Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 6 Scary Deep Woods Horror Stories

Episode Date: May 10, 2024

These are 6 Scary Deep Woods Horror Stories Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to www.justcreepy.net Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:07:48 Story 2 00:15:42 Story 3 00:27:02 Story 4 00:34:32 Story 5 00:50:11 Story 6 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #scarystoriespodcast #justcreepy 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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Start selling on Deepop, where Taste recognizes taste, Spring just slid into your DMs. Grab that boho look for that rooftop dinner, those sandals that can keep up with you, and hang some string lights to give your patio a glow up. Spring's calling. Ross, work your magic. There's a hidden lake, a short walk away from my house in Parsonfield, Maine.

I've been going fishing there for as long as I've lived here. It's hidden away from any roads or houses, offering perfect privacy, and I'm usually the only one out on the lake fishing. In fact, I leave my kayak in the same spot by the lake whenever I'm not using it. It's easier than lugging the thing back and forth from my house to the lake. I leave it leaning up against a huge tree every time. The kayak is heavy enough not to fall over from a windstorm or anything, and I also keep it covered to prevent critters from taking refuge inside.

It was a warm summer evening. I had been out on the lake for about an hour and had already caught a few trout, which I'd thrown into the cooler. It was dusk at this point, and the little bit of light left in the sky was disappearing behind the trees. I was planning to bring it in soon, but just then I heard sounds from the edge of the lake. I turned and saw someone standing at the edge of the water, tipping a barrel of some kind over, pouring its contents into the lake. It looked like they were polluting the lake with something. I took it upon myself to yell out,

Excuse me, what are you doing? The person looked up at me and then ran into the lake. woods, with the contents of the barrel still pouring into the water. I looked more closely at the liquid being poured out. It looked like a dark red liquid, though it was dark out, so I can't say with 100% certainty that it was red, but it was very dark. I felt a sense of unease creep up throughout my body. I decided I wanted to leave. As a big nature guy, seeing people littering or polluting the environment makes me sick. I genuinely could. I couldn't resist shouting something at that person, but I didn't feel comfortable here any longer.

I planned on reporting this to the Department of Environmental Protection. I paddled the kayak back to my usual spot, took all of my gear off the kayak before pulling it out of the water, and as I was putting the cover over the kayak, I heard one single snap of something not far away, like the crunch of something under a person's shoe. I turned and was about to say, who's there? but I decided against it. I finished covering the kayak quicker than I ever had before. I didn't even bother standing it up to lean on the tree this time.

I left it on the ground, picked up my gear and cooler, and started quickly walking out of the woods and out to the road which led to my house. It was only a couple of minutes of a walk, and I was back home. I kept looking over my shoulder the entire time, though, thinking someone was behind me. I put my gear in the shed real quick, then went inside. I never locked the door so quickly.

I was genuinely spooked. I rinsed off the trout and put them in the fridge, planning on cooking them tomorrow. Tonight, I just heated up some leftovers. As the food was in the microwave, there was a knock at my front door. The fear and dread that I was feeling the entire walk back to the house returned in an instant,

and my suspicion that I was being followed home was basically confirmed. I mean, who else would be knocking on my door this late? My lights were on. My car was in the driveway. Whoever it was knew I was in here. I had all the shades closed, though, so nobody could look inside. They knocked on the door again. The microwave beeped as the timer hit zero.

I'm sure whoever was outside heard it. All the windows were cracked open. A moment later, there was a knock now on the window, and a man's voice said through the window, Excuse me, I think you saw me at the lake earlier. I'd just like to explain myself. There was absolutely no chance I was opening the door to this person. For them to stalk me to my house told me this was a dangerous person.

They repeatedly knocked on the window and kept yelling, Hello, through it. I decided to acknowledge him now that he was getting more aggressive. I yelled, Yo, leave, or I'll call the police. I intended to either way, but it was still a threat to get him to leave. The man responded calmly now, saying, Sir, if you could just open the front door,

I'll explain everything to you. I repeated my threat, and I didn't hear his voice again. At this point, I shut and locked every window in the house and turned on the AC. I also made a report to the non-emergency police number, detailing both the barrel being dumped into the lake and the man coming to my house. I also made an online report with the Department of Environmental Protection. Making these two reports honestly made me feel a little better about going to sleep that night. but thank God I'm a light sleeper.

In the middle of the night, like 2 a.m., I heard a crash from downstairs. I immediately sprang out of my bed and grabbed my Glock from the closet. I heard someone's attempt at quiet footsteps coming up the creaky wooden steps. I had my Glock loaded in hand as I stood behind my dresser, right by my closet, aiming at the door. I heard very slow creeping towards my door. My bedroom door is closest to the stairs, so it was naturally the first door that that they would approach, and sure enough, I heard the doorknob slowly pressed down, and then the door pushed open. I saw nothing but the man's silhouette enter the room. I flicked on the

lamp next to me so he could see my gun, and I screamed, Get on the ground now! He raised his hands in the air and seemed for a second to be motioning for me to calm down. He had a small blade in his hand. I told him to drop it, but then, he said calmly, I'm leaving, and he turned and and ran for downstairs. I yelled at him to stop, but he clearly took the chance on me being too afraid to pull the trigger. I heard him leave through the front door. I ran downstairs to lock the front door right away and then called 911. My living room window was shattered, glass was all over the floor. I kept my sight on that broken window until the police officer showed up. I had to explain that I already made a non-emergency report of what happened earlier,

in fear of waiting too long by morning for the barrel to be gone in the darkness. I went with two of the officers who showed up to my house to where I saw that man dumping the barrel into the lake, but after 20 minutes of walking around looking for it, it was gone. The man must have made sure not to leave it behind. I gave my best description of the man to the police for their report. The man was a short, bearded white man with a receding hairline and glasses, wearing a black flannel shirt and black pants. After the police left, I stayed in the living room all night with my gun next to me, watching TV. No way in hell was I going to sleep with a broken window and some nut job out there. At dawn, my brothers came over to help me fix the window.

