Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 8 TERRIFYING Encounters in the DEEP WOODS

Episode Date: July 10, 2024

These are 8 TERRIFYING Encounters in the DEEP WOODS Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:05:06 Story 2 00:09:31 Story 3 00:16:24 Story 4 00:23:10 Story 5 00:34:51 Story 6 00:45:01 Story 7 00:56:31 Story 8 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 #forest 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

Many years ago, my nephew and I embarked on a camping and fishing trip to Cumberland, Maryland, known for its serene landscapes and natural beauty. We decided to stay at a state campground on the Potomac River, anticipating a tranquil and enjoyable experience away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. The campground was somewhat expensive, with campsites spread far apart, offering comfort and a bit of eerie seclusion. We chose the last campsite at the end of the campground, far away from the other campers, seeking a little bit of extra privacy. With its gentle flow,

the Potomac River provided a soothing backdrop, and the forest surrounding us was alive with the sounds of nature. We spent the day setting up camp, enjoying the simplicity of pitching the tent, arranging our gear, and gathering firewood. The weather was perfect, with a light breeze rustling the leaves and the sun casting dappled shadows through the canopy. We fished along the riverbank, chatting casually and enjoying the companionship such trips offer. As dusk settled in, we lit a campfire. Its flickering flames cast a warm glow in a comforting circle of light in the encroaching darkness.

The forest around us began to transition into night mode, with the sounds of birds gradually giving way to the calls of nocturnal creatures. Everything seemed normal, just the typical symphony of forest sounds. Then, around 10 or 11 at night, Something unexpected happened. We heard the sound of a woman singing in the woods. It was not a song with recognizable lyrics, but a hauntingly beautiful melody without words.

The voice was clear, resonant, and carried through the trees, creating a mesmerizing and unsettling atmosphere. I glanced at my nephew, sitting across the fire from me, and saw that he was wide-eyed and tense. My dog, lying peacefully by the fire, suddenly sprang to his feet, ears perked up, and staring intently into the darkness, from where the sound seemed to emanate. His usual alertness to intruders or unusual activity made his reaction all the more concerning. Did you hear that? I asked my nephew, my voice barely

above a whisper. He looked at me pale in the firelight, and responded, I don't hear anything, I'm going to bed. His denial was unconvincing, given that he was only about ten feet away from me and the singing was quite loud. He was clearly frightened, perhaps hoping it would disappear by ignoring it. The melody continued, weaving through the trees. While it sounded like it was coming from one direction, it had an eerie quality that made pinpointing its source very difficult. It was as if the voice was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Despite the unsettling nature of the sound, it did not feel threatening. There was no sense of malice. just a haunting beauty that was hard to describe.

I suggested to my nephew that we take a flashlight and walk around to see if we could find the source of the singing, but he was adamant about staying put. The fear in his eyes was evident, and he quickly retreated into the tent, leaving me and the dog alone by the fire. For several minutes the melody continued. I just stood there, listening intently.

My dog by my side, both of us staring into the inky blackness of the woods. The fire crackled softly, a comforting but fragile barrier between us and the unknown. Then, as suddenly as it started, the singing just stopped. The forest was incredibly silent again, except for the occasional leaves rustling in the breeze. I felt a mixture of relief and curiosity. There was no way someone could have been hiding in the woods without my dog detecting them earlier. His calm yet alert demeanor suggested that whatever it was, it did not pose.

an imminent threat, but it was definitely out of the ordinary. The following day, my nephew and I discussed it a little more. He finally admitted to hearing the singing but was too scared to acknowledge it. We tried to rationalize what we had experienced, considering the possibility of an echo, animals, or even just other campers. But nothing really seemed to fit the situation perfectly. In the following days, I searched for similar experiences online in the Cumberland area, but never really found anything conclusive. Our encounter has remained a mystery, a peculiar and unforgettable chapter in our camping adventures.

The memory of that night lingered as a reminder of the many unexplained phenomena that occur in the depths of nature. I'd like to preface this by saying that, at the time, I didn't find this story spooky at all. My dad, on the other hand, certainly did. When I was around nine, my dad used to take me fishing quite often, especially in good weather. I'll admit I was never that interested in fishing, but I did like being outdoors and hanging out with my dad, so I was happy to go with him. Tired of our usual catch of teeny, tiny

sunfish and the occasional equally teeny tiny perch, my dad picked a different fishing spot that day. Unlike the ponds I was used to, this was a river, and the fast-moving current splashed us both as my dad cast his line. We hadn't even been there an hour when I got bored with the fishing. Setting down my fishing rod, I began to climb around on the rocks on the riverbank, pretending to be a superhero, or maybe a marine biologist. I was an odd little kid, so it could have gone either way. I was checking to see if there was anything alive hiding underneath the rocks at the water's edge when I first saw the man. He seemed ordinary enough to me, just a short, dark-haired man in what looked to me like normal fishing gear.

It would be years later before it occurred to me that I'd only ever seen fishermen on television and movies dressed like that, and the clothes he wore were actually decades out of style. As a kid, it made perfect sense to me. He was a fisherman. He was wearing what fishermen wore. The only thing that seemed off to me at the time

was that he was standing a few feet behind my dad, but they weren't talking to each other. My dad hadn't even turned around. He'd always been pretty friendly and loved to talk, so it was strange to me that he hadn't at least said hello to this newcomer. I was wondering why he was being so rude suddenly when the man noticed me. Without so much as a word to my father, he quickly walked to the riverbank and waved me over.

We were still only a few feet away from my dad then, so I figured I was safe to go see what he wanted. When I reached him, he crouched down to my level, and I found myself looking into the saddest pair of eyes I'd ever seen. This man looked like he was having the absolute worst day of his life. He didn't sound any happier than he looked. You really shouldn't be playing so close to the edge, honey, he said somberly. Those rocks are slippery.

You could fall in, and it's awfully hard to swim in a current that strong. You could drown. I remember being a bit put out that a random stranger was telling me what to do, and that he had implied that my doggy paddle wouldn't be enough in the event that I fell into the river. Nevertheless, he was staring at me so intensely that I assured him I would stay away from the rocks and went to pick flowers instead. My dad came to find me a little while later, confused as to why I'd given up jumping around on the rocks. When I explained that the man had told me not to play there, he frowned.

