Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 5 Scary True Camping Horror Stories Told In The Rain | Forest, Deep Woods, Cryptid, Missing Person

Episode Date: September 25, 2023

These are 5 Scary (Allegedly) True Camping Horror Stories Told In The Rain | Forest, Deep Woods, Cryptid, Missing Person Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►https://www.reddit.com/user/tireddoglady/ ►https://www.reddit.com/user/AmericanRaider76/ Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:17:56 Story 2 00:35:34 Story 3 00:40:26 Story 4 00:58:32 Story 5 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #camping #true #nationalpark #forest 💀As always thanks for watching! 💀

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it to your family, you're lucky to make it out alive. Streaming on Peacock. These men are going to come after me. Taking them out. It's my only chance. Put a bullet in her head. From the co-creator of Ozark. Looks like a family was running drugs. Execution style

killing it's rare for the keys. And it leads on who they might have been running for. The cartel killed my family. I'm going to kill them. All of them. MIA. Streaming now. Only on Peacock. I'm what you call a seasoned camper. and the wide-open spaces, the calm and solitude,

it's always been my place of respite. But that night was different. Pulling up at the campsite, I stepped out of the truck and felt an immediate connection with the wilderness. The air was crisp and clear, almost electric. A symphony of owls hooting and crickets chirping greeted me, painting a comforting backdrop to the vast, undisturbed landscape. I had left the cacophony of civilization miles behind,

trading it in for the intimate orchestra of nature's quietest corners. As I set up my tent, I admired the landscape. The patch of ground I had chosen was smooth and flat, nestling comfortably between sturdy trees, their limbs arching up into the vast expanse of a star-studded sky. Collecting wood for the fire, I was lost in the simple rhythm of camping, each step part of a familiar dance that always brought me a profound sense of peace. With my tent set and a fire crackling, I leaned back and reveled in the solitude.

The seclusion of the wilderness, the deep connection with nature. It's a meditative experience. There's no place I'd rather be, no better company than my own thoughts and the night sounds of the wild. Then from the silence of the wilderness came a sound that didn't belong. Help! I nearly missed it. The voice so soft it seemed like the wind itself was whispering to me. I strained my ears. of the fire suddenly deafening in the quiet night. The voice came again, this time unmistakable,

carried over the rustling of the leaves. Please help. It sounded female, but there was a strange quality to it, like an echo bouncing back from deep within the woods. A shiver ran down my spine, my heart pounding a steady rhythm of alarm in my chest. I picked up my flashlight, the beam slicing through the darkness, but the forest remained stubbornly quiet, hiding its secrets within its impenetrable depths. The voice didn't come again, replaced by the chorus of the night, but it lingered in my mind. A stray wind maybe, or my imagination playing tricks, I thought. But I knew deep down that it was real. As I sat there feeling the weight of the forest pressing in on me, I remembered my duty as a citizen. I dialed the local police station, explaining the

situation. I expected immediate action, perhaps even a comforting reassurance. Instead, what I got was a chilling command. Sir, if you ever hear that voice again, ignore it. Do not respond and do not approach. Their words echoed in my ears, adding a chilling note to the solitude I had so eagerly sought. The tranquility of the campsite was now tainted, replaced by a creeping dread. I had always found peace in the quiet isolation of the woods. But that night I realized that even serene solitude could have a sinister undertone. Little did I know, this was just the beginning of a night. night that would change everything. I faced all sorts of challenges on my camping trips. Weathering storms, wrestling with wildlife, you name it. But never, not once have I ever had to

ignore a cry for help. I remember staring at the phone, the officer's words looping in my head. Ignore it, don't respond, don't approach. Was this how things were done out here? For a long moment, I just sat there, phone in hand, trying to make sense of what I'd been told. A strange hush had settled over the campsite. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, waiting. I felt a chill creep up my spine, a sensation I couldn't attribute to the night air. For a while, I convinced myself it was a prank, some local kids with a morbid sense of humor. That's all it could be. People didn't just wander into the woods and call for help in the middle of the night, did they? I dismissed the unsettling thoughts and hung up, trying to put my mind at ease. But the officer's words stayed with

me, casting long shadows in the flickering firelight. I couldn't just shake it off. The unknown, the possibility of someone out there, lost and alone, it clung to me like a second skin. Even as the night stretched on and the fire dwindled to glowing embers, I remained alert, listening for any out-of-place sounds. The forest was back to its nocturnal routine, but the harmony was gone. Every rustling leaf, every distant owl hoot, they all seemed to care of an echo of that voice. Help. Hours must have passed as I lay in my tent, eyes wide open, straining to listen. The silence was a thick blanket, muffling the outside world. I should have felt comforted, encased in this protective bubble. Instead, I felt the gnawing unease,

the prickling sensation of being watched. Suddenly I heard it again, a distant plea echoing through the trees, a soft whisper on the breeze. My heart pounded in my chest, my earlier doubts dissipating like smoke. There was no denying it now, there was someone out there. But what was I supposed to do? The authorities had brushed it off, leaving me alone in this predicament. My gut told me to help, to follow the voice, but the officer's warning rang in my ears, a jarring contrast to the silent plea from the woods. I sat up, wrapping my arms around my knees, my eyes darting around the dark interior of the tent. My mind raced. My mind raced. trying to map out the situation to plan a course of action. The voice, soft and distant,

echoed again, its desperate tone etching itself into my memory. I wrestled with the decision, torn between my duty as a human and the ominous warning of the police. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like there was no right choice. The unknown can be a terrifying beast, and that night it seemed to have come out of the forest and perched itself right at my doorstep. As I lay there, the boundary between fear and responsibility blurred, and I found myself falling into an abyss of uncertainty. The darkness stretched out around me, its heaviness swallowing the night. Sleep was a distant dream, a luxury I couldn't afford.

My mind was a storm, thoughts colliding and echoing like distant thunder. The words the officer had spoken clung to me, persistent as burrs, catching on every thought. Just when I thought the night couldn't get any stranger, another sound. broke the silence. This one was different, closer, almost just outside my tent. My heart pounded a rapid beat against my rib cage. I held my breath, listening, the darkness around me pressing in. Help! My blood ran cold. The voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet it cut through the silence like a blade. It was the same plea, the same desperation, only now it felt alarmingly close. Every muscle in my body tightened. The unease had morphed into a gnawing fear, one I couldn't shake. I reached for

my flashlight again, its dim beam of light suddenly my only anchor in a sea of uncertainty. As I moved to open the tent flap, another voice broke the silence. This one was different, deeper, more commanding. Quiet, no one's going to help you. My heart skipped a beat. A second voice, and a threatening one at that. It was as if the knight had thrown another curveball at me, plunging me deeper into the mystery. This changed everything, the distant cry for help, the inexplicable warning from the police, and now this new voice.