My brother Dale stayed at the house while my other brother and I went to Home Depot to get the window in parts. Dale stayed at the house with me for a few nights till things cooled down. My not-so-wild theory is that the barrel contained human remains, possibly dissolved in some kind of acid. Why else would that man follow me home and then break into my house to potentially murder me? Trust your gut if something feels wrong. I knew if I opened my door to that man, something terrible might have happened to me. It was just another ordinary Friday, or so I thought as I lounged in our living room,

the sunlight lazily stretching across the floor. Our house, nestled on the edge of dense woods, always felt like a haven, away from the bustling town. My brothers, Drew and Jake, were upstairs, lost in their world of video games, their shouts and laughter occasionally drifting down to me. Michael, the eldest, was supposedly in charge, but he was more absorbed in his phone conversation with his girlfriend than in any of us.

I'm Sophie, by the way, 16 now but was 14 at the time. With long mocha brown hair streaked with fawn highlights and deep black eyes, I'm the only girl among my brothers. That day I was dressed casually in a white long-sleeve square shirt and dark gray sweatpants, a typical outfit for a relaxed day at home. As I scrolled through my phone, a sudden knocking sound from the sliding door leading to the porch made me look up.

I frowned, peering through the glass, but saw nothing. Assuming it was just a branch or some animal, I shrugged it off and returned to my phone. But the knocking persisted, more insistent this time. Curiosity peaked, I paused, setting my phone aside. The woods were usually our playground, familiar and inviting, but something felt off that evening. The sun was beginning to dip below the trees, casting long shadows that turned the familiar into something more sinister. Probably just Drew trying to scare me, I muttered to my same. as I stood up. I wasn't easily frightened, but the emptiness of the house,

save for the distant noise of video games, made me feel unusually alone. Michael's voice, a muffled murmur from his room, didn't offer much comfort. Approaching the sliding door, I hesitated, my hand hovering over the handle. The knocking had stopped, and for a moment, I considered calling Michael. But pride and the residual bravery from countless afternoons playing in those woods kept me from shouting for help. I slid the door open just a crack, enough to peek outside. The cool evening breeze brushed against my face, carrying the earthy scent of the forest. I listened, holding my breath, but heard nothing over the rustling leaves. Hello? My voice was a cautious whisper, half hoping for no response. Silence greeted me,

and I pushed the door a little wider, stepping onto the porch. The wood, felt cold under my feet, the usual comforting creaks now sounding ominous. I scanned the tree line, my heart thumping in my ears. That's when I saw it, a figure, partly obscured by an old, gnarled tree. It was just standing there, eerily still. The figure was dressed in a black hoodie and ripped blue jeans, and for a split second, I thought it might be one of my brothers playing a prank. But then the figure moved, or rather, shifted in a way that seemed unnatural in the fading light. I couldn't see a face, just the dark hollow where it should be. A chill ran down my spine, and the woods suddenly didn't seem so inviting. My mind screamed to run, to call out for Michael,

but my feet were rooted in place, as if the cold had seeped into my bones. The figure took a step forward, and that broke the spell. I stumbled back, slamming the sliding door shut and locking it. My heart raced as I backed away, eyes fixed on the figure that now seemed to have disappeared. As I retreated to the safety of the couch, I tried to convince myself it was just my imagination, spurred by the shadows and solitude, but the fear had settled in, a stark reminder that the woods, as much as they were our playground, held secrets in their depths. And tonight, it seemed, one of those secrets had come knocking. There I was, back on the couch, clutching my phone with shaking hands.

Every nerve in my body was on edge, alert to every sound, every shadow that moved across the room. Michael's voice still drifted from upstairs, but it sounded so distant, almost like it was coming from another world. Drew and Jake's game noises had faded into a background buzz. My heart thumped painfully against my ribs as I tried to convince myself that what I'd seen was just my imagination. I couldn't sit still. The image of the figure by the tree haunted me. Pulling together every ounce of courage I had left, I decided I needed to know if it was real or just a trick of the light.

You're being ridiculous, Sophie, I whispered to myself as I stood up. The safety of the brightly lit room beckoned me to stay, but the unanswered questions pushed me towards the door again. Slowly, I edged toward the sliding door. My fingers trembling as they reached for the lock. The click of the latch seemed louder than usual in the quiet of the evening. I slid the door open, just a crack again, peering out into the twilight that had now settled over the woods. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out onto the porch.

The cool air of the evening was a sharp contrast to the warm safety of the house. My eyes darted around, searching for any sign of movement. Then, out of nowhere, the figure emerged from behind the tree, closer this time. The sight of the white-smiling mask sent a bolt of fear straight through me. It wasn't a brother's prank. This was something else. Something sinister. Before I could process it, the figure dashed toward me with alarming speed.

My breath caught in my throat, and instinctively I turned to run, but it was too late. I felt a harsh grip on my hair, pulling me back. A scream tore from my lips, loud and desperate. Suddenly, a gunshot shattered the night. The grip on my hair loosened, and I stumbled forward, freed. I didn't stop to look back as I sprinted towards the house. Another gunshot rang out, echoing through the woods, followed by a pained scream from behind me. As I slammed the sliding door shut, locking it behind me, I saw Michael on the poor.

torch, shotgun in hand. He was breathing heavily, eyes scanning the dark for any more threats. Sophie, are you okay? He called out, his voice filled with concern. I nodded, unable to find my voice, my whole body shaking. Michael stepped back inside, his presence a comforting shield against the horror outside. He locked the door and turned to me, his expression a mix of anger and relief. I heard you scream. I got there as fast as I could. Did he hurt you? No, I'm okay, I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. We both knew I was shaken, but physically unharmed. We didn't speak much after that. The sound of police sirens filled the air minutes later as our parents arrived home. The night turned into a blur of questions, lights, and the comforting embrace of my mom.

Four months later, the news reported the capture of the masked figure, linking him to serious crimes. As I watched the report, a chill went through me, remembering the close call. I wondered about the randomness of his choice, why he had appeared that evening, and what might have happened if Michael hadn't been there with his shotgun. The thought was chilling, and even now, I shuddered to think how differently it could have ended. 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, Yamava Resort and Casino at San Manuel is giving one person a $1.6 million dream package.

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The pre-dawn air was crisp as I zipped up my jacket. The chilly breeze sneaking under my skin as if it was checking my resolve. Today wasn't just any fishing trip. It was another chapter in a family tradition that felt as, old as the mountain surrounding our little town. My brother Matthew, our friends Rich, Jeff, and Monty and I gathered by the docks, where our boat bobbed gently in the water, eagerly awaiting its passengers. The sky was still a deep navy, stars twinkling like the last embers of a dying campfire.

