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

Episode Date: December 9, 2024

These are 6 Scary True Deep Woods Horror Stories Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ Timestamps: 00:00 Intro 00:00:18 Story 1 00:10:38 Story 2 00:25:53 Story 3 00:33:06 Story 4 00:43:13 Story 5 00:52:20 Story 6 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 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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, Yamava Resort and Casino at San Manuel is giving one person a $1.6 million dream package. The biggest prize in Yamava's history. Club Serrano members can earn daily instant prizes and secure a spot in the finale May 29th. Don't pass go and own it all, only at Yamava, celebrating its 40th anniversary. You win? Details at Yamava.com must be 21-20. Please gamble responsibly.

Monopoly is a trademark of Hasbro. Hasbro is not a sponsor of this promotion. The fog was thicker than usual tonight, stretching across the road like a ghostly curtain. My truck's headlights didn't do much to cut through it. They just made the mist glow and eerie swirls. The engine hummed steadily, the only sound in the quiet of the woods. These late-night drives had always been my way to clear my head. The road seemed narrower, the trees taller, their twisted branches leaning closer.

As I rounded a curve, something darted into the road ahead. My foot slammed onto the brake, and the truck screeched, tires sliding against the damp pavement. The high beams lit up a massive stag, frozen in place. Its antlers were huge, jagged like the roots of an old tree. It stared straight at me, its dark eyes glinting in the light. The truck was skidding, and I yanked the wheel to the side, desperate to avoid hitting it. The tires caught a patch of loose gravel, and the whole truck tilted toward the edge of the embankment. For a split second I thought I was going over, but the wheels found grip again,

jerking me back onto the road. I braced for the impact, but it wasn't as bad as I'd expected. The truck clipped the stag's side, and I heard a heavy thud followed by a sharp crack. The creature crumpled to the ground as my truck finally came to a stop. For a moment, I sat there gripping the wheel, breathing hard. The fog swirled around the truck, making it feel like I was stuck in a bubble. When the initial shock faded, I climbed out to see what had happened. The front of my truck wasn't as bad as I'd feared. The grill was bent, and there was a smear of something dark on the hood, but it wasn't too bad. Then I heard it, a low, wet groan coming from the side of the road. The stag was lying there, its chest rising and falling unevenly. It was alive, but barely.

I grabbed my flashlight from the truck and stepped closer, not sure what I could even do. Its massive antlers looked strange in the light, like they were too sharp, too, wrong. The stag's eyes met mine. They weren't normal animal eyes. They were glassy and strange, almost like they were looking through me instead of at me. My stomach twisted, but I couldn't look away. Then its body shuddered. A loud crack echoed through the trees as its head jerked unnaturally. The antlers stretched, twisting and splintering, like they were growing right in front of me. Something black and shiny oozed from the cracks, dripping onto the ground with a hiss. I stumbled back, nearly dropping the flashlight. The groaning sound changed, becoming deeper,

almost like a laugh. The stag's legs twitched, and it started to rise, its movements jerky and wrong, like a puppet with tangled strings. I didn't wait to see. see what would happen next. I ran back to my truck, yanked the door open, and threw myself inside. As I fumbled with the keys, I caught a glimpse of the stag in the rearview mirror. Its massive, twisted antlers scraped against the trees as it stepped into the road, its glowing eyes fixed on me. The truck roared to life and I hit the gas. Gravel sprayed behind me as I sped down the road, the fog swallowing everything but the memory of those eyes. I woke up feeling like I hadn't really slept. The clock said it was morning, but the pale light seeping through the windows

made everything look gray. I stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before forcing myself to get up. My body felt heavy, like I'd run a marathon instead of driven a few miles home last night. Outside the woods were still and quiet, but not the good kind of quiet. The air seemed thicker than usual, like the fog from last night hadn't really gone away. I grabbed my jacket and stepped out to check the truck. The front of it looked worse in the daylight. The dented grill was smeared with something black that had dried into hard streaks. The hood had a faint warped ripple ripple running through it, like metal shouldn't bend that way. And there was a faint smell, burnt, but also sweet, like something left in the oven too long. I went to grab a rag and some

water to clean it off, but my hand froze halfway to the hood. Something caught my eye on the ground, a set of hoof prints, larger than I'd ever seen, led from the road to the edge of my driveway. They stopped about ten feet from the truck, like whatever had made them had stood there for a while before turning back toward the trees. My stomach tightened as I bent to get a closer look. The edges of the prints were sharp, too sharp, and the dirt around them had this weird, burned look, like it had been seared into the earth. By the time I finished cleaning up the truck, I knew I couldn't stay home all day. I grabbed my keys and headed into town. Maybe a bit of normal life, coffee, a conversation at the general store, would help me feel better.

The store was its usual mix of locals chatting and picking up supplies. I grabbed a coffee and some duct tape for the truck, but as I paid, I overheard a couple of old-timers at a nearby table. Another one near the crossing, one said, shaking his head. Third this month. Don't surprise me, the other replied. That stretch of roads cursed always has been. I tried not to react, but my hands tightened on the bag of supplies. I thought about the fog, the stag, and the twisted look of its antlers.