It was like pieces of a disturbing puzzle coming together, except I wasn't sure I wanted to see the whole picture. Once again, I found myself reaching for my phone. I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the call button. The officer's words flashed in my mind. Ignore it, do not respond, do not approach. but the rules of the game had changed. There was a new voice, a threat.

I had to call. Sir, I called earlier about a voice asking for help from the woods. Now there's a second voice. It sounds threatening. I relayed the new development, my voice shaking slightly. The line was silent for a moment. I could hear my own heart beating, a loud drum in my ears. Then the officer replied, his tone carrying a note of heightened concern.

Are you safe, sir? I advise you to leave the campsite immediately. My blood ran cold. Whatever this was, it was more than a simple prank or a misunderstood cry for help, but I wasn't going to back down. Not now, not when someone could be in actual danger. As I hung up, I found myself spiraling into a deeper abyss of confusion and fear. The whispers of the night seemed to carry a different tune now, one of dread. As the voice echoed again, I steeled myself, ready to face whatever was coming, yet somewhere deep, deep, down, I knew I was unprepared for the horror that lay ahead. After I hung up the phone, a deafening silence filled the air. I was torn. The authorities were telling me to pack up and leave,

while my conscience screamed at me to intervene. I was scared, of course, but fear has a way of giving us an adrenaline rush, pushing us to do things we wouldn't normally do. Without giving it a second thought, I made the decision. Someone out there was in need, and I had to help. The woods didn't scare me. I was an outdoorsman after all. I checked my gear, flashlight, pocket knife, phone, and a small first aid kit. If there was indeed someone out there, injured or scared, I wanted to be prepared. Stepping out of the tent, the night wrapped around me like a shroud. The voices were eerily silent now.

I took a deep breath, stealing myself, and plunged into the woods. The woods were different at night. The darkness seemed to breathe, alive and aware. every rustling leaf, every snap of a twig felt magnified, the night's soundtrack playing a chilling melody. The beam of my flashlight cut through the inky darkness, creating long, grotesque shadows that danced and morphed with every step I took. As I ventured deeper, the familiar sounds of the night grew silent. It was as if the woods were holding their breath, waiting. I called out, my voice cutting through the heavy silence. Hello? Anyone here? Nothing.

I'm here to help. Where are you? Are you okay? Again nothing. A cold feeling of dread washed over me. The woods had swallowed my words, leaving behind an eerie silence. Suddenly I felt very small like an intruder in this nocturnal world. It was a chilling realization, the weight of my decision crashing down on me. Something wasn't right. The silence, the absence of the voices, it was all too strange. My heart pounded in my chest as I weighed my options. I thought about calls. calling the police again but decided against it. What would I say? That I didn't find anyone?

That they were right? I returned to my campsite, the quiet wilderness around me suddenly feeling oppressive. The air felt heavy, as if charged with an unseen threat. I packed my things hurriedly, deciding to leave at the first light. In the solitude of my tent, the enormity of what just transpired started to sink in. The voices, the fear, the woods. all felt surreal. Was I losing my mind, or was there something more sinister at play? Either way, I knew one thing for sure. I had to get out of there. But even as I packed my things

and prepared to leave, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was being watched. The night was silent, but the silence was far from comforting. As sleep alluded me, I found myself falling into a spiral of fear and uncertainty. Whatever this was, it was far from over. As dawn painted the sky and shades of pastel, I moved swiftly to dismantle my camp. I loaded everything back into my truck with mechanical efficiency, my mind still echoing the chilling events of the night. The deserted campground seemed to mock me. It was here that I had expected solitude, a break from the clamor of life. Instead, I'd stumbled into an unsettling mystery, one that had left me unnerved and rattled. The eerie stillness of the morning was a sharp contrast to the chaotic storm that raged within me.

I scanned the woods one last time, half expecting the voices to call out again, half wishing to see someone, anyone, but there was nothing, just the lonely rustle of leaves and the distant song of a lark. With one final look at the now desolate campsite, I started the truck and drove away, leaving behind a piece of myself with the woods. The questions remained, lingering like a haunting melody. Who was calling for help? Why did the police react the way they did? And most important Importantly, what did they mean by it? The drive back was long and torturous, my mind playing out different scenarios. Maybe it was a prank.

Maybe it was some deranged person lost in the woods. Or maybe, just maybe it was something more sinister. Despite my skepticism, I couldn't dismiss the fact that the police had seemed genuinely scared. I replayed our conversation over and over. Their stern warnings and strange references still a chilling puzzle. When I reached home, the comfort of my familiar surroundings did little to ease my mind. As I tried to slip back into the routine of my everyday life, the haunting echo of the voices remained a constant reminder of my encounter.

I felt a strange sense of guilt. Had I abandoned someone in need? Had I missed something? Some vital clue? But then, the reality of the second voice brought me back. Was it a threat or a warning? The uncertainty of it all was like a nagging itch, a constant. thorn in my side. I needed answers, yet I had none. Instead, I had a lingering sense of dread,

and a disturbing mystery that was far from resolved. One week later, the normalcy of life was beginning to seep back in. I was almost able to convince myself that it was all a dream, a product of my overactive imagination. That's when it happened. I heard it again. The familiar plea for help, the chilling echo of the voice, this time within the confines of my my own home. A cold shiver ran down my spine as the reality of it hit me. The voice from the woods had followed me home. It was a chilling revelation, one that made my blood run cold. The mystery had turned into a nightmare, and the nightmare was just beginning. In the cold sterility of my own home, the voice echoed, more haunting than ever. It was unmistakably the same voice I'd heard in the woods,

yet there was an added chill to it, an intimacy that came from it infiltrating my personal space. Every corner of my house, once a symbol of comfort and familiarity, now seemed alien, threatening. The voice hadn't just followed me home. It was as if it had seeped into the walls, biting its time, patiently waiting to strike when least expected. The pleas for help punctuated the silence, turning my sanctuary into a house of horrors. I tried to find the source, even as the voice seemed to ebb and flow, dancing around the rooms as if playing a macabre game of hide-and-seek. Just when I thought I was on the brink of madness, the second voice came, Quiet, no one's coming!

It wasn't just the harshness of the command that froze me in my tracks, but the realization of what it meant. It was right. No one was coming. No one but me knew about the voices. The police were miles away, likely as terrified as I was. I was alone with this, whatever it was. Sleep was a forgotten luxury. Every creek of the house, every whisper of the wind against the windows, brought visions of an unseen entity lurking in the shadows. I felt a claustrophobic dread,

trapped within the four walls of my own home with a terror I could neither see nor understand. As days turned into sleepless nights, the voices continued their dance of fear. Sometimes whispering, sometimes commanding, their presence was a relentless reminder of the nightmare I was living. I was a prisoner in my own house. The voice is my jailers, the fear my chains. One night when the clock read a little past midnight, something shifted.

