Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 9 OUTDOOR Horror Stories That Will Ruin Your Summer Fun

Episode Date: July 8, 2024

Get ready to be spooked with 9 true terrifying outdoor horror stories that will make you think twice before heading out for summer fun. From creepy encounters in the woods to unexplainable phenomena in the great outdoors, these chilling tales will send shivers down your spine. Watch if you dare! Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ ►GamingWaffles Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:05:01 Story 2 00:09:56 Story 3 00:16:48 Story 4 00:23:52 Story 5 00:35:50 Story 6 00:40:01 Story 7 00:47:31 Story 8 00:54:18 Story 9 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 #outdoors #deepwoods #fishing #camping 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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Perfect for a no foundation base. Nars, better together. Visit Sephora to shop now. I would say the most life-threatening experience I ever faced occurred during a solo camping trip in late June of 2012. For those of you who don't remember, or weren't in West Virginia at the time, the region experiences intense summer storms every few years, known locally as Direchos. I'm not great at explaining these things, so here's a definition from weather.gov. A Direcho is a widespread, long-lived windstorm associated with a band of rapidly moving showers or thunderstorms. Although

a derecho can produce destruction similar to that of tornadoes, the damage is taken to typically directed in one direction along a relatively straight swath. By definition, if the wind includes gusts of at least 58 miles per hour along most of its length, then the event may be classified as a derecho. Considering that the mildest hurricanes have wind speeds of about 70 miles per hour, a derecho is somewhat akin to a baby hurricane. While they can be dangerous, most people view them as more of an annoyance. However, imagine solo camping in the middle of West Virginia, watching the skies darken,

and realizing the wind is strong enough to uproot dead or dying trees. You can start to understand why I was so frightened. Luckily, as I searched for a safe place to camp that night, I stumbled upon a man-made shelter. It was really no more than a single-walled concrete pavilion, which did little to shield me from the wind and rain. However, in the event of a falling tree, it could mean the difference between life and death. Unfortunately, and very unfortunately for me, I wasn't the only creature in the forest seeking refuge. About an hour before sundown, with the wind still howling through the trees, I heard the heavy thumping of something running towards the shelter.

Initially, I couldn't see what it was, nor could I hear it clearly due to the wind and the shelter's position. A moment later, I was barely on my feet when a black bear came hurtling around the corner of the shelter. The storm had terrified it, which was very bad news for me. My initial reaction was to roar and wave my arms around, trying to appear more intimidating than the storm, easier said than done. The bear saw me, jumped back in fright, and appeared to continue in the direction it was initially heading. However, it merely looped around the blind side of the shelter and came tearing back around the same side it had first seen. Essentially, it ran in a rough circle. I repeated my previous actions, jumping up and down and screaming like a madman until it ran off again. Yet it looped back around,

each time getting closer. After several more loops, I could hear its claws clacking on the concrete just a few feet in front of me, and the huffs and puffs of anger and confusion it made were equally terrifying. It was getting closer with each loop. Eventually I had to back off to avoid coming within clawing distance. The more I backed off, the more ground I gave it, until suddenly it darted into the shelter and took a swipe at me before backing off for another loop. At that point, I grabbed my backpack to use as an improvised shield for the next time it attacked, holding it by the straps. It was still pretty heavy with most of my gear in it. I planned to use it like a battering ram. My heart was pounding as it came around for another pass. When it did, it seemed poised to dash into the

shelter again, but the sight of me holding my pack in a defensive posture gave it enough of a scare to back off altogether. It roared a little, did a kind of 360, as if wondering what the hell was happening, and then ran off in the direction from which it had come. The sensible thing to do then would have been to leave the shelter, since the bear was likely to return. But where was I to go? Every second I was out in those woods without any sort of shelter, I risked being crushed by a falling tree. Yet, every minute I stayed in the shelter, I risked a bear attack. If something happened to me in the woods that prevented me from walking or running, the bear might catch up and inflict serious damage.

