Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 5 Terrifying DEEP WOODS Scary Stories For Sleep

Episode Date: February 3, 2025

These are 5 Terrifying DEEP WOODS Scary Stories For Sleep Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ ►https://tinyurl.com/3nthx5mn ►https://tinyurl.com/454p23a4 Timestamps: 00:00 Intro 00:00:18 Story 1 00:03:48 Story 2 00:10:10 Story 3 00:25:40 Story 4 00:37:22 Story 5 Music by: ► Myuu's channel http://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Music http://bit.ly/2f9WQpe Thumbnail art: ►Just Creepy Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #deepwoods 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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After hearing all the stories on here, I wanted to write down my own experience that still freaks me out whenever I think about it. Just down the road from where I used to live a few years ago in Southeast Australia, there's an opening that leads into about 100 acres of woodlands and bush. I frequently went there when I was younger to ride, camp, and do the usual outdoorsy things. One night, around 11.30 p.m., I was out driving with my girlfriend. Since we were in the area, I decided to show her the woodlands. She loves everything related to nature, and because it was summer, the night was extremely warm. I parked my car so the headlights were shining into the trees.

as we weren't planning to go very far and it was pitch black inside. We both sat there chatting, having a smoke, and generally relaxing. She was sitting on a sort of plastic-covered map of the area, and I kept watching the trees because I had a strong feeling that something wasn't right. I've read posts where people mentioned feeling like they were in danger, even though nothing around them seemed out of place, and I had that exact same feeling. Every sense was on high alert and my adrenaline was up,

yet I couldn't see anything unusual in front of me. After lighting another cigarette to calm my nerves, I scanned the tree line again and realized it looked different than before. It took a moment of staring into the dark to notice that moonlight was now hitting some grass where there had previously been a black shape blocking the light. A shape I had assumed was just a tree. I get goosebumps just typing this, but the only way to describe the next moment is that all sound suddenly ceased,

leaving everything dead silent. A few seconds later, a horrible feeling of dread washed over me. I saw something move in the dark along the path. It was crawling toward us on all fours. I've seen nearly every animal in the outback, and we don't have large predators like they do in the U.S. or Europe, but I somehow knew this thing was a predator. It wasn't hiding.

It was deliberately crawling toward us. I don't know if my girlfriend saw it at first, because I couldn't look away. As soon as it reached the edge of the car's headlights, it rose up onto two legs and just stared at us. I'm six foot four, and this thing was about a meter taller than me, with arms far too long, almost reaching the ground. Its fur looked off white, almost yellowish, and in the dim light its head resembled that of a dog or a wolf. I couldn't move while it stared at me, but then my girlfriend gasped,

snapping me out of whatever was preventing me from thinking straight. I grabbed her arm, sprinted to the car, slammed the doors, and sped away as fast as I could. We were both too terrified to speak until a good half hour later. We've discussed it many times since then. The feeling we had was like what I imagine a rabbit feels when it sees a wolf or fox watching it. The realization that this creature could end us with absolute ease if it chose to. Neither of us has been able to explain what we saw, but it definitely changed how I view the woods and bush. Now, whenever I go camping or hiking, I think back to that night and wonder what it was,

and if I'll ever see something like it again. This is a true encounter and one of the creepier experiences I've had, and trust me, I've had plenty. I stumbled across this sub recently, so I thought I'd share my story here and see if anyone has had similar experiences anywhere in the U.S. Back in the summer of 2017, my girlfriend and I were driving up from Evanston, Illinois, to spend the weekend at her parents' lakefront cottage in Patoskey, Michigan, a popular destination for summer retreats. The drive was about six hours, taking us north through the western half of Michigan.

Much of this route goes through fairly remote areas. Eventually we realized we'd been on the same single-lane highway through dense woods for what felt like at least 45 minutes. I remember our navigation showing we were somewhere in the Huron Manistee National Forests. When I say dense, I mean the tree can't. formed a tunnel over the narrow road, making it seem significantly darker than it actually was outside. Luckily, Michigan summer days are long, and we still had a couple of hours of daylight left. While driving, I noticed some older dilapidated structures in the woods on the right,

looked like remains of old sheds or storage buildings. This is a good time to mention that I'm a bit of a treasure hunter. I collect historical relics and old coins. These ruins seemed like a great place to dig up artifacts that might have been buried for years. Also, this stretch of road was deserted, so it was unlikely anyone else had explored the site recently. Luckily, I had my metal detector in the car. I planned to use it on the beach at Potoski. I also had a child shovel, one of those with a neon plastic scoop and a wooden handle, for digging in sand.

It wasn't ideal for soil, but I figured it would do. I told my girlfriend I wanted to stop for a bit and pulled over onto the shoulder. She said okay, but preferred to stay in the car and continue napping. The closest ruins were small and not too far from the road, but I noticed a larger structure deeper in the forest and decided to check it out because bigger buildings, homes, etc., tend to yield cooler fines. When I got closer, I saw it was made of brick. The window openings were still clearly defined,

with dirty broken glass around the edges. Peering through one window, I could see that although half of the building had collapsed, part of the floor was still intact. I could just barely see my car from there. Because it was so dark around the ruins, I left my shovel outside. I wouldn't need it on the building's hard floor

and used my free hand to hold up my phone as a flashlight to spot anything metallic. I snooped around one corner and swept the metal detector around the interior. The roof was collapsed. for about half an hour then i started hearing movement around me crunching twigs and rustling bushes at first i dismissed it as small animals but it continued almost as though it was following my movements around the building's perimeter at that point the hairs on the back of my neck stood up i got the distinct feeling i was being watched like some animal was stalking me i decided to turn back i shouted and made loud noises in hopes of scaring off whatever was there, then cautiously headed to where I'd left my shovel. It was gone. I was certain