The female voice was different this time. Instead of a distant plea, it was a soft whisper, like a gentle breath in my ear. Help me, it begged. It was closer than ever before. That's when I felt it, an icy touch on my shoulder, a tangible proof of the unseen terror. My heart pounded in my chest, every beat echoing the terror that coursed through my veins.

I turned around, a scream dying in my throat. The room was empty, but the echo of the plea hung heavy in the air. There was no one there, but the chilling touch on my shoulder was as real as the terror coursing through me. In that moment, I knew I was no longer alone. I wasn't just hearing the voices, I was feeling them. The voices from the woods were not just, in my house. They were with me, inside me. Fear is a funny thing. It's a raw, primal instinct that

takes hold of you when logic and reason fail. It was no longer about helping someone. It was about survival. The finality of my situation hit me hard. This was my reality. This was my nightmare. And this... This was just the beginning. The voices were not going to stop. They were a part of me now. And the most terrifying realization of all, I was utterly, helplessly, helplessly. alone. You said this place was steps from the water. We just haven't found the steps yet. How much did we save?

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touch-ups on the go. Get this new must-have concealer at Sephora or at Sepora.com today. It's not like we hadn't gone camping before. We'd been out in the backwoods countless times, just never in this particular part of the forest. Our party was the usual five good old boys from town. There was John and Benny, seasoned hunters who carried themselves with a confident swagger, and Pete and Tom, good company, even if their

idea of the great outdoors was limited to an overgrown backyard. Then there was me, the protagonist of our adventure, the narrator of our tale. The summer sun was set. The summer sun was set. painting the sky in hues of red and gold as we drove our way into the woods. The landscape was unspoiled wilderness, full of towering pines and untouched groves, their shadows spreading out as the day faded. I remember the scent, a mix of damp earth and pine needles, carrying an allure that only those who truly appreciate nature understand. A sense of excitement was in the air,

blending in with the rustic smell of our old Ford pickup up as we set off for a weekend of hunting and camaraderie. Laughter echoed in the cab as Benny spun tall tales of legendary bucks he'd bagged, and Tom's latest city girl escapade had us all rolling in our seats. As we arrived, we found a perfect camping spot just off the track, a small clearing shielded by trees from every side. There was a sort of untouched beauty about it. We set about pitching our seven-man tent, a well-practiced routine, with each of us falling into our roll. naturally. Even with our jokes and jabs, the tent was up by six. I could smell the pork and beans cooking over our campfire, its smoky scent filling the cool evening air. We sat around the fire,

sharing stories and reminiscing old times, the flickering firelight dancing on our faces. Hunting trips were always about more than just the hunt. It was the camaraderie, the shared silence in the woods, and the stories spun around campfires that brought us back time and again. As the night settled in, John and Benny, ever eager, announced their intention to try their luck hunting. The forest had a different aura by night, one that wasn't for the faint-hearted. Benny was gracious enough to lend me his spare rifle, an old piece of hardware that had seen better days, but I decided to pass on tonight's expedition. The thought of the dark, unfamiliar woods, and the glint in Benny's eye when he talked about nocturnal hunting, didn't sit right with me.

As they disappeared into the thick veil of the forest, armed with their rifles and headlamps, the campsite felt eerily quiet. The rest of us gathered in the tent, the laughter from before now reduced to hushed whispers, the shadow of the woods casting a slight unease over us. I remember thinking as I stared at the dark silhouettes of the trees against the starlit sky, how nature, and all its beauty, could hide so many secrets in its depths. Little did I know, the forest was ready to unveil its secret, a red-eyed terror that would change our lives forever. The night had fallen hard, the canopy of stars blocked out by a dense layer of leaves above.

Inside the tent, we'd been swapping stories, the glow from the lantern throwing ghostly shadows on our faces. Pete had just finished recounting his adventure in Costa Rica, which, according to him, involved a bartender, a monkey, and far too many margaritas. We were just about to call him on his bluff when we heard it, frantic footsteps and hurried breaths slicing through the forest quiet. The tent flap flew open, and John and Benny tumbled in, faces pale and eyes wild. They panted heavily, as if they'd run a marathon through hell. I rushed to unzip the tent flap,

the cool night air rushing in as they collapsed onto the sleeping bags, their chests heaving. Benny gulped down his water before he began to speak, his voice trembling. We finished shooting as it got dark, he said, gasping for breath between every few words. John had just packed up his rifle and I was having a last scout to see if I could see anything, and I saw a deer. His eyes were wide with fear, the typically confident man replaced by someone who'd seen the unspeakable. I waited, a sinking feeling in my gut. A deer, I asked,

trying to keep my voice steady. Benny nodded. It had glowing red eyes, staring right down my scope. I shot and nothing happened. Then it just ran at us, so we legged it. The words rushed out in a panic, as if he was trying to outrun his fear. His hands shook as he reached for his water bottle again. My gaze swung to John. He was quieter, his eyes fixated on the tent floor, his knuckles white where he gripped his knees. I didn't see it until it started running at us, he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. I didn't see a deer form, just the red eyes coming towards us. His face was pale, his eyes shadowed with fear. A chill ran down my spine, my hand unconsciously reaching for the cold metal of Benny's old hunting rifle. The comfort I found in the

familiar weight did little to ease my dread. I swallowed, forcing the fear down. We'll all go back tomorrow, I promised, attempting to put some steel into my voice. As the night drew on, sleep became an elusive friend. Every rustle of leaves, every sigh of the wind was a potential threat. The image of red eyes burning in the dark was imprinted on my mind. The forest had shared a part of its secret with us, and the tale it told was one of terror. It was a tale that would follow us into the morning, an ominous herald of the horrors yet to come. Sleep had been a fleeting, fretful thing, the memory of the glowing red eyes too fresh in our minds. The sun was a welcome sight, its warm light dispersing the darkness, and with it some of the fear from the night before.

We had made a pact, and so, with a measure of apprehension, we set out towards the hunting grounds. The woods were different in the daylight, its mysteries hidden beneath a veneer of normality. Yet there was a palpable unease, a sense of the unknown that had us on edge. The forest was quiet, its silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves, and the distant call of a bird. The peaceful aura of the forest was at odds with our unease. finally we found it, Benny's abandoned rifle, lying on the forest floor. Relief washed over Benny as he picked it up, quickly checking the weapon, but his face fell as he turned it over in his hands.