What man are you talking about? he asked. The man who was standing behind you, I answered, obviously. Suddenly Dad didn't feel like fishing anymore. He abruptly picked up all of our gear and led me back to the car. As he was loading everything into the trunk, he told me we had been the only two people by the river all morning. I tried to argue that there had been another man there, that I had even spoken to him, but he shook his head.

It's just been me and you, kiddo. Look, ours is the only car in the parking lot. He was right, of course, and whether he believed what I said or not, he quickly decided we could spend the rest of our morning together at the closest Tim Hortons instead. We never went back to that river. I don't know whether it was because my dad was spooked, or because he just didn't catch anything there, but all of our subsequent fishing trips involved familiar ponds and little fish.

I do know, however, that I never forgot the man by the river, knowing now that children are more likely to experience the supernatural. I wonder if he had drowned in that river, or maybe he lost a loved one to the current, and he was spending his afterlife preventing others from making the same mistake. Regardless, I hope he has moved on by now or at least found some peace. No one ought to be that sad for eternity. The cold had settled deep into my bones by the time we hit the icy patch on Rutherford Lane. I could almost hear the brittle crackle of frost under the tires,

an eerie symphony against the distant whisper of winter wind. Lucy, my sister, was humming along to some forgotten Christmas tune playing softly on the radio, her breath fogging up the passenger window as she traced lazy patterns on the glass. I think it's going to snow tonight, she murmured, more to herself than to me. I just nodded, keeping my eyes fixed on the road ahead. The headlights carved out a tunnel of dim yellow light through the thick darkness, barely illuminating the gnarled branches of the trees lining the narrow lane. That's when the car hit the ice.

One moment, everything was as it should be. Quiet, calm, the steady hum of the engine. And the next, the world spun wildly out of control. The steering wheel jerked in my hands as the back end of the car slid out, and I fought desperately to regain control. But it was too late. The car skidded around the bend, tires losing their grip on the slick surface,

and we were tumbling sideways into the ditch. The sound was deafening, metal crunching, glass shattering. Our screams lost amidst the chaos. When we finally came to a stop, the car was on its side in a farmer's field, the night eerily silent except for the hiss of the engine cooling, and Lucy's ragged breathing. Are you okay? I managed, my voice sounding strangely detached.

Lucy nodded, her face pale in the dim light filtering through the cracked windshield. I think so. You? Yeah, I'm fine. But I wasn't really sure. My heart was racing, adrenaline pumping so loudly in my ears it was hard to think. We scrambled out of the car, the cold air hitting us like a wall. The ground was hard and frozen beneath our feet as we surveyed the damage. The front bumper was gone, torn off in our descent, and one of the wheels had sheared away, disappearing into the darkness. I'll call Dan, I said, pulling out my phone with numb fingers. Lucy huddled close, her arms wrapped around herself as she shivered.

The call went straight to voicemail. Dan was still at work, probably hadn't even checked his phone. I tried again, the sense of isolation deepening with each unanswered ring. We should find somewhere warm, Lucy suggested after a few minutes. Her voice small against the vastness of the night. Just then, headlights pierced the darkness, a car slowing as it approached our wreck. Relief washed over me, until I saw the driver. A woman middle-aged and smiling kindly rolled down her window.

You girls need help? I explained our situation quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. Drive to the village, she advised. Ask for my husband, Tom. He'll come back with a tow rope. It sounded like a plan, a lifeline, and as she said, she drove off, promising quick help, I felt the weight of the night lightened slightly. But as the minutes stretched into hours with no sign of her or Tom, that fleeting sense of

security evaporated like mist in the morning sun, leaving us cold, alone, and beginning to despair. Time seemed to stretch out into eternity as we waited in the frozen field. The occasional hoot of an owl, or the distant rustle of wind through the branches, was the only break in the silence that enveloped us. My phone was rapidly losing battery, and with each passing minute, the likelihood of Tom's arrival seemed to dwindle into nothingness. Lucy paced back and forth, her arms wrapped tightly around herself against the biting cold. What if she forgot about us, she asked, her voice carrying a tremor of real fear?

I don't know, I replied, trying to mask my own concern, but we can't stay out here all night. Just then, the beam of headlights cut through the darkness. once more, and a truck pulled up alongside our broken car. Two men stepped out, their faces shadowed, and voices carrying thick accents that I couldn't place. Need help? One of them called out, a smile playing on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. Something about the situation felt off. I hesitated, taking in their well-equipped truck and the rope already in hand. We're waiting for someone, I said finally, my voice firmer than I felt. They seemed to consider this, exchanging a look that I couldn't read in the dim light.

We can't leave you here. The same man insisted, stepping closer. The smell of oil and earth clung to them, a stark reminder of the wilderness that surrounded us. No thank you, I said again, this time more forcefully. They paused, the atmosphere charged with an unspoken tension, before finally getting back into their truck and driving away. Relief washed over me briefly, until I, I saw their headlights pause and turn back towards us. My heart sank. They returned, parking their

truck with the engine still running. It's not safe for you here. Let us help. The man repeated, stepping out again, this time not waiting for an answer. Fear gripped me, icy and sharp as the wind. I stood my ground, though my body screamed at me to flee. Please just leave us alone, I shouted, my voice echoing in the stillness. It was then, at that moment, at that moment, of peak desperation that another vehicle approached, a regular sedan, not a truck. A man jumped out, moving with purpose and authority. He didn't speak much, only working quickly to attach a tow rope to our car and affixing a spare tire.

As he worked, I asked, did you see anyone else when you pulled up? No, just you girls, he answered without looking up. Confusion and relief swirled through me. This was Tom, the husband of the woman who had stopped earlier. His arrival was so timely it felt almost miraculous, considering the unnerving encounter we had just endured. As he drove us to my boyfriend's workplace, my shoulder began to throb painfully, a delayed reaction to the adrenaline that had fueled me through the night. Tom's wife had sent him immediately, he explained, which puzzled me further about the passage of time that night.