I hadn't misplaced it. Being neon orange, it would have been impossible to miss if it were still there in the open. That was enough to spook me. I said, screw it, and booked it back to my car. When I jumped into the driver's seat, I saw my girlfriend was awake and looked alarmed. She told me that just a few minutes earlier, she'd seen a child emerge from the forest and stare at her from several feet down the road. She described him as a boy of maybe seven or eight, with a dirty face and ragged clothes. She said she was worried the boy might be lost, but the way he looked at her made her uneasy. She mentioned he didn't seem scared or curious, but just stared with a gaze that seemed off for a lost child. She also said she wanted to notify the police, but wasn't comfortable

leaving the car or calling out to the kid, who had disappeared by then. I hadn't yet told her about what happened by the ruins, but my heart started pounding. While I was looking up the non-emergency number for the nearest sheriff's office on my phone, my girlfriend suddenly screamed my name. I looked up to see a boy, similar to the one she described, standing at the edge of the woods, just a few feet from the passenger door, staring directly at us. Then I noticed another boy, identical in appearance, right outside the back window, peering into the back seat. That was it for me. I turned on the car and floored it out of there. After driving for a few seconds, I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the boys disappear into the forest as quickly as they'd appeared. I sped for who knows

how long until we were well clear of those woods. We ended up calling the sheriff's office, and they mentioned there had been similar sightings of children along that stretch of road by other drivers. Though I never got a very good look, I agreed with my girlfriend that something was off about those kids. Their behavior didn't match that of normal lost children. Maybe they lived on a secluded property and were just playing in the woods or trying to steal our stuff. I've heard of feral children, which might explain their dirty faces and ragged clothes. Later, at the cottage, I googled similar paranormal sightings. Apparently, melon heads, a band of feral children with enlarged heads, have been spotted in Michigan's forests, only a couple of hours from where we were.

They might also have been black-eyed kids, although when I asked my girlfriend if she noticed black eyes, she said she was sure the boy's eyes weren't black. She would have remembered that. Still, his mannerisms, as she described them, sounded eerily similar to stories. I've read about B.E.Ks, black-eyed kids. So it's a possibility. If anyone has insight into this or has had similar experiences, I'd love to hear about it. The whole thing still creeps me out to this day, and on our trip home from Pottoski, we ended up taking a completely different route, just to avoid going through those woods again. Some things work better together, like Narses' soft matte complete concealer and radiant creamy concealer. Soft matte complete concealer erases and blurs

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I remember how the gravel road seemed to stretch on forever that evening. The sky tinted with the kind of murky orange that shows up right before night swallows the last bit of daylight. I was crammed in Uncle Grant's old SUV, with Aunt Beverly and my cousin Jeff, all of us worn out from the long drive. We were heading to this supposedly cozy cabin near a lake in northwestern Pennsylvania for my cousin's wedding weekend.

Everyone acted excited, but there was this electric tension in the air that I couldn't quite place. When we finally turned off the main road and reached the property, I got this weird sensation in my stomach. The cabin looked older than any photos we'd seen online, its porch slanted at an angle, and the wooden steps creaked under our feet. Something about the way the trees surrounded the clearing made me feel like we were being watched. Naturally, I told myself it was just exhaustion. Aunt Beverly teased me,

saying I was always looking for spooky thrills. I tried to laugh it off, but I caught myself checking over my shoulder more than once. Inside, the place had this stale odor that reminded me of forgotten storage rooms. Each floorboard groaned whenever someone shift. weight. The walls were practically bare, except for a few faded pictures of the lake pinned up here and there. When I flicked the overhead light, it flickered ominously before settling

into a weak glow. Uncle Grant declared it, charming. Meanwhile, I found myself eyeing odd scratches on the front door, long, jagged marks that didn't look like normal wear. I pointed them out, and he shrugged, said something about a previous tenant's dog, but it didn't feel right. We set about unpacking a few groceries. The fridge rattled like it might give up at any second. Some insects scurried across the counter, vanishing under a faded dish towel. I jumped back, feeling my skin crawl, but Jeff just laughed and handed me a paper towel to shoe them away. I tried to stay calm, though every clink and squeak in that house made me more on edge. The wind began to pick up, and the windows rattled, almost like an unseen hand was testing

them from the outside. After a quick dinner, we all headed for bed, but I wasn't sure if I'd sleep at all. Uncle Grant stayed up to watch a late show on TV, muttering about wanting to smoke a last cigarette. I fell into a restless doze on the living room couch, with the sound of crickets outside blending into the hum of the old TV. Some time passed before I noticed Uncle Grant quietly slipping out the front door. I pulled a blanket over my shoulders, trying to drift off again. I must have dozed, because the next thing I knew, Uncle Grant was back inside, locking up with more gusto than usual. He whispered my name, and I sat up, feeling my pulse thrum harder than it should. He said he'd heard this loud banging, like someone was smashing

a sheet of metal in the distance, over and over, but with no rhythm or explanation. No crunch of leaves, no voices, nothing else. Just those jarring, metallic thuds echoing around the woods. I wanted to tell him it was just old pipes clanging, or maybe random machinery from a nearby property, but even I didn't believe myself. The way he looked, eyes darting from window to window, made it impossible to dismiss outright. I tried to be the steady one, telling him not to worry, that it was probably nothing. Still, every nerve in my body was jumping, convinced something about this house and the land around it was off. He headed to his room, and I was, and I was I was left alone in the dimly lit living area. The television buzzed quietly, its glow flickering on

the wall. Every so often the floor would make a snapping noise as though someone was pacing in the hallway. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to think of anything else. I didn't get much rest. Maybe I was waiting for the banging to start again, or half expecting to hear a knock at the door. When I did manage to drift off, I dreamt about silhouettes lurking among the trees. their outlines barely visible. By the time morning rolled around, my nerves were shot, and we still had another night to endure in that place. I told myself I was being paranoid,

that everything I felt was just tension from the long trip. But deep down, I suspected there was more to it, something I couldn't quite identify, yet couldn't ignore. Sunlight streamed through the windows way too early for my liking. I'd hardly slept, and I was still on edge from the street. strange banging Uncle Grant had heard the night before. We all trudged into the kitchen for breakfast, quietly picking at toast and eggs. Nobody wanted to be the first to admit how tense things felt. Aunt Beverly tried joking about the crazy raccoons that must have been making a racket outside.