Look at the butt, I said, pointing at the carving. It was a simple engraving, but the depiction sent a chill running down my spine. It was a scene straight out of the previous evening, two men, one standing with a rifle bag and the other looking down his scope. There was no denying it, It was them, John and Benny. That's us, John whispered. His face drained of color. Benny nodded, a silent confirmation of our worst fears. It was too much of a coincidence, too eerie to be a random occurrence.

Someone, or something, had been watching us. The rest of the day passed in a blur. John suggested a hunt before sunset, perhaps an attempt to regain some normalcy, or maybe a need to reclaim his confidence. But the forest was different now, the thrill of the hunt replaced by, a sense of foreboding. Our afternoon hunt was short-lived. We were back in camp by evening,

the thought of the night ahead leaving us unsettled. That night around the campfire, our jokes were forced, our laughter hollow. The tales of hunting glory and city girl escapades failed to bring their usual cheer. Yet, despite the underlying dread, we managed to create a semblance of the joy we had felt before the forest unveiled its secret. There was comfort in each other's company, a sense of camaraderie that seemed to hold the terror at bay. As the night descended, we huddled closer to the campfire, its crackling flames warding off the chilling forest darkness. Unspoken fear hung in the air as the memories of the night before came flooding back. The forest had shared its secret once, and as we retreated into our tent,

we couldn't shake off the feeling that it wasn't done with us yet. The morning was beautiful. The forest bathed in a warm golden glow. But the beauty of the beauty of the the day did little to ease the lingering dread from the night before. We went about our tasks silently, our jovial camaraderie replaced by an unspoken tension. We were in a hurry to leave this place, to escape the eerie specter of the forest, and the fear it had instilled in us. By mid-morning the tent was down and our bags packed. It was a strange feeling, this hurry to leave a place we had so eagerly arrived at. The forest had shown us its darker side, and we were taken to the rest. keen to put it behind us. We had planned to eat lunch on the way home, and so, with one final

look at the clearing that had been our campsite, we started on our journey back to the car. We had barely covered half the distance when the scream rent the air. It was a man's scream, full of raw fear, emanating from no more than 100 meters into the forest. We froze in our tracks, the hair at the back of our neck standing up. Without thinking, I rushed towards the source of the scream. Benny and John right behind me. The sight that met us sent a chill down our spines. Bloodied clothes lay scattered around the clearing, but there was no sign of the man who had screamed. We called out, hoping against hope to hear a response, but all we got was an eerie silence. And then came another scream, this time closer and unmistakably familiar. The scream belonged to

Pete and George. Our hearts pounding, we raced back to the path where we had left them. The sight that greeted us was a nightmare brought to life. Our friends were gone, our belongings thrown about, the silence of the forest an unforgiving witness to our terror. Our minds raced, unable to comprehend the reality that was unfolding around us. Then, once more, the scream pierced the silence. It was George, his voice coming from the direction of our former campsite. My head shot up, and my blood ran cold. The deer, the very one Benny had described, with the same haunting red eyes was bolting straight towards us. In that moment, terror overcame us. Dropping everything, we turned and ran towards the car, the forest closing in on us. The once familiar path now felt alien

and hostile. The red-eyed deer seemed to have disappeared, but we didn't slow down. Once we reached the car, we scrambled in. The silence of the drive, a stark contrast to the chaos of the forest. The horrifying events of the day played on repeat in our heads. Our friends were missing, hurt, and all we could do was drive away. The nightmare didn't end there. Upon reaching my place, we notified the police about our missing friends and the bloody clothes we had found. Their faces betrayed no emotion, but their disbelief was palpable. We were simply another case in the rising number of missing persons connected to the forest. We waited with bated breath, hoping for some news, any news about our friends. As the night fell, a harsh reality settled in. Our

friends were gone, swallowed by the forest, and we had been helpless spectators to their disappearance. We spent the next day in an anxious haze, clinging to our phones, hoping for an update from the police about our missing friends. Each ring sent our hearts racing. Each silence felt like a knife in the gut. We clung to the fading hope that Pete and George were alive, that this was all a terrible misunderstanding. In the absence of any tangible news, our minds began playing tricks on us. We saw the red-eyed deer in every shadow, heard the screams of our friends in every gust of wind. The once comforting confines of my home felt haunted by the terror of the forest. We found ourselves drawn to the forest in a morbid fascination,

desperate for any signs of Pete and George. We started retracing our steps, the memories of our time at the campsite now tainted by the horrifying events. Despite our fear, we ventured to the edge of the forest every day, scanning the tree line for any signs of our friends. Our hope waned with each passing day. We combed through the forest, sticking to the paths we had tread, avoiding the deeper parts of the woods. The fear of the unknown was potent. With each passing day the forest grew more hostile, its silence a constant reminder of our friend's unexplained disappearance. The police were no help. They treated us with suspicion, their questions probing, their demeanor cold. We found our

ourselves defending our actions, explaining over and over again about the bloody clothes and the eerie, red-eyed deer. Yet amidst the frustration and despair, a strange resolve took root within us. The forest had taken something from us, and we were determined to confront it, to fight back. With a newfound determination, we found ourselves drawn deeper into the woods. The forest responded in kind, its secrets unfolding in strange ways. We found bizarre markings on trees, heard distant indistinguishable sounds that echoed through the woods at times we would catch a glimpse of something darting between the trees the sight so fleeting that we doubted our own eyes and yet in the heart of this desolate wilderness we found a strange sense of purpose we were here for pete and george and while the police seemed resigned to the worst we refused to give up we felt a growing sense of defiance a will to reclaim our friends from the forest's cruel grasp As the days turned into weeks, we became a constant presence on the forest's edge.

We knew we were unwelcome, that we were poking a sleeping beast. But there was no turning back. The forest had shown us its darkness, its terror. Now, it was our turn to confront it, to brave its shadows in the hope of finding our friends. It wasn't just about Pete and George anymore. It was about standing up against the fear, the unknown. It was a fight for our sanity, a desperate attempt to reclaim some semifference, of our old lives. We knew the odds were against us, but then we weren't ready to back down

either. Not yet, not without a fight. We had become phantoms of the forest, our days consumed by the quest for our missing friends. The forest, once an embodiment of freedom and adventure, was now a labyrinth of horrors that hid the truths we sought. But we were resolute, fueled by the fading hope and the growing need to confront the unknown. One evening, after a long day of futile searching, we found ourselves at the sight of our ill-fated camping trip. It looked different in the dimming twilight, a ghost of the jovial sight that once echoed with our laughter. A chilling breeze swept through the clearing, the swaying trees whispering secrets we couldn't decipher. Suddenly, John stiffened, his eyes wide with terror. I followed his gaze

to see a pair of red eyes glowing ominously in the falling darkness. The deer, it was back. Its stare bore into us, its form shrouded in the shadows. An icy fear seized us, a chilling reminder of the events that had led us here. It charged towards us, the echoes of its hooves reverberating through the silent forest. We were frozen, the reality of the situation hitting us all at once. This was it. This was the beast that had haunted our nightmares, the one we had come to confront. Driven by fear and desperation, we ran.