Cursed wasn't a word I believed in, but last night felt like it belonged in a category all its own. On the way back, the woods looked darker, even though the sun was higher. The trees felt closer, their branches hanging low enough to brush the top of the truck. As I turned into my driveway, I saw them again, those hoof prints, fresh and leading directly up to my cabin door. I didn't get out right away. I just sat there, staring at the front door, wondering if I was imagining the faint scratch marks around the edges of the frame. something had been here and it wasn't gone i didn't stay in the truck for long sitting there wouldn't solve anything and besides the longer i stared at the cabin door the more i felt like it was daring me to come closer

gripping the handle of the baseball bat i kept in the truck i stepped out onto the gravel the hoof prints were sharp clean and fresh they weren't like the ones near the road or driveway before these were deeper as if whatever made them was heavier now. Each step seemed burned into the dirt. The edges charred. I followed the trail up to the cabin door, stopping just short of the scratched wood. The air was still, like the forest was waiting for something. I didn't call out. My instincts told me that was a bad idea. Instead, I tested the doorknob, pushing it open with my bat raised. Inside, everything looked normal at first. My worn couch. The shelf of books I barely touched anymore. The must mug I'd left on the counter the night before. It was all exactly where I'd left it. But the

smell was different. It was faint, but it was there. A mix of that same burnt sweetness and something else. Rot. I moved slowly, stepping deeper into the cabin. The bat gripped tightly in both hands. The closer I got to the hallway, the stronger the smell became. A dark smear stretched across the floorboards, leading toward the back room where I kept my tools. The door to the room was cracked open. I swallowed hard and pushed it wider with the end of the bat. At first I thought the room was empty, but then I saw it. In the far corner, crouched like some grotesque parody of life, was the stag. Its twisted antlers scraped against the walls, and its body looked even worse than before. Its legs bent the wrong way. Its chest heaved unnaturally.

and black tar-like fluid dripped from its mouth onto the floor. Its eyes were the worst part. They weren't animal eyes anymore. They were too clear, too knowing, and they were locked on me. I stepped back, my boots scuffing against the floor, and the sound made it shift. Its head tilted, the antlers creaking as they moved, and then it started to rise. No, I muttered, more to myself than to it. I raised the bat, but my hands were shaking now.

It took a step forward. its hooves cracking against the wood. Another step. I swung the bat hard, aiming for its head, but it was faster than anything that big should have been. The antlers caught the bat mid-swing, splintering the wood like it was nothing. I stumbled back, slamming into the wall. The stag was inches away now, its breath hot and foul, the tar dripping from its jaws as it leaned closer. Its eyes bored into mine, and for a second I swear I could hear a voice in my head. Not words, but an overwhelming feeling of being pulled somewhere, deeper into the woods, into darkness. Desperate, I reached for the toolbox on the shelf beside me, grabbing the first thing I could,

a rusted hammer. As the stag lunged, I drove the hammer straight into one of its glowing eyes. The sound it made was like nothing I'd ever heard, a mix of a roar and a scream that rattled the windows. It reared back, its antlers smashing into the ceiling. and then it collapsed onto the floor, twitching violently. I didn't wait to see if it would get back up. I ran, bolting out of the cabin and into the truck. The engine roared to life, and I sped down the driveway, gravel spraying behind me. I didn't stop until I reached the town, parking outside the general store,

and sitting there in stunned silence. I could still hear that sound in my head, that roar scream echoing like a warning. I never went back to the cabin. Whatever that thing was, it wasn't just an animal. It wasn't natural. Be careful when you go into the woods. You never know what might be there. It wasn't that I wanted to break the rules.

I just wanted to see what it was like for once to do something exciting. Emily had a way of talking me into things, and I guess I had a way of letting her. So off we went, down the dirt road, through the dusk-tinged twilight, all our flashlights and snacks stuffed in our backpacks headed for the old abandoned fire tower. The sun was setting behind the trees, leaving streaks of orange and pink across the sky. Emily swung her arms as if we were on some grand adventure, but I kept glancing back toward the house.

It already seemed far away, hidden behind layers of pine trees. You'll love it, Emily said, skipping a little ahead of me. You can see for miles up there. It's like the best view in the whole county. I nodded, pretending to be more excited than nervous. Emily had been to the fire tower before, but I'd only heard about it in whispers from the older kids at school. Some said it was haunted.

Others said it was dangerous. Emily said it was just cool. The dirt road extended, curving slightly, and then was swallowed by the woods. Along either side of this path stood tall, silent trees, their boughs seeming to knit into some sort of canopy under which, as we proceeded, the air grew ever darker. There was a certain scent,

damp earth and pine needles. In a little while, the faraway sound of an engine humming could be heard. At first it seemed to come from behind us, but when I turned around, there was nothing there. Emily didn't seem to notice, so I just shrugged it off, but then the sound grew louder.

This time, I didn't have to ask myself. A truck came into sight in the distance, its headlights flickering through the tree, trees as it bumped along the washboard road. Emily turned back too, her smile weakening just a little. The truck slowed as it drew nearer. It was old and rusty, its paint peeling off in sheets. It might have been red once. The windows were down, and inside were three men, squished up like they didn't belong there. The driver was a wiry guy with a scruffy beard. He leaned out his window, saying nothing, just staring at us. The guy sitting next to him

was busy chewing on something, and the one in the back was leaning forward, grinning like he'd just heard a joke nobody else got. Emily elbowed me. Keep walking, she growled. We kept walking, shoes crunching on the gravel beneath our feet. The truck inched forward a little more, then stopped in the middle of the road. The driver's stare did not break, like he was waiting for something. They're probably just messing around, Emily whispered.

She didn't sound convinced. The truck sat there a moment longer before moving ahead. It didn't go far, just enough to pull over onto the side of the road. The men didn't get out, but they didn't leave either. We should hurry, I said. Emily nodded. Neither of us turned back again. The fire tower was still ahead, but it seemed a lot farther away now.

The trailhead was marked by a broken wooden sign. The words, fire tower, barely visible under layers of moss. Emily didn't slow as we stepped off the dirt road, ducking under a low-hanging branch onto the narrow path leading into the woods. Here, the trees felt closer together. Their tops so thick they shut out most of the remaining daylight. I followed closely behind her, my eyes switching between the path and the shadows cast around us. You're going to love it, Emily said, her voice louder than it should have been. Just wait until we're at the top.

You'll feel like you're flying. I wasn't so sure of that. My mind kept wandering back to the truck stopped on the road. It's lights off, but the engine still ticking as we hurried past. The way those men had looked at us, like we weren't two kids minding our own business, but something they were thinking about chasing. The deeper we went in, the thicker the air grew.