The last thing he said stuck with me, chilling in its simplicity. Sometimes help comes from where you least expect it, sometimes not at all. But tonight, it seems you needed a bit of both. My brother Steve and I were bursting with excitement as our car rolled into the entrance of Quo Provincial Park in Ontario, Canada. This is going to be epic, I thought, glancing at Steve who was grinning as wide as I was. We had planned this trip for months, dreaming of the huge fish we'd catch in the untouched wilderness. The park ranger at the gate handed us a map and pointed us towards the lakes where we could find the best fishing spots. Be careful out there, boys. It's easy to get lost, he warned, giving us a serious look.

We nodded, eager to get going, and drove down a narrow dirt road that disappeared into thick forests of towering pines and birch trees. We parked near a small dock where we rented a sturdy canoe. It was our vessel for the week, and we packed it with all our camping gear. Tents, sleeping bags, fishing rods, and a cooler full of food. Let's catch some monsters, Steve said, referring to the northern pike and lake trout we hoped to encounter. Paddling out from the shore, we felt like true adventurers. The water was so clear we could see the sandy bottom several feet below. Every lake we passed seemed more beautiful than the last, with crystal clear waters and perfect spots along the shore where we could camp at night.

Each evening we set up camp on a new lake's edge. The routine was simple, build a fire, cook the fish we caught, and talk about everything and nothing under the stars. I loved these moments, away from the buzz of city life, just Steve and me and the sounds of the wilderness. But on the fourth night, something changed. We had found a particularly secluded spot to camp, a recommendation from the park ranger who mentioned it didn't get many

visitors. It was breathtaking, with a view of the lake that mirrored the sky, making it hard to tell where the water ended and the heavens began. After a successful day of fishing, we sat by the fire, our bellies full, and our spirits high. The fire crackled, and the gentle lapping of water against the shore was like music. Just as we started to relax, a strange sound sliced through the peaceful night air. It began as a low rumble, like distant thunder. but then it grew into a high-pitched screech that seemed almost metallic. The noise echoed off the surrounding trees, making it hard to tell where it was coming from. Steve and I locked eyes, each of us frozen in place.

What the heck was that? Steve whispered, his voice barely above the crackle of the fire. I don't know, I replied, my heart racing. We sat in silence, listening intently, but the sound didn't come again. After a while we tried to laugh it off. Maybe it's just some weird acoustics, or a plane in the distance, I suggested, not quite believing my own words. Yeah, maybe, Steve agreed, though I could tell he was as spooked as I was. We went to bed uneasy that night, the mysterious sound still echoing in our minds. Little did we know, that was just the beginning of our eerie adventures in Quo Provincial Park.

The next morning Steve and I woke up with the sun barely peeking through the third. thick canopy of pine trees. We were both a bit quiet, thinking about the strange noise from last night, but we were also excited to explore a new part of the lake. We had heard from the park ranger that the fishing was particularly good, where a small river flowed into the lake, and we were eager to see if we could catch some really big fish there. As we paddled through the mist that hovered over the lake like a soft blanket, I couldn't shake off the eerie feeling from last night's noise. The lake was calm and quiet, too quiet, and it made me feel like we were the only two people in the whole world. When we reached the mouth of the river, I noticed something weird in the

water ahead of us. At first, I thought it was just a log floating, but as we got closer, it started to move. It wasn't a log at all. It was something big, really big. What is that, Steve asked, his voice trembling a bit. I didn't have an answer for him. The thing, whatever it was, suddenly dipped below the surface, leaving behind a trail of bubbles. We looked at each other, unsure of what to do next, but the thought of catching big fish lured us forward, despite our nerves. We paddled more cautiously now, our eyes scanning the water. We reached the river mouth and cast our lines, but something felt off.

There were no signs of fish at all, no splashes, no ripples, nothing. It was as if the river was dead. Just when we were about to give up and paddle back, I felt a sudden tug on my line. I got something, I yelled, excited at first. But then, I realized it wasn't acting like any fish I'd ever caught. It was too heavy and wasn't fighting back the way fish do. It felt like I had hooked onto something solid, something big. Cut the line!

Steve shouted. He must have sensed something was wrong too. But before I could react, whatever was on the line started pulling hard, dragging our canoe towards the middle of the river. Steve grabbed his paddle and tried to row us away from it, but it was no use. Suddenly the creature burst out of the water right next to our canoe. I'll never forget what I saw. It was like a giant eel but with a crocodile's head, dark green, almost black skin,

and the most terrifying part, the eyes, yellow and glowing, with slit pupils that seemed to look right into my soul. It lunged at our canoe, its jaws snapping close to Steve's arm. He yelped and swung his paddle at it, but it was like hitting a wall. The creature barely flinched. In a moment of panic, I remembered the knife attached to my belt. I grabbed it and cut the fishing line. The creature disappeared into the water, taking my rod and reel with it. Steve and I were left in the rocking canoe, hearts pounding and hands shaking.

We didn't say a word as we paddled back to camp as fast as we could. We packed up everything in a hurry, not even stopping to eat. We just needed to get away from the water, away from the creature. We didn't stop until we reached the ranger station. We told the ranger we'd had an accident and lost some gear. But the real story, the one about the creature in the lake, we kept that to ourselves. Who would believe such a thing?

It was one of those Fridays where everything seemed to take forever. I kept glancing at the clock at the diner where I work. watching the minutes tick by so slowly they might as well have been hours. But today was different from the usual grind. My boyfriend Alex and I were heading out on a hiking trip on the Appalachian Trail as soon as my shift ended. Alex had been an Eagle Scout and was always super prepared for these kinds of adventures, which made me feel a bit better about setting off so late in the day. Are we still good to go? I texted Alex during my last break.

He replied instantly, everything's packed, just waiting on you. By the time I untied my apron and clocked out, it was already past 4 p.m. Alex was waiting for me in the parking lot. Our gear neatly stacked in the back of his old Jeep. The moment I saw him, all the stress of the day began to melt away. We were really doing this, a whole weekend away from everything. We should hurry up. We've got quite a hike before sunset, he said, helping me load my bag into the car.

The drive to the trailhead was a blur of green. as we passed through the outskirts of town and into more secluded areas. Alex talked about the route we'd take and what I could expect from the hike. Despite his reassurances and the excitement bubbling inside me, a nervous flutter remained in my stomach. It wasn't just the daunting physical challenge. It was spending a whole weekend so far from the comforts of civilization. We started our hike at about 5.30 p.m.