There was a sacred silence about the marina at this hour, broken only by the soft clunk of gear being loaded and the distant call of a waking seabird. I glanced at Matthew as he meticulously arranged the fishing rods and tackle boxes. His movements were methodical, a ritual honed by years on the water. John, grab the cooler, will you? He called out without taking his eyes off his task. I hoisted the cooler into the boat, the cans inside clinking together, a sound synonymous with our trips.

It wasn't long before Monty cracked open a beer, the hiss of the can opening, breaking the morning stillness. He offered a cheeky grin and a shrank. shrug. Never too early, right? I chuckled, shaking my head. You'd start with coffee if it came in a can. As we set off, the engine hummed beneath us, cutting through the still waters as we left the marina behind. The eastern horizon bled into orange and pink hues, painting a promise of the day to come. Rich and Jeff were already swapping stories from last year's trip, each tail taller than the last, their laughter mingling with the rumble of the engine.

Fishing had always been more than just a pastime for us. It was a lifeline, a way to reconnect with something ancient and elemental. My father had introduced me to it when I was no more than knee-high to a grasshopper, and I knew one day I'd pass these stories and skills down to my own kids. We heading to the usual spot, Rich asked, his voice cutting through the wind. Yeah, I replied, nodding to Matthew, who was at the helm. The cove should be perfect today. The journey to the cove was a ritual in itself.

We traveled past familiar landmarks, each a marker on our shared memory lane, the jagged outline of gray peak, the swoop of the valley where we'd camped one wild summer, the secluded beaches that had witnessed our youthful escapades. As the light grew, the world came alive around us. The water shimmered under the sun's first rays, turning from black to a deep, mesmerizing blue. gulls danced above us, their cries a soundtrack to our expedition. Matthew steered the boat with a steady hand, his eyes scanning the horizon. He had always been the cautious one, his respect for the water ingrained deeper than any of us.

As the boat cut through the mist that was beginning to rise off the water, I felt a familiar thrill. This was freedom, the kind that only came with being surrounded by nature, with lines cast into the endless blue, waiting for life to tug back. We anchored in the cove, the water around us calm and inviting. The dense forests surrounding the cove stood watch like ancient guardians. I stepped off the boat, my feet finding the familiar firmness of the deck. Here we are, boys, I announced, a wide grin spreading across my face. Let's catch some memories.

And with that, we cast our lines into the water, the day's adventure just beginning to unfold. The day wore on, the sun climbing higher, its warmth belying the cool touch of the breeze that skittered across the water. We had settled into our spots around the boat. Each man lost in his own rhythm, casting, reeling. The laughter and stories continued. With Monty's early beer, now a memory shadowed by several more. As the afternoon began its slow descent towards evening, Rich hooked something substantial, his rod bending in an impressive arc. Now that's what I'm talking about, he shouted, the strain evident in his voice as he fought

to bring in his catch. We rallied around him, cheering him on. The camaraderie during moments like these was what fishing was really about for us. It wasn't just the fish, it was the shared struggle, the collective triumph. Yet, as Rich finally hauled a sizable pike onto the deck, the mood began to subtly shift. The sunlight seemed to falter, a cloud passing over the sun perhaps, but then it didn't pass. The light dimmed strangely, and I felt a prickling sensation on the back of my neck. Looking around, I noticed a dense fog rolling in from the open water, enveloping us in a thick, white shroud.

Ever seen fog roll in this fast? Jeff asked, his tone tinged with unease. Matthew, peering into the encroaching mist, shook his head. It's not natural. This cove may be, he murmured, more to himself than to any of us. There was a weight to his words, a recognition perhaps of something beyond our understanding. The fog was relentless. Within minutes, it felt like we were suspended in a cloud. The shore and the surrounding waters swallowed whole by the white.

The jokes died down, and a silence took their place. Each of us alone with our thoughts as the visibility dropped to near nothing. I think we should try to get a signal out. Let the families know we might be late, I said, breaking the silence. The practicality of the suggestion was a thin veil over my growing concern. If this fog didn't lift, navigating back would be more than tricky. It could be dangerous. Rich nodded, and so did Jeff.

Their faces taught with concern. Let's get to shore. Maybe higher ground will give us better luck with the phones, Rich suggested. We pulled the boat. closer to the shore, the motor low, almost whispering against the thick fog. I grabbed the emergency flares from under my seat, a precaution I felt in my bones we might need. We made our way to the water's edge, the boat secured as best we could. The shore was eerie, the trees looming out of the mist like spectres. We used our phones as torches, the beams feeble in the

oppressive fog. The ground underfoot was soggy, the air filled with the smell of earth and decay. It was a smell I associated with the forest, yet now it seemed foreboding. As we moved through the woods, the fog seemed to thicken, and an unsettling quiet enveloped us. No bird called, no insect chirped. It was as if the forest itself was holding its breath. Then, cutting through the silence, a clicking sound started up, rhythmic and sharp. It seemed to come from all around us. We stopped, listening.

The sound growing in intensity as if something or someone was signaling. I exchanged a glance with Rich and Jeff, the same thought mirrored in their eyes. Turn off the lights, Rich whispered, his voice barely a breath. We clicked off our phones, standing in the dark, our hearts pounding. The clicking stopped abruptly, replaced by a heavier silence, one filled with anticipation and dread. We were not alone. In the darkness, we stood motionless, our breath shallow, barely whispering through the thick air of the forest.