Jeff chimed in with something sarcastic about Bigfoot, but Uncle Grant kept glancing out the window, like he was expecting something to be lurking just beyond the tree line. I decided I needed fresh even though the atmosphere outside felt just as heavy. As I stepped off the porch, the morning chill hit me, and I caught sight of the ground near the car. There were these odd impressions in the mud, bigger than my footprints, definitely not shaped like any tracks I'd recognize. The outline looked elongated, maybe even distorted, with a few weird indentations that reminded

me of claws. It didn't look like a bear or any dog I'd come across. I knelt down, pressing my hand near one of them for size comparison, and a wave of unease stirred in me again. My mind was racing with rational explanations. Maybe the ground had just eroded weirdly, or some animal's paws had slipped in the rain. Still, it felt off. I stood there a moment, debating whether to share it with the others.

Eventually, I settled on keeping it to myself. I didn't want to add to the tension that was already hanging. over us. We spent most of the afternoon in a flurry of wedding activities. It should have been a nice escape, but every time I glanced at Uncle Grant, I could tell the previous night was still bugging him. Aunt Beverly kept trying to lighten the mood, but it never really stuck. The ceremony went fine. People were laughing, sipping champagne, and talking about the newlyweds. If someone noticed our restless energy, they were polite enough not to mention it. By the time we got back to the cabin, I was physically exhausted yet oddly wired. Aunt Beverly and Jeff went straight to

their rooms, complaining about the long day, while Uncle Grant plopped onto the couch, flicking the TV on for some background noise. I stood by the window, half-heartedly checking out my reflection. My mind wouldn't let go of those footprints in the mud. Eventually, I gathered enough courage to step outside. I told myself I just needed a moment alone, that I was blowing everything out of proportion. The back porch light was weak and flickered like it might go out at any second. The trees formed a dark outline against the sky, and the distant lake shimmered faintly. For a moment, I actually felt a hint of calm, like maybe we were all just tired and spooked over nothing. Then a voice cut through the stillness calling my name, loud, urgent, and sounding

exactly like Uncle Grant. The tone was forceful, coming from the direction of the front yard. My heart thumped painfully, and I nearly stumbled over my feet. It made no sense. Uncle Grant was inside on the couch. I hadn't heard the front door open, hadn't seen any movement near the porch. Yet there it was, calling for me again. The emptiness around the cabin seemed to intensify, as though everything else had stopped to listen. I practically leapt for the back door, throwing it open and racing into the living room. Uncle Grant was there, half asleep, remote in hand. The TV droned some late-night program, and he blinked in confusion when I rushed in. My words came out too quickly. Were you outside? Did you just yell for me?

He just stared blankly, shaking his head. I stood there, trying to steady my breathing. There was no possible way he could have been outside yelling my name, and that he was the same. and then back in front of the TV in a matter of seconds. I wanted a reasonable explanation, but my mind kept circling back to those footprints, the banging, the oppressive feeling. Something about this place was off, no matter how skeptical I claimed to be. Uncle Grant insisted he hadn't even moved from the couch. I was left with that eerie echo of my own name still rattling around in my thoughts.

I couldn't sleep. I tried lying down, but every little creek in the house had me sitting up, half expecting to hear the voice again. The air inside felt stifling, and I kept replaying the entire day in my head, the footprints, the shifting tension at breakfast, that moment outside when I could have sworn I heard Uncle Grant. Hours dragged on, and I barely drifted off before dawn light started creeping through the old curtains. Looking back, I almost wish it had just been a prank, some elaborate joke to scare me. But the fear stirring inside me was too tangible for that. Something about the cabin and whatever lurked around it wasn't content to let us enjoy our stay in

peace. And deep down, I already knew the worst part. We still had another morning to face in this place. Morning arrived with a gray, overcast light spilling into the living room. I could tell my eyes were puffy from hardly sleeping. Everyone else looked worn out. too. Uncle Grant looked as though he'd been pacing all night. His shoulders tight, his knuckles white as he clutched a mug of cold coffee. Aunt Beverly and Jeff were uncharacteristically quiet, practically tiptoeing around the cabin like they didn't want to set something off. The entire mood was suffocating, and I just wanted to be gone. I decided to head outside and check around before we packed up. Maybe there was some logical explanation waiting out there.

Something to rationalize this claustrophobic anxiety. That's when I noticed the side of the porch railing. Deep gouges marred the wood. Jagged edges splintered outward. They seemed too deliberate to be wind damage or an animal trying to claw its way up. Something about them felt purposeful, like a wordless warning. I almost called out for Uncle Grant but stopped myself, remembering how bizarre the voice had been the night before.

Instead, I stepped closer, my stomach churning. each scratch varied in length and i could almost swear some had an odd shape like crude symbols nothing i recognized but clearly not random it looked fresh with wood-shaving still hanging from the grooves that sent my pulse racing in a way i couldn't deny Scambling back inside, I found Uncle Grant stuffing clothes into his suitcase. The moment I mentioned fresh damage on the railing, he froze. Then, wordlessly, he resumed tossing things into bags, not bothering to fold or organize. It was clear we all agreed on one thing. We needed to leave as soon as possible. There was no more half-joking or rationalizing.

The rush to pack felt frantic. Doors slammed. Suitcases thumped against the wall. jeff tripped over a stray extension cord and let out a string of curses that shattered the quiet aunt beverly hastily grabbed leftover groceries practically sprinting to the car every slam of a trunk or click of a door lock seemed too loud echoing in the hollow morning air i helped load everything glancing at the perimeter of trees surrounding the property convinced something was peering out from behind the thick trunks a brisk wind stirred branches overhead making the entire area feel alive and tense Each time a shadow shifted, my senses went on high alert, but I never saw anything conclusive, just suggestions of movement and gloom. It was enough to keep me on edge until we finally shut the car doors and turned onto the gravel road.

The moment we got a few miles away, my chest felt marginally lighter. The oppressive heaviness receded, and normal conversation began to trickle back. Uncle Grant muttered something about never returning to that place. Aunt Beverly looked out the window as if she couldn't believe the last two nights had happened. Jeff just stared at his phone, scrolling aimlessly, trying to distract himself. We all needed distance from whatever had been going on. When I got back to my own place, I reached out to my friend Martina. She's the type who devours cryptid documentaries and loves scouring obscure internet forums.