The trail welcomed us with a steep incline that seemed to mock our heavy metal-framed backpacks. Each step was a reminder of how unaccustomed my body was to this kind of exertion. Alex, on the other hand, moved with a steady confidence that only years of scouting could give. Remember, it's about the journey, not just the destination. Alex would say every time he noticed me struggling. His encouragement helped, but so did the breaks we took to admire the view. About an hour into the hike, the weather decided we were having it too easy. dark clouds rolled in and soon enough rain started pelting us relentlessly within minutes we were soaked through our packs growing heavier with every drop that clung to them the trail turned slippery the mud grasping at our boots with every step as the sky turned a darker shade of gray the surrounding forest took on an eerie silence broken only by the sound of rain hitting the leaves and our labored breathing the fog was thickening swallowing the path ahead in a white mist

Our pace slowed even more, not just because of the slippery mud, but also because the visibility was getting worse by the minute. We need to find a shelter, I shouted over the noise of the storm. My voice edged with a hint of panic. Alex nodded, pulling out a map from his waterproof bag. There's one not too far from here. We can make it if we keep going. The promise of a dry place to rest gave me a new burst of energy.

We trudged on, the weight of our packs forgotten in our urgent. to escape the downpour. Every part of me was drenched, cold and aching, and I started to doubt if this trip was such a good idea after all. But just as I thought I couldn't take another step, Alex grabbed my hand and pointed through the fog. There it is. Ahead, barely visible, was the outline of a small, three-walled log cabin, a beacon of hope in the relentless storm. Relief washed over me, mixed with a sense of accomplishment. We had made it to the shelter. We had made it to the shelter. Little did I know the real adventure was just about to begin. As we approached the shelter, a gust of wind whipped through the trees, making the branches creak ominously above us. I shivered,

not just from the cold, but also from the sudden realization that we weren't alone. Light spilled from the open side of the cabin, and I could hear voices mingling with the crackle of a small fire. Relief mixed with a twinge of disappointment. I had secretly hoped Alex, Alex, and I would have the place to ourselves. Stepping into the shelter, we were greeted by an older couple who looked like they had settled in quite comfortably. The woman, with her scraggly gray hair

and thick circular glasses, gave us a broad, albeit toothy and somewhat unsettling smile. The man, a bit overweight with a friendly demeanor, waved us over. Don't just stand there getting wetter. Come in, come in. He boomed, his voice echoing slightly

in the confined space. Thanks, I muttered, glancing at Alex who seemed as relieved as I was to get out of the rain. We set down our heavy backpacks with a thud and began peeling off our soaked jackets. The woman handed us a towel, which I gratefully accepted, drying off my face and arms. I'm Maya, the woman said, her voice raspy, possibly from years of smoking. And this is Joe. We decided on a spur of the moment getaway, just like you, I presume. Yeah, something like that, Alex replied smiling politely.

I'm Alex, and this is my girlfriend, Emma. We exchanged a few more pleasantries, the kind you do when you're just trying to be nice, because you have to share a space. Joe offered us some of their warmed-up canned soup, which we hesitated but eventually accepted, not wanting to be rude. The warmth of the soup was comforting, even if the company was a bit odd.

As the night progressed, the storm outside grew wilder. Maya and Joe seemed unfazed, occasionally taking swigs from a flask that Joe jokingly referred to as their water bottle. The conversation flowed from one topic to another, mostly driven by Joe's cheerful banter. Maya, however, had a more unsettling presence. Her laughter was too loud, her stares a bit too long, and her anecdotes drifted towards bizarre. At one point Maya leaned closer to me, her breath smelling of alcohol. So Emma, tell me a story. I love stories, she said, her eyes piercing into mine. I glanced at Alex, who was busy discussing something about hiking trails with Joe. Deciding to keep things light,

I began recounting how Alex and I met during our first year in college. But as I spoke, Maya's expression changed. Her previous giddiness shifted to agitation. Why would you say that? She interrupted sharply. Confused, I paused. Say what? You said we may, met online. Why would you say we met online? She snapped, her tone accusing. I was taken aback, not understanding her reaction. I was talking about Alex and me, not. Before I could finish, she cut me off again. What are you implying? Her voice was rising, and Joe glanced over, his expression suddenly serious. Realizing the situation was spiraling, I tried to steer the conversation back to safer waters. I meant no offense. Let's talk about something else.

Maybe you could share one of your favorite stories, Maya. Maya's demeanor shifted as quickly as it had soured. She giggled a bit too loudly. Oh, I have stories, dear, but they're only for the brave. The rest of the evening passed in a haze of awkward exchanges and uneasy laughter. I couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something very wrong with Maya. As the fire crackled and the shadows danced on the walls of the shelter, I felt a growing sense of dread. What had started as a simple escape into nature was quickly turning into a night I'd rather forget.

The night deepened, wrapping the shelter in a cloak of darkness punctuated only by the erratic flicker of our dying fire. Outside the storm raged on, but inside, a different kind of tempest was brewing, one that had my heart pounding and my palms sweating. Maya's behavior had shifted from merely odd to downright terrifying. As the hours ticked by, Maya's mood swung wildly. One moment she was laughing at a joke Joe made, and the next, she was staring into space, her face twisted in confusion.

The most unnerving part was when she suddenly turned to me, her eyes wide and intense. What did you give me? she hissed. Her voice a sharp whisper that cut through the noise of the storm. I froze, my mind racing. Alex and I hadn't given her anything. Joe, who had been trying to calm her throughout her mood swings, looked equally alarmed. It's just the beer, Maya. You're not used to it. Joe said in a soothing tone, trying to placate her.

But Maya wasn't listening. She rose unsteadily to her feet, pointing an accusing finger at us. What did he give me? she demanded, her voice escalating into a shout. It echoed off the wooden walls of the shelter, making me flinch. Alex moved closer to me, his hand finding mine in the darkness, squeezing it reassuringly. But his touch did little to ease my fear. We were stuck in a remote shelter with a woman who seemed on the brink of a breakdown, or something worse. I need to get out, Maya muttered, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

Her movements were erratic, her shadow monstrous against the flickering light of the fire. Joe tried to guide her back to her sleeping bag, but she shrugged him off violently. Then, as suddenly as her outburst had begun, Maya collapsed onto her sleeping bag, her energy seemingly drained. Joe covered her with a blanket, his expression one of deep concern mixed with embarrassment. He mouthed an apology to us, his eyes weary. I think it's best if we all try to get some rest, Joe suggested quietly, obviously trying to diffuse the tense atmosphere. Alex and I nodded, but sleep was the last thing on my mind.

