Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 6 TERRIFYING Deep Woods Horror Stories That Will Haunt You Forever

Episode Date: August 26, 2024

These are 6 TERRIFYING Deep Woods Horror Stories That Will Haunt You Forever 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 00:09:33 Story 2 00:15:42 Story 3 00:26:00 Story 4 00:36:23 Story 5 00:52:39 Story 6 Music by: 'Decoherence' by Scott Buckley - released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wM_AjpJL5I4&t=0s Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #deepwoods #skinwalker #wendigo #forest 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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We often find ourselves camping in remote areas for days at a time while collecting data and setting up trail cameras. A few months ago, we were assigned to a project in Yellowstone National Park. The goal was to gather information on Wolfpack movements and their impact on the local ecosystem. It was supposed to be a routine trip. We had done this countless times before. But what happened during those three days in Yellowstone still haunts me. We arrived at our designated campsite on a Tuesday afternoon.

The weather was perfect, with clear skies, a light breeze, and the promise of a starry night ahead. As we set up our tent and equipment, I remember feeling excited about the work we'd be doing. My husband, whom I'll call Tom here, was in high spirits too, cracking jokes about how we should open up a five-star wilderness resort with our expert tent pitching skills. After a simple dinner of dehydrated camping meals, which Tom insists are getting better, though I'm not convinced, we sat by the fire going over our plans for the next few days. By then the sun had set. and the forest around us came alive with the sounds of owls hooting,

and small animals moving in the underbrush. It was very peaceful, very familiar, but that didn't last long. We were sleeping in the tent when suddenly, around midnight, Tom sat up alert, causing me to wake up too. Did you hear that? he whispered. I hadn't, but the look on his face made me strain my ears. There it was, the unmistakable sound of footsteps,

slow and deliberate, moving through the trees near our campsite. Tom grabbed his flashlight and stepped out of the tent. I watched as his beam of light cut through the darkness, sweeping through the tree line, nothing, and the footsteps had stopped. Probably just a deer, Tom said as he crawled back into the tent, but I could tell he wasn't convinced. This scene repeated itself three more times throughout the night. Each time Tom would hear the footsteps, go out to investigate.

and find nothing. By the time dawn broke, he was exhausted and on edge. I swear, he said, over his third cup of coffee in the morning. Those weren't animal footsteps. They sounded human. I tried to reassure him, suggesting it could have been another camper, maybe even a park ranger doing nightly rounds. But deep down, I agreed. Something felt off. Why wouldn't they respond when Tom called out to them? Why did the sounds always stop just as he went to to investigate. Despite his lack of sleep, we had work to do. We spent the next day hiking to our research sites, setting up cameras and collecting samples. Tom was quieter than usual, his eyes constantly scanning the trees around us. I caught myself doing the same, that vague

sense of unease growing stronger every hour that passed. It was mid-afternoon when things took a turn from unsettling to downright terrifying. We were checking a trail camera we'd set up a while back when Tom froze, his hand gripping my arm. Look, he whispered, pointing to a clearing about 50 yards away. At first, I didn't see anything, but then a figure stepped out from behind a large pine tree. It was tall, impossibly tall, and thin too, with limbs that seemed too long for its body. For a split second I thought it was just a trick of the light, shadows playing on a tree trunk of some sort.

But then I saw it move. The figure's movements were jerky and unnatural. They reminded me of a marionette being pulled by strings. It took three long strides into the clearing, its head swiveling in a way that made my stomach churn. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone, melting back into the shadows of the forest. Tom and I stood there, rooted to the spot. When I finally found my voice, it came out as a hoarse whisper. What was that?

I don't know, Tom replied, his face pale, but I think we should head back to camp now. The walk back was tense, to say the least. We moved quickly, constantly looking over our shoulders. Every snapping twig or rustle of leaves made us jump. By the time we made it back to our campsite, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the ground. Neither of us had much of an appetite, but we forced down some food anyway, knowing we needed the energy. We didn't talk much, not much to say, I guess. We knew that we'd both seen something, something that shouldn't exist,

or some sort of illusion that really freaked us out. As darkness fell, we retreated to our tent. Tom insisted on staying up to keep watch, but I could see he was running on fumes. Eventually, sheer exhaustion won out, and we both drifted into an uneasy sleep. I'm not sure what woke me up. A sound maybe, or maybe that prickling sense of wrong. that had been following us all day. What I do know is that when I opened my eyes, Tom was gone. Panic seized me. I fumbled for my phone, activating the flashlight app with shaking fingers.

The tent was empty. Tom's sleeping bag pushed to the side. Tom, I called out, my voice trembling. There was no response. Heart pounding, I unzipped the tent and stepped outside. The night was cool and still. All I could hear was my own breathing. I swept the flashlight beam across our campsite, seeing nothing out of place so far. Tom, I called again, louder this time. Still nothing. Memories of the strange figure we'd seen flooded my mind. What if it had taken Tom? What if he was out there somewhere, hurt, or worse? I started towards the tree line, my legs feeling like lead. The beam of my flashlight seemed

pathetically small against the vast forest. I'd only gone a few steps, when I heard it. Footsteps behind me, coming from the direction of our tent. I whirled around, relief washing over me as I saw a silhouette enter the tent. Tom, he must have gone to use the bathroom or check on something in the truck. Feeling a bit foolish for my panic, I hurried back to the tent. Tom, you scared me half to death, I said as I climbed inside. Where'd you go off to? There was no answer, but I felt movement as Tom settled into his sleeping bag. I got back into mine, still a bit shaken up but mostly relieved. I felt Tom's arm drape over me. It made me feel so much better, and despite the strangeness of the past few days, I found myself drifting back to