The forest was a blur as we darted between the tides. trees, the red-eyed creature in relentless pursuit. It was a surreal chase, our fear heightened by the eerie silence that enveloped the forest. Suddenly a bone-chilling scream echoed through the forest. It was Benny. I spun around to see him crumpled on the ground, the creature looming over him. It had caught him. A surge of fear and desperation coursed through me as I raised my rifle, the weight of our survival resting on my trembling shoulders. I took a shot. The gunshot echoed through the forest, startling birds into flight, but the creature remained unaffected, its red eyes glaring at me, mocking my futile attempt. My heart sank as the realization dawned on

me. Our worst fears were true. The beast was invincible. With a final menacing glance, the creature retreated into the forest, leaving us with the echoing silence and the daunting reality of our encounter. We were left alone, shaken and terrified. The forest around us suddenly feeling more hostile than ever before. That night we camped at the edge of the forest, the events of the day replaying in our minds. We were terrified, more than we had ever been. The forest had shown us its true form, and it was far more terrifying than we could have ever imagined. In the dead silence of the night, as I looked out at the vast wilderness before us, I couldn't shake off the feeling that we were being watched. We had come face to face with the terror of the forest. We had come face to face with the

terror of the forest, and it had left its mark on us. The chilling image of the red-eyed creature haunted me, a gruesome reminder of the forest's wrath. As the night deepened, an eerie calm settled over us, the forest standing silent, its secrets kept, its victims lost, and then in the distance a pair of red eyes glowed ominously, a chilling promise of the terrors yet to come. This happened four years ago, when my partner and I were still sort of fresh into the relationship, My sister had recommended me a snorkeling trip as a fun thing to do with him. It was this quarry surrounded by a campground that is filled in with water, and it's known for its crystal clear water and its diving.

There's apparently a helicopter and school bus that people dive down to sea. My partner and I decided to go camping for the night. While we were checking in, we both got a bad feeling about the place, but kept it to ourselves until after we left. So at first, it was a really good time. We snorkeled in the shallowish area of the quarry, and although the depth of the water was a bit uncanny, I still was enjoying myself. The water is 65 feet deep, so once you had swam out of the shallow area, it immediately dropped off and it was pitch black. This is actually where I realized I am terrified of water.

Besides the dark deep water, while you were swimming, there is something very scary about a lake that is perfectly still. I assume because it is a quarry, the water doesn't have a current. My partner and I are winding down our night, and we're back at our campsite. We are camping in a grassy patch down a hill from the road. Our tent is pitched in a wooded area that our campsite is extended to, and just across the green is a campsite that looks well-lived in, but our neighbors were out. We're making hot dogs over the fire when our neighbors get back.

It's nighttime now, and they immediately go to sleep. I'd say 20 to 30 minutes after they get back is when things started to become spooky. My partner and I were chatting when we noticed a dark figure watching us from up the hill. Because of the shadow of the fire, we could not actually make out the characteristics of the figure, but we knew it was staring directly at us, almost hiding behind our neighbor's truck. He had watched us for what felt like forever, until he started walking down the road again. We both watched it in dead silence, watching him walk behind trees. The same ones connected to our campsite, but that also went in between us,

and it. I anticipated each time I'd see it walk forward, out from behind a tree. It was a good four or five times it did that. It wasn't until after this I noticed it had stopped walking, or it was behind the tree still. I was totally freaked out, where did this thing go? I watched my partner looking at what happened and thinking the same thing, but he shrugged it off, and I naively did too. We actually ended up forgetting about it and went to the quarry late at night. It was beautiful seeing the stars reflected against the water. but the deep now all black water was terrifying to say the least. We walked back to our campsite, lay in our tent, and chilled.

I soon began to feel an uneasy feeling, which I was trying to ignore, telling myself it was because I was tired. After some silence between us, my partner says to me, do you feel like we're being watched? I said, why would you say that? Half joking, but fully serious, that I was scared. My partner wanted to get out of the tent, so we were standing by my car.

and I got this stupid idea that being in the middle of the field that's in the middle of the campground is the safest place for us. My logic was if someone was going to come up at us. At least we'd be able to see them. So we're in the middle of this field when we see a similar-looking shadow figure from earlier staring at us. It must have been about 20 yards away. We both notice it while walking, and it's walking in the same direction as us. We change directions, and so does the figure. We tell one another if we change again, and the figure does too, that we're booking it to my car. When we change, it follows, and we book it to the car. I watched the figure from my seat as he slowly walked back into the darkness, while still staring in our direction. My partner at this point

says to me, let's get out of here, I agree, but all our camping gear is outside. We quietly get our things together, not trying to freak the other one out. The weirdest part of this story, in my opinion, is the next part. My headlights weren't working, and there was a weird fog over my windshield that didn't go away no matter what we did. We had to drive out of the woods with only low beams and a strange fog over the window. We barely could see, but got out of there. Weirdly enough, the fog went away right as soon as we go to the gas station. We got home around one at night. I told my father the story the next day. He said he was glad we got out of there or else we could have gotten hurt or worse. Two people died at this campground while snorkeling, which I find out after I got back. My partner

and I think it was either a person trying to kill us or a skinwalker. We've kind of settled on the skinwalker because what happened was so unexplainable to us. Kayak gets my flight, hotel, and rental car right. So I can tune out travel advice that's just plain wrong. Bro, Skycoin. Way better than that. points. Never fly during a Scorpio full moon. Just tell the manager you'll sue. Instant room upgrade. Stop taking bad travel advice.

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Start selling on Deepop, where taste recognizes taste. The mountains always held a charm for me, an allure of something grander than myself, something pure, untouched. It was why I chose to venture out here on my own, seeking the solace these slopes offered. As I I sat by the glowing warmth of the fire, the evening began to wrap itself around the world like a blanket of tranquility. The day was fading, twilight had taken the stage, and a symphony of crickets chirped, filling the air with their hypnotic rhythm. It was these moments that I cherished, the simplicity of being alone, the harmony of nature serenading me into dusk. The campfire, my sole companion, crackled and popped, painting dancing shadows on the encircling trees,

Embers floated skywards, reaching out to the twinkling stars above. I exhaled slowly, my breath mingling with the smoke, before taking in the cool mountain air, crisp with the scent of pines. The comforting sounds of nature were an overture to the silence that lay ahead, the quiet hours where thoughts flowed freely. But it was in this lull, the serene in between, that a prickling sensation slithered up my spine, a familiar feeling, the chilling whisper of paranoia,

The song of the crickets had faded, replaced by a low, inexplicable hum that seemed to echo from the depths of the forest. It washed over the camp, rapping me in its disquieting tune. The world felt off kilter, something was not as it should be. I've had my fair share of illusions, auditory hallucinations that broke the monotony of my mind. I knew their tricks, the way they would distort my reality. But this was different, more tangible, more real. I turned my gaze to the inky black beyond the firelight, searching for something, anything that might explain the unnerving hum.