However, if I stayed in the shelter and used the same tactic of using my backpack as a shield, I might withstand another bear attack. It might seem crazy to some, but I was fairly confident the bear wouldn't come back. I was absolutely certain, however, that at least a handful of trees would be uprooted by wind and crashed down on the forest floor, and there was no way to scare one of those off by waving my pack around. That's why I opted to stay in the shelter, even though it meant a sleepless and thoroughly terrifying night in the storm. One summer, my family and I decided that camping would help us bond, since my dad worked alone and couldn't spend much time with me and my siblings.

We chose Tennessee for our destination. It was a crisp fall day when we rented an old campsite next to a river, complete with pedalboats docked at a small pier and plentiful fishing, my dad's favorite pastime. This spot was particularly important to him. On the other hand, my siblings disliked the outdoors and were constantly glued to their phones and tablets. Unlike them, I relished exploring the woods, sketching animals that were still long enough for me to draw. I planned to paint these sketches later when I returned home. We set up several tents, My youngest sibling would share with my brother while my parents had their own. At 17 and already working, I could afford my own tent.

That night we all slept soundly in the tents and woke up early the next morning. My dad went fishing, and my mom and I decided to hike. My siblings chose a different trail, so it was just the two of us. About a mile in, we stopped to eat lunch, just two sandwiches, and finished in about 12 minutes before hiking again. The birds chirped, and very far. various insects buzzed around us. However, at a certain point, the forest grew ominously quiet, even though it was still early. My mom raised an eyebrow in concern and checked her phone,

which was dead, not a surprise since she often forgot to charge it. Oddly, my phone was also dead. Despite this, we continued on the trail, but an eerie feeling of being watched or followed crept over us. My mom was spooked and wanted to return to camp, but I could have to be a little bit of convinced her it was probably just a storm brewing, so we hiked for another two hours until we reached a breathtaking waterfall. Even in the dim light, the sight was stunning. A few deer drinking from the river below the falls briefly lifted our spirits until the air turned chilly, prompting our departure. On our way back, about two hours down the trail, my mom stopped suddenly. Did you hear that? She asked. It sounded like a dog. As animal lovers, we couldn't bear the thought of leaving

it out there. So we began calling, here doggy, my mom yelled, and I joined in. All we found was a collar on the ground. As I called out again, a large, imposing dog burst from the bushes. I stumbled backwards, praying not to frighten it into aggression. Fortunately, it just sat there, looking at us blankly. My mom approached and gently reached out to it. It sniffed her hand and wagged its tail, looking at the torn collar, she asked, Is this yours boy? The dog appeared sick and skinny, so we did what any sensible person would do.

We took it back with us, and it stayed for the remainder of our trip. Dad even agreed to keep it. At the vet, we learned it was a mix of Great Dane and Husky. Besides being underweight, it was healthy, with no parasites, a relief to us all. We took it home, and for a few days everything was fine, but I noticed it becoming overly attached to me, following me like a lost puppy, which I suppose it was.

It soon began to snap at people, becoming aggressively protective of me. It got so bad that we had to enroll it in a training program, but it eventually improved. While still very protective, I didn't mind. It made me feel safe. However, leaving it for school was hard. My mom said it would become territorial over my room, not letting anyone in, and refusing to leave. What was odd was that even after four months, it never left my side. It hardly ate or went to the bathroom on its own and would often just stare at me, as if trying to communicate the emotional trauma it had endured.

It pained me because I loved him, but it was heartbreaking. One night there was a break-in while I was home alone. My parents were away. That night, I discovered the name I would call him, Killer. His eyes had a deep, Menacing look as he protected me like a German Shepherd would its handler. The intruder ended up in the hospital. We later found out he was a single father working two jobs to support four kids, so we chose not to call the police. Killer would have attacked the man if I hadn't ordered him to stop.

When he released the man, his eyes almost appeared red. If he weren't my dog, I might have thought he was something else entirely. But I know he loves me, even if I suspect he might. might be a hellhound of sorts. At least he's chosen to protect me. Not loving your AT&T or T Mobile Bill. Yeah, we've been hearing that a lot. Good news.