sleep. I woke up to bright sunlight filtering through the tent walls. Tom's arm was no longer around me, and his sleeping bag was empty. Figuring he must have gotten an early start, I got dressed and stepped outside. I spotted Tom by our truck, closing the driver's side door. The man looked awful, dark circles under his eyes, his movements slow and clumsy. Rough night, I asked, walking over to him. He nodded, stifling a yawn. Yeah, couldn't sleep in the tent again, kept hearing those darn footsteps, ended up sleeping in the truck. I frowned, confused. The truck? Wait, when did you leave the tent last night? Tom gave me an odd look. Around midnight, I guess, I tried to wake you up to see if you want to. wanted to join me, but you were out cold. A chill ran down my spine. My mind raced. Tom, I said slowly. What time did you come back to the tent this morning? He shook his head. I didn't. This is the first time I've been out of the truck since midnight. I felt the blood drained

from my face as the full implication of his words hit me. If Tom had been in the truck all night, then who, or what, had been with me in the tent, whose arm had held me as I slept. I opened my mouth, trying to find the words to explain what happened, but nothing came out. Tom must have seen the horror on my face because he stepped closer and asked, Hun, are you okay? What's wrong? I took a deep breath. My voice barely above a whisper as I replied. There was someone else in our tent last night. We left Yellowstone that day, abandoning our research project. We requested a transfer to a different area, citing personal reasons. Tom and I keep the story to ourselves, afraid of what other people might think, but knowing

that our experiences were very real. And we know that that thing wasn't exactly human. Even when I write this now, I feel the phantom weight of that arm on me. It makes me feel so violated and unsafe. I try not to wonder, but still, I do. What would have happened if I had turned to look at that thing lying next to me in the dark? When we first drove up the gravel road leading to our our new home in the Appalachian Mountains. I remember feeling a mix of excitement and a little fear.

It was like one of those adventures you'd read about in books, where families find hidden treasures in old houses. Only our treasure was supposed to be the farm itself, sprawling across 50 acres of land. Dad was the happiest I'd ever seen him. He kept saying things like, this is it, kids, our own piece of paradise. He had big dreams of fixing up the place. The farm had been abandoned for a long time, and nature had pretty much taken over, but to Dad, it was perfect. Our first day there was like a scene from a movie. We all got out of the car and stretched, breathing in the fresh mountain air. Dad started filming with his old camera, capturing every laugh and every step we took exploring our new home. Mom was smiling, her eyes bright with hopes of a

fresh start. My younger siblings ran around, their laughter echoing off the trees. The house The house itself was a bit creepy, though. It was at the base of the mountain, tucked away in a hollow like it was hiding. The woods around us were thick and dense, making our house feel even more secluded. Sometimes, the way the shadows moved made me uneasy, as if the trees were whispering secrets to each other. Strange things started happening a few weeks after we moved in. Small accidents at first, tools going missing, windows that we had fixed suddenly found cracked again. Weird noises at night that none of us could explain. Dad said it was all part of living in an old place, but I wasn't so sure. As time went on, Dad began to change. The joy he felt when

we first arrived started to fade. He spent more and more time alone, often just staring out into the woods with a worried look on his face. He stopped filming our adventures, and sometimes he didn't even seem to hear us when we talked to him. One night I woke up to the sound of him talking in the living room. I crept down the stairs and saw him sitting in the dark, the only light coming from the moon shining through the window. He was talking to someone, but no one was there. I called out to him and he jumped, like I'd startled him from a deep thought. He just shook his head and said he was fine, but I knew he wasn't. Those shadows in his eyes weren't just from the lack of sleep. Things kept getting worse. Dad started forgetting things, like picking us up from

school or locking the doors at night. Mom tried to help him, but whatever was happening to him seemed to be pulling him further and further away from us. I started feeling scared, not just of the dark or the strange sounds in the woods, but of what was happening to Dad. It was like the farm, with all its whispered promises, was swallowing him whole, and I didn't know how to help him. All I could do was watch as the Dad I knew was slowly disappearing, replaced by someone or something, seemed lost in the shadows of the old Appalachian farm. After that summer, things went from bad to worse. Our trailer felt more like a haunted house than a home.

The walls and floors were falling apart, and sometimes when the wind blew, it felt like the whole place might just blow away with it. Dad said we just needed to tough it out a bit longer, but I could see the worry in his eyes every time he looked around at the crumbling walls. The whispers that I once thought were just whined through the leaves. had turned into voices by then. At night I could hear them, and they weren't friendly. They said mean things, filling the air with cold and fear. I knew Dad heard them too, because sometimes I'd catch

him arguing back, whispering fiercely into the darkness. Then came that awful night. It was so hot that the air felt heavy, like it was pressing down on us. Mom and Dad were fighting again. Their voices were loud and angry, and I could feel that something terrible was about to happen. I was in the living room with my siblings, trying to keep them calm, but we all were scared. Suddenly everything went quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that feels like it's screaming. Dad walked into the room, and his face was different. It was like all the shadows in the house had settled on him, making him look darker, scarier. He had a gun in his hand. I'd never seen it before, and it made my heart stop.

The whispers were there, too, louder than ever, swirling around him like dark smoke. They were saying terrible things, pushing him, telling him we'd be better off without him. I wanted to scream, to tell them to stop, but I was frozen. Dad just stood there for what felt like forever. Then slowly he walked over to his chair across the room and sat down. He looked so tired and so sad. tears were running down his cheeks as he looked at us and said, I'm so sorry for everything.