Emily's footfalls crunched on dirt and leaves, sure and steady, while mine felt clumsy. The sound of my breathing seemed too loud. The path twisted and turned, and every time I looked back, the way we'd come disappeared behind a wall of trees. That's when I heard it again. The engine. Faint but closing in. I stopped and grabbed Emily's arm.

Do you hear that? She turned to listen. It was low, rumbling, like it was working its way up the road behind us. Her eyes widened just a little. Maybe they're just leaving. The sudden cutting off of the engine left the woods very silent. Emily took my hand. Let's go, she said, tugging me forward.

Her voice wasn't as confident as usual. We picked up the pace, almost jogging now, the trail blurring beneath our feet. All the sounds seemed sharper, the snapping of twigs, the rustle of leaves, our own frantic steps. Then I heard the voices, deep and rough and way too close.

They went this way, a voice said. It wasn't loud, but it carried through the trees like they weren't even trying to be quiet. Emily dragged me off the trail, underbrush crashing around us, until we hunched down and tried to make our profiles small, protected on one side by rough bark.

Just off through the trees was a swinging flashlight whose pale beam bopped around through the pines, settling far too near our cover of ferns. There's no haste, another voice said with a low laugh. They'll get tired. I looked over at Emily, and in the dim light, she was white. We just stood there, paralyzed, as the beam swept over us and went on.

When it was far enough away, she whispered, We have to go. We crawled through the underbrush until we came upon another path. We didn't care where it led. All we wanted was to get away. Somewhere in the distance, the engine growled back to life, and I knew they weren't done looking for us. The fire tower stood like a skeleton against the dark sky,

its wooden beams worn and splintered with age. It reared high above the treetops, its height promising safety, maybe at least, to see what was coming our way. Emily and I finally reached the clearing, panting through our exhaustion. Our thighs soar from running through the woods. For a moment, the sight of the tower made me feel like we'd finally found a way out. But then I saw it. The truck. It was parked near the base of the tower, hidden in the shadows with its lights off.

The engine wasn't running, but that didn't mean the men were. gone. I grabbed Emily's arm, pointing silently, and we both ducked behind a cluster of bushes. What do we do? I mouthed, but I didn't make a sound. Emily's jaw tightened as she looked around. We go up. They can't follow us all the way up. The stairs are too narrow. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was the best we had. We crept as stealthily as possible toward the tower, each step like it could give us away. The air was heavy, the silence making it worse. No crickets, no wind, just the sound of our own shallow breathing and an occasional rustle of leaves. The first few stairs creaked under our combined weight.

The wood was rotting and weathered. I winced with each sound, half expecting one of the men to erupt from the shadows toward us. Emily gestured for me to go first, and we climbed on, upward. The stairs groaning even louder the further up we went. There were dark forests below that went on forever. Halfway up I heard it. A low, deep laugh. It came from somewhere near the truck. I froze, holding onto the railing as tightly as possible. Come on out, a voice called. It was slow, taunting, like whoever it was knew we had nowhere to go.

We just want to talk. Emily grasped my wrist and tugged me forward. Don't stop, she whispered. We reached the platform at the top, a shaky wooden square with a railing that barely came up to my waist. From here, we could see the whole forest, a sea of black stretching in every direction. I looked down and saw again the flashlight beams cutting through the trees below. One of them pointed directly at the tower, and I ducked instinctively. They know we're here, I said, my voice shaking. Emily was already scanning the area, her gaze skipping between the stairs leading up to the platform and the far edge. There's another set of stairs on the other side, she said. We can go down and run while they're distracted.

Before I could argue, the sound of heavy boots on the stairs below sent a wave of panic through us. Hurry, Emily hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the opposite stairs. We moved as fast as we could, the wood beneath our feet groaning dangerously. As we went down, the truck's engine roared to life, and its headlights flicked on, sweeping the clearing. The men were no longer just looking, they were hunting. We dropped to the ground, running as the forest swallowed us again. Behind the truck's engine grew louder, chasing us deeper into the night. The woods swallowed us in its shadowed embrace, every branch and leaf pressing closer as we ran. The headlights behind us flickered between the trees, casting strange, jagged shadows that seemed to reach out for us.

Emily darted ahead, her silhouette barely visible against the darkness, but her presence was my anchor. I followed her blindly, the uneven ground threatening to trip me at every step. The truck's engine roared and bursts, the sound bouncing off the trees and making it impossible to tell how far or near they really were. Voices echoed faintly, angry and frustrated, but I couldn't make out the words. Emily glanced back just once, her expression sharp and determined, and I understood without speaking. We couldn't stop. Ahead, the woods thin, and I saw a shimmer of water through the gaps in the trees. Emily veered toward it, her pace quickening as if she'd found exactly what she was looking for. I stumbled after her,

emerging from the thick underbrush onto the rocky shore of a small still lake. The moonlight glinted off the water, and for a moment the world seemed unnaturally quiet. Emily grabbed my arm, pulling me down behind a cluster of boulders. Stay low, she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding in my ears. She gestured toward the far end of the lake, where the trees formed a dense wall. We'll cross there, the water's shallow. I nodded, trying to steady my breathing. The truck's engine idled somewhere in the distance, and the flashlight beams danced erratically through the woods. One of them swept close to the water's edge, and we both flattened ourselves against the rocks, our bodies blending into the shadows. Minutes felt like hours

as we waited. The voices drew nearer, their tones laced with irritation. They're around here somewhere, one of the men said. The crunch of boots on gravel grew louder, and I gripped Emily's sleeve, holding my breath as the beam of a flashlight skimmed past our hiding spot. It lingered for a heartbeat before moving on. Emily tapped my shoulder, a signal to move. We crept along the shoreline, the rocks slick and uneven beneath our hands and feet. When we reached the narrow, stretch of water she'd pointed out earlier, Emily stepped in first, her movements careful but swift. I followed, the icy water soaking my shoes and clinging to my legs as we waded across. The other side was darker, the trees denser, but the cover it offered was a welcome relief.