I lay back, listening to the sound of Maya's uneven breathing, and the relentless patter of rain on the cabin's roof. Every creek and whisper of the wind sent shivers down my spine. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Time passed slowly, the minutes stretching into what felt like hours. Then, in the darkness, Maya began to talk in her sleep. Her words were muffled at first, then grew louder and more frantic.

She was repeating something over and over, but I couldn't make it out. It sounded like a plea or a warning. Unable to bear the oppressive atmosphere any longer, Alex whispered to me, We should go, now. We quietly gathered our belongings, our movements swift but silent. As we tiptoed past Maya and Joe, Maya suddenly sat up. Her eyes found mine in the darkness, her gaze piercing and unsettling. But we didn't stop.

We pushed through the shelter's entrance into the storm outside, the cold rain a welcome relief from the stifling tension inside. We hiked away from the shelter, putting as much distance as we could between us and whatever darkness had descended upon Maya. We set up our tent in a clearing far from the shelter, the sound of the rain a constant companion. I lay awake for the rest of the night, listening, waiting, wondering if we had really escaped,

or if the night's terror would find us even here. This episode is brought to you by Netflix's remarkably bright creatures. What if a Pacific octopus held the key to a mystery that could heal your heart? Well, that's Tova's reality. An elderly widow working at an aquarium. Tova forms an unlikely friendship with the cramudgeonly Marcellus, whose remarkable intelligence leads her to a life-changing discovery. Watch remarkably bright creatures with your remarkable moms this Mother's Day weekend.

Only on Netflix May 8th. It was the kind of August night where the air felt just a little too still and the stars a little too dim. I lay in my hammock, bundled up in my sleeping bag, listening to the soft rustles of the forest around our campsite. My uncle, his friend Dee, and two other friends were all sleeping in their tents. We were camped about 20 minutes from the trailhead of Half Dome. a giant granite dome in Yosemite National Park that we plan to hike up the next morning. Earlier that evening we had set up our camp quickly. My uncle, who's 32 and always in charge of these adventures, made sure everyone knew what to do. D, who's about the same age as my uncle and

just as outdoorsy, helped get the fire going. We roasted some marshmallows and told a few jokes, the kind that made everyone laugh until they forgot about the hike's early start. But here I was, suddenly wide awake at 3.30 a.m. I wasn't sure what had woken me up, but once I was awake, I couldn't go back to sleep. I lay there, looking up at the moon through the trees. It was unusually bright, casting eerie shadows on the ground and making the leaves glisten like silver. It almost felt like I was in a dream, everything bathed in a ghostly white light. Curiosity got the better of me, and I quietly slipped out of my hammock. I didn't want to wake anyone up, so I tiptoed around, feeling the cool air against my face.

That's when I realized how silent it was. No crickets chirping. No rustles of small animals. It was like the forest was holding its breath. Deciding it was too spooky to stay out alone, I went back to my hammock. Just as I was about to try and sleep again, I heard it. Footsteps. Not the light scampering ones of a raccoon or a squirrel, but heavy, deliberate,

human footsteps. I froze, listening as they moved around our campsite. My heart raced. We were supposed to be the only ones here. Unable to stay still any longer, I shook my uncle's tent. Uncle Mike, I whispered urgently. He grumbled, annoyed at being woken up, but then I saw his face change as he listened to the footsteps too. He grabbed his flashlight and peeked outside. Stay here, he murmured, zipping up the tent behind him. I waited, every sound making me jump. After what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes, my uncle returned. He looked puzzled.

There's no one out there, he said, but his voice was uneasy. Were you walking around just now? I shook my head. No, I woke up because I heard it too. He frowned, thinking it over. Well, let's try to get some sleep. We need to be up soon anyway. But as he settled back into his tent, I know.

knew neither of us would sleep well. Whatever was out there, or maybe wasn't, had already stirred the night air into something strange. And so, with a mixture of fear and excitement, I lay back in my hammock, staring at the moonlit sky, wondering what adventures tomorrow would bring, and hoping the mysteries of tonight were just tricks of the light and shadow. As the clock struck 4.30 a.m., our alarms buzzed loudly in the still dark morning. Everyone grogily climbed out of their tents and sleeping bags, rubbing sleep from their eyes. The air was cool and crisp, perfect for hiking. We quickly munched on some granola bars and strapped on our backpacks, eager to start our adventure up half dome. Uncle Mike checked his watch and nodded. All right, let's head to the trailhead.

We piled into the car and drove the short distance in near silence, the only sound being the gravel crunching under the tires. When we arrived, it was still dark. The only light coming from the car was from our headlamps and the dim glow of dawn on the horizon. D announced he needed to use the restroom before we started hiking. I'll catch up with you guys in a bit, he said, walking towards the bathrooms across the field at the intersection near the trailhead. I started to follow him, thinking I might as well go too, but then I remembered I had left my water bottle in the car. Go ahead, I'll catch up, I called after him. I jogged back to the car, grabbed my water bottle, and then hurried to the trailhead to wait for Uncle Mike and the rest of the group.

We all gathered, adjusting our gear, but Dee was taking longer than expected. He's probably just taking his time, Uncle Mike said, trying to sound unconcerned. But as minutes turned into ten minutes, then fifteen, we all began to look at each other with worried expressions. Maybe I should go check on him, I suggested, feeling a bit nervous. Uncle Mike nodded, and I sprinted back to the bathroom. I pushed open the door to each stall, no D. He wasn't anywhere around. My heart started to beat faster.