I expected her to laugh off my story or tease me for getting jumpy. Instead, she listened intently, occasionally nodding with a grave expression. The moment I mentioned a voice that sounded exactly like Uncle Grant's, she cut in, and described stories she'd read about creatures that mimic people's voices to lure victims out at night. Although I'd heard rumors of such folklore before, hearing it tied so closely to my own experience made my stomach knot. Martina explained how these tales often surface in mountain regions, but she said legends can hop up anywhere dense forests and remote cabins exist. People vanish under strange circumstances,

leaving behind little trace besides footprints or curious marks on wood or stone. That last part stuck with me, the memory of the porch railing. I recall standing there, thinking how carefully those scratches had been carved. Later that evening, I scoured the internet on my own, reading about disappearances, theories, and plenty of wild speculation. Not everything felt relevant, but I stumbled on a few accounts that sounded uncomfortably familiar, unexplained knocks, distorted animal calls, or voices mimicking loved ones. An unsettling number of people wrote that responding to these calls often led them deeper into danger. Ever since, a lingering sense of unease has shadowed me, especially at night. I'll be in my living room, hear a random

noise outside, and feel my heart pound. All those rational explanations, I once clung to don't hold the same weight. And while I keep telling myself we got away in time, I can't stop wondering what might have happened if I'd followed the voice when it called to me. Part of me wishes it were a simple case of nerves, or an overactive imagination. Yet everything from the footprints to the metallic banging,

the gouges in the wood, and that echo of my name in the dark suggests something more. I may never have solid proof, but that experience left a mark, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who's driven off into the early morning light, convinced that something unnatural lurked in the trees behind them, waiting. All. Pay off your home, travel for life, drive a Ferrari. In celebration of the world premiere of the Monopoly Big Board Buckslot Machine by Aristocrat Gaming,

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Hasbro is not a sponsor of this promotion. That evening I trudged through the front door feeling grimy from another too long shift at the hardware store. Everything was routine until I noticed Benny, my bulldog mix, acting off. Normally he'd pounce around, eager for attention. Instead, he hovered near the couch as if expecting trouble. I called his name. He inched forward but stayed low to the floor, shooting wary glances at the back door. My girlfriend, Sam, glanced up from her spot in the kitchen, eyebrows raised.

He's been like that for the past hour, she said. I tried taking him out earlier, but he whined and backed away. Figured he just sensed another stray cat. She shrugged, but I picked up on the unease creeping into her voice too. I told her I'd handle Benny's walk, thinking a breath of fresh air might help. Usually I step outside and breathe in the swampy odor of southern Mississippi, that damp mix of mud and moss. This time the yard felt strangely cloaked in silence. Even the neighborhood frogs and cicadas, my usual nighttime soundtrack, seemed to be missing.

The porch light buzzed overhead, casting a faint glow across the patchy grass. Benny stayed close to my leg as we headed around the side of the house. Most nights, he's fearless, tugging me toward the fence to sniff out. whatever smells nature left behind. Tonight, he looked ready to bolt at any moment. Still, I kept going, shining a little flashlight at the ground to avoid stepping on any stray branches or slick mud. The second we rounded the corner, something about the air felt oppressive. I tried to brush it off, blaming it on exhaustion or the humidity. We reached our usual spot near the shed, just a basic metal structure that rises about six feet high at its peak. Ben, Ben,

Benny did what he came out to do, but the hair on his back was stiff as bristles. That's when I noticed movement in the gloom behind the shed. My focus snapped to a shadow that seemed to stretch taller than the roof itself. It was like a column of darkness sliding between the trees. A single heartbeat later, the shape darted sideways, too fast to be a person, too large to be any stray dog. Benny let out a strangled yelp and bolted. I was so startled I nearly dropped the flashlight.

Trying not to panic, I sprinted after him, nearly slipping in the damp grass. Benny reached the porch in record time, scratching at the door. I grabbed the doorknob, flung it open, and the two of us tumbled inside. I collapsed against the wall, pulse thudding in my ears. Sam rushed over. What happened? She asked, eyes darting between Benny and me. She must have seen my face, because her own expression went pale.

I forced myself to speak, though the words tangled in my throat. Something's out there, I managed, avoiding the window as I fumbled to lock the door. Sam reached for Benny, who huddled by her ankles, refusing to budge. Tension clung to the three of us like static. I didn't know what I had seen, only that it moved in a way that defied every logical explanation I could come up with. I realized we needed to check the yard before I drove myself nuts imagining possibilities. Though my instincts screamed to stay put, the pull of curiosity was too strong. Sam and I exchanged a long look, both of us unsettled but unwilling to ignore what might be lurking

in the darkness. We decided we had to find out. If we didn't, the fear would fester all night, gnawing at us. Flashlights in hand, we prepared to step into that heavy stillness once more, uncertain whether we'd come back any wiser, or just more terrified. I couldn't just stand by and wonder what lurked in those trees, so I decided to see if my neighbor Walter had any idea. He's been around these parts longer than anyone, plus he keeps a bunch of hunting dogs. If something unusual was moving through the swamp, he'd probably have a clue.

Sam stayed on our front porch, flashlight in hand, clearly uneasy about me leaving. Benny hovered behind her, ears pinned flat. He usually trailed me everywhere, but not tonight. after promising I wouldn't be gone long, I headed across the yard, hyper aware of the dark shapes and rustling sounds in the distance. Walter was on his porch, shining a lantern around like he expected trouble. His old hound dogs yapped in their kennels, a nervous, restless noise. When he spotted me, he waved me over with a grim nod. You hear anything strange back there? I asked, trying to keep my voice even. Walter scratched his beard. admitting he heard something pacing around the swamp earlier, but he figured it was an alligator,

or maybe coyotes. I explained what happened earlier in my own yard, including the massive silhouette and the fence that nearly got rocked off its hinges. Walter's expression shifted. He'd dealt with all manner of local wildlife, but my story put him on edge. Without a word, he picked up a rifle. Even though he's a seasoned hunter, something about his posture told me he wasn't ready for what we might find. We crept along the fence line at the back of his property. The moonlight was faint, but it was enough to see the twisted trunks of cypress trees and the murky water gathered around their roots. Every so often, I heard this squelching, like something large was shifting in the mud deeper in the swamp. Walter and I edged forward, flashlights darting across the undergrowth.