We crouched among the tangled roots and underbrush peering back at the lake. The truck's headlights flicked off, plunging the area into near total darkness. For a moment everything was still. Then the engine roared to life again, and the truck tore through the underbrush, its tires spitting dirt and leaves as it surged toward the lake. The beam of a flashlight cut across the water, sweeping back and forth. Emily grabbed my hand. This way, she whispered. We moved deeper into the woods, the sound of the truck fading behind us as the forest grew quieter. The ground rose steadily, and I realized we were climbing, though I had no idea where we were going.

Finally, we broke through a thicket of trees and found ourselves on a rocky ridge overlooking the lake. From here, we could see the truck's faint outline near the shore, its headlights off, but the interior light casting a dim glow. The men stood by the water's edge, their figures small and still from this distance. It was hard to tell what they were doing, but it didn't matter. We couldn't stay here. Emily turned to me, her face pale but resolute.

We keep moving. If we stay high, we can circle back to the road. I nodded, and we pressed on, the ridge leading us away from the lake and the truck. The climb was steep in places, and every step sent loose rocks skittering down the slope, but the trees grew thicker again, their canopy shielding us from view. The forest seemed quieter here, as if holding its breath, but the further we went, the more the tension began to ease. After what felt like hours, we stumbled onto another dirt road.

It wasn't the same one we'd come from, but it didn't matter. Emily paused, her eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement, before stepping onto the path. I followed, my legs aching, but my resolve stronger now. In the distance, a faint glow appeared, the soft golden light of a porch lamp. Relief washed over me as we hurried toward it, the promise of safety, pulling us forward. The house was small and weathered, its windows dark, but the sight of it felt like salvation. Emily knocked on the door, her fist firm, but not panicked. A light flicked on inside, and after a moment, the door creaked open. An older woman stood there, her face lined with age,

but her eyes sharp and wary. She looked at us, then passed us toward the woods. You kids all right? She asked. Emily nodded quickly. Can we use your phone? It's an emergency. The woman hesitated, then stepped aside to let us in. As the door closed behind us, shutting out the dark and the woods beyond, I felt for the first time that night that we might actually be safe. The men never came.

Whether they lost our trail or decided we weren't worth the trouble, we didn't know. But as I sat in that small, warm kitchen, a blanket draped over my shoulders and a cup of tea in my hands, I knew one thing for certain, I wasn't going back to the fire tower, not ever. The air and still water was crisp, filled with the scent of wet grass, and something sweet from the wildflowers. After months of being penned up within a city, carhorns and concrete, the open, quiet countryside came as quite a relief. My grandparents' small cottage hadn't changed, the same old brick walls that had weathered over time, the same squeaky garden gate announcing each and every

visitor. Even Bear seemed rejuvenated. His ears perked up, and his tail wagged furiously as we got out of the car, his excitement infectious. The first couple of days passed peacefully, a routine of lazy mornings, quiet afternoons, and evening hikes. The cottage backed onto a forest with a trail I used to explore every summer. The path wound through dense woods, leading to a meadow atop a hill where the view stretched endlessly, a patchwork of fields and valleys melting into the horizon. Standing there with the wind brushing my face felt like stepping outside of time. Bear would come with me every night, running up ahead with nose to the ground, recording every scent. It was quiet in the woods. Sometimes the only sound was when leaves crackled beneath our feet,

or now and then, a bird chirping would shatter the silence. We emerged into the meadow when the golden light of setting sun was throwing long shadows through the grass, painting everything in tones of amber and rust. Most nights there was a handful of teenagers at the far end of the meadow, two boys and a girl. They didn't do much, just sat around, sometimes laughing, sometimes staring at their phones. Part of the background, like the trees or the breeze,

I didn't bother them, and they barely acknowledged me. Then one night it all changed. I had gone through my routine as usual, bare in the lead as I walked up the familiar hill. The woods were quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that makes you aware of every snapping twig and rustling leaf. So when we finally emerged into the meadow, I knew immediately that something was not right. Only one of the teenagers was there, the tall boy with messy blonde hair. He was standing in the middle of the clearing, looking all around as if he was waiting for someone. When he saw me, he waved.

"'Hey,' he called out, holding up a piece of paper. "'You got a sec? I'm a little lost.' His voice was casual, even friendly, but something about it felt wrong. The trail wasn't complicated, and the village wasn't far. Something in his mannerisms, too calm, too deliberate, made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Bear must have sensed it too, because his ears flattened, and he stuck close to my side as I approached. He held out the paper, a crumpled map, but I hardly glanced at it. I was looking at him, searching for, I did not know what.

His face was expressionless, but there was a tautness in his stance, a ready cohesion that set me on edge. Which ways the road, he asked, moving a step nearer. Before I could speak, he moved. A flash of silver in his hand caught the last light, a knife. Bear lunged before I could react, his growl a deep, feral sound that cut through the still. illness. He slammed into the boy, pinning him to the ground. The knife flew from his hand and landed with a dull thud in the grass. My heart was racing as I yanked on Bear's leash, pulling him back, but my relief was short-lived. Behind me, heavy footsteps boomed from the woods with voices.