The silence after the clicking noises stopped was more terrifying than the sound itself. The kind of silence that isn't empty, but full, charged with the presence of whatever had been making those noises. My mind raced, every horror story I'd ever heard about these woods crawling back into my memory. Rich's hand on my shoulder was the only thing that could. kept me grounded. His grip was tight, a silent message that said, We need to move, but carefully. We started back, each step deliberate, avoiding twigs and leaves that might betray our presence. My heart hammered against my ribs. Each beat a loud echo I feared would give us away. We hadn't gone more than a few yards when the underbrush

rustled violently. A primal scream shattered the stillness, close enough to make me jump. The forest no longer felt like just a mass of trees and fog. It felt alive, hostile. Run! Rich hissed, the urgency clear even in his whisper. We turned and ran, the scream morphing into a cacophony of rustling and stomping, as if a whole troop was on our heels. I fired the flare gun without thinking, aiming it blindly behind us. The flare arched into the sky, its red glow casting a momentary, eerie light over the forest. The side of the side of the it revealed was something out of a nightmare. Figures, more than a dozen, clothed in what looked like tribal garb, some brandishing what appeared to be spears. Jeff stumbled, his foot catching

on a route. He barely cried out, muffled as his face hit the dirt, but Rich was there in an instant, hauling him up with an arm around his waist. We didn't dare to look back again. The image of those figures was enough to fuel our desperation. The boat was our only sanctuary. The boat was our only sanctuary, and it had never seemed so far away. The forest seemed to fight against us, branches slapping our faces, roots tripping us. But fear is a potent motivator, and fear had us in its grip. We burst through the tree line, panting and disoriented. Matthew, start the engine, I screamed, my voice hoarse. Matthew, who'd been waiting anxiously, wasted no time. The engine roared to life just as we leaped onto the boat, pushing off from the shore with whatever we could

grab. The figures emerged at the water's edge, silent now, watching as we put distance between us and them. I fired the last flare towards the shore, more to see than to scare them. As the light pierced the fog, the group at the shore stood motionless. A final image burned into my memory, before the light died, and darkness reclaimed them. We didn't speak much after that. What was there to say. The fog eventually lifted as the night wore on, revealing the familiar stars overhead, but the darkness inside us remained. We took turns keeping watch until the sun rose, though I doubt any of us really slept. Monti, oblivious, had missed everything, and part of me envied his ignorance. As we headed back to the marina at first light, the world looked different,

or perhaps it was us who had changed. The water lapped quietly against the hull, an ordinary sound in what now felt like an extraordinary world. The echoes of the night's terror lingered, a reminder that some places, some mysteries, are better left untouched. This is a Bose moment. Your ten boring blocks from home until the beat drops in Bose clarity. And the baseline transforms boring into maybe the best part of your day. Your life deserves music.

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so I wanted to go out for a trail woodland bike ride. I had never been to Lee Woods before then, and personally, I don't think I will ever go alone again. After some research into different areas, Lee Woods seemed to be the best bet. Living only a couple of miles away was a nice bike ride. Upon arriving, it looked very peaceful. and I was almost in a dreamlike state by my first look at the place.

For a woodland area in England, let alone Bristol, it was amazing. Going into the woods, I remembered seeing different colors at the start of each trail, signifying difficulty for bikers and length for walkers. Don't take my word on that bit. I still have no clue what they mean, honestly. So I decided to go down the blue-colored trail to see what was down there. Finding it exciting, I decided to go down the harder trail. Now here's where it starts to get weird.

I began having this weird sort of vision, looking around as if I were being swallowed by the woodland. Everything felt like it was getting bigger and further away. I brushed it off, but it turns out I lost track of time. I got lost in the trail. Keep in mind, I am very observant and aware of my surroundings. I then came to a strange opening. I could go left, in the rough direction of the way out, or right,

deeper into the woods. Being me, I decided to go deeper into the woods. I came to a weird little trail that just had dodgy written all over it, metaphorically speaking. I went against my gut feeling of turning back and went down there. I came to a point where the trail continued, but it was getting very dangerous. The trail being too bumpy for me to even walk down, I then turned back, but for a few minutes before turning back, I do not know why. but I was just standing still, staring down the trail. I felt like I was being watched from all angles, even though it would be near impossible to have that many eyes surrounding me in that area.

I got nervous and began walking back up the hill as I was too tired to ride at this point. Keep in mind, my bike tires are completely solid, with no punctures, slow punctures, or even anything wrong at all. Upon getting back to the spot where I originally went on to the trail, that weird loss of time thing began. It felt as if the whole path had stretched by a half a mile, as if the woodland was moving. I began walking up the path, feeling that same eerie sensation of being watched as I did beforehand. This time, it felt a bit more sinister. It felt as if something were about to happen. Bearing in mind, I had not seen a single person now since I went down that first.

first trail. I will explain the scenery before continuing. It is a long path, a slightly steep hill to my left, a narrow river to my right, maybe four feet deep and four feet wide, with bushes on the other side of the river and the odd tree every now and then. Upon getting about a quarter of the way up the slowly inclining path, I heard a woman crying behind a tree up ahead. I started slowing down my walking pace to try and get a look behind the tree. But the whole time, I was thinking to myself, why would someone jump across to cry behind a tree? So I edged closer to the river to look behind to see if the person was okay, also because many people go to Lee Woods to commit suicide, so I was hoping that maybe I could help this person. But you guessed it, there was no one there, and the crying stopped.

A bit weirded out, I just slowly turned away and started walking again, a bit quicker as I was unnerved. I have had a few paranormal experiences before this, but not in a place like this, never in the woods. Usually it was in a house or some sort of building, so this was new to me. I had this sudden shiver as I was walking, maybe a minute or so later, only a couple of meters away where I heard the crying. It started again. but this time it was opposite me, across the river. I did not bother looking.

I just started going again in a bit of a jog. As I got faster, I heard the bushes rustling as if something was following me. Upon hearing this, I sped up, and the crying became more and more hysterical. Bear in mind, my bike was fine before this moment in time. I thought to myself, F this, I am gone. I tried to hop on my bike with the adrenaline that was rushing through me, and I came to an almost sudden stop. My back tire of my bike had become completely flat out of nowhere, so I had no other choice but to sprint with my bike and pray for the best, and that I do not trip or end up having

to throw it and run faster. With the crying person still close to me and keeping up, I was running faster and faster, praying I just get off this path that I was on. I had that feeling of wanting to cry, because I could not actually do anything to help the situation or get out of it any faster. After what felt like an hour but was probably only five or ten minutes, I could see the car park. The crying had stopped following me and getting closer and started moving back down to where I first heard it. I sprinted out into the car park. I must have been as white as a sheet of paper, and hysterical with my breathing and wheezing as multiple people in the car park turned to look at me like I was crazy. I saw the exit sign out of the car park and ran towards it, and whilst doing so, I noticed my bike was moving a lot smoother.