The dogs kept barking, and my nerves were on edge. The next moment, the fence was a little bit of between us and the swamp rattled so violently that my ears rang from the impact. The whole thing quivered as though struck by a truck, boards grinding in protest. Walter reflexively fired a shot into the darkness. We peered through the beams of our flashlights, but nothing moved. No footprints, no sign of an animal. Still, we sensed a presence, something nearby, watching. Then we heard a voice. At least, it sounded like a voice, but in a little, language I'd never heard. It was garbled, wet, and seemed to echo from all directions. Walter's breath caught. This was obviously new territory for him, too. I took an involuntary step back.

Every instinct told me we were in deep trouble, messing with something that knew these marshes better than we did. Walter motioned for me to get out of there, so I didn't argue. We hurried back toward his house, flashlights bouncing wildly off the trees. My lungs felt tight, adrenaline crashing through my veins. By the time we got to his back porch, the fence was still rattling, even though no one, and nothing, stood there. I shot one last look over my shoulder. The swamp was silent again, but not in any comforting way.

It felt more like waiting. Walter gave me a stiff nod, letting me know he'd be okay, though I could see fear etched on his face. I sprinted home, heart pounding, desperate to get behind locked doors and figure out how to how I was going to keep my family safe from something that defied explanation. The second I stepped onto my own porch, Sam rushed into my arms. Benny finally inched forward, tail low, as if he could sense how spooked I was. I told them both what happened, though my words spilled out in pieces. All I knew was that everything had changed. This swamp we'd called home for so long was

hiding something, and it was closer than any of us wanted to believe. No more than 10 minutes had pass since I'd sprinted home from Walter's Place. I tried to steady my breathing, but it stayed ragged as Sam and I hovered by the kitchen table. Benny refused to leave my side, pacing in circles with his eyes fixed on the doorway. I was in the middle of telling Sam every horrible detail when the entire house lurched, like a sudden earthquake had hit our tiny patch of land. Windows rattled. A bang so intense that my insides twisted around each other rippled through the neighborhood. A brief flicker in the power caused the thing. the overhead light to dim, then sputter back to life. Sam dropped her phone, and Benny whimpered in

confusion. I ran to the window expecting to see flames or some sign of destruction, but there was only darkness and that eerie quiet. Several neighbors gathered in the street almost instantly, flashlights bouncing over the asphalt. Walter emerged from his house looking frazzled, rifle still clutched in his grip. One of the neighbors, an older woman named Jeannie, pointed into the swamp, swearing she'd noticed some flickering blue glow in the distance right before the explosion. Others mumbled about feeling the ground shake beneath them. The way everyone's voices trembled told we were all grappling with the same sinister thought. Something unnatural resided out there, and it was getting bolder. Sam and I joined the group. The moment we set foot beyond the lawn,

an uneasy prickling sensation crept over my skin, as if we were all being observed. Nobody had an explanation. Any conversation about it or whatever's out there just trailed off. In that silence, the swamp loomed, soaked in shadows and stillness. Police arrived soon after, a pair of officers with tense expressions. They questioned us in turn, jotting down notes. When Walter told them about the fence being slammed by an invisible force, they exchanged a look that practically screamed they wanted no part in chasing something through a swamp at night. Even hearing about the unintelligible voice left them shifting on their feet. By the time they finished taking statements,

it was clear they were going to file their report and head out, not stick around to figure out the cause of that detonation. Once the patrol car disappeared down the street, we all realized we had no one else to rely on. People retreated to their homes, locking doors that had never been locked before in this small community. Walter shot me a knowing glance. His presence had always been a comfort,

like he'd protected this neighborhood for decades, but now he appeared just as spooked as the rest of us. Sam and I hurried back inside, triple-checking every window latch. Benny stationed himself near the front door, hackles raised, ready to spring. The residue of that massive bang still hung in the air, leaving my nerves on edge. Every little creek of the house sounded magnified,

every distant rustle in the yard made me tense up. Time crawled. We clicked on every lamp, determined to ward off the oppressive darkness outside. No official explanation ever surfaced for the blast. Neighbors whispered about illegal activities in the swamp. But even the more skeptical folks couldn't ignore the stories trickling through our small cluster of homes, stories of a colossal shape weaving through the murk and a voice that belonged to no person. Days'lyly, later, I was still peeking out back windows whenever night fell. The entire place felt different, like we'd stirred up an ancient hornet's nest. Every so often I recalled the colossal figure near my shed, the way the fence shook at Walter's place, and the terrifying language echoing through the

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Book direct at Choiceotails.com. It all started with the way the sky turned that yellowish-gray color right before the clouds open up. I was sitting in our cramped living room, listening to the wind rattle the window frames, waiting for my parents to say goodbye before they drove off to their gig. The house wasn't much more than some creaky boards glued together with mismatched nails, and every storm felt like a personal attack on its fragile structure.

My younger brother, Eric, was at the kitchen table, coloring in some old magazine pages, since we didn't have real coloring books. The tension in the air made everything feel off. When my folks finally headed out, I watched from the screen door as their beat-up sedan disappeared along the rain-slick dirt road. The plan was for Eric and me to camp out in the living room. Maybe watch an old VHS tape if the power didn't conk out. Instead, I just paced around the tiny space,

eyes darting to the windows every time the wind made them shudder. The storm was getting worse by the minute, fat drops pounding the roof, thunder rolling through the valley like distant explosions. I decided to check on Moose, our so-called guard dog. He was more lanky than intimidating, and my dad had tied him to a rusted engine block on the screened porch. It wasn't pretty, but it kept him from wandering off. Moose was usually pretty mellow, spending his days flopped on the porch, only barking at random

shadows now and then. Tonight, though, the wind had him shifting around, ears back, tail-tucked. The second I opened the porch door to see if he was okay, it nearly blew off its hinges, letting in a gust of wet air that chilled the entire front hall. Moose perked up, probably wondering if I was taking him inside, but my dad never allowed that. Before I could check the knots on his chain, the wind slammed again. This time, the front door's flimsy latch gave way and it wrenched completely loose from the frame. It felt like a giant had peeled it back just for fun.