The trees stood like silent sentinels, their secrets hidden beneath a veil of darkness. My instincts screamed at me, but I forced myself to rationalize the fear clawing at my nerves. The logical part of me, the part that fought against the undertow of panic, whispered that it was all in my head. Fatigue, it murmured. Just the echoes of a tired mind playing tricks on you. Yes, that was it. I was tired, worn from the day's activities. It was time to turn in,

to seek refuge in the oblivious arms of sleep. I doused the fire, its glowing embers hissing in protest, dying out to leave a hollow darkness in its place. The hum, like some mournful ghost, seemed to grow louder, insistent in its eerie cadence. But I had made my decision. It was nothing but an illusion, a symptom of my worn-out state. shaking off the unease that clung to me, I retreated to my tent. The canvas walls felt unusually confining, but I convinced myself it was a sanctuary, a barrier between me and the fears lurking outside.

I was safe. I was secure. The hum was nothing more than the phantom call of my mind, conjured by weariness. As I cocooned myself within the sleeping bag, the hum grew louder, drumming a terrifying beat in my ears. But I shut it out, burrowing deeper into the fabric, folds, willing the noise to become a distant echo. Fear would not control me. It was an illusion, just an illusion. With that thought, I allowed the edges of sleep to pull me under, diving into

the depths of oblivion as the hum echoed in the darkness. I'd been skirting the rim of sleep when that infernal humming escalated, puncturing the bubble of peaceful oblivion I'd carefully crafted around myself. The noise didn't ebb and flow like the gentle caress of a lullaby, but rather persisted, a ceaseless haunting symphony of dread. There was a certain gravity to it that held me captive, a relentless resonance that made my nerves stand on end. As the decibels climbed, I pressed my palms to my ears, a futile attempt to block out the assault of sound. But the hum was inside my head now, filling every nook and cranny, a relentless echo that couldn't be tamed. The ground beneath me seemed to shake and sink with a terrifying crescendo, a rhythm that

reverberated through my body, a pulse I couldn't escape. And just when I thought I couldn't bear it any longer, that my mind would splinter under the strain, the hums ceased abruptly. It didn't fade or taper off. It simply stopped, a line drawn in the sand. Silence, a once comforting companion, felt alien now, heavy with the ghost of the hum. Fear had always been a potent adversary, but this was something different. This was terror, cold and unforgiving, making itself at home within my chest. My heart pounded an erratic rhythm, echoing the hum that still seemed to thrum faintly in my bones. It was as if the world held its breath, waiting for something terrible to descend. I knew then I had to leave, get to the car, get out of this god-forsaken wilderness. But fear,

that insidious spectre, held me immobile. My limbs were like stone, my breath shallow and labored. The quiet was oppressive, wrapping me in its cold shroud. Outside the night was darker than before, the moon hiding its face, too afraid to witness whatever horrors the forest harbored. Caged by the thin canvas of the tent, I was no more than prey, waiting for the predator to strike. It was a sensation I'd never known before, the chilling realization of being utterly defenseless, alone, out here, amidst the towering pines and the inky night, I was nothing more than a lost soul, consumed by a terror that wouldn't let me go. Tears trickled down my cheeks, a silent admission of my fright. A cold sweat dampened my shirt, my heart hammering in my chest like a trapped

bird. I felt so small, so insignificant, a mere pawn in the hands of an unseen monster. In the end, it was exhaustion that took over. The drain of the relentless fear, the unforgiving silence after the storm of sound, sapped my strength. I succumbed to sleep, a final refuge from the hell I found myself in. The hum, a phantom echo, was the lullaby that rocked me into a fitful slumber. Even as I slipped into dreams, I clung to the hope that this was nothing more than a nightmare, a terrible, dreadful nightmare that would vanish with the dawn. Morning arrived, chasing away the remnants of the night and the terror that had gripped me in its cold clutches. I stirred from sleep, my mind still foggy, a fuzzy wall between the nightmare of the previous

night and the comfort of a new day. I blinked, taking in the familiar sight of the canvas tent, half expecting the hum to rise from the silence. But all was still. I emerged into the day, a beautiful morning chorus of birdsong greeting me. It was a sharp contrast to the previous night's chaos, an entirely different world bathed in soft, early morning light. The hum was nowhere to be found, the monstrous terror of the night replaced with the tranquil symphony of a new day. I busied myself with the mundane tasks of camping, finding solace in the routine. I built a fire, the scent of smoke and the crackling of burning wood grounding me, tethering me to reality.

Coffee brewed over the open flames, the strong aroma cutting through the crisp morning air. As I watched the flames dance, the events of the previous night trickled back, like cold water seeping into my boots. My hallucinations had always been auditory, confined to the realm of the ethereal. never something that could cause the ground to shake or for the world to quiver. I ran a shaky hand through my hair, my mind grappling with what was real and what was a figment of my overactive imagination. Logic dictated it was an illusion, a trick played by an exhausted mind. But fear had a logic of its own, an insidious whisper that gnawed at the edges of my sanity.

I was torn between the comfort of skepticism and the terrifying reality of the unknown. I chose denial, a warm blanket of ignorance, because the alternative was too frightening to consider. I had planned this trip, looked forward to these precious moments of solitude. I wasn't about to let an unexplained hum ruin it, and besides, I was miles from the nearest town, alone in the wilderness. Running wasn't an option. With newfound determination, I resolved to carry on. The mountains beckoned, trails untouched, and rivers unexplored. I ventured into the vastness of the wilderness, fishing rod in hand, the thrill of the unknown

propelling me forward. I dived into the icy waters of the lake, the cold seeping into my bones, cleansing me of the lingering dread. The day passed in a blur of activities, the fear from the night before shrinking, becoming a distant echo. By the time I returned to camp, the sun was a glowing orb in the sky, painting the landscape in hues of orange and purple. The tranquility was intoxicating, a piece that wrapped itself around me, promising safety. It was easy to forget, to lose myself in the beauty of the mountains, to push away the memories of the hum. But as the day drew to a close, a familiar sense of dread began to creep in. The shadows lengthened, the sounds of the forest changed, an unsettling symphony of the encroaching night. The hum,