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We'd been in Arkansas for three days when it happened. Ellie and I had picked a remote spot by the lake, figuring the seclusion would be good for us. She was flipping burgers on the grill, and I was stoking the fire, enjoying the calm before the mosquitoes decided to join us. The evening was shaping up nicely with a warm breeze stirring the air, the kind of summer night that made you wish you could freeze time. Then came the yelling.

At first it was faint, like a bad memory trying to surface. But it got louder, more desperate. I looked at Ellie, and without saying a word, we knew we had to check it out. We followed the sound, hearts hammering in our chests. as we rounded a bend and saw him. A guy in his forties, by the looks of it, slumped against a picnic table, his face ashen. The front of his shirt was soaked in blood,

and a gutting knife lay by his side. From the looks of the wound across his belly, he'd had a real bad accident. Help me, please, he gasped as we approached. His voice was weak, strained through the pain. Ellie stayed calm, more composed than I'd ever seen her. Lay him down, she instructed. I did as she said, gently easing him onto the ground.

She grabbed a towel from our pack and pressed it hard against his stomach, trying to stem the flow of blood. I need to call for help, I said, pulling out my phone only to see no service. Panic set in for a moment, but Ellie was already thinking a step ahead. Ask him where his keys are. We need to drive him to the hospital. His hand trembled as he pointed towards a nearby bush. In my jacket, pocket, he stammered.

I sprinted over, grabbed the keys, and we managed to haul him into the back of his truck. Ellie insisted I drive. Normally she'd take the wheel. She loved driving more than I did. But tonight was different. Blood made her queasy. She'd fainted once just from cutting her finger while chopping vegetables. As I turned the ignition, I glanced back at Ellie.

She was pale, her lips pressed tightly together. She was scared, sure. But there was a determination in her eyes I hadn't seen before. You okay? I asked as we started down the dirt road. Just drive, she said, keeping her gaze fixed on the man, applying pressure to his wound. If I look away, I'll think about it too much. The drive was a blur. Trees and shadows melded into the darkness as I pushed the truck as fast as it would go on the winding forest roads.

Every bump made my heart skip, worrying it might jostle the makeshift band. loose. Ellie didn't say much, just gave directions and kept her hands steady. The fear of what might happen if we didn't make it in time hung in the air, thick and unspoken. But beneath that fear was something else, a threat of strength that connected us, pulled taught by the crisis. When we finally saw the lights of the hospital, relief washed over me like rain. We'd done everything we could, and now it was up to the doctors. As we pulled up, Ellie finally looked at me, her eyes glossy with unshed tears.

We made it, she whispered, and I knew she wasn't just talking about the hospital. The wheels of the truck crunched against the gravel of the emergency room drop-off as I slammed the vehicle to a stop. The hospital doors burst open with medical staff ready with a stretcher. We'd made it, but just barely. Hang on, helps here. I said to the man, though I wasn't sure he could hear me anymore. His breathing was shallow,

his face pale and slick with sweat. Ellie didn't wait for the nurses. She helped lift him, her hands firm and shore, guiding his limp body onto the stretcher. He's lost a lot of blood, she explained quickly to the nurse who had started firing questions at us. As they wheeled him inside, Ellie followed, her steps faltering just a bit as she crossed the threshold into the bright fluorescent light of the hospital. I caught up to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. You did good, I murmured, though it felt like an understatement. She'd done more than good. She'd held it together when every instinct she had must have been screaming for her to get away from the blood, the risk, the responsibility. She nodded, her eyes tracking the stretcher until it

disappeared behind a set of swinging doors. Let's hope it was enough, she said quietly. We walked back to truck, neither of us ready to leave just yet, not until we knew he was going to make it. The adrenaline that had fueled us on the drive here was ebbing now, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion and a stark realization of just how badly things could have ended. Sitting on the hood of the truck, we watched the sun rise, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. It was beautiful, but the serenity of the dawn felt at odds with the night we just lived through. Ellie's hand found mine, her grip tight. I was so scared, she admitted, not just of the blood,

of making a mistake, of crashing the car, of not doing enough. You were amazing, I said, squeezing her hand. You saved his life, Ellie. You did everything right. She leaned her head on my shoulder. We did it together. It was a while later when a doctor finally came out to speak with us. The man was stable, expected to recover. Relief, washed over me, and I could feel Ellie relaxed beside me. We drove back to the campsite in silence, the earlier panic replaced by a deep, satisfying exhaustion. When we arrived, the man's dog, a big, friendly Labrador, came bounding up to us. We'd almost forgotten about him. He nudged Ellie with his nose, and she laughed. A sound so light and free it made my heart ache a little.

We spent the rest of the day trying to find normal again. We went for a walk. played fetch with the dog, and talked about everything but what had happened. It wasn't until the man's brother arrived to pick up his things and his dog that the reality of the night came crashing back. He hugged us both, his eyes wet with tears. Thank you, he kept saying, you save my brother's life. It was a moment of pure, raw humanity, gratitude, relief, the bond of shared crisis. It marked us, changed us in ways I'm still trying to understand.

As he drove away, Ellie looked at me, a new resolve in her gaze. We did good, didn't we? Yeah, I replied, feeling the weight of the night lift just a bit. We did good. I've always felt at home in the wild, the sounds of distant wildlife, the rustle of leaves underfoot, and the crisp fresh air. It's where I feel most alive. I live in Colonna, British Columbia, just a stone's throw from the mountains

that have become like a second home to me. Today, like many days before, I was prepping for a solo trip into those familiar woods. Winter had laid a thick blanket of snow over the landscape, turning the rugged terrain into a white paradise. I planned to do some fishing and camping, a perfect way to spend the weekend away from the bustle of everyday life. Before heading out, I packed my old trusty truck with the essentials, fishing gear, a tent, sleeping bag, and enough food to last me a couple of days.

I've always had this habit of leaving my keys in the ignition. My truck was more than just a vehicle. It was a part of my wilderness adventures, and up here, I never worried about anyone taking it. There's a sort of unspoken trust among those few who venture out this far. The drive to my favorite spot wasn't long, about 30 minutes or so. As I drove, I watched the city slowly disappear behind me, replaced by towering trees and untouched snow.

Pulling off the main road, I followed a narrow snow-covered trail that led to a familiar clearing. It had the best view, a sweeping vista overlooking the city below, now just a cluster of tiny lights. I stepped out into the cold, taking a deep breath of the icy air, feeling it sting my lungs in a strangely comforting way. Setting up camp was second nature to me. I unfolded my tent and set it up with practiced ease. The ground was hard and frozen, but I managed to secure it firmly. Next, I gathered some wood for a fire. Even with gloves on, my fingers felt numb as I arranged the logs in a neat pile and struck a match. The fire crackled to life, its warm glow a stark contrast against the encroaching darkness. I turned off my bright flashlight, letting the

firelight cast dancing shadows around the clearing. With the city lights twinkling in the distance, and the stars beginning to peek out from the sky, the scene was almost magical. I pulled out my old radio, a companion on many such trips, and tuned into a station playing classic country music. The familiar tunes floated through the air, mixing with the sound of the crackling fire. I found myself humming along, lost in the tranquility of it all. It was these moments I cherished the most, away from the noise and rush of daily life where I could just be. Here in the wilderness, I was free from worries and schedules. Time seemed to slow down, and for a while I could forget the world beyond the mountains.

As the night deepened, I lay back in my chair, staring up at the vast, star-filled sky, feeling a profound peace settle over me. This was more than just a getaway. It was a return to something ancient and elemental within me, here, surrounded by the vastness of nature, I felt small yet infinitely connected to the world around me. Little did I know, the night was about to take a turn that would challenge everything I thought I knew about these woods I called home. The fire had dwindled to glowing embers, and the chill of the night began to seep through my jacket. I added a few more logs to the fire, coaxing the flames back to life.

The crackle of the fire and the soft music from the radio were the only sounds in the quiet of the mountain. I felt completely at ease, my mind wandering freely. As I sat there, lost in the rhythm of the music and the mesmerizing dance of the flames, a sudden chill that wasn't from the cold night air swept over me, my neck hairs prickled, and an uneasy feeling settled in my stomach. I paused, turning down the music, straining my ears against the silence of the night. The usual night sounds seemed to have hushed, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. I tried to shake off the feeling, telling myself it was nothing. Maybe the isolation was finally getting to me. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me,

but when I turned my head, there was no denying what was in front of me. Two glowing, blood-red eyes peered at me from about a hundred yards away in the darkness. They were unlawed. unlike anything I had ever seen in these woods. My heart pounded in my chest as a wave of dread washed over me. This wasn't a bear, a cougar, or any of the usual suspects. This was something different, something wrong. I fumbled for my flashlight, my hands shaking. When the beam of light cut through the darkness, the eyes disappeared, leaving me to wonder if I had imagined them. But the heavy feeling of being watched persisted. Instinct kicked in.

I grabbed my keys, pressing the panic button to trigger the alarm on my truck. The loud beeping echoed through the stillness, and I used the sound to guide me as I hastily packed up my essentials. I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever those eyes belonged to was still out there, watching. With my axe in one hand and the flashlight in the other, I made a break for my truck. The beam of my flashlight swept from side to side piercing the darkness. Every little sound made me jump, every shadow a potential hiding spot for whatever had been watching me.

The forest, once a place of peace, now felt like a maze of threats. I reached my truck, the panic alarm still blaring. I threw my gear into the back and jumped into the driver's seat, locking the doors behind me. My hands trembled as I turned the key in the ignition, the engine coming to life with a roar. I didn't look back as I drove down the mountain, the sense of the same. of dread clinging to me like a cold shadow. When I finally got home, the safety of four solid walls around me did little to ease my rattled nerves. I lay in bed replaying the night over in my mind, trying to make sense of what I had seen. The image of those haunting, red eyes burned into my

memory. The next morning my curiosity got the better of my fear. I drove back to the mountain, to the spot where I had seen the eyes. I searched the area for any sign of what I had encountered, tracks, broken branches, anything, but there was nothing. The forest offered no clues, only the echoing silence of unanswered questions. As I stood there, I knew one thing for sure. I wouldn't be coming back here at night again. Whatever mystery those red eyes held, it was one I was content to leave unsolved. Spring just hits different.

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Jack sat at his small kitchen table, the dim light from the bulb above casting long shadows across the room. The bright light from his laptop screen hurt his tired eyes as he scrolled through the endless pages of the essay he was struggling to finish before the deadline. The cursor blinked persistently, a stark reminder of his lack of punctuality. Jack's hand moved through his disheveled hair, suppressing a yawn, concurrently pursuing two master's degrees while managing a demanding workload and maintaining a semblance of personal life had left him feeling afraid and exhausted. The daily routine was taking its toll, and he longed for something to rekindle the enthusiasm he once held for his academic pursuits. Sying, Jack leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms

over his head. He glanced around the cluttered kitchen, littered with coffee mugs and half-eaten meals piled high in the sink. As he refocused on his laptop screen, an unexpected pop-up ad caught his attention. Vibrant images of lush forests and rugged mountains filled the small window, accompanied by bold text, explore the untouched wilderness of Oregon, guided hikes through state parks available now. Jack's heart skipped a beat. The thought of escaping his monotonous routine for the serene beauty of Oregon's wilderness seemed too good to be true. He could practically smell the fresh pine air, feel the crunch of leaves under his boots, and hear the calls of wildlife echoing through the trees. It was a chance for him to take the day to slow down,

to unwind, and enjoy the beauty of Mother Nature. The following morning, Jack awoke with a renewed sense of determination. As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the blinds of his apartment, illuminating the cluttered kitchen, he reflected on the previous night's research. Although guided by enthusiasm rather than comprehensive knowledge, he diligently packed the necessary supplies for his upcoming hiking expedition. A couple of changes of clothes, a flashlight with almost dead batteries, a Swiss army knife his dad had given him years ago, and a large bag of trail mix he hoped would suffice for sustenance.

He threw in a water bottle and a first aid kit he found buried in a drawer, its contents mostly expired. All right, Max, Jack called out to his little Jack Russell Terrier, who had been watching him with curious eyes from the comfort of his dogbed. Time for an adventure. Max bounded up eagerly, his tail wagging furiously as Jack attached his leash. We're going hiking, buddy, Jack said with a grin, scratching behind Max's ears. You're going to love it.

With the backpack slung over one shoulder and Max, Max, happily trotting beside him, Jack locked the door to his apartment behind him, and headed towards the parking lot where his beat-up old sedan was waiting. Loading his gear into the trunk, Jack couldn't suppress the surge of excitement bubbling inside him. This spontaneous decision felt like a breath of fresh air compared to the suffocating routine he had grown accustomed to. As he drove, Jack couldn't help but feel a mix of nervousness and exhilaration. He glanced over at Max, who was sitting proudly in the passenger seat with his head out the window, tongue lolling happily in the breeze. The road stretched out before them, winding through rolling hills and dense

forests. Jack's mind raced with thoughts of the adventure ahead, the mysteries waiting to be uncovered in Oregon's untouched wilderness. Jack and Max arrived at the trailhead just after noon, the sun hanging high in the sky, and casting waves of heat down onto the lush green forest below. Jack parked his car in the crowded lot, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation. He glanced at Max, who was already eager to explore, bouncing on his paws as Jack opened the car door. All right, Max, let's go see what we can find, Jack said, grabbing his backpack and making sure Max's leash was secure. The parking lot buzzed with activity, hikers and families preparing for their own adventures. But Jack was focused on the tree line ahead.

eager to escape into the solitude of the woods. As they approached the edge of the woodland, a large wooden sign displaying a detailed map of the available trails came into view. The sign used a color-coded system, with each trail designated by a different color. Jack meticulously studied the map, trying to understand the intricacies of the various routes. Although the specific meaning of the colors escaped him, he guessed that they probably indicated varying degrees of difficulty. Jack traced his finger along a black trail, which seemed to loop deep into the forest before circling back.

This one looks interesting, he said to Max, who barked in agreement. Without giving it much more thought, Jack set off down the trail, eager for the adventure. The trail started out wide and well-trodden, winding gently through the trees. The sounds of the parking lot quickly faded away, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird. Jack took a deep breath. savoring the fresh pine-scented air. This was exactly what he had been craving, a break from the suffocating routine of his daily life. As they ventured deeper, the trail began to narrow, the terrain becoming more rugged. Rocks and roots jutted out from the ground, making the path

uneven and difficult to navigate. Jack stumbled a few times, cursing under his breath, but his determination didn't waver. Max, on the other hand, seemed to thrive in the challenging environment, darting ahead and sniffing at everything with boundless energy. A few hours had passed since Jack and Max had set off on the trail. The once wide and well-trodden path had completely disappeared, swallowed by a tangled mess of roots, rocks, and dense shrubs. Jack's initial enthusiasm had given way to a growing sense of unease. His water bottle was almost empty, and his muscles ached from the relentless hiking.

Come on, Max, Jack muttered. wiping sweat from his brow. We have to find a marker or something. We can't be that far off track. Max, sensing Jack's anxiety, stayed closer than usual. His ears perked and eyes darting around nervously. The forest, which had seemed so inviting and serene earlier,

now felt oppressive and alien. The shadows lengthened as the afternoon wore on, and the air grew cooler, bringing with it an eerie silence. Jack pushed forward. his eyes scanning desperately for any sign of the trail. Every direction looked the same, and the forest seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions.

He stumbled again, this time catching his foot on an exposed route and crashing to the ground. Max barked, rushing over to his side. Damn it, Jack cursed, pulling himself up and brushing dirt off his clothes. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rising panic building in his chest. He tried to remember the map he had seen at the trailhead.

but it was a blur in his mind. Jack pressed on, his steps growing slower and more cautious. The underbrush was thick, and he had to push branches aside to forge a path. The deeper they went, the darker and more claustrophobic the forest