Moose freaked out and jerked against the chain which scraped along the concrete floor of the porch with a shrill metallic sound. By the time I turned around, he was already lunging outside, trailing that chain behind him. The sight of our only watchdog bolting into a raging storm sent a jolt of panic straight through my gut. I slammed a foot against the door, what was left of it anyway, just to keep more rain from rushing in. Eric, eyes wide, stood in the hallway, his little hand. clenched in fear. I had this moment of indecision. Should I chase moose? Should I stay inside and hope he came back? My parents would never believe I'd done everything I could if that dog went missing. And Eric was too young to help, so I told him to stay put and not open any doors no matter what.

We didn't have a real lock to secure the front, just a rusty hook latch that hung crooked from the wood, but it was the best we could do. I grabbed my father's giant rubber boots from the corner. They nearly swallowed my legs, but they were the only protection I had from the ankle-deep water forming outside. No flashlight in sight, either I forgot in the rush, or I was too rattled to think straight. The wind roared like it was daring me to come out. And I did. The rain hit me so hard it might as well have been hail. It felt like the storm was trying to drive me back into the house, but I forced my way across the yard, yelling Moose's name. A flash of lightning revealed a quick glimpse of him scrambling down the back slope,

heading for the creek. That creek was already more of a raging stream from the downpour, and our makeshift bridge was basically two planks set across the bank. I let out a shaky breath, not that it helped, and charged after him. Mud sucked at my boots with each step, and thunder pounded overhead. I could see branches flailing, the trees bent at unnatural angles. Everything looked like it might snap at any second. Despite the roaring wind, I managed to pick out the scrape of Moose's chain.

It guided me like a beacon, though it was faint and easily drowned out by each thunder clap. I lost track of time stomping through the yard. Maybe it was a minute, maybe ten. Finally, I reached the creek just as another jagged bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. The old planks were slick and crooked, but I had no choice. I gingerly stepped on the wood, praying I wouldn't slip into the raging water. For a split second I glanced behind me toward the house. The dim glow from our living room window was barely visible through the sheets of rain.

I wished I could turn around and retreat, but Moose was out there alone, and that thought twisted my stomach. So I pushed on, crossing the bridge in two large strides, boots squelching loudly. The sound of Moose's chain seemed further up toward the mountain. the slope beyond the creek was a tangle of briars and soggy leaves and it didn't help that darkness clung to every inch of the forest one misstep and i'd be sliding down into the water or worse still it was better than going home empty-handed to face my father's wrath i took a deep breath forcing myself to keep moving overhead thunder boomed again so powerful it rattled my ribs the forest ahead swayed as if alive full of silhouettes shifting against each other. Something about it felt unnatural,

like it was quietly waiting for me, biting its time. My pulse hammered away, and my thoughts spun with every possible bad scenario. All I knew was, Moose was out there, and I had to find him before something else did. I gritted my teeth, hands shaking, and started up the slope. If I were lucky, Moose was just around the bend, maybe tangled in a bush.

If not, Well, I tried not to think about that. Either way, there was no going back. I trudged forward, the roar of the storm making every step feel like I was venturing deeper into another world. The creek was just behind me. It's water raging loud enough to drown out almost everything else. I'd crossed on those slippery planks, heart pounding in my ears, so it took me a second to realize that Moose's chain had gone quiet.

The silence felt wrong somehow. even with the rain pounding leaves and the thunder crashing above. I had this deep sense that something out here was holding its breath. I kept calling Moose's name, my voice ragged. A flash of lightning lit the trees for an instant, revealing the chaos of the forest floor, tangled undergrowth, small streams of runoff winding between boulders, and everything slicked with water.

No sign of moose. I pushed on, boots squelching in ankle-deep mud. The wind whistled between branches, almost like it was whispering warnings I couldn't quite understand. After another minute of struggling uphill, that smell hit me. It was a stench so foul my throat seized in protest, like rotting meat left out in the summer heat. I'd come across dead animals before out in the Appalachian wilderness,

but this was different. It was stronger, like a carcass that had been there a week or more, oozing and attracting flies. Except I couldn't hear any flies. just the thumping of the storm around me. Whatever it was, it made me want to turn around and run, but I forced myself to keep going. If moose had gotten hurt or tangled somewhere, I couldn't leave him.

My eyes watered from the vile odor, and the mud sucked at each step. A branch snapped overhead, making me jump, like something had stepped on it. I whipped around, but all I saw was the black swirl of the forest and the downpour. I tried to swallow back the drift. and called out again, Moose! My voice came out sounding desperate, bouncing off wet trunks. The thunder grumbled its response. No chain sounds, no whining dog, nothing.

Lightning flashed once more, cutting the darkness for maybe half a second. In that brief light, I spotted something pale on the ground a few yards away. My stomach churned as I took a cautious step closer. It looked like an animal's rib cage, possibly a deer's, picked clean to the bone. The edges were dark and ragged, as if something had gnawed on them. Rainwater and mud slicked the remains, making the bones gleam unnaturally. I felt a wave of nausea, but terror kept me from throwing up. The wind gusted hard, and the leaves overhead thrashed as though furious I was still there. I realized the smell might be coming from that carcass,

but it felt like there was more to it, like something else was in the air, beyond just death, something old and malevolent. Then lightning illuminated the area once again, but this time I noticed that certain patches of the forest weren't lighting up at all. It was as if a section of the trees had been painted with ink so black the light refused to touch it. I blinked, trying to clear rainwater from my eyes,

certain it had to be a trick of shadows. Except it stayed there, a dense void where tree trunks and undergrowth should have been. Suddenly, I heard a bar. barking frenzy. My head snapped to the right, and in the dim, stuttering light, moose bounded into view, chain clattering on rocks. He was soaked and wild-eyed, barking at that patch of darkness. I yelled his name again, voice cracking in relief. He kept barking, the chain tangling around his legs as he inched closer to the void. Every instinct in me screamed to keep him away from whatever

that was. I stumbled forward, arms flailing for back. balance and managed to snatch the chain just before he lunged. Moose's hackles were raised, and a low growl rattled in his throat. The barking stopped abruptly as if he realized we were both in serious danger. Then a low rumble echoed from higher up the slope, a sound deeper than any animal I'd encountered. It felt like it vibrated through my ribs, so heavy I nearly lost my balance in the mud. That was enough for both of us.