a phantom echo seemed to rise from the depths of my mind, a haunting reminder of the night before. As I turned back to my campfire, the dread wrapped itself around me, a cold shiver that ran down my spine. The nightmare was far from over. As the foreboding hum made its return, I found myself rooted to the spot, a deer caught in the headlights. Every fiber of my being screamed danger, a primal instinct that wouldn't be silenced. The picturesque tree line I had admired during the day seemed ominous now, shadowy shapes dancing in the diminishing light. My eyes darted from one side to the other, a futile attempt to pinpoint the source of the hum. An errant movement caught my attention, a quick unsettling blur that was gone before my eyes could truly register it. My heart pounded

in my chest, a frantic drum echoing the mounting dread. Voices, not my own echoed in my head, a panicked chant of go away. I recognized it for what it was, a plea, a desperate call for help in the face of an indescribable fear. The familiar chill of terror snaked its way down my spine, setting every nerve alight. That's when I knew I couldn't stay. This wasn't a hallucination, not some twisted figment of my imagination. It was real and it was dangerous. With renewed urgency, I set about dismantling my camp, but fear had a way of distorting time, every second stretching into an eternity as the sun dipped lower, the shadows lengthening with each passing minute. The scramble to gather my belongings was frantic and desperate, the looming sense of danger fueling my

actions. But the hum grew louder, a haunting melody that filled the evening air, the ground beneath me vibrating with its intensity. It was closing in, whatever it was, and I was running out of time. And then I saw it, a tall figure in the dying light, pale and unnerving, creeping toward me with an eerie grace. Its arrival heralded a spike in the hum, an increase in volume that sent chills down my spine. I stood frozen, the figure's ominous approach holding me captive, but survival instinct won out. Fumbling for my keys, I abandoned my half-packed belongings and made a mad dash for my car. The figure gave chase, its speed increasing as I fled. The hum echoed around me, a sinister lullaby that set the tempo for this deadly game of cat and mouse. In my frenzied retreat,

treat, I felt a sharp sting on my shoulder, a harsh reminder of the danger that lurked mere steps behind me. But I didn't stop, didn't dare look back. I dove into my car, the metallic thud of the door, a welcome sound as I locked myself in, heart pounding, breath coming in shallow gasps. In the safety of the car, I finally dare to look back, finding the figure now moving backward, as if some unseen force was keeping it at bay. The hum was louder than ever, a protective bearer that seemed to repel the threatening figure. Without another glance, I peeled out of the campsite, leaving the figure, the hum, and my abandoned gear behind. I didn't care about any of it. All that mattered was getting as far away from the horror as possible. The city, a place I'd often sought to escape,

was now my only refuge. With the campsite now a fading blip in the rearview mirror, I let out a ragged breath, my grip relaxing on the steering wheel. The hum had receded to a distant echo, a fading song as the distance between me and that terrifying figure grew. My shoulder throbbed in protest, a sharp reminder of the nightmare I had narrowly escaped. The darkness of the forest was soon replaced by the warm glow of distant city lights. As I navigated the winding roads, the mundane sights and sounds of civilization trickled in, a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. I relished in the monotony, the headlights of passing cars, the occasional hum of an engine, the mundane that I had, until recently so desperately sought to escape.

When the adrenaline began to ebb, fatigue washed over me, a tidal wave that threatened to pull me under. My hands trembled as I parked the car outside my city apartment. The familiar view from my front door a stark contrast to the wild expanse of the forest. Safe within the concrete confines of my home, I found myself on the precipice of sanity, the trauma of the last two days teetering on the edge of reality. I cleaned and dressed the gash on my shoulder, the sharp sting grounding me, a physical tether to the very real danger I had encountered. My reflection in the bathroom mirror told the tale of a man who had seen too much. The haunted look in my eyes a silent testimony to the horror that lived in the mountains.

In the quiet of my apartment, sleep eluded me. I tossed and turned, the silence of the city a stark contrast to the ominous hum that had haunted me in the mountains. My mind replayed the events, the figure's haunting approach, the humming's protective barrier, and the unexplainable fear I had felt. Questions swirled around in my head. What was that figure? Why was it chasing me? And most importantly, what was that hum?

Was it a natural phenomenon? Or was it something else? Something beyond my comprehension? One thought, however, rose above all others. The hum, terrifying as it was, had kept the figure at bay. I couldn't shake off the notion that it had been protecting me, an unseen guardian amidst the horror. But what did it want in return? As morning peaked over the cityscape, the unanswered questions and the trauma of the incident clung to me, a shadow that refused to recede.

But there was one thing I knew for sure. I was never returning to the mountains, my once-beloved sanctuary forever tainted by the terror that lurked within. In the days that followed, I found solace in the hustle and bustle of the world. the city. The roar of traffic, the chatter of pedestrians, the constant movement. It all worked to drown out the haunting memory of the humming in that pale figure. The scar on my shoulder faded, but the mental scars remained fresh, a vivid reminder of the terror that I'd faced. I threw myself into my work, using the tedium of everyday life as a shield against the haunting memories that seemed to lurk around every corner of my mind. The sight of trees in the park sent a

a shiver down my spine, the wind rustling the leaves like a phantom hum in my ears. The night was worse. In the silence I could almost hear the faint echoes of the hum, a ghostly serenade that reminded me of my brush with death. Time moved on, but the fear didn't. It clung to me like a second skin, a constant companion. I found myself flinching at shadows, scanning crowds for any signs of the pale figure, my ears straining for the barest hint of that haunting hum. I knew I was saying, within the city's confines, yet the fear wouldn't let go. It had ensnared me in its cold grasp, and I was powerless to break free. Then came that fateful day. I was sitting in my apartment, the city's noises wafting in through the open window. It was a calm evening, the usual cacophony

toned down to a pleasant hum. But amidst that hum, I heard something else, something that froze the blood in my veins. It was the humming, soft and low, almost drowned out by the city's noise, but unmistakable. I shot up, my heart pounding in my chest. My eyes darted to the window, half expecting to see the figure standing on the street below, but there was nothing out of the ordinary, just the same busy city street. The hum continued, though, weaving its way into the city's melody, a chilling undertone that sent shivers down my spine. I couldn't believe it. Was it following me, or had it been a part of my life all along, a sinister shadow lurking in the background? The questions, the fear, they all came rushing back, a tidal wave threatening to pull me under.