I could not believe that my bike tire had suddenly regained all of its air. It was solid again, as it was before the unnerving crying-person shenanigans. I jumped on my bike and got away from Lee Woods as fast as I could, and I've never gone back. Every person I tell this story becomes more reluctant to go there with me. The thing that makes this story so scary to me is that I have Irish heritage, and in Irish folklore there is a demon that we call the Banshee. She is seen in woodlands next to rivers and lakes, washing blood off clothes. It is said that if you see her washing blood off clothes, the person who owns those clothes will die.

Alternatively, if you hear her crying, it means death. I cannot remember the meanings exactly of the deaths, but it means either you or a loved one will die. Since 2018, I have lost my aunt, two of my best friends, and a dog. Lee Woods is no joke. There are many stories that have come out of Lee Woods too. You can read online about them. Search up Lee Woods. It is rated the 87th most haunted place in the UK, according to Hi Pop. It is a popular spot in Bristol for suicides, or it was, at least. Even the ghost of Isambard Kingdom Brunel has been spotted there, looking over the suspension bridge which he designed.

I may submit some more stories soon, as I have a couple more experiences I have had over the years. Something is following me. I swear I can hear them at night outside my tent. I embarked on this solo seven-day hike, and it wasn't until the third day that I noticed something amiss. When I woke and exited my tent, my small makeshift camp looked as if it had been ransacked.

my supplies were scattered and the small fire pit I made had been destroyed as though a large beast had stepped on it. The scariest part was the footprints left behind. They were all over my camp. They circled the tent dozens of times and seemed to come to rest at the door before heading away into the woods. I hadn't heard anything while I slept and assumed it was just some other hikers playing a trick on me. After gathering my scattered supplies, I started back down the trail. The hike I was on was remote and technically difficult, a challenge even for the most seasoned hikers, which made me confused.

Why would experienced hikers do something like that to my camp? Most hikers take this sport seriously. Ruining supplies could quickly lead to death from exposure. That day, I hiked long and far, taking switchbacks and pausing for minutes at a time to watch the trail behind me. The mountain was empty. I even removed some of my footprints in the dirt, hoping to make it harder to track me. That night I packed all my supplies into my tent and waited, certain that no one would have been able to follow me. I gripped my flashlight in one hand and lay down in my sleeping bag, waiting for a sound or noise out of the ordinary.

That's when I heard it, a twig snapping, a rustle of a bush, a rock being kicked and rolling across the ground. tension shot through my body and I froze, unable to move. My original plan was to rip open the tent door and shine the light in my would-be stalker's face. But the sounds I heard made me lock up. These weren't the sounds of humans. I saw no lights and heard no boots. Instead, it was the shuffle of something bestial,

perhaps a large bear or a wolf pack. Suddenly the sounds grew closer, and I thought it had to be more than one. animal, circling the tent, pawing at the ground, breathing heavily and hoarsely. A small sound coming from the back of a throat sounded like a throaty, demented version of a laugh. Yuk-yuk was the noise they made as they circled the tent, never coming close enough to touch or even graze it. Fear struck me hard and fast, and my first reaction was to curl up in my sleeping bag, as if hiding from the world was the ultimate defense, like a little kid defending

himself from the monsters under the bed. Now, I was protecting myself from the monsters outside my tent. The motion outside the tent exploded as the pace increased. The demented laughing was now coming from all sides, and I covered my ears trying to block out the noise before it drove me mad. Then like a breeze in the wind, they were gone. The sound slipped away into the night, and the torment stopped. My breath fell from my chest in what felt like minutes. I was terrified, and rightly so. Being alone on this mountain was always a bad idea. Hikers went missing here all the time.

I had just assumed they were inexperienced and got lost, but now I knew it was something more, something terrifyingly real. I didn't sleep that night. I just lay awake, unable to leave the tent for fear of their return, for fear that they were waiting out there quietly for me to slip up and leave. When dawn's rays crested the hill to the east, and bathed my tent in God's eternal light, I prayed for the first time in years. Normally, I'm not one for religious zealotry, but I fell to my knees in that morning light

and begged with tears in my eyes for any of the gods to save me, to take me from this mountain, but nothing responded to my desperate plea. Now, I felt truly alone. The camp was a mess. The ground was torn up by dozens of odd footprints. They overlap so much that I couldn't get an accurate shape to one, but they were deep prints, indicating weight. Larger than a dog at least, I said to myself as I traced my fingers in one of the prints. I glanced around the camp and saw the prince leading off back down the mountain, the way I had come. I was already more than halfway through the hike, and it would take longer to go back the way I had come. Once I reached the peak, I could make my way down the opposite side, and to the parking lot where my truck was. By my calculation,

It was around three more days, two more nights. I could make it. I hiked hard and fast that day and made great time. The mountain ended in a plateau, and I rested for only a moment. Normally, I would spend the day at the top, find a nice place to camp, and bask in the world from my seat up high. Today, I left instantly, glancing only for moments to check my path. I could see my truck far below in the parking lot.

The way down was a road. rocky path that normally I wouldn't attempt, but this was an emergency. The sun was getting low, and I needed to find a place to camp. As I reached the edge of the woods, I paused, watching the sun as it fell faster and faster. A small clearing lay out before me, full of long grass. To my back were tall, sturdy trees with lots of branches and odd angles, as if they were protecting me from the beasts that lurk behind me. I decided to set up my tent in the clearing, a few feet from the trees, next to a fallen tree with its large mass of roots exposed to the night sky. I kept looking over my shoulder as I worked, knowing these creatures only came at night.

Sweat beaded down my neck, and I took a moment when I was done to drink and eat quickly from my pack. I gathered a large amount of wood from the trees and used some of my emergency lighter fluid to start a large cooking fire outside the tent, with enough wood to burn for hours. An idea struck me while I ate and watched the trees. Taking my flashlight and gear, I made for the trees and climbed high up. Among the branches, I found a secure spot where I could sit comfortably, and better yet, where I could watch my tent. For an hour, I sat in terrified silence, my heart beating out of my chest as I tried to calm

myself. Maybe they wouldn't come tonight. Maybe I had made it far enough away that they wouldn't be able to find me. That's when the noise started, a twig snapping, the rustle of a bush behind me, the careful steps of something coming closer and closer. I hugged tightly to the tree, keeping myself hidden from sight below. My eye was on my tent, making sure that whatever was doing this to me, tonight I would see them in the firelight of my camp below.