His voice broke, and it was the most heartbreaking sound I'd ever heard. He lifted the gun, and I felt my sister's hands cover my eyes. I heard a loud bang, louder than anything I'd ever heard. I screamed, and when my sister finally let go, I saw Dad slumped in the chair, but he was still breathing, still alive. That night changed everything. Dad survived, and something about that night made him want to fight the shadows. We left the farm not long after, seeking help and hoping to escape the darkness that had taken

over our lives. Even though we moved away, the memories of that night followed us. Dad got better, but he was never the same. The farm stayed with us too, like a bad dream that wouldn't end. We never went back, but sometimes I'd catch Dad staring out the window, a distant look in his eyes, as if he was still listening to the whispers of that old haunted farm. My friends Andrea, Mario, and I had always been up for an adventure, especially when it involved the great outdoors. That's why, when we decided to explore the Tahoe National Forest, I was super excited. I knew it was going to be an adventure we'd never forget. I'm the kind of person who loves hiking and camping, and I was thrilled to share this trip with my friends. We packed up my

old Jeep Grand Cherokee with everything we thought we'd need, a couple of sleeping bags, a tent just in case, plenty of snacks, and of course, Mario's camera equipment. Mario is a photographer, and he was especially eager to take some cool shots of the wilderness and the stars at night. As for me, all I brought was my trusty fishing rod and a couple of knives. After all, I felt at home in the woods and liked to keep things simple. The drive to Tahoe was filled with our favorite tunes and and lots of laughter. We talked about the places we might explore and the kind of photos Mario wanted to take. The further we drove from the city, the more the scenery changed. Tall buildings and busy streets gave way to open skies and towering trees. It was like entering another

world, one that was quieter and wilder. As we drove deeper into the forest, our cell phones lost service. I wasn't worried though. I had been in situations like this many times before. But I could tell Andrea was a bit nervous. I reassured her that everything was going to be fine, that it was part of the adventure. Finally, we found the perfect spot to park the Jeep and set up camp for the night. It was a small clearing off a bumpy dirt road. We weren't going to set up the tent yet since we decided to sleep in the Jeep. It might sound weird, sleeping all crammed in a car, but it was actually pretty cozy and fun.

Plus, it felt like a little adventure on its own. We spent the evening chilling out. Mario took some pictures of the sunset while Andrea and I prepared our sleeping area in the back of the jeep. As night fell, the forest came alive with sounds, the distant hoot of an owl, the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze, and the occasional snap of a twig. It was both exciting and a tiny bit spooky. We had our dinner, sandwiches and chips, nothing fancy, and then spent some time stargazing. Mario tried to capture some of the beauty with his camera, although it was really dark. We talked and joked around until our eyelids began to droop.

By then, the forest felt like a second home, or maybe a mysterious new planet we had just landed on. I remember thinking how lucky I was to have friends who were up for this kind of thing. As we settled into our sleeping bags, the last thing I said was, this is the best, we should do this more often. And with that, we drifted off to sleep, not knowing that the real adventure was just about to begin. It was the perfect start to our trip, but as I would soon learn, the wilderness had surprises waiting for us that would test our courage and show us how unpredictable nature could be. That night, after we all tried to sleep for a bit in the cramped back of the Jeep, something weird happened.

It was like the whole forest decided to wake up. I could hear twigs snapping outside, and even though it was a hot night and we had the windows cracked open a bit, the sounds made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Did you guys hear that? I whispered to Andrea and Mario. They were both awake too, looking a bit scared. What was that sound?

Andrea asked, her voice barely a whisper. I didn't want to freak them out, but I was pretty curious about what was out. there. Maybe it was just a deer or some small animal, I thought. But part of me wanted to check it out. After all, isn't that part of the adventure? Let's go see what it is, I suggested, trying to sound braver than I felt. Mario was always up for taking photos, so he grabbed his camera, and I took my crossbow, just in case. We carefully opened the Jeep door, trying not to make too much noise. Andrea decided to stay behind. You guys are crazy. You guys are crazy. You guys are

crazy, she said, but she handed me the car keys, just in case. With only our headlamps to light the way, Mario and I walked into the forest. The night was super dark, and every little sound seemed louder. We didn't talk much. We just listened to the owls and the rustle of leaves under our feet. We walked like that for about 15 minutes, looking for a good spot where Mario could take a photo of the sky. That's when we found a little creek, its water flowing quiet. in the dark. I was about to say something when Mario suddenly stopped. He put a hand up to signal me to be quiet. Listen, he whispered. I stood really still and listened. But it was the strangest

thing. There were no sounds. No crickets. No frogs. Nothing. It was like the forest had gone completely silent. I had never heard such silence before. It was eerie. Then, out of nowhere, there, there it was, a pair of glowing eyes watching us from about 40 feet away. They were reflecting light from our headlamps, staring at us from behind a tree. I felt a chill run down my spine. Whatever it was, it wasn't just any forest animal. This thing was big, and it was standing on two legs, almost as if it was trying to hide and watch us at the same time. I quickly turned off my headlamp and loaded an arrow into my crossbow. Turn off your light, Mario, I whispered, but he was frozen, just staring at the creature. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the creature moved.

It stepped out from behind the tree, and we could see it more clearly, two large yellow eyes and a huge, dark figure. It had no fur, and its head was oddly shaped, almost round. I didn't think, I just acted. I aimed and shot an arrow towards it. The creature, was fast, though, it dodged the arrow and took off running on all fours towards the creek. Mario finally snapped out of it, and we both ran back to the Jeep as fast as we could. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear anything else. When we got back, Andrea was waiting, worried. You guys look like you've seen a ghost, she said as we climb back inside, locking the doors

behind us. We need to leave. Now, I told her. Still trying to catch my breath. We didn't sleep much after that, too shaken by what we had seen. What was that thing? And were we safe? These questions kept us wide awake until the first light of dawn.

After what we saw in the woods, none of us could sleep. We were too scared and had too many questions. As soon as the sun started to light up the sky a little, we decided it was safe enough to leave our camping spot. We drove back to town, still trying to make sense of everything. I kept replaying the sight of those glowing eyes and the eerie silence that had fallen over the forest.

When we got back to civilization, we went straight to a diner to grab some breakfast. We were all hungry, but more than that, we needed to be around other people. As we sat at our table, Andrea and Mario talked about the creature, trying to guess what it could have been. I mostly listened, still feeling a bit shaken.