I yanked Moose back, and we started down. Hill. Calling it a retreat would be an understatement. It was a panic scramble. The ground seemed determined to keep us there slipping under my feet. Every time lightning revealed tree limbs, we jerked around them, half expecting something massive to burst through the brush. Moose fought the chain in terror, but for once he and I were on the same page. We needed to get out of there, and fast. The descent was a blur of snapping twigs and thorns slicing at my arms. rain plastered my hair to my face, forcing me to wipe my eyes constantly. I barely kept track of Moose's chain in my hand.

A flash of lightning was followed by the biggest boom of thunder I'd heard all night. It rattled the leaves off nearby branches. The steep slope made me feel like I was skiing on wet leaves. My boots slipped, and I nearly fell face-first into the muck. Behind me, a loud crash echoed, like a gigantic branch broke under tremendous weight. Maybe it was just the wind, or maybe it was whatever made that growl. I didn't even want to look back. The only thing that mattered was getting moose and me across that creek and back to the house.

When I finally spotted the creek below, lightning flickered again. For a split second, I swear I glimpsed a tall, vaguely distorted shape higher up on the slope. The very air around it seemed to bend. I squeezed Moose's chain, practically dragging him the last few yards. The planks that served as our bridge looked even more rickety now, half submerged by the swollen water. With no real plan, I splashed across, water sloshing into my boots. Moose leapt beside me, spattering mud everywhere. Another vicious gust hammered the trees, and I heard a crunch of wood.

My imagination, or maybe not, conjured the idea that something huge was only a dozen yards behind us, snapping branches in its path. I didn't wait to confirm. Moose and I stumbled back into what was left of our yard, the faint glow from the house's window like a beacon. My legs burned with exhaustion, and my lungs stung from breathing so hard. The storm still raged,

but as awful as it was, it felt safer than whatever lurked deeper in the forest. The door had swung shut behind me when I left, and I could see Eric's small face pressed to the glass, eyes large. He was waiting, probably terrified. Moose and I darted up the muddy slope to the porch. I nearly collapsed onto the door, fumbling to get it open.

My hands shook so badly I could barely work the latch. Finally it gave, and we toppled inside. I slammed the door behind us, though there wasn't much left of it to bolt. Rain dripped from my clothes in a steady trail. Moose shook himself, spraying water all over. Still breathing hard, I pressed my ear to the door. the door, half expecting something to slam against it. But all I heard was the storm raging outside. Eric stood by the dim lamp on the side table, looking so small that my heart hurt to see him.

He opened his mouth to ask a question, maybe about what happened out there, but I just raised a hand, still gasping. There was nothing I could say that would make sense. Not yet. Instead, I walked over to the window, parted the threadbare curtain a fraction, and looked out into the darkness. my eyes strained to spot any movement or shape the rain blurred everything into a shifting mess of shadows yet i couldn't shake the idea that something was still out there watching listening waiting in that moment the storm outside no longer felt like the biggest threat something else was lurking in the appalachian mountains that night and i'd come terrifyingly close to it i had no clue what it was or how it had stayed hidden all i knew was that we'd barely gotten away-and-a-way and i'd come terrifyingly close to it-i had no clue what it was or how it had stayed hidden all i knew was that we'd barely gotten away-away and I didn't want to test our luck twice. By morning, I was running on fumes. I'd spent most of the night in the living room,

fighting the urge to fall asleep. Eric dozed in a chair with moose curled at his feet. A rare moment of calm for that dog, who was still damp from our sprint through the storm. The rain finally started letting up at sunrise, and it gave me just enough courage to crack open the busted door and peer out. The yard looked waterlogged and torn up, like a battleground of mud and broken branches.

Before I could decide whether to investigate the creek, my parents barged in, complaining about the warped door. My dad, wearing an old denim jacket spotted with rain, took one glance at the wood we'd rigged as a latch, and muttered something about lousy craftsmanship before turning on me. He wanted to know why the door was off its frame, why everything smelled like wet dog, and what had happened during the night.

My explanation came out rushed and jumbled, Moose ran off. I chased him. The storm was insane. Something in the woods. He cut me off with a wave of his hand. The expression on his face said he was in no mood for what he believed were wild stories. He turned around and stomped out the door, grumbling that he'd check for any real damage and see if any punks messed with our stuff. My mother followed, giving me a tired look that hovered between concern and annoyance. I stood there, knuckles sore from gripping Moose's chain, so. tight the night before. A part of me wanted to just let my dad go, but my gut told me I should see what he found at the creek. The memory of that snarling sound, the rotten smell, and the impossible darkness clung to my mind like a stain. Eric stayed inside to calm moose while I stepped out into the dreary morning. Rain still dripped from the gnarled trees overhead. The sky was a dull gray that made everything look washed out, except for scattered piles

of shattered wood leading toward the creek. I followed the splinters, my boots sliding in patches of thick mud. My parents were already ahead, picking their way down the slope. The bridge, or what was left of it, looked like something had crushed and shredded it overnight. Chunks of rotted plank lay in the swollen water, and jagged spikes stuck up at odd angles. My dad crouched on the muddy bank, running his hand over a broken piece. His lips tightened in anger. Kids with no respect, he said under his breath, though he didn't explain how any kid could have snapped boards in such a savage way. My mom glanced over at me, her eyebrows raised.

