head and stared over her shoulder. I followed her eyes and eventually noted another human about, 50 yards behind her, walking up the path through the trees. This second woman was not wearing any

hiking gear. In fact, her clothing struck me as totally inappropriate. It was a warm afternoon, and we were well inside a wooded state park a couple of miles from any homes, but she was wearing semi-formal, office-casual attire in a light jacket. I thought the clothes must have been second-hand because they were tattered, ill-fitting, and did not look washed at all. She was fit and athletic looking, who could not have been more than 25 or 30 years of age. It was so bizarre. The clothes were wrong for the trail and wrong for someone her age. Everything was off about her.

Her shoes struck me as odd, being even more peculiar. When she got closer, I noticed she was wearing scuffed leather flats, casual shoes with no ankle support. I found it completely odd because you do not just see people on trails dressed as she was, you never see them wearing shoes like that. My hiking partner, Ron, had not noticed anything apparently, as he was completely involved in the conversation and just kept on talking. The second woman briefly glanced up and made eye contact as she neared us. Alarm bells went off in my head like no other. There was something in her eyes that made me feel uncomfortable. I do not know

what she was thinking if I am being honest, but I swear she had contempt in her face. Part of me wondered if I had offended her by staring, so I diverted my eyes and kept walking. I tried to tell myself that maybe she was homeless, maybe she was just wearing the only thing she had, and I was just being rude, but the warning bells were still going off in my head like sirens. I am not a paranoid person at all, so having a sixth sense go off in my head left me very unsettled.

I have fantastic peripheral vision, so I turned my face toward Ron and acted like I was listening to him. but I was watching the creepy woman out of the corner of my eye. The moment we passed, she spun her head around to study us. She slowed her pace a bit. My internal alarms grew louder. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her come to a stop and drop her face toward the ground. Her body half turned on the trail.

It was very odd behavior. Ron and I kept walking for about 50 yards further. We made it around a bend in the path, and I looked back at the woman before the tree, obscured her from view. She was just standing there, her face was down, but she was staring a hole through us in the corner of her eyes. That was the first time I realized that I could not see her hands. One was inside her jacket pocket, and the other was hidden from my view on the other side of her body. It creeped me the hell out. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. For half a mile,

I did not see her again, and had begun to wonder whether the first woman, the co-ed, had felt danger as well. Clearly she had, I thought, and that is why she practically was running through the woods at dusk. It also struck me that the creepy woman had stopped and studied Ron and me like she was deciding whom to follow. We were not moving as fast, we were walking as quickly as Ron could manage, and he was clearly feebler than the co-ed. Those thoughts amped up my senses, and I still felt uneasy, so I periodically checked behind us. At certain points through the woods, I could see more than 100 yards, and I never saw anything. I began to worry about the co-ed.

My hair stood it for a second time as I felt the strangest sensation of being watched again, thinking I was paranoid and half-mocking myself for being afraid of the creepy woman. I turned my head around to assure myself she was not there. I was wrong. She was there. following with her head down and moving briskly about one hundred yards behind us, but with her hands hidden. I turned my head back to the trail in front of us, and we kept walking, still trying to convince myself that there was nothing out of the ordinary happening, that I was just being rude because

she was dressed like a homeless woman. About 200 yards further along the path, I turned my head back to Ron, and my heart raced a bit. She closed the distance by half or more each time we would walk around the bend in the woods. Her location would be obscured, but she would emerge much closer to us on the next opening. I told myself that I was just being paranoid, but nevertheless, I was trying to get Ron to pick up his speed just a little bit. By this time, he was clearly aware that we were being followed, and he was uncomfortable as well, though to his credit, he did keep talking. With a half mile to go before we reached the parking area, I turned my head once again, and she was just ten feet behind us. I had not seen or heard her get that close,

and it freaked me out. I literally jumped out of my skin. One of her hands was in her pocket, and the other was behind her back. I got the distinct feeling that she had a weapon of some kind, and that she had no fear of me, even though I was considerably taller, albeit several years older. There was no mistaking her demeanor. She meant to do us harm, or, at the very least, to intimidate us. I weaved my car keys between my knuckles in my right hand, handed my water bottle to Ron, and made an obvious fist with my hand. With a half mile left in our hike, I thought to myself, if this is nothing, she'll pass us and move on, as clearly she was moving a lot faster than we were. I was accustomed to people overtaking us when I walked with Ron, but she did not pass and never

acted like she knew we were there, which was the creepiest part. I kept my head turned toward her as I walked and tried to get her to make eye contact, but she did not look me in the eyes. At first, she kept acting like neither Ron nor I were there on the path, just a few feet ahead of her. She had slowed to follow closely behind. I was completely unnerved, and that made me angry. I wanted her to see how upset I was, and to convey with a look that messing with me was a mistake. When she finally did make eye contact with me, I glared with a clenched fist. There was an instant where I could not read her expression. She was simply blank.

But as she studied my face, she appeared to be simultaneously agitated and a little less confident. I was conveying one thing with the look on my face, back the hell off, and at this point I did not care if it appeared rude. She apparently thought better of whatever she was doing, and slowed her pace so that the distance been. between us began to grow to about 20 feet. But she was tense and kept whatever she had in her hand very closely hidden behind her back.

I never saw her hands this entire time. I know she had to have some kind of weapon, and I believe that she meant to do us harm. But I also know she recognized that I was ready to fight. I was mentally preparing to charge at her if I saw a gun or a knife, as I knew Ron could not outrun her. I thought to myself I might just surprise her.

I also realized that I needed to have have her in front of us. A few hundred feet further, about a quarter mile away from where we were parked, she was still stalking us, and I had had enough. I was in equal measures afraid and furious. I told Ron that we were going to stop and let her pass, loud enough for her to hear. Just as I was getting ready to stop on the trail and make her walk in front of us, she veered into a small clearing, plowing through the waist-high brush, crossed a ditch, and scurried through a tree line of trees to a road that ran through the woods in between the main road and the parking area. I kept my eyes on her the whole time. She had a car. It was parked alongside this little service road,

partially hidden by shrubs, not in the parking lot. The last time we made eye contact, just before she climbed into her car, it was clear from the expression on her face that she was incredibly angry. I glared at her, expressing my own anger, but kept walking. When her car started and she drove away. Ron got quiet before asking me what in the hell she was doing. Did she have a gun? I told him I did not know. I never saw a weapon. We walked back to our car without saying another word. Once the engine was on and the doors were shut, we chatted a bit more about this weird situation and decided to call the authorities and report the incident, just to make sure that they have it on record and to maybe have them check on the poor co-ed who had passed us first. To this day,

I have no idea what that creepy woman was doing and what she was planning on doing to us. Maybe she was going to rob us, harm us, scare us. I have no idea. I am just thankful she decided better of it. I have hiked that trail more than 50 times since then and have never seen her again. Lots of places can expose you to identity theft. Oh no. That's why LifeLock monitors hundreds of millions of data points a second for threats to your identity,

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