While we were eating, I noticed some people at the next table glancing over at us. I must have mentioned the creature a little too loudly, because soon, one of them walked over to our table. He was an older man, and he had a look of concern on his face. I couldn't help but overhear you folks talking about seeing something strange in the woods, he said in a low voice. You're not the only ones. There have been stories about that place for years. He pulled up a chair and told us about a few encounters.

encounters locals had experienced, similar to ours. Some said it was a ghost. Others thought it was a creature that lived deep in the forest. Listening to him, I felt a little better knowing we weren't the only ones who had seen something weird. We talked with the man for a while, and then the waitress came over. She had heard a bit of our conversation and mentioned that her cousin had seen something similar last year. It seemed like everyone in town had a story or knew someone who did. After breakfast, we decided to try and enjoy the rest of our day. We rented some kayaks and spent the afternoon paddling around Lake Tahoe. The water was calm and being out there helped us relax.

Mario took some beautiful photos, and Andrea seemed to be in better spirits, laughing and splashing water at us. As the day went on, we talked less and less about the creature. It felt like a distant memory, something from a dream. We were just three friends enjoying a day out on the lake, and for a while we could almost forget about the night before. But as we packed up the kayaks, I looked back at the forest lining the shore. It was beautiful and peaceful from a distance, but I knew that somewhere in there was something unexplained, something mysterious. That evening, we found a vista point overlooking the lake and decided to camp there for the night.

It was a clear night and the stars were incredible. We set up our sleeping area again and finally managed to fall asleep. The next morning, we woke up feeling refreshed. The sun was shining, and after the scare we had, it felt good to see the daylight. We packed up and drove home, talking about when we might come back. Even though we had been scared, we knew we had experienced something extraordinary, and somehow I think it made us closer as friends. We had shared something that we would probably never fully understand, but we had faced it together, and that meant something.

I'd always felt at home in the wild, the rougher the terrain, the better. The gnarled paths of the Cascade Mountains were as familiar to me as the streets of my own neighborhood. This time, though, as I parked my old Subaru at the trailhead, there was a subtle whisper in the wind that seemed to speak of caution. Perhaps it was the overcast sky or the slight drizzle that started as I gathered my gear, but something felt off. The trail to Green Mountain Lookout was a favorite of mine, one I'd tackled numerous times in all seasons. But on this damp November morning, the remoteness of the trail seemed more pronounced.

The parking area, a generous term for the gravel patch capable of holding maybe half a dozen cars, was nearly empty. Just one other vehicle was there, a beat-up train. truck that looked like it had seen better days. It was unusual to see anyone else out here, especially with the weather turning sour and the promise of snow in higher elevations. I slung my pack over my shoulders, feeling the familiar weights settle against my back. The solitude of these hikes was something I relished. It wasn't just about testing my limits, but also about finding that rare piece that only comes from being completely alone in nature.

Today, however, the silence of the woods seemed more pronounced. There was a stillness, an absence of the usual rustle of wildlife, that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I chalked it up to the season. Most of the birds had migrated, and the smaller critters were likely holed up away from the damp chill. The trail started with a gentle incline, weaving through towering Douglas firs and western hemlocks, whose branches dripped with moisture. My boots pressed into the soft earth, each step sinking slightly into the mud.

I always kept my gaze mostly downward when I hiked alone, not just to watch my footing, but to keep an eye out for tracks. It wasn't just out of habit from my search and rescue days. Tracking was like a puzzle, part of the thrill of being out here. A mile in, the forest gave way to the edge of an alpine meadow. The transition from the dark,

dense woods to the open, grassy field felt abrupt. The meadow, usually alive with color in the summer months, lay subdued under a blanket of dying browns and the last stubborn greens of late fall. It was there I met them, two hikers, a man and a woman, coming down the trail. Their light trail runners and the sheen of sweat on their faces spoke of a quicker pace than my own. We exchanged nods, a brief connection in the mutual acknowledgement of the trail's condition. They warned of the snow further up, and mentioned they had enjoyed having the trail to themselves. I watched them disappear around a bend in the path before continuing on. The further I hiked, the deeper the silence seemed to grow. It was as if the mountain itself was holding its breath. By the time I reached the first

dusting of snow, marking the beginning of the higher elevations, the sense of isolation was complete. couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, a prickling sensation that made me glance over my shoulder more than once. But every time I looked back, all I saw were the empty, winding paths of the Cascade Mountains, shrouded in mist and mystery. The trail steepened, and the tree line thinned as I pushed higher into the mountains. I was deep into the heart of the Cascades now, a place that usually filled me with a sense of exhilaration. But today, each step seemed to echo against the silence, a stark reminder of my isolation. As I moved through the transition zone, where the forest's dense embrace gave way to the more open alpine meadows, my eyes were automatically drawn

to the ground. Tracking was second nature to me, a skill honed through years of necessity and passion. It was then I noticed them, tracks that didn't match the typical wildlife or hiker prints one would expect, one set appeared to belong to a large dog, perhaps a mastiff, given the size and depth. Beside them, partially obscured by a thin dusting of fresh snow, were boot prints much larger than any standard size. These were no ordinary tracks. I paused, considering the possibilities. No one in their right mind would be out here with a dog that size, not in these conditions, and certainly not without proper gear. And the bootprints, they were unusually large,

too large for even the most robust hiker. A chill ran down my spine as I scanned the surrounding woods and meadows, half expecting to see their owner watching me from the tree line. The meadow lay open before me, a broad expanse that in summer would be a wash with color, blooms of Indian paintbrush, lupine, and glacier lilies. Now it was a muted tapestry of greens and browns, beautiful but desolate in its wintry transition.