She hadn't said much since we got here, just stared at the destruction with a pale face. I could see the gears turning in her head, trying to reconcile this with the idea of some troublemakers running around in the rain. It didn't fit, and I think she knew it, but she wasn't about to admit it out loud. The smell of decay had faded somewhat, replaced by the dank odor of morning fog and wet earth, but I couldn't shake the memory of it. I shuffled closer to the water, scanning the opposite bank. The forest beyond seemed calm, just dripping leaves in the

faint babble of the creek. In broad daylight, there was no sign of that strange void or the presence I sensed before. It was like the mountain had returned to its usual self, just another stretch of Appalachians brimming with wild critters and tall trees. My dad grabbed a loose plank and threw it aside. He gestured for me to come over and pointed at deep scratches along the wood. Teeth marks? He snapped, as though I was the expert. The edges were jagged, as if something had gnawed or torn at the plank with an unbelievable force. He shook his head. Beaver's maybe, he mummed. He mummed. though I'd never heard of beavers large enough to snap a thick board in one bite. He stood up rubbing his hands on his jacket, looking over the muddy mess.

I'll have to fix this, he said, then shot me a glare. Next time keep that dog under control. We can't afford to replace everything he tears up. I wanted to argue, to tell him it wasn't moose, but I could already see the disbelief in his eyes. He'd made up his mind that local hoodlums or some oversized animal caused all the chaos. We made our way back toward the house, my dad muttering plans to gather more wood and reinforce the place. My mom trailed behind him, arms crossed. I suspected she had questions about what really happened, but she stayed quiet.

I had a bunch of questions myself, and none of them had good answers. Inside, Eric was petting moose, who seemed exhausted, like he had no fight left. The dog wouldn't even look at the door, and every time a gust of wind shook the house, he pressed himself tighter against Eric's legs. My parents wanted breakfast and coffee, so they shoot us out of the kitchen. We ended up back in the living room, facing the window that gave a perfect view of the yard and the dripping woods beyond. Eric whispered, was it a bear?

I shook my head, not sure how to respond. A bear might tear up a plank, sure, but the snarl I'd heard on the slope wasn't quite animal. I thought about telling him everything. the black void, the smell, the mangled carcass I saw, but I couldn't bring myself to terrify him even more. We'd barely slept as it was. The day rolled on, dull and gloomy, with my parents hauling tools out to patch up the front door. I stood in the yard, eyes drifting toward the tree line. In normal weather, it was just a typical patch of forest, crowded with ferns and oak trees, occasional deer tracks. Now I pictured the twisted remains of the bridge and that unnatural darkness

hidden somewhere up the slope, waiting for another storm or another unwary wanderer. My mom called me to help with the door, so I wandered back and hammered nails where my dad pointed, trying not to think about the place beyond the creek. It felt like just a few short hours ago we'd been running for our lives, certain that something monstrous was on our heels. But with the daylight creeping in, nobody wanted to mention it. Nobody wanted to believe anything unexplainable lurked this close to our house. Eventually, when the door was half fixed, my parents turned their attention to the yard and started ranting about muddy footprints and the battered porch.

The tension in the house was like a tightening knot. Nobody felt safe, but we all pretended it was just a typical morning after a storm. I retreated to my room for a bit, peeling off the fifth. filthy clothes I still had on. Part of me wanted to ask if we could leave, even for a day, go stay with someone else until the weather cleared. But we barely had enough gas money to get my parents to their gig. They weren't about to up and vacate the house because of one scary night. I kept glancing out my window, half expecting a sudden movement near the tree line. Nothing showed, just water dripping from branches and left over fog hugging the base of the mountains.

After a normal sky, it might even look serene. But I'd seen what the night could hide. My heart thudded every time I remembered that rumbling growl echoing through the storm. The next few hours dragged on. Eric tried to calm moose with bits of food, but the dog wouldn't leave his side. My parents acted like the real villain was the wind, or maybe some vandals who'd chosen the worst weather possible to play pranks. acknowledged that the broken bridge, splintered into fragments, was too extreme for a casual

prank. Nobody wanted to confront the idea that something beyond ordinary had trampled those planks into matchsticks. Once the evening arrived, a sick feeling settled in my stomach. The sky was clearing, stars beginning to peek out. Normally, I'd be relieved to see no more rain, but a clear night meant every dark corner of the forest stood out in sharp detail. I caught myself scanning the window again, searching the edges for any shape that didn't belong. There was no sign of that darkness, or the stench of decay, yet I couldn't convince myself it was truly gone. The Appalachians had plenty of hidden corners, caves and hollows, where something could live without being disturbed. Maybe it only came out in storms, or maybe we'd simply

stumbled upon its territory at the wrong moment. I hated not knowing. I helped air it Eric settle in for the night, keeping moose next to us. We sat on the worn couch, lights off, just quietly looking at the window. Sometimes you can feel safer in the dark if you think nothing can see you. Yet I was aware of everything, every creek in the rafters, every gust of wind outside. A branch scraped the roof, and I nearly jumped. But no monstrous shadow loomed at the window. No chain-rattling chase played out in the yard, when my parents'

finally turned in, the house fell into an uneasy silence. Eric drifted to sleep eventually, arms wrapped around moose like a security blanket. I sat there, staring past their forms at the night beyond the window, gripping the couch cushions until my fingers hurt. The moonlight made the tree line visible, turning the shapes of trunks and tangled branches into black silhouettes. Part of me tried to believe nothing was out there, but it was a hollow belief. Somewhere in those mountains, something was waiting, something I'd practically run headlong into when chasing moose, something that snapped planks, left bones in the mud, and made a sound that shook the ground like a tremor. I just prayed it wasn't peering back this way, remembering my scent. The idea sent my heart

rattling in my chest, and so I sat through the night wide awake, glancing at the window every time a breeze stirred a branch. If the thing from the storm decided to come back, I knew our patched-up door wouldn't be enough to keep it out. But all I could do was cling to hope that daylight would keep it at bay, that maybe this horror was finished with us, or at least satisfied enough to leave us alone for a while longer.