Where could he have gone? I ran back to the group out of breath. He's not there, I exclaimed. Uncle Mike's brow furrowed with worry. That's odd. Maybe he went back to the car. We decided to split up. I would stay at the trailhead in case D showed up,

and Uncle Mike would go back to the car. As I waited alone, the sky began to brighten, but my worry darkened. Every minute felt like an hour. I paced back and forth, peering into the dim light, hoping to see Dee walking towards me. Finally, Uncle Mike returned, shaking his head. He's not at the car either. Just then, as panic was about to set in, I saw a figure approaching from the direction of the car. It was Dee, looking disheveled with sweat on his forehead and a strange look in his eyes. Relief washing. over me, but it was quickly replaced by confusion at his appearance.

Where have you been? I asked. My voice a mix of relief and frustration. I just went to the bathroom and when I came out nobody was here, Dee replied, sounding confused. But we've been here waiting for you this whole time. We even checked the bathroom, I said, puzzled. Dee just shook his head looking as baffled as I felt. I don't know. I went to the bathroom. Where's Mike? he asked, repeating the question even after I answered. something was off. His repeated questions and disoriented look made me uneasy. As we walked back to join the others, I couldn't shake the feeling that something strange was going on. What exactly happened to Dee while he was gone? And why did he seem so different now? With Dee finally back, though seeming a bit off, we all started our hike up the steep trails of Half Dome. The early morning light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows on the path. Everyone was quiet, maybe thinking about Dee's weird disappearance in sudden return, or maybe just focusing on the challenging climb ahead.

As we hiked, the weirdness of the morning seemed to follow us. It started with small things. First, Uncle Mike couldn't find his small red flashlight in his backpack. I swear I packed it right on top, he muttered, searching through his bag. We all waited as he checked again, but it was nowhere to be found. Then, one of the girls noticed she was missing a glove. We all stopped and helped her look around the trail where we had just walked, but there was no sign of it. I just had it a minute ago, she said, sounding confused and a bit frustrated.

Next, my water bottle, which I had clipped to my belt, was gone. I felt the clip. It was still closed, which made no sense. How could my water bottle just vanish? We must be more tired than we thought, Uncle Mike tried to joke. but his smile didn't reach his eyes. The mood had shifted, and a faint, unsettling feeling hung in the air. As we pushed deeper into our hike, the forest seemed to close in around us.

The trees looked taller, darker, and the path less familiar. Uncle Mike, who had hiked this trail many times before, suddenly stopped. Doesn't it seem like we should have reached the halfway point by now? He asked, looking back at us. Yeah, it feels like we've been walking for hours. agreed, my voice a little shaky. The path seemed to stretch on endlessly. Every turn looked the same. Every tree seemed to repeat. Were we walking in circles? The atmosphere felt heavier, almost as if the air was thicker. It was hard to shake the feeling that something was watching us, something not

quite friendly. It feels like the woods are alive, I whispered to no one in particular. We kept walking, but progress felt slow, almost dreamlike. Time stretched. and bent, Uncle Mike stopped several more times, scratching his head and looking around. This is ridiculous. He laughed nervously. It's like we're stuck in some sort of loop. Eventually, after what seemed like in eternity, the trail began to look familiar again. Landmarks that should have passed hours ago suddenly appeared. Relief washed over us, but it was mixed with confusion and a touch of fear. How had we gotten so lost on a well-marked trail? When we finally saw the parking lot through the trees, it felt like we had emerged from another world.

The car was just as we left it, quiet and unassuming, yet it felt like a lifeline back to reality. As we drove back to camp, nobody talked much. Each of us was lost in thought, trying to make sense of the day's mysterious events. It wasn't just the physical items we had lost on the trail. It felt like we had lost a piece of our normal reality out there. That night, as I lay in my hammock looking up at the stars, the forest didn't seem so friendly anymore. I wondered if we'd ever really understand what happened on the trail that day, or if some mysteries were meant to stay hidden in the shadows of Halfdome.

I always thought adventures were supposed to be fun, but sitting in the passenger seat next to Trevor as he drove us deeper into the wilds of Alabama, I wasn't so sure anymore. Trevor is my friend, well, more like a brother, really. He's the kind of guy who's too proud to admit when he's wrong, especially about directions. He refused to use a map, claiming he remembered the way from last year when we went to the Great Smoky Mountains. I should have remembered that trip as a warning. It was just after sunset when we found ourselves winding down a narrow road surrounded by thick trees.

The deeper we went, the more I felt like we were being swallowed by the darkness of the woods. My headphones were on, and I tried to lose myself. in the music, trying to ignore the eerie feeling creeping up my spine. Did we just drive in a circle? I asked Trevor, my voice barely above the music blaring from the radio. Trevor just shook his head and said, No, everything just looks the same out here, just trees and mud. I wasn't convinced. The same crooked tree seemed to pass by our window more than once. Trevor noticed my uneasy glances and tried to lighten the mood. Hey, don't worry. It's an adventure, remember? But his chuckle didn't hide the slight worry in his eyes. The road was bumpy, and each jolt felt like a warning to turn

back. It must have been around 11.40 p.m. when Trevor finally slowed the truck down. We hadn't seen another soul for hours, not even a gas station. The only light came from our headlights, casting long shadows between the trees. Suddenly, Trevor's hands tightened on the steering wheel. His knuckles turned white. Trev, you good? See a ghost? I tried to joke, but my own voice sounded tense.

The road, Trevor muttered. There's bottles on the road. I squinted ahead, and sure enough, there was a row of empty beer bottles lined up across the one-lane road. My stomach twisted. This didn't feel right. I've seen stuff like this before, Trevor whispered almost to himself. You get out. They take the car, rob you.

Just turn around, I urged him, my voice shaking. We're going the wrong way anyway, just loop back to whatever exit we took. Notting, Trevor started to back the truck up, but as he turned the truck around and stepped on the gas, a loud pop echoed through the night. One of our tires was blown, and before we knew it, the truck saw. slid off the road and into a ditch. We were stuck, angled downwards with the back tires lifted up in the air. Damn it! Trevor shouted, banging his fist on the steering wheel. Neither of us knew what to do. Trevor pulled out a small handgun from under the driver's seat, along with a flashlight.