It was just past this point, as the land began to rise again, that I saw it. At first I thought it was a trick of the light, or perhaps a leftover patch of snow that hadn't yet melted. But as I squinted against the gray light, the outline of the shape became clearer. It was white and roughly humanoid, standing out starkly against the dull colors of the meadow. The figure seemed to be looking right at me, its posture unnatural. straight for something created by nature. My heart pounded in my chest as I stood frozen, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Could it be a hunter in some kind of gear? No, that didn't make sense. The figure was too stark, too eerily still, a scarecrow perhaps left by someone

with a strange sense of humor. But out here. I took a tentative step forward, my eyes never leaving the shape. It was then, in the shifting light and the silence of the high meadow, that I saw it move, or thought I saw it move, a subtle shift, like a man adjusting his stance. I stopped, every instinct screaming at me to turn and run, but I was rooted to the spot. As I watched, paralyzed with a mix of fear and fascination, I realized the figure was indeed facing me. Where there should have been nothing, I could now discern the dark spots of eyes and a slit that might have been a mouth. It was as if the mountain itself had conjured a guardian, and now it stood sentinel over its domain, watching me with an intensity that felt almost personal. With a deep,

steadying breath, I made the only decision I could. I turned back the way I had come, my steps quick and uneven as the figure watched me retreat. The silence of the mountain pressed in on me, heavy with unspoken threats as I hurried away from the unsettling sentinel in the meadow. I've always believed in listening to my gut, a lesson that's kept me alive more times than I can count out here in the wild. As I turned my back on that strange white figure standing alone in the alpine meadow, every instinct was telling me that I needed to get out of there, fast. My heart was pounding against my ribs like a hammer, and the stillness of the mountain air felt oppressive, as if it were pushing me forward with a sense of urgency I couldn't ignore. As I retraced

my steps, the landscape seemed transformed. The familiar path now loomed ominous and foreboding, and the overhanging branches felt like fingers reaching out to snag at my jacket. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. I glanced back over my shoulder repeatedly, half expecting to see that white figure gliding silently after me, but the trail behind was empty every thing. time I checked. The silence was unnerving. Not a bird stirred in the cold air, and even the wind seemed to hold its breath. All I could hear was the crunch of my boots on the sparse snow and the thud of my own heartbeat. It was the kind of quiet that screamed danger. I picked up the pace, my strides growing longer and more urgent. Every shadow between the trees seemed darker.

Every natural noise made me jump. I knew better than to run. Running would only invite chase from whatever might be lurking unseen. But damn, it was hard to keep that walk from breaking into a sprint. The tracks I had seen earlier crossed my mind again. They hadn't made sense then, and now, thinking back, they seemed like a warning I had foolishly ignored. Could they have belonged to the owner of that white figure? The thought was chilling, and it spurred me on faster. About a mile down from where I had turned around, I realized just how isolated I was. My only lifeline was the trail beneath my feet, leading me back to my car. I found myself regretting not bringing my heavier gear,

specifically the point 357 magnum that I had debated over. It weighed six pounds, a hefty addition to my pack that I had opted against. Now the decision seemed foolhardy. As the trail curved back into the thicker tree cover, the forest felt denser, darker. I unholstered my bear spray, holding it ready as I moved. The primal part of my brain was on high alert, treating every brush of wind against leaf as a potential threat. I tried to stay calm, to keep my breathing even, but my lungs didn't seem to get the message.

The last stretch of the trail was the worst. The trees closed in tight, the path narrowed, and every step seemed to echo through the woods. I was close to the parking area now. I could almost smell the cold metal of my car, the safety of enclosed space. When I finally burst out of the tree line and saw my Subaru sitting alone in the parking lot, the relief was palpable. I practically threw my gear into the back seat and didn't relax until the doors were locked, and I was speeding down the mountain road,

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to go for drinks or smoke in the parking lot after closing up the cafe to chat, joke around, and decompress at the end of a long busy shift. Despite our late closing hour, we usually had a constant stream of customers right up until we locked up at midnight, college students and their late night caffeine needs after all. This night was a little different, though, because one of the usual closers had called out sick. My manager had called around to see if someone could cover for him, That's how we ended up closing with Eric. On the one hand, I was grateful because every time I'd had to close while we were short a worker, we would leave the cafe nearly an hour later than usual.

On the other hand, I really wish that it had been anyone but Eric who had agreed to come in. While most of my male co-workers were great and treated me like a sister, Eric was the one coworker who had always unsettled me slightly. He was older, probably in his early 30s, and usually worked the midday shift. shift. Because of my classes, I almost always worked the closing shift, so we would often overlap by a few hours. At first, I thought nothing of him, and assumed he was a graduate student, or maybe just a random local. I was friendly and cordial with him, like I am with all my co-workers. But the more we worked together, the more he made odd comments and jokes around me. I remember

he once offered me a sausage breakfast sandwich that had been left uncollected on the pickup counter. When I declined, he smiled weirdly at me and said, Are you sure? I thought you'd want it. Then he winked at me. I told him that I was sure before turning and walking away. I thought that was weird. Being a young bunch of mostly students,

we messed around a lot at work, so I thought maybe he was trying to make a joke that fell flat, or maybe he'd made some sort of reference that I wasn't understanding. I didn't think more of it until a couple of weeks later. We had just gotten the first shipments of cookie straws, yes, actual cookies in the shape of straws, which we'd be selling all summer. My co-worker broke a few into pieces so we could all try them. After sampling the cookie, I got back to my closing duties of preparing bottles of caramel drizzle and whipped cream for the next day. Eric was preparing drinks at the espresso bar when he came closer to where I was working to use the blender.

He said to me, Hey, I bet if we had a cookie straw eating contest you'd be able to fit the most in your mouth. I don't remember exactly how I reacted. I was somewhat taken aback. I probably just awkwardly laughed it off. I thought about his strange words for the rest of my shift. The joke didn't really make sense. And an eating contest is obviously different from a stick as many in your mouth as you can contest.

But despite my naivity, I understood what he was trying to get across. Like I said, my coworkers would joke around a lot, and sexual jokes were not uncommon. I tried to brush it off, thinking I had no other choice because it wasn't a big deal. These strange encounters weren't over, though. A few weeks later, when I was eating a banana in the back, scrolling on my phone, he joked that I could probably fit the whole thing in before grabbing a sleeve of cups and heading back to the front. Later that same night, over drinks, after Eric was gone, I asked my other co-workers what they thought of him. None of them said they had any issues with him, just that he was a quiet guy who didn't interact with them much.