The grass below my perch was now covered in darkness, but I could hear something moving in the grass. I held my breath, hoping to avoid detect. The creatures move past me with no hesitation. I watched as shadows moved in the darkness below, too many of them to count in the poor light. They surrounded the tent and fire, silent as they moved. When one of them made that same noise from the back of their throat,

Heuk, hyuk, it went, and, as if on signal, the campfire was scattered, lit logs rolled and flew away as if something had swatted it with a giant hand. I could see bits of brown fur in the descent. descending firelight, a large muscular paw, a hind leg, all covered in the same brown fur. Once the dark fell, they began their pacing, tearing up the ground around the camp. Their back of the throat laughing, and I could hear my tent tearing, deep growls of inhuman noise and heavy breathing for hours. They never left. They searched the same ground over and over again, as if blind until an hour before dawn. They quietly slunk away back up the mountain

towards the peak. I hadn't slept at all again and was feeling exhausted. My legs felt weak, and I slid down the last few feet of the tree, landing hard on my back. I lay there, breathing heavily as the morning sun bathed me in warm, life-saving light. My tent had been shredded to pieces, and I now had no doubt in my mind that they were hunting me. Blood was on the ground beside the fire where it looked like something had happened. Maybe the creatures had a fight. amongst themselves during the night. I sighed, examining my tent, dropping the piece of it I held. I turned and made my way down the rocky trail. Gone were the lush trees and long grass of the peak, and once more I plunged into the rocky and steep trail to the base. The trail was slow going as I

climbed down rock faces and had to backtrack several times to find a different path down. I could not spend one more night in this place. Far below, I could see my old red pickup in the parking lot. Within my vision, but still so far away, if I had a base jumping kit, I could be down there in minutes instead of hours. At various spots, I had to anchor with ropes that had been placed by previous climbers. I praised them and their families with good fortune, as this put a large distance between me and the beasts.

I traveled through the day and resolved my. to continue through the night. With no tent or cover I would be torn to shreds by the beasts. As the sun began to set, I doubled my pace. I knew somewhere along here was the repel site, a place with hundreds of feet of strong rope for you to descend the final drop. After that is a short five-minute walk to the truck. I couldn't find the repel spot. I knew it had to be around here somewhere, but I seemed to be lost. I had seen the repel spot from my truck, But now that I was on the mountain, I could have missed it in the dusk's light. I knew I had to backtrack slightly and made my way back up the mountain.

Fear struck me again, knowing the beasts were coming. As I climbed, I saw a bright green rope hanging from a series of anchors in the rock. I attached my harness and walked backward off the rock. This is something I had done dozens of times, and I made good time. Halfway down, I rested for a moment as the sun set behind me. me. That's when I felt it, something pulling on the rope above. It jerked and began swinging side to side. I dropped slightly before I felt something pulling me back up the mountain. I began to repel with increased fervor and drop down the mountain faster than I ever had before. I reached the bottom,

but noticed the rope had shortened around 20 feet and was slowly getting higher. The ground below was rocky and rough, but I had no choice. I unclipped myself from the line and dropped quickly to the ground. I landed awkwardly on a stone with my left leg and felt my ankle twist awkwardly. I screamed out in pain as my leg burned. Despite this, I smiled. I had escaped. The beasts weren't going to catch me now.

I could see my red pickup truck down the hill and rose to my feet. The pain was intense, but I kept going, knowing this was my only chance. me, I heard the impossible, the sound of rocks being scattered as something heavy landed. I dared not glance over my shoulder, but doubled my pace. I could hear heavy breathing and movement behind me. A small glade of young trees lay directly in front of me, and I ducked into the thin branches for any sort of cover from the relentless pursuer. Yuk-yuk came from behind me, and I froze, letting the foliage cover my body from sight.

I barely dared to breathe as I heard the branches snapping around me. I could smell the foul breath of the beast as I crouched in a thin shield of branches and foliage, a poor armor indeed. Heavy breathing came closer and closer to me until it was right beside my ear. The back of the throat laugh came out right beside my ear, making fear shoot up my spine, paralyzing me to the spot. This was it, the end. Whatever this creature was, it was going to kill me. I chanced a glance in its direction and stared right into its repulsive face. It bore a resemblance to a shaved wolf with its skin pulled back,

a large mouth filled with rows of dangerously sharp teeth, and a large brown nose like a dog's. Saliva dripped from its open mouth as it breathed in air and ragged breaths. The oddest part was its eyes. They were all white and filled with clouds, almost as if the creature was blind. I sat perfectly still as the creature, was within feet of me. It had a hunched back, almost human, but it moved on all fours like an

animal. The creature smelled at the air briefly before growling and moving away through the foliage, making the hyuk-h-hook sound, as it left as if it were mocking my fear of it. The creature couldn't see. I assumed it reacted to movement, sound, or smell, perhaps all three. As the creature moved away, I quietly limped in the opposite direction towards my truck. Finally, I was in the parking lot and into my truck. I locked the doors behind me and lay down on the seat, breathing for a moment. Planning my next move, with a jerk, I started the truck, and my old faithful girl turned on in a single stroke. I flicked on my headlights as my heart stopped. In front of my truck was a dozen or so of the beasts, all crouched over, their eyes a milky pale

unseeing. As my headlights hit their eyes, the beasts changed. They covered their eyes in pain, and I put the truck into drive. As I stepped on the gas, I realized my mistake, the fire, that one night in the tree, the way they attacked it. With a smash, I felt one of them ram into my tailgate. I sped off down the road swerving to avoid them. In my rearview mirror, I could see them chasing me down the dark mountain road, and I sped up, keeping ahead of them. My ankle throbbed painfully, but I felt nothing as my adrenaline peaked again and again, as my fear warped into new things by the moment. The last thing I saw was their pale eyes in the darkness as I turned the corner onto the highway. By the time I saw other cars and people, I knew I was safe. I drove non-stop for

hours until I made it back to my place. The sun was just about to set as I locked the door behind me. I breathed a sigh of relief and poured myself a glass of scotch to calm my nerves. I fell against my bed and took a sip of my drink before I lay back in the blankets, exhausted from my flight and the creatures chasing me. I fell asleep in minutes. I woke in the middle of the night to something outside my house. It sounded like something rubbing up against my front door. My heart froze as I thought of what could be out there, a slight knocking at the door, just loud enough for me to hear, before a sound that chilled me to my bones. A deep laugh coming from the back of someone's throat.