Now, seize her! I spun around, two figures burst out of the trees, their faces hidden behind grotesque animal masks. One wore a wolf, the other a rabbit. They carried weapons. They carried we a baseball bat and a length of pipe, and they were running straight at me. Run! I yelled, and Bear shot off with me as adrenaline pumped through my system. The meadow was a green blur around me, the tall grass whipping at my legs. Behind us their voices rose, sharp and taunting. Don't let her get away. The woods swallowed us whole as we darted down the narrow trail, branches clawing at my arms as if they wanted to hold me back. Bear led the way.

his powerful strides unfaltering. My lungs were burning, my legs aching, but I dared not slow down. Their laughter echoed through the trees, closer now, turning the forest into a maze of terror. The trail split up ahead. To the left it was longer, but safer and slower. To the right, it was steeper and treacherous, hardly a path at all. I didn't hesitate. Grasping a limb for balance, I veered right, the land dropping sharply beneath me. Bear followed close behind, his growls low and constant, a warning to anyone who dared get close. The slope was unforgiving, loose dirt and jagged rocks threatening to send me tumbling with every step. I caught myself in a stumble and looked back once. The figures still followed. Their masks aglow softly in the moonlight. The wolf held his bat

aloft. The rabbit's pipe swung loosely in his hand. Now they didn't even speak to each other. Their silence felt more unnerving than the cold jeers earlier. A burst of light ahead, headlights cutting through the trees. Hope swelled in my chest. The road. Salvation. Go, bear! I bellowed my voice course. We burst through the tree line and out onto the dirt road. My legs were going to give out, but I pushed on. The car was almost on us. Its engine was a low rumble. I waved my arms wildly. Help, please!

The car slowed and its lights washed over me. The driver, an older man with a weathered face, got out. His expression puzzled and concerned. What's going on? he asked in an even tone. I gestured toward the trees gasping for breath. Thereafter me. He looked past me, his eyes narrowing. I turned to follow his gaze, but the forest was still.

The masked figures were gone, swallowed up by the shadows. The only sound was the rustle of wind through the leaves, as if the forest itself was covering up their presence. The man did not press me for details. Get in, he said, opening the passenger door. Bear jumped in first, settling into the back seat, still growling softly. I climbed in after him and shut the door. As the car pulled away, I looked to,

out the window, half expecting to see them watching. But the woods were just dark silence, the darkness unbroken. The man looked over at me as we drove. You're safe now, he said, though his voice carried a note of uncertainty. I nodded, but deep down I wasn't so sure. Somewhere in those woods they were still out there, waiting. We hit the dirt road just before dusk, the tires kicking up clouds of red dust behind us. Greg drove with steady hands on the wheel, his jaw set like he had something to prove. Mia sat shotgun, working over her lip, fidgeting with the map she insisted on keeping despite the fact no one bothered to use it.

In the back seat, Liam cracked open another beer and laughed at some joke Sam had made, while Kara leaned her head against the window, watching the endless stretch of forests blur by. I kept my eyes on the road ahead, a thin thread of tan weaving through a sea of green that looked darker by the minute. We'd been driving for hours, the forest closing in tighter the farther we went. There hadn't been another car in miles, not even a hint of civilization since we passed a faded sign that might have once said something about hunting regulations. Greg swore he knew where we were going, but when the road split into a fork, he hesitated. This one, he said, picking the left-hand track like it was a coin toss. No one argued. By the time we found a clearing to camp,

light had dwindled to a dull orange haze filtering through the trees. Greg pulled over, killing the engine, and we got out, stretching and groaning as the forest swallowed the sound. It was quiet, not peaceful quiet, just, quiet. We're not far from the road, Greg said, already pulling gear out of the truck bed. If something happens, we can hoof it back easy. define something, Kara muttered, but no one answered her. It wasn't long until the camp was set up, two tents, a fire ring, and a cooler full of beer made it official. The fire crackled as we settled in, the flames painting everything in shades of golden shadow. Greg passed around drinks while Liam started in on ghost stories, his voice low and theatrical.

Mia laughed at him, but there was an edge to it, like she wasn't entirely joking. The first sound came when Liam was halfway through a story about a lost hunter who was said to haunt these very woods. A sharp tap, like wood striking wood, echoed from somewhere in the trees. The group went silent, instinctively turning their heads toward the sound. Greg tossed another log on the fire like it was nothing. Woodpecker, he said, his voice even. Woodpeckers don't peck at night, Mia said. Windy then.

It wasn't wind. wind doesn't have rhythm. The tapping came again, closer this time. Mia's eyes darted toward the shadows beyond the firelight, but Greg kept talking like he didn't hear it. He was good at that, ignoring things he didn't want to deal with. Liam tried to pick up his story, but the mood had shifted. Kara moved her chair a little closer to the fire, and Mia excused herself to grab something from the tent. The rest of us just sat there, staring into the flames, listening, waiting, The tapping stopped, then for the first time the silence felt personal. The fire had burned down to embers by the time I woke up.

I wasn't quite sure for a moment why my eyes had opened at all. All was dark outside the tent, the kind of dark that makes you wonder if morning is ever going to come. The air was heavy with dampness and the residue of wood smoke and dirt. I stayed still, listening. There it was again. A voice, low and muffled. Not Gregg's, not Liam's. It didn't belong to anyone in our group.

I turned my head a little toward Mia. She was awake, her eyes wide with alertness in the faint light coming through the fabric of the tent. She held up a finger, a universal sign to shut up, as if I needed the reminder. The sound came again, clearer this time. Two voices, low and deliberate. male. One of them rasped like he'd been gargling gravel. How many? The gravel voice asked. Six, maybe seven, the other man said. His words clipped and hushed like they didn't want to be overheard. Like they didn't know we were straining to hear every syllable.

Mia mouthed. What the hell? I didn't have an answer. A beam of light swept across the side of the tent, slow and deliberate. It passed, paused, then came back. We stayed as silent as the dead. My pulse hammered in my ears, loud enough that I worried they might hear it outside. Not yet, gravel voice said, and the light went away. I didn't move, nor did Mia.

We just lay there, paralyzed, as the noises outside changed. Footsteps, silent but purposeful, circled the tent. The brush rustled in places where nothing should have been moving. The silence between the steps was worse. you never knew when they'd start again or from what direction. After what felt like an eternity, the noises receded, swallowed by the forest. Mia relaxed her grip on my arm, and exhaled so quietly it barely registered. I turned toward the other side of the tent where Greg and Liam were supposed to be sleeping.

Greg, I whispered, barely audible. No response. Greg, I hissed louder this time. A groggy grunt replied, followed by the sound of movement from his sleeping bag. I wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or angered he'd slept through the whole thing. Mia heard voices outside. I said, my voice low. And a flashlight, she added.

Her voice steady but clipped. That got his attention. The rustling stopped. What are you talking about? Greg whispered. We weren't alone, Mia said. Nobody slept after that. we just locked ourselves in silence, waiting for the first hint of daylight.

Every little noise outside, the wind brushing against the tent, a creek here and there as trees shifted, felt magnified, as if the forest itself was leaning in closer. By the time the sky finally turned gray, we were ready to move. The campsite looked normal enough at first glance, just a smoldering fire, some dew-covered grass. But then Liam saw the footprints. They circled the tent in lazy, deliberate loops. Too close. That wasn't the worst of it. Someone had rummaged through the cooler and stolen the knives.

The way back to the road felt twice as long as it had the previous night. We moved quickly, our footsteps the only sound between us for the most part, each lost in our thoughts. Greg led the way, his jaw clenched tight, and Liam and Sam kept looking back, like someone was going to pop out from the trees any second. I hung back with Mia and Kara, who hadn't said much since we'd stumbled onto the prince. The cooler, the knives, it was all too deliberate.

Whoever had been out there wasn't just passing through. We made it to the truck without incident, but Greg started it up like the key was a detonator. The engine roared to life, shattering the silence, and we piled in. Nobody argued when he tore down the dirt road faster than was probably safe. Dust billowed behind us as the trees were swallowed. hole by it, putting as much distance between us and the campsite as possible. The Ranger station was not 20 minutes back toward the highway. It was a squat, green-painted building with a tin roof, the kind of place that seemed more decorative than functional. Greg killed the engine,

and we all sat there, no one making a move to get out. Finally, Mia opened her door, and the rest of us followed suit. Inside, it smelled like coffee and pine cleaner. A gray-haired man with a cracked leather face was sitting behind the counter. He looked up as we came in, his eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of six-twenty-somethings who clearly hadn't slept. What can I do for you? He asked. His voice calm but sharp, as if he was already evaluating us. Greg explained, stumbling over some of the details, but getting the basic idea out, camped out in the woods, voices in the night, flashlights, footprints. The man didn't say a word. He just slowly nodded his head. He just slowly nodded his head. as if he'd heard it all before.

When Greg finished, the ranger pushed his chair back and stood. Where exactly were you camping? He asked, reaching for a map. We all crowded around as Greg pointed to a spot near the road we'd taken. The ranger scowled. That's all open camping. No restrictions there. And no rangers were patrolling that area last night.

Silence hung in the air for a beat too long. You're sure about that? Mia asked. positive he repeated his voice dead we log every incoming call no one was out there gregg looked at the rest of us his bravado beginning to crack then who the hell the ranger cut him off with a wave of his hand Let me show you something. He walked over to a filing cabinet, riffled through it, and pulled out an old yellowed map. He spread it on the counter, pointing to a section not far from where we'd camped.

There's an old cabin here, he said. Used to belong to a guy we had trouble with years back. Lived off the grid, wouldn't leave when the Forest Service tried to shut him down. Word is, he stuck around. Folks say he's still out there. The room felt smaller somehow. None of us said a word as the ranger folded the map back up and slid it away. If I were you, he said, I wouldn't go back.

Some places are better left alone. We drove out in silence. The truck was quieter than it had been all weekend. Nobody even glanced at the forest as we passed it by. It was just trees, but it felt like it was watching us leave. I stood at the edge of the woods, staring into the heavy shadows where hardly any sun got through. The trees were taller than I remembered, their limbs twisting up into each other like the bars of a cage. It was almost coming up to a year since I last walked these paths.

Now they seemed different than they did then, less like a second home. Come on, Lily, I said under my breath. It's just trees. The dirt path crunched under my sneakers as I stepped forward. The air was heavy with the damp smell of moss and earth. Somewhere high above, birds chattered, but the forest floor was heavy. floor was unusually silent. My footsteps felt too loud. Every snap of a twig made me look over my shoulder, though I knew I was alone, probably. The path curved deeper into the trees following the

creek I used to play by when I was a kid. I picked up my pace, keeping my eyes on the ground. The stream wasn't far, and I wanted to get there fast, just to prove to myself that everything was fine. Finally, when I reached the creek, I crouched by the edge and stuck my fingers into the icy water. The gentle gurgle of the stream worked its way through the rocks and fallen branches. For the first time all day, I started to relax as the sound of the water became almost comforting. That's when I heard it, a faint metallic sound, like something scraping or jangling. I froze, my hands still in the water, and listened. The sound came again, clearer this time.

It reminded me of the jingling of a dog's collar, but it didn't feel like that. It wasn't quick or playful. It was slow, deliberate, and far away. I stood up, squinting into the trees. The sound came from deeper in the forest, where the light barely touched the ground. It didn't make sense. Nobody else came out here, not this far from the main road. My parents always said that's what made this place special.

But right now, it just made it creepy. I waited there, into the trees, for a repetition of the same. sound. Minutes passed. Nothing. Perhaps it was only some bird which had knocked over something, or a rubbing branch against the rock. I shook my head and chuckled low at how I was letting my imagination run away with me. Looking back to the creek, I saw something strange in the mud near the bank. A little clump of feathers protruded from the dirt in a perfectly arranged pile. I bent closer. There were some tiny bones underneath them, white and clean, so I could tell they had been there quite a while.

That was the odd thing about it. The feathers had been bound together with twine, as if somebody has placed them there deliberately. I straightened up fast and looked around the trees again. Nothing moved. The birds above were still chirping, but now it sounded different, almost too cheerful,

like they were covering something up. I backed away from the creek, unsure how to react. It was the first time it dawned on me that I really didn't want to be here anymore, more. I couldn't shake it off. The feathers, the bones. Someone had been out there. That notion scraped at my mind all night. Maybe it was some weird art thing or a local kid playing a prank, but it didn't sit right with me. The next afternoon, I went back. I took my phone, a flashlight,

and a pocket knife my dad kept in the kitchen drawer. It was probably overkill, but I told myself it was just for peace of mind. The forest looked darker than before, though the sun was still high. I followed the path to the creek quickly, not stopping to take in the trees or the sounds around me. My sneakers sank into the mud as I stepped off the trail, but I kept going, pushing toward the spot where I'd seen the feathers. When I got there, I was paralyzed. A wooden cross now stood by the creek, about the size of a person. It was twisted and jammed into the mud, as if it didn't belong. Ropes dangled down from the arms of the cross, nodded and frayed, and from those ropes hung something else. Chains, rusted, thick, and heavy. They swung quite gently in the wind

with a soft, recurrent clink. I took another step closer, then stopped. The earth around the cross was disturbed. Mud churned up as if someone had dug there. My throat felt dry, and I realized I'd been holding my breath. Again, the sound came, the chains. But this time, it was not the wind. I turned around toward the sound, and that's when I saw it. It resembled the shadow at first, as it was too tall, too thin to be well-defined as a person standing back in the trees,

partly obscured by the sturdy, branching bodies of the trunks themselves. Then it moved. The figure came forward still dragging something, chains scrabbling across the undergrowth. I could not see its face. Its body was covered with something dark, tattered fabric, perhaps, or an old tattered cloth.

The chains it carried jingled softly with each step, the only sound in the quiet of the forest. It stopped just inside the tree line. I stared at it, and it stared back, though I couldn't see its eyes. My legs felt like they'd turned to stone, but I forced myself to take a step back, The chains moved again, this time more deliberately.

The clinking sound sharper, closer. I turned and ran. Branches whipped at my face and arms as I stumbled through the trees, where the mud sucked at my shoes. Behind me, the clanking of chains grew louder, following me. I didn't look back. I didn't want to see how close it was. When I reached the main trail, I didn't cease running.

I ran home and slammed the door behind me and locked it. That night, lying in bed. it replayed over and over in my head, the scrape of rusty chains dragging in the dirt, coming closer. I must have told him everything by the time he got home. He just didn't believe me. He kept saying that I was exaggerating, scaring myself silly over wind and shadows. But mom, she did not say a word, just kept staring into the trees outside the window. Dad stayed inside that evening, sat in his chair with the television on low. I pretended to read, my eyes darting now and again to the windows. Outside the sun dipped lower and the forest melted

into shades of gray. By the time it was fully dark, the quiet settled over the house like a heavy blanket. Then it started again. The sound was faint at first, like the rattling of metal far off in the woods. I stopped dead in my tracks and looked over at Mom. Her eyes widened and she stood up, taking a few steps toward the window. Do you hear that? she whispered. Dad turned the television down. Hear what? The chains clanged again, louder this time, like they'd gotten closer. My dad stood up, his face tight.

He grabbed a flashlight and opened the front door before we could stop him. I'll check it out, he said. Stay inside. No, I said. It's not safe. He looked at me, a mixture of frustration and concern crossing his features. I'll be fine. Don't open the door until I come back.

He stepped out on. to the porch and the door shut behind him. My mom picked up her phone, her hand shaking as she dialed his number. I watched through the window as he played the beam of the flashlight across the yard, the light dancing off the trees. The sound came again, sharp and deliberate. The chains. They weren't far now. Do you see anything? My mom whispered into the phone. Dad didn't answer right away. Then I saw him stop, the flashlight beam halting on something in the distance. Get back inside, my mom yelled into the phone. Before he could move, the figure stepped from the shadows. It was taller than I'd thought. Its body shrouded in dark, torn fabric. The chains dragged behind it,

the rusted link scraping against the ground. It didn't run. It didn't need to. It just stood there, swaying slightly, as if it was waiting. Dad staggered backward, almost falling over the porch steps as he reached the door. Get in the car, he panted. Now, we didn't wrestle. Mum grabbed the keys and we sprinted toward the car. Chains rattled again, much louder and more rapid a sound this time. The sound echoing through the trees.

As we careened down the dirt road, I turned to look out the back window. The figure was still standing there, in the middle of the driveway, watching us leave. The chain stopped, but the image of that figure stayed burned in my mind. Whatever it was, it wasn't dead. It never would be. Jenna swung her car keys in a circle as she walked toward her old hatchback. Her usual grin plastered across her face. Mia, come on, you need this, she said. I hesitated standing in the doorway of our dorm.

I wasn't sure I wanted to go at all, let alone to whispering pines. The forest wasn't exactly my idea of relaxing, but Jenna was determined, and I was too tired to fight. Fine, I muttered, tugging on my hoodie, she let out a victorious whoop already unlocking the car. The drive started out normal enough. Most of the streets around our tiny Appalachian College town were dark this time of night, save for a few dimly lit porches. We passed by the darkened shops before hitting the long road that led into the forest. Jenna fiddled with her playlist as the car hummed along. You'll love this spot, she said, glancing at me with a quick smile. It's so quiet, like the rest of the world doesn't exist.

Uh-huh, I said and looked out the window. Already the trees were dense on either side of the road, their twisted limbs reaching high into the dark. A few minutes later, the pavement ended and the dirt road began. Jenna didn't slow down as the car jostled over the uneven ground, The headlights showed patches of trees and shadows that flickered past too fast to focus on. I saw something weird as we went by, a swing set standing crooked in the middle of a clearing. It looked ancient, its chains rusted and the seat tilted sideways.

Who leaves a swing set out here? I asked. Jenna looked at it and shrugged. Probably from some old camp or something. Don't think about it too much. I tried not to. but then we passed a van that was half buried in the brush. Its windows were shattered, and one of the doors hung open like it had been pried off. The whole thing looked wrong. Seriously, why are there abandoned cars out here? I asked.

It's not abandoned, Jenna said with a smirk. It's art. I rolled my eyes. Hilarious. After another mile or so, we arrived at the place Jenna had chosen. The clearing was bigger than I'd expected, with a thick band of trees surrounding it. She pulled the car up so that it faced the woods, then climbed out and stretched. See? Perfect, she said, gesturing around like she'd just discovered it. I followed her to the back of the car, where she popped open the hatch and lay out a couple of blankets. We lay there, the chill of the night air seeping in as we poured hot chocolate from her thermos. It was quiet, just like she said.

Too quiet. I settled in, trying to get comfortable. but something felt off. Every now and then, I could have sworn I heard a faint sound, a rustle in the trees, a crack of a branch. I glanced over at Jenna. She appeared fine,

scrolling on her phone, humming along to the music. Maybe it was just me, but I couldn't shake the feeling that the forest was watching. Jenna was midway through a story about her last hike when we heard it, a low rumble in the distance.

At first I thought it was thunder, but instead of fading away like a little, thunder does. It grew louder. Headlights appeared, bouncing along the dirt path toward us. Uh, did you invite someone? I asked, attempting to keep my voice steady. Jenna turned to look, her smile falling. No, that's weird. We both watched as an old beat-up truck rolled into the clearing, its engine growling like it was barely holding together. The truck pulled to a stop about a hundred feet from us, and three men climbed out. Their faces were hidden in the glare of the headlights, but their movements were slow and deliberate, like they weren't in any hurry.

Stay quiet, Jenna whispered, crouching down behind the car. I followed her, my hands gripping the edge of the blanket. The men started speaking in low and muffled voices. One went to the back of the truck and tugged out something, a very long, dark bag, sagging as he pulled it over the ground. Another reached for a shovel, the metal scraped against the rocks, while the third stayed near the truck, holding something that looked like a rifle. I strained my chest as I watched them. They moved like they'd done this a hundred times before, like they knew exactly what they were doing.

The man with the shovel started digging, each scrape of metal against Earth cutting through the silence. What are they doing? I whispered, hardly able to hear myself. Just stay down, Jenna hissed. Her usual confidence was gone, replaced by something I'd never seen before. Fear. The digging went on for what felt like forever. The man with the bag dropped it into the hole, and I saw the others nod.

He unzipped it, and I froze. Even from where we were hiding, I could tell what was in it. It wasn't just trash or tools or anything harmless. It was someone. Jenna clutched at my arm as one of the men stood up and looked around. He held a flashlight and slowly swept its beam in an arc across the clearing. It glided across the trees, the ground. and then, too damned close for comfort, our car. My breath hitched, as the light paused on the

back window, then moved on. He said something to the other two, and all three turned in our direction. They see us, I whispered. Jenna didn't respond. She was already getting the keys. The men began to walk towards us, their boots crunching on the gravel. I wanted to run but didn't know where to go. Jenna slid into the driver's seat and motioned for me to stay low. Get ready, she said, her voice tight. When the closest man was a few feet away, Jenna turned the key. The engine roared, headlights bathed the clearing. The men froze, faces now visible, angry, shocked, and definitely armed.

Hold up! Jenna yelled, throwing the car into reverse. The car lurched backward, spitting gravel out from under the tires. I reached for the door handle to hold on. as Jenna crammed it into drive. Headlights veered wildly as we shot forward, tossing gnarled silhouettes into the trees. Behind us, the pickup roared to life, its headlights carving into the fog like twin knives.

Hang on, Jenna shouted, clutching the wheel so hard her knuckles were white. I glanced back. The truck was already closing the gap, jouncing over the rough ground as if it had been made for this kind of chase. One of the men leaned out of the passenger window, holding something long and dark in his hands.

There was a loud crack, and the back window exploded. Shards of glass flew everywhere, landing in my lap and on the blankets. They're shooting at us, I yelled, my voice breaking, my heart pounding in my ears. Jenna took a curve sharply, the car fish-tailing on the loose dirt. Yeah, I saw! she snarled, yanking the wheel to miss a pothole. The SUV came down hard, and I just... about cracked my skull on the roof. The forest blurred around us into a tunnel of trees and shadows, as Jenna pushed the car faster. Another shot echoed, and I ducked instinctively, though there was no

cover inside the car. I could see the truck's headlights bouncing closer in the rearview mirror, their beam growing brighter with every passing second. Jenna, they're closing in, I shouted. Not for long, she growled, eyes flicking up from the road to the mirror and back. She wrenched the wheel sharply to the right, and the car swerved onto a narrow trail branching off the main path. The car jolted violently as the tires fought for traction on the overgrown track. Branches slapped against the sides of the car. Some of them cracked off, falling onto the hood. Headlights flickered as the SUV dipped into a small ditch, but Jenna didn't let off the gas pedal. The pickup didn't follow. Headlights stopped at the edge of the main road,

hesitated for a heartbeat and then turned and reversed back into the darkness. I fell back against the seat, my body rigid, every muscle nodded and throbbing. They gave up, I whispered, hardly daring to believe it. Guess they don't like scratches on their fancy truck, Jenna said, her voice shaking. But she didn't slow down. We continued on, the trail narrowing to the point it finally spat us out onto an old paved road leading to the outskirts of town. We pulled into the lot of a 24-hour diner and just sat, neither of us moving for some time. My hands were shaking as I brushed glass off my lap, the reality of what had just happened sinking in.

Jenna finally spoke, her voice low and exhausted. Do we call the cops? I shook my head. What if they don't believe us? Jenna sighed, leaning back against the seat. What if they do? The fluorescent lights of the diner hummed softly overhead, but neither of us moved to get out of the car.

We just sat, staring straight at the empty road ahead, waiting for something or someone to show up. USAA knows dynamic duos can save the day, like superheroes and sidekicks or auto and home insurance. With USAA, you can bundle your auto and home and save up to 10%. Tap the banner to learn more and get a quote

at usa.com slash bundle. Restrictions apply.