I thought about repeating his idiotic jokes to them, but decided against it. I didn't want to seem like I was blowing anything out of proportion. All that background happened a couple of months ago, shortly after the banana incident. We hired a new barista, and Eric was moved to the opening show. shift, so we no longer overlapped much, to my relief. That brings us back to this Thursday night. My co-workers and I had already been planning to get drinks after work, so one of them cordially invited Eric, and he agreed. I tried to interact normally with him throughout the shift, but something about the way he kept looking at me unsettled me. While I changed the trash bins

in the lobby, I would turn around in time to see him staring right at me before he turned back to whichever drink he was making behind the counter. We even made brief eye contact a few times. When I began sweeping the lobby, I noticed him staring again. When I came behind the counter to sweep, he suddenly turned to me and asked, Need a ride home tonight? Uh, no thanks, I responded reflexively. I would often accept rides from my co-workers' home as I lived a couple of miles off campus,

but the thought of taking a ride with this guy sent a shiver down my spine. He didn't respond to this and continued to stare as I quickly finished up sweeping. By the time we were locking up and heading next door for drinks, I was contemplating just going straight home. I simply didn't like being around Eric. His presence gave me a nod in my stomach, but when I floated the idea of bailing to my other two co-workers, they begged me to stay for at least one round on them. As an underage and broke college student, I rarely looked a gift horse in the mouth, so I agreed. Plus, I again figured that I was probably overreacting to some degree. Sure, Eric was a little off, but he was probably just a socially awkward, harmless guy,

right? That night, we opted for a bottle of white wine to go with our usual huge basket of chips in salsa. One of my other co-workers named Chris tried to make friendly conversation with Eric. That's when Eric first mentioned his fiancé, and I felt the nod in my stomach lift partially. Thinking back now, it was naive of me to think this new information was evidence that I really had been reading too deeply into his comments and looks from before. Regardless, in the moment, I was more at ease, figuring he just had an unfortunate and immature sense of humor. So, I stuck around when someone ordered a second bottle of wine, this time pink. I was feeling pretty warm and loose by the time the taco place closed, and we had to leave. We all said goodbye,

and Chris and I walked over to the bus stop and waited together. We both lived off campus, and I always took the bus. Most nights Chris's girlfriend would come to pick him up after work, but she was out of town that week. For some reason, even at this hour, there were usually still a few college students milling about so close to campus, but Chris's presence put me even more at ease. We boarded the city bus a few minutes later.

The bus was less than half full, so Chris and I sat in two seats beside each other and continued to chat. I lived further out from campus than Chris, so when we got to his stop, we said goodbye, and I watched as he climbed off the bus and into the night. I popped my earbuds in, resuming the audiobook I'd been listening to on my way to work. I should let you know here that when I was younger,

I had a bad habit of not paying much attention to my surroundings when I was out, so I sat there and looked out the window for the remainder of my ride. I rang the bell when my stop was next and stood to get off the bus as it came to a familiar curb. As I exited from the front door, I noticed someone in a dark hoodie getting off the bus from the side exit. My stop wasn't a busy one at this hour. More often than not, I would be the only one getting off the bus here. But still, I didn't think much of it as I began my 20-minute walk home. At the time, I lived in a residential area with lots of houses and apartment complexes. It was much cheaper to live out here than closer to campus.

I was just enjoying my audiobook when the chapter came to an end, and I paused it. Then I heard it, footsteps behind me. I glanced over my shoulder, feigning to look at a sign as I passed it. I glimpsed a dark figure a few hundred feet from me, walking in the same direction on the same side of the street. The figure seemed to keep a steady distance, but I could feel my heart rate quicken. It was probably just another person heading home. I told myself, yet unease settled in my gut, reminiscent of the feeling I'd had around Eric. I tried to shake it off, telling myself I was being paranoid.

I picked up my pace slightly, hoping to create some more distance. I took out one earbud, listening for the sound of footsteps. They quickened, too, matching my speed. My mind raced with thoughts of the strange comments and the unsettling stare from my co-worker earlier. I turned at the next corner, hoping to lose whoever it was, but the footsteps turned with me. My apartment complex was only a few blocks away now. I glanced back again, and the figure was closer. I could make out the shape of the hooded person, their face still obscured by the shadows.

My pulse pounded in my ears, my mind screaming at me to move faster and I obeyed, no longer caring about appearing paranoid. Suddenly I heard a voice, gruff, gravelly, and deep, as it called out, Need a ride home, Stephanie, my blood ran cold. Then, this person knew my name. The voice sounded strange, as though a man was trying to disguise his normal voice. I knew in my gut it was Eric. My breath came in ragged gasps as I broke into a full sprint towards my building.

I desperately fumbled with my keys, my hands shaking uncontrollably. The footsteps grew low. louder, closer, and I managed to unlock the door and slam it shut behind me, locking it with trembling fingers. I backed away from the door, heart racing, grabbing my phone to call the police. In a trembling voice, I told the woman on the phone that someone had followed me home. Suddenly there was a loud knocking at the door, and I nearly screamed into the receiver. He's at my door! I gasped between sobs. Please, send someone. The woman assured.

me that help was on the way. I was so scared that I begged her to stay on the line with me. She promised she would. Then when the knocking at my door turned into full-on pounding, I was convinced this person was actually about to break in, busting my thin wooden door down as I sobbed incoherently. The woman directed me to lock myself in the bathroom until help arrived. As I waited for the police, I cowered in my own bathtub, listening to the banging at the door. After the longest wait, the banging stopped abruptly. At first, I was relieved, but then I was even more scared because what was he doing now? Was he going to try the windows?

God, had I even remembered to lock all the windows? As I strained to listen, I thought I heard footsteps pacing on my front porch, until even that sound went away. When the police finally showed up, they found no one. They took my statement and assured me they would patrol the area, but even after they left, I could not shake the feeling of being watched. I called in sick from my classes and from work the next day. I contemplated what to do.