Watch me, he said as we both stepped outside into the chilly night. The flashlight and our headlights were the only things piercing the darkness. I could only see about 20 feet around us before everything melted into the pitch black forest. Trevor shined the flashlight on the flat tire. It was lined with nails and screws. He cursed under his breath, kicking the deflated rubber. There's a spare in the back, take it out, he instructed. Even as I climbed into the back of the truck, I doubted we could get out of this ditch easily. I was about to grab the spare when a spine-chilling howl tore through the silence of the night. What the hell? Was that? Trevor asked softly, his voice trembling.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. My heart was pounding in my chest, fear taking over as the dark woods seemed to close in around us. Whatever was out there, it was getting closer, and this adventure had turned into a nightmare. After hearing that terrifying howl, Trevor and I stood frozen for what felt like forever. The only thing lighting up the dark forest was Trevor's flashlight and our truck's headlights. I held my breath, listening to the eerie silence that followed. Stay close, Trevor whispered as he held the flashlight steady.

His other hand gripped the handgun tightly. We heard the sound again, a dragging noise that sent shivers down my spine. It was like something was being pulled across the gravel road towards us. We couldn't see anything yet, but the noise was getting louder, closer. Maybe it's just an animal, I hoped out loud. But my voice betrayed my fear. Trevor didn't respond. He just squinted into the darkness,

trying to spot whatever was making those sounds. The dragging stopped, replaced by a terrifying silence. Then out of nowhere, the forest erupted with the sound of fast-moving footsteps. I jumped back, bumping into the truck. My heart raced as I peeked around Trevor. The beam from his flashlight finally caught something, a figure stumbling towards us. It was a man, or at least it looked like one.

But he moved in a way that didn't seem human. He dragged one leg as if it was too heavy for him, and his arms hung awkwardly at his sides. Hey! Trevor yelled, his voice echoing in the stillness. The figure quickened its pace, its movements becoming frantic. I will shoot you, Trevor warned, aiming the gun at the approaching figure.

But it didn't stop. It just kept coming faster. Stop! Trevor shouted. He began to back up slowly and I followed. My eyes fixed on the figure. It was now close enough that I could see its face under the faint light. It was twisted and covered with what looked like scars and boils. It was horrifying. Trevor fired a warning shot into the air, but the figure didn't even flinch. It was like it didn't care, or maybe it couldn't understand. Then, in a panic, Trevor fired directly at it. The figure staggered but kept

moving towards us. Get in the truck, Trevor ordered, his voice shaking. I didn't hesitate. I ran to the passenger side and scrambled inside. Trevor was right behind me, but as he climbed in, he slipped and fell into the muddy ditch. Dropping his flashlight, he quickly picked himself up and dove into the truck, slamming the door shut behind him. What is going on?

He gasped, trying to catch his breath. We both watched in horror as the figure slammed its head against the window. bang, bang, bang, bang. The window started to crack, and Trevor scooted towards me, trying to put as much distance between him and the glass as possible. The man outside never stopped. He hit the window over and over, chunks of flesh flying off with every impact.

His face was starting to cave in from the force he was using. Finally, Trevor took aim at the figure's head and fired. The noise stopped. The man slumped down, no longer moving. Everything was silent again, except for our heavy breathing. Trevor and I looked at each other, too shocked to speak. I tried to say something, but words wouldn't come out. We just sat there, staring at the twisted, bloody figure outside.

After a moment, Trevor whispered, We need to change the tire and get out of here. I nodded, still too scared to speak. Whatever that was, I knew I never wanted to see anything like it ever again. But as we sat there, catching our breath, I couldn't shake the feeling that the night wasn't over yet. We still had to get out of this nightmare. We thought we were safe, at least for a little while,

after Trevor managed to stop that terrifying man. But safety seemed like a joke now. We quickly changed the tire, the silence around us feeling heavier than before. Neither of us spoke much. What was there to say after something like that? We just wanted to get as far away as possible. Driving away, the trees seemed to close in on us. Every shadow made my heart jump, thinking something else might be out there watching us.

But what we found next made everything else seem mild. We spotted an old camper off the side of the road. It looked abandoned, the kind of place you'd expect ghost stories to be about. Trevor and I exchanged a glance. Maybe we can find help, or at least a place to call from, he suggested hesitantly. I wasn't sure about it, but there weren't many options. As we approached the camper, a rotten smell hit us. It was overpowering, making me want to gag.

Trevor, covering his nose, pushed open the crumbling door. The inside was worse than the outside. It was covered in mushrooms that glowed faintly, giving the place an eerie, otherworldly light. There's mushrooms everywhere, Trevor said, his voice muffled by his hand. I peeked inside and the sight was horrifying. The mushrooms weren't just growing on the walls. They were everywhere, covering everything in sight. The air felt thick and heavy, hard to breathe.

In the corner of the camper, something even more ghastly caught my eye, a body overwhelmed by the same fungus that took over the place. Suddenly, a loud thud made us jump. We hadn't escaped our pursuer like we thought, the creature, or whatever it was. had followed us. It slammed Trevor against the camper wall, its face not even resembling a human anymore. It was all rage and madness. Trevor struggled, trying to reach for his gun. He managed to fire three shots, and the creature fell, motionless. But the damage was done. Trevor looked at his

arms now scratched and bleeding. I'm dead, I'm dead, he kept saying, staring at his wounds in terror. Whatever it has, I've got it now. I tried to calm him, but my own heart was racing. The thought of becoming like that creature was too much. Trevor looked at me, his eyes wide with fear. What if I... He couldn't finish. I didn't know what to say.

The air in the camper, the spores we might have breathed in, it was all too risky. We had to get out. We left the camper and started running through the woods, not caring about the direction, just needing to get away. We ran until we couldn't anymore. Trevor stopped, out of breath, and leaned against a tree.

I looked at him, seeing his pale face and scared eyes. That's when I noticed something odd about his skin, some bumps starting to form. What? Trevor noticed my stare. What is it? I shook my head, backing away. I couldn't tell him, couldn't make it real. Instead, I turned and ran, ran as fast as I could towards the highway, towards any sign of other people. It's been a week now.