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Adelante! Where is Daredevil? I'm right here. Don't miss the return of Marvel Television's Daredevil Born Again. So what's next? I'm going to take this city back. In an all-new season, now streaming only on Disney Plus. They're hunting us.

It's time we started hunting them. I can work with that. This should be tons of fun. Marvel Television's Daredevil Born Again, now streaming only on Disney Plus. This episode is brought to you by Perfect Bistro Cat Food. Cats, this ad is for you. Has your human ever called you picky?

Persnickety, choosy? If so, Perfect Bistro Cat Food is for you, with ingredients like wild-caught tuna and pasture-raised lamb, tantalizing textures, and delectable flavors that meet even the most discerning cat standards. You're not picky, you're just perfectionists. Perfect Bistro, Mealtime Perfection for Every Cat. Have your human visit PerfectBistro.com. The humidity hung like a heavy blanket over everything,

clinging to my skin with a persistence that made sweat beads feel like part of my shirt. The old ceiling fan above did little more than stir the thick air in our living room, where I lay sprawled on the couch, trying to find some solace in the shadows cast by the half-closed blinds. Asher, my little brother, was rifling through the freezer again. His hopes pinned on a popsicle he wasn't supposed to have until his birthday. Wednesday, three days too far for an almost 11-year-old. Hey, Nick, can I have some of the popsicles, please?

His voice broke through the fan's lazy drone. No, we have to wait until Wednesday, I called back, not bothering to lift my eyes from the cushion. But it's my birthday, so I should be able to have one. Asher's tone carried that mix of entitlement and annoyance that only younger siblings mastered. Not your birthday till Wednesday, dude. Plus mom and dad said, I replied, my voice rising just enough to match his irritation. It was just the two of us, alone until Sunday morning, while our parents were away on a business trip. At 14, I was deemed responsible enough to look after things, including Asher, which at times like these felt more like a punishment than a sign of trust.

Asher slammed the freezer door and slumped onto the couch, causing. it to creak under his sudden weight. I'm bored, he moaned, his body melting into mine as he collapsed entirely. Yeah, okay, I literally don't care. I shoved him off, needing my space, trying to catch some elusive, cool air. He stood and wandered over to the glass sliding door, gazing out with that look he got when he was plotting his next move. Can we go look for snakes outside, he asked, hopeful. You can, I'm tired. I closed my eyes. I closed my eyes. I, envisioning a quiet house, just a few moments without the constant noise and chaos of Asher's schemes. You're always tired, he shot back, before a sudden knock at the front door jolted us both.

Don't answer it, I muttered half into the couch. Why? Because it could be a serial killer waiting to make you his next victim, I said dryly, though the banging persisted, louder this time. This is the FBI. Open up, you're all under arrest. The muffled shout could only belong. to one person, Jacob.

Okay, open it, I sighed, resigned to the interruption. Asher flung the door open, and in-barreled Jacob followed by Trevor, our closest friends and fellow conspirators in most of our childhood escapades. They looked like they'd run the whole way here, their faces flushed and sweating as they burst into our living room. Nick, you'll never guess what we found in the woods. Trevor's eyes were wide, his excitement palpable. We found an abandoned treehouse, Jacob added, the words tumbling out between gasps for air.

That got my attention. I sat up, despite the heat that made every movement feel like waiting through soup. Where at? I asked, a spark of curiosity flickering despite the oppressive heat. It's further past the quarry, Jacob explained, his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath, like a 15-minute walk past it. I want to go, please, Nick, let's go check it out. Asher's voice was now filled with a giddy excitement, the earlier annoyance forgotten. I looked at them, their faces eager and expectant, then at the clock. 3.16 p.m. Nothing but time stretched out before us.

With a reluctant shrug I conceded, yeah, all right, I guess. Yes, Trevor whooped. All right, let's go quick. They were out the door before I even stood up, their energy a stark contrast to my languid pace. but as I followed them out, the promise of an adventure, even a small one, began to cut through the haze of the summer heat. Maybe this was exactly what we needed. A distraction, a mystery, something to break the monotony of another sweltering day. The ride was a slog. Each pedal stroke sent a hot breeze swirling around my legs, a small reprieve from the suffocating heat. We cut through the back trails, the forest a blur of greens and brown.

a stark contrast to the lethargic pace of our small-town life. My muscles ached with the effort, yet there was something freeing about pushing forward, away from the stagnant air of the house. Jacob and Trevor led the way, their bikes crunching over the dirt and gravel, laughter trailing behind them like a banner. Asher peddled furiously to keep up, his earlier sulkiness replaced by a wide-eyed excitement that only the promise of an adventure could bring.

I trailed a bit, my mind wandering, already dreading the return trip under the even harsher angles of the late afternoon sun. We reached the quarry, a gaping mouth of exposed stone and echoes, and paused. The place always felt like the edge of the world, a stark drop into nothingness, but today it was just a landmark, a signpost on the way to something potentially better. The treehouse isn't on the trail, Jacob said, wiping sweat from his brow as he gestured towards a denser part of the woods. His statement was an unnecessary reminder of our detachment from the safety of familiar paths.

How the hell did you guys even find it? I asked. Curiosity peaked despite my efforts to remain aloof. We were looking for new spots to catch water snakes. Trevor chimed in, already hopping off his bike and heading into the brush. His enthusiasm was contagious, even if the thought of stumbling across snakes made my skin crawl. We followed, the forest closing in around us like a living thing. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in narrow beams, spotlighting the rich, damp earth and the debris of the forest floor.