I didn't have proof per se that it was Eric who chased me home, but I knew deep down in my gut it had to be him. Who else knew my name? Who else would have offered me a ride home in that creepy way? The next day at work, I finally decided to report Eric to my manager and told her about all these strange comments over the past few months, and my terrifying walk home the other night. I expected her to say I was overreacting, but instead, she said that he would be fired immediately. I remember him dropping by that Friday afternoon to pick up his last check and

tips. I tried to busy myself with random tasks behind the bar. I didn't want to interact with him or even look at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him approach the register. None of my other coworkers knew what had happened yet, so my co-worker at the register cheerfully asked him if he wanted a drink before he headed out. Eric proceeded to order a cappuccino. I begrudgingly dumped milk into the milk frother and started pulling shots of espresso. Before my coworker handed me the cup, I made the drink and quickly put it on the pickup counter before heading to the back to restock the milk. I hoped by the time I came back out front, he would be gone. I was wrong. In fact, he stood at the pickup counter looking angrily at me. This is too heavy. I want this dry. I tried to keep my

expression neutral as I set out to remake his drink. For those who don't know, a cappuccino is supposed to be espresso shots with even parts of milk and foam. A dry cappuccino means the customer wants more foam than milk. This is obviously the kind of thing that is most helpful to be told before making the drink. But I swallowed my attitude down and set the second lighter cappuccino in front of him wordlessly. I just wanted him out of the store at this point. He picked it up. Still too heavy.

I want it bone dry. My jaw tightened. I was irritated, and it was obvious what he was doing. A bone dry cappuccino means the person essentially wants only foam with their espresso. I said nothing as I dumped the prior two drinks in the sink and said about pouring even more milk. I steamed two pitchers full and painstakingly separated the foam. from the milk with a spoon. I nearly threw the drink down on the counter at him, and told him to have a good day in a tone that suggested I would not be remaking his stupid drink again.

I turned away to tidy up the bar, and noticed him lingering there at the pickup counter for a few more seconds before leaving. For a while, I feared that he would come to the cafe while I worked or followed me home again, but week after week passed, and he didn't show back up. After a while, I assumed it was over, until around four months later, I found a note tucked into my front door frame. I figured it was my lease renewal from the landlord. I grabbed it on my way in, locking the door behind me. After settling in, I absent-mindedly remembered the notice at the door and unfolded it. I swear my heart stopped. In a neat, almost childlike script, the paper read, Why did you tell on me?

I was genuinely terrified. I knew getting the police involved would be unlikely to be helpful for me, as I had no way of proving who this note was from, or that Eric had even followed me home in the first place. I started to spend most of my nights at friends' houses until I saved up enough to move closer to campus. A few months after that, I found a new job on campus. I was sad to leave my coworkers at the cafe,

many of whom I was close with at that point. But I couldn't stand the anxiety and paranoia that Eric would show up again, or appear behind me on one of my walks home. Thankfully, I never saw Eric again. Even now, years later, I still get that unshakable feeling that someone is watching me or following me when I walk home alone. I find myself constantly checking over my shoulder, my heart quickening at the slightest sound behind me. Looking back, I wish I had trusted my instincts and reported Eric's behavior to my manager, and the authorities sooner, instead of brushing off my unease and convincing myself that it was simply nothing. Maybe then I could have spared myself from the nightmares I've had since.

Thanks, yours too! What does Ravs stand for anyway? To me, it's the remarkably advanced vehicle. Really? To me, it's the runway-approved vehicle for its amazing style. What about remarkably adaptable vehicle because of its versatile cargo space? Or really admired vehicle? Oh, or really awesome vehicle. the recreational activity vehicle. The stylish 2026 Toyota Rav4 Limited. What's your Rav for? The air had that crispness about it, the kind that signaled summer was making its last grand stand before giving way to the colors of fall. As the pickup truck rattled along the gravel road toward Beaver Mines, I couldn't shake the feeling that this trip was going to be one for the books. Tim was at the wheel, his eyes fixed on the winding path ahead, while Caleb

fiddled with the radio, trying to find a signal amidst the static. We're really doing this, huh? Caleb grinned, finally giving up on the radio and settling back into his seat. Yeah, and it's going to be epic. Tim replied, his voice filled with the kind of easy confidence that comes from being the de facto leader of our little trio. The truck crested a hill, and the forest stretched out before us like a vast, unexplored wilderness. I felt a twinge of excitement mixed with a whisper of apprehension

as I thought about the stories we'd heard around campfires and in the dimly lit corners of our favorite diner, stories of the wilds of Alberta, of creatures that roamed the dense forests, legends that were always dismissed by the light of day. We arrived at our campsite by late afternoon. The sun was beginning to dip behind the trees, casting long shadows on the ground as we unloaded our gear.

Our camp was a simple affair, a tent, a fire pit, and a few logs pulled up around it for seats. As we set up, the laughter and banter flowed freely, easing the lingering nerves about being so far from everything familiar. By nightfall, our campfire was crackling, sending sparks up to compete with the stars. Tim pulled out a bag of marshmallows, and soon we were roasting them over the flames, the sticky sweetness perfect against the chill in the air. You guys remember the story of the Wendigo? Tim asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned closer to the fire, making shadows dance wildly behind him. Caleb rolled his eyes. Not that again, it's just a story to scare kids. I wasn't so sure. There was something about being out here, surrounded by the ancient trees and the deepening dark, that made those old tales feel a little too real. As the night deepened, we settled into our tent. The fabric was, walls are only barrier against the vast dark forest outside. I lay there, listening to the symphony of the night, the distant call of an owl, the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze.