I can't stop thinking about that night, about Trevor. I hope wherever he is, he's okay. But deep down, I know he's not. And now, waking up with hives and coughing blood, I fear I won't be okay either. What happened in those woods changed us, and I'm scared of what's to come. 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 usaa.com slash bundle. Restrictions apply. This episode is brought to you by Nespresso. Being the best

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Allergic reactions can occur that can be severe. eye problems can occur. Tell your doctor if you have new or worsening eye problems. You should not receive a live vaccine when treated with Ebbglis. Before starting Ebbglis, tell your doctor if you have a parasitic infection. Ask your doctor about Ebbglis.com or call 1-800 lilyrx or 1-800-545-9-9. I'd been gearing up for this trip for weeks. Hell, maybe even months. Ever since Plaid Bandana announced their tour dates, I had this date circled in red on my calendar, hanging just above my cluttered desk at work. The night before I was to drive from Calgary to Vancouver, I couldn't sleep a wink. My head was buzzing with the melodies of Vin Stricklitt's last album, the lyrics etching into my mind like sacred words.

The morning air was crisp, the kind that bites at your cheeks until they're flushed with a cold pink. I loaded up my old Japanese import, a reliable beast from the 80s with more miles on it than I cared to admit. maps sprawled across the passenger seat. In 2003, those were your lifelines, your only guard against getting utterly lost in the rocky mountains. I grabbed a couple of burgers and a flask full of black coffee for the road. GPS hadn't found its way into everyone's pockets yet, so it was just me, my maps, and the open road. I felt a mix of excitement and trepidation as I set off, the city lights of Calgary shrinking in my rearview mirror. As I hit the highway, the first notes of Plaid Bandana's debut album blasted through the speakers,

shaking off the last vestiges of city life. I pushed the pedal a bit harder, the engine humming a tune in sync with my rising spirits. I was young, maybe too young to heed the well-meant warnings from folks on message boards talking about the treacherous paths and the sparse gas stations. The roads unfurled before me like ribbons in the vastness of the Canadian wilderness, curving around mountains and stretching under the vast expanse of the blue sky. I relished the freedom, the sheer thrill of barreling down these roads. But as the sun dipped below the horizon, replaced by a blanket of stars,

a sliver of anxiety crept in. It was just me out here, miles from anywhere or anyone. My tranquility was abruptly shattered when the dashboard flickered. Once, twice. Then the headlights stuttered and darkness enveloped me. The engine cut out, and panic gripped my throat. I coasted to the side of the road, the gravel crunching under tires that had suddenly lost their life. I cursed, loud and futile, into the mountain air that threw my own fears back at me with a mocking echo.

I got out, the night cold biting through my jacket as I popped the hood. The engine was as inscrutable as a stone idol, giving away nothing of its malady. I slammed the hood in frustration, a sense of deep. defeat washing over me. I was alone, in the dark, surrounded by an unending forest that harbored sounds too sinister for my city-tuned ears. Suddenly, a massive 18-wheeler thundered past, the gust nearly knocking me off my feet. I yelled after it, a useless venting of fear and frustration. The truck was gone as quickly as it had appeared, its tail lights disappearing over the crest of a hill. I slumped against my car, my heart racing.

Then, as if by some miracle, the dashboard flickered back to life. The engine sputtered, then roared defiantly, as if refusing to let the night end our journey. A wave of relief washed over me, mixed with an adrenaline-fueled resolve. I jumped back in, the music kicked in where it had left off, and I was moving again, speeding into the night, driven by the twin fuels of urgency and fear. Please detour sign was like a slap in the field. face, unexpected, and stinging in its suddenness. Road closed due to construction, please use Forest Service Road Detour in 100 meters for next, one kilometers for re-root. My hands tightened on

the wheel as I squinted at the sign, the stark white letters ghostly in the moonlight. As I turned off the main road, the undercarriage of my old car scraped against the uneven surface of the dirt track. The flagging tape fluttered eerily on the branches, the only sign that I wasn't the first to pass this way. The forest closed in around me, a dark, oppressive tunnel that seemed to absorb both light and sound. My headlights barely cut through the darkness, and every small noise was magnified in the suffocating silence. I tried to keep count of the distance, my eyes flicking between the road and the odometer, but as the minutes stretched on, the certainty that I had driven more than a kilometer, or gnawed at me. No more flagging tape appeared, and the comforting rattle of my engine was the

only proof I wasn't yet swallowed by the mountain shadow. That's when I saw him, or thought I did, a man, dressed like he'd walked out of a century-long past, holding a lantern that flickered as if caught in a breeze I couldn't feel. The sight was so fleeting, so surreal, that I slammed on the brakes, heart-hammering. My car skidded on loose gravel, stopping just to be. The sighted as quickly as the apparition vanished. Was I losing my mind? I shook my head trying to clear it, convincing myself it was just the strain of the drive, the isolation. But as I pressed on, the road worsened, narrowing until the trees brushed against my mirrors with an ominous hiss. Fog rolled in, thick and disorienting, and when I realized the guardrail was gone, my breath caught

in my throat. This wasn't right. This couldn't be right. The edge of the mountain loomed unseen but palpably near, a sheer drop just beyond the reach of my headlights. My progress slowed to a crawl. Every turn of the wheel felt like a gamble with stakes too high to comprehend. Then the rocks came. First, a few small ones that clattered down the slope, a forewarning. I flinched, but pressed on, my resolve hardening into something frantic and sharp. Larger boulders followed, thundering across the road and disappeared.

into the void, their crashes echoing up like the roars of some great beast. My car lurched as it hit a rock I couldn't avoid, the jolt sending a spike of fear through me as the vehicle skewed dangerously close to the edge. No! I screamed, a raw, desperate sound that seemed to pull the night tighter around me. I felt the front tires lift, the stomach-dropping sensation of falling, then a brutal thud as the tires found ground again. I was panting, tears streaming, not from relief but from raw, unfiltered terror.

I set the emergency break, my hands shaking uncontrollably as I grabbed the map. It showed a main road, safe and wide. This path of dirt and fog was a mistake, a deadly error in my desperate rush. I inched forward, every meter of victory over the mountain that seemed eager to claim me. And then, just as suddenly as it had all begun, I immersed. emerged. The road widened, the fog cleared, and the night seemed almost gentle, but the relief was short-lived. The road I rejoined was too familiar, too similar to the one I had left. My mind raced, had it been a loop, a trick of the terrain, or something else, something as inexplicable as the figure

with the lantern. As I drove on, the previous hours felt both distant and oppressively close. A nightmare lived wide awake. I knew then that some roads once traveled leave tracks that aren't easily erased, not on the land and not in the soul.