As the sunset and darkness swept over the city, I sat in my apartment, the hum, a constant companion. It was here, in the city, in my home. A chilling realization set in. I might have left the mountains, but the horror hadn't left me. It was here to stay, a ghostly echo of my past, a chilling serenade that promised to haunt me forever. So here I am, a prisoner, in my own home, living in fear of the unseen. And every night, as the city falls silent, the hum rises, a constant reminder of the terror I once faced, a chilling lullaby that promises to haunt my dreams till the end of time. Back in 2016, my friends and I, for the longest time, had been itching to go camping at our local camping site in the Los Padres National Park in

Southern California. When we found the perfect weekend to go to that didn't interfere with any of our work schedules, we set the date. Three days before the trip, we found out we were going to get hit by the El Niño rainstorm. We, being the type of dudes that we are, didn't care if we got hit by the storm while camping. So we packed up our cars and made the 45-minute drive to the campsite. The campsite was a family-friendly one, where there were about 100 camping lots that circled around the clearing in the forest. We found the perfect spot that was underneath huge, thick trees that would help block as much rain as possible, and it helped out that the restrooms were only 30 yards away. As soon as we got to our spot, we took advantage of the afternoon sky being

cleared for the moment, and we rushed to set up our spot. The layout that we did was that we pitched our tents close by, where our tent doors were only six feet apart. The reason why we did this is because, in order to combat the rain, I brought a 20-foot-by-foot-thick blue canopy tarp that I threw over to cover us from the rain above and from the rain that would be running through the ground. It was a genius move on my part, but whenever you would walk around our tent, you would be making so much noise from crunching the plastic tarp. Hours passed, and we were all around the campfire. It was late into the evening, and this was the first time that I noticed that there were barely any other campers. They were mainly camping in their RVs like the fake campers they were.

In my honest opinion, they were the smart. ones, unlike my friends and I that were sleeping in two small tents, with our only protection being the blue tarp. I was getting tired from a long day of work, and I decided that I was going off to knock out. My friends followed my lead as well. The way that the sleeping arrangements were was that I had my friend Ray, sleeping in my tent, and Aj and S were sleeping in theirs. Before I called it a night, I whispered to Ray and told him, I'm going to prank call S and A. but I'm not going to say anything. Ray smiled as I dialed my friends up. I called them on restricted, and S's phone started to ring off. Both of them, being the way that they are, got timid very easily

as they said to one another, who's calling you this late in the night? I don't know. They called me on restricted. Are you going to answer? Of course not. Ray and I were holding in our laughter as they ignored our call. I decided to do it one more time. Once their phone started to ring, they started to freak once again and they said who is it this time same person I think I'm going to answer as they did answer as said in a very shaking tone hello Ray and I had to hold in our laughter as we kept as quiet as possible not wanting to make any noises that would give off that it was us I held the phone close to my mouth as I began to breathe heavily in a murderous way I ended the call and just hearing them freak out the way they did was making my

night even funner. Me being the idiot that I am, called them one more time, and this time, S picked up the phone immediately and said in a tough voice, Look, whoever this is better stop. I am about to call the cops if you keep on calling. This is not a threat. Ray and I looked at one another as we, at the same time, began to fake moan so loud and immediately started to ball out in laughter. A.J. and S. were so mad at us for pulling this prank on us and they were cursing us out. Me, finally calming down from laughing so loudly, told the boys, good night, I will have pancakes ready in the morning. Since I fell asleep relatively easily, I was out in a matter of minutes, while Ray, AJ, and S were up for a while longer.

I was the first of my friends to wake up in the morning, and as I promised, I had the pancakes already cooking by the time that anyone else woke up. The smell of me cooking woke up my friends, and one by one, they got out of their tents. As we were eating, Ajay spoke up and said, Hey, Jay, the prank that you pulled last night went a little too far. Yeah, you had us ready to run to our car and take off. I, feeling a bit guilty, apologized and said, sorry guys, my bad. Yeah, it's one thing to prank call us like that.

But then to walk around our tent and then go inside it in the middle of the night is totally out of limits, S said. Me not knowing what they were talking about, said, What do you guys mean? Come on, still with the jokes. You were the one that was walking around our tent and you walked in. Ray spoke up and said, That wasn't Jay who was walking around. I thought that was you two getting your revenge on us for scaring you. That wasn't us doing that. It was you too. So to explain, after I fell asleep, about an hour had passed where Ray, S, and Ajay were still up, and all was quiet in the forest until the sounds of footsteps were heard stepping on our blue

tarp that was on the ground. At first, my friends thought that it could have been just a forest animal wandering around, but the heavy footsteps were a dead giveaway that it was a person. As they described, the person was walking all around our tents, making constant figure-eights. The person would place their fingers on the tent's fabric walls to run them up and down. The footsteps finally stopped after a couple of minutes, right in between our tent's doors. The three of them were already having their hearts pounding out of their chest. It was silent for a long minute until the sound of the tent's zipper being slid open. As Ajay says, the tent's door was only opened halfway, but it was too dark to see anything clearly. But in the darkness, both S and A.J. saw the silhouette

of a man's face pop his head into the tent to look at both of them. A.J. and S. faked being asleep the entire time, but they kept their eyes locked onto the man. The man then opened the tent fully, and walked inside the tent, just standing at the entrance. The man didn't say a word or do anything, just watched the both of them laying in their sleeping bags. After their longest minute ever, the man just took his steps out of the tent, and his footsteps were heard walking away,

disappearing into the night. The entire time that this was happening, S and Aja thought that it was either me or Ray doing this, and Ray thought that it was A.J. or S. doing this. Back to us arguing back and forth at the breakfast. table, we were interrupted by a man walking to our campsite and he said, Good morning, boys. How did the four of you sleep last night? This man spoke in a smoker's voice, as if he has been doing that for all of his 45 years of being alive. He wore a dirty,

sweat-stained white t-shirt that looked more gray at this point, and his blue jeans looked as if they had never been taken off from his pants. He smelt like liquor, not a good sign at 8 in the morning, and his words were just mumbling around. We didn't say a word to this guy, as he then asked us if we had any cigarettes to spare him. I said that we didn't smoke, and he said, oh well, if you boys want to visit me in my RV, just stop by any time. The man continued to walk away towards the restrooms, and as he was done using it, he walked back to our campsite. He didn't say anything this time, but he looked at us and gave us a nearly toothless smile, and he walked back to his RV. I took note of his RV as it was the only

the RV that stuck out as being dirty and more run down than the others. We quickly summed up the man as the person who was walking around our tents last night, and S. and Aj now remembered that they smelt booze from the person who was standing in their tent. We all agreed that we would keep an extra eye out on this guy, and if he did spend another night, we would most likely report him to the park rangers if he tried anything else. When it was around lunchtime now, the man came back, not to use the restroom, but just to talk to us. So, are any of you boys interested in buying an RV? You all can go check it out right now and see if you want to buy it.

I don't need it anymore since my wife left me. Just check out the inside of the RV. No, we are good, sir, I said, with a visibly threatening tone. The man seemed to notice this, and he walked away. The man did end up leaving a few hours before sunset, but the entire time that he was there, he kept glancing at us. The man had his RV about 50 yards away from us, and I noticed that he had a restroom right next to his RV.

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