It was cooler here, the air thick with the scent of moss and decay, a living breathing world unto itself. After what felt like an eternity of ducking under low branches and stepping over roots, the trees opened up into a small clearing. There, like a vision conjuring. up from a boyhood dream, stood the treehouse. It was perched high in an old oak, the wood of the structure bleached by the sun to a weathered gray, making it almost part of the tree itself. The craftsmanship was undeniable. The treehouse had not just been built, it had been crafted,

each board and nail a testament to someone's dedication. Dude, this is freaking amazing. I couldn't keep the awe out of my voice as we stood there, necks craned, eyes wide. haven't gone up yet trevor said a grin splitting his face wanted to get you guys first the ladder to the tree-house was a simple thing nailed directly to the trunk the rungs rough and inviting it looked sturdy but as i placed my hand on the bark to steady myself a wave of unease washed over me the tree felt off the texture not quite right like the hide of an animal rather than the rough skin of a tree i pulled my hand back trying to shake the feel but it lingered, a whisper in the back of my mind that something was not as it seemed. I glanced at Asher, who was already bouncing on his toes, eager for his turn to climb. Quit being such a baby, I muttered when he whined about being tired, my voice harsher than I intended. He was just a kid, excited and oblivious to the nagging doubts that tugged at my instincts.

But we were here, and curiosity, that reckless driver, nudged us for. forward. We'd come too far not to see the inside. With a collective breath, we braced ourselves for whatever mysteries lay nestled within the wooden walls above. The latter groaned under my weight, each step up sending a shiver through the ancient wood. Above me, the treehouse loomed like a silent sentinel, its windows dark and unwelcoming now that we were this close. The excitement from the boys was palpable, a stark contrast to the unease tightening in my gut. Asher, you go first, carve our initials, Trevor said, handing him the small army knife we'd brought along. My brother's face lit up with the responsibility, eager to make his mark. He scrambled up the ladder,

his small frame disappearing into the shadows of the treehouse. The rest of us waited below, necks craned, listening for the sounds of his triumphant arrival at the top. minutes stretched on, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and the distant call of a crow. Asher didn't shout down to us, didn't call out in excitement. A heavy silence settled over the clearing, the kind that presses down, suffocating. Hey, Asher, you good up there? Jacob finally called, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. No reply. The unease I'd felt earlier morphed into real worry. I'm going up, I announced, my voice more steady than I felt. The latter felt even more unstable now,

each step attest of faith as I ascended into the unknown. Reaching the top, I hesitated, peering into the dim interior. The smell hit me first, a musty, earthy scent mixed with something sour. I climbed in, my heart hammering in my chest. The treehouse was empty. No asher, no sound of his laughter or the scrape of the knife against wood, just emptiness, and that strange, unsettling smell. Asher? My voice echoed slightly, sounding foreign in the enclosed space. I moved deeper, my eyes adjusting to the low light, scanning the room. There, on the floor, was the knife, laid beside a small pile of freshly carved wood shavings. But no, Asher. Panic clawed at my throat as I turned back to the entrance, calling down to the others. He's not here. I can't find him.

What do you mean he's not there? Trevor's face appeared below, confusion and fear etching his features. I climbed down, each step heavier than the last, my mind racing with impossible scenarios. We regrouped at the base of the tree, the seriousness of the situation settling in. He has to be here somewhere, Jacob insisted, his voice a mix of desperation. and command. He can't just disappear. We spread out, calling his name, the forest swallowing our voices as if mocking our efforts. Minutes turned into an hour, and then two, our initial panic transitioning into a deep, cold dread. We decided to go back, get help. Whatever had happened, whether Asher had wandered off or something worse, we weren't equipped to handle it alone. As we retraced our steps,

I couldn't shake the image of the empty treehouse, that sense of wrongness that had greeted me at the top of the ladder. Something had happened here, something bad, and as the trees closed in around us on the walk back, I felt the weight of whatever secret the treehouse held pressing down on us, as oppressive and inescapable as the humid air that had started our day. The ride back was a blur of motion and emotion, each pedal stroke heavy with the weight of what we'd left behind.

The quarry passed by unnoticed, the trees a mere green smear against the sky. Fear had lent our legs a frenetic energy, but as we neared the edge of town, reality began to set in, cold and unforgiving. Asher was gone. My little brother had vanished, and I was supposed to have been watching out for him. We ditched our bikes outside the local police station, the building a squat, unassuming structure that suddenly represented a beacon of hope. The officers listened with skeptical ears

as we stumbled through our story, words tumbling out incoherently about the treehouse, the strange bark, the disappearance. It sounded crazy even to my own ears, but desperation edged our voices. They organized a search party, and we led them back,

retracing our steps with a growing sense of dread. The forest seemed different now, more menacing, as if it knew we were searching for answers it had no intention of giving up. When we arrived at the clearing, my heart sank. The treehouse was gone. In its place, a gaping hole in the ground, as if the earth had swallowed it whole. The officers exchanged glances, their faces a mix of confusion and suspicion.

I felt their eyes on me, the unspoken accusation hanging heavy in the air. The search continued until darkness fell. But there was no sign of Asher, no trace of the treehouse, just a crater and a mystery no one could solve. The ride home was the longest of my life, each turn of the wheels a reminder of my failure. Years passed, but the shadow of that day never quite left me. My parents' grief turned into a silent blame, and I couldn't face them, couldn't bear the weight of their unasked questions. I moved away, started a new life, but the problem. past was always there, lurking in the shadows of my mind. Now, 17 years later, with a family of

my own, the memory had faded to a dull ache. But this morning, as I stood at my kitchen window, coffee in hand, a familiar shape caught my eye. Far out in the tree line, past the family of deer grazing in the early light, stood a treehouse. The same treehouse. My breath caught in my throat, a mix of fear and incredulity seizing me. I set down my coffee, my mind racing. It couldn't be, but there it was, a silent sentinel watching from the woods. Was it a warning, a reminder, or perhaps a chance for redemption? I knew what I had to do.

As much as I feared what might await me, I owed it to Asher, to my family, to face whatever secrets that treehouse held. This time, I would not let fear stop me. I would find answers, or I would find closure, but I would not turn away. As I stepped outside, the chill of the morning air felt sharp against my skin. The forest seemed to watch, waiting. With each step toward the tree line, the weight of years began to lift, replaced by a grim determination. Today, I would confront the past. Today, I would find out what happened to Asher.

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