It was peaceful, it was perfect, until it wasn't. It started as a faint rustling, like the wind picking up, only there was no wind. The night had grown eerily still. Tim and Caleb heard it too. I saw their shadows shift as they sat up. What was that? Caleb whispered, his voice tight with tension. Probably just a deer, Tim murmured, but even he didn't sound convinced. Curiosity overcame us, and we grabbed our flashlights, unzipping the tent with hands that trembled just slightly. The beam of light cut through the darkness, landing on the trees that surrounded our camp. There was nothing out of place, nothing moving. And then we saw them,

two glowing eyes, unnaturally high off the ground, staring back at us from the darkness. The figure was tall, gaunt, almost ghostly. None of us moved, none of us breathed. We were caught in its gaze, trapped in a moment of primal fear that seemed to stretch into eternity. We backed away slowly, retreating to the supposed safety of our tent. We told ourselves it was nothing, just a trick of the light or our own. imagination fueled by the ghost stories. But as we lay back down, listening to the silence that had once seemed so peaceful, we knew something was out there. And it had seen us. The morning light filtered softly through the canvas of our tent, a stark contrast to the darkness of the

previous night. I was the first to stir, my mind a whirl of unsettling dreams and the haunting image of those glowing eyes. As I nudged Tim and Caleb awake, the silence of the forest felt oppressive, as if it were waiting for something. We should go for a hike, I suggested, more for the sake of doing something to shake off the remnants of fear than for any real enthusiasm for the activity. Tim nodded, pulling on his boots. Yeah, let's check out the area. Maybe we'll see that deer everyone keeps talking about around here. The forest was dense, the under underbrush thick with late summer growth, making our hike less leisurely and more of a struggle. The sounds of our passage seemed overly loud in the quiet, the snapping of twigs underfoot-like

gunshots in the still air. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, and I caught Caleb looking over his shoulder more than once, his eyes wide and searching. We had been walking for about an hour when Tim stopped so abruptly that I nearly ran into him. Look, he whispered, pointing at the ground ahead. It was a deer or what was left of it. The carcass was torn open, its entrails spread grotesquely across the forest floor, flies buzzed loudly, the only sound in a suffocating silence. This wasn't just any predator, Caleb said, his voice low.

Look at the marks, too brutal for a bear. We stood there, the gravity of our situation settling in like a heavy cloak. The forest didn't feel like ours to explore anymore. It felt like we had intruded into something ancient, something wild and unforgiving. As we turned to head back to camp, a crackling in the bushes froze us in our tracks. There, not 20 feet from where we stood, was the creature from last night. It was hunched over another deer, its movements jerky and savage as it fed. Its skin was pulled tight over its bones, making it look skeletal, and its eyes, those

same glowing eyes were hollow, yet burning with a ravenous hunger. We backed away slowly, not daring to take our eyes off it. The creature paused, its head snapping up to fix its gaze on us. It let out a sound, a chilling mix of a growl and a scream that echoed through the trees and chilled my blood. We didn't wait to see what it would do next. We turned and ran, branches whipping against our faces, roots threatening to trip us at every step, The camp had never seemed so far away. Back at the safety of our sight, the fire from last night now nothing but smoldering ashes, we packed our things with shaking hands. The decision was unspoken, but unanimous. We couldn't stay here, not with that thing out there. But as we

hurried to break camp, the woods around us seemed to close in, the once-welcoming trees now looming like silent sentinels. Every rustle of the leaves, every snap of a twig, had us to jumpy and tense. We'll leave at dusk, Tim said, his voice firm despite the fear I saw in his eyes. We'll use the remaining daylight to get ready. But as the shadows grew longer and the forest around us seemed to whisper, I wondered if we would even make it until dusk. The sky was painted with streaks of crimson as the sun began its descent,

the light fading from the forest around us. We had decided to wait until the cover of darkness to make our escape. hoping the night would shield us from whatever stalked these woods. Every minute that ticked by was a minute spent in agonizing anticipation, the air thick with the scent of our fear. We gathered our belongings, the normality of the action at odds with the tremor in our hands and the tightness in our chests.

Caleb kept glancing at the trees, his flashlight flicking on at every slight sound. Tim was quiet, his eyes focused, a hard edge to his jaw. Let's do this, Tim finally said, his voice a low rumble in the growing darkness. Stick close, and whatever happens, don't run off alone. We turned our flashlights on, the beams slicing through the darkness as we stepped into the woods. The path back to the truck was a familiar one, but tonight it felt entirely alien, as if the trail had shifted, reshaped by our fears into something sinister.

We hadn't gone far when the unmistakable cracker. of a branch had us freezing in place. The sounds of the forest had ceased, a heavy silence falling over everything. Then, a low growl rolled through the trees, the sound visceral and chilling. It was close, too close. Without a word we broke into a run, the beams of our flashlights jerky and wild as we navigated the uneven ground. The growls grew louder, closer, joined by the heavy thudding steps of something large moving swiftly through the underbrush. We need to hide, I gasped out, my lungs burning with the effort of our panicked flight. The only cover in sight were a couple of old porta-potties left by some long-forgotten construction

crew. It was a desperate plan, but it was all we had. We darted inside, squeezing into the cramped spaces. The smell was overpowering, but the fear of what was outside was greater. We barely breathed, listening as the steps approached, then circled around our flimsy hiding spots. The Wendigo was searching for us. It's breathing ragged and hungry. It scratched at the plastic, the sound making my heart stop each time. I closed my eyes, praying it would move on. And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the sounds began to fade. We waited, counting endless heartbeats before

we dared to emerge. The forest was dark, the path uncertain under the moon's scant light. We moved quickly now, no longer trying to avoid making noise, our only thought to put as much distance as possible between us and that creature. When the parking lot finally came into view, it was like seeing the gates of heaven. We threw our gear into the back of the truck and didn't stop to secure it. Jumping into the cab, Tim hit the gas the moment the doors were shut, the tires crunching over the gravel as we sped away. I looked back once, my breath catching in my throat. There, at the edge of the trees stood the Wendigo. Its eyes glowed faintly in the headlights before it turned and disappeared into the darkness. We drove in silence the weight of what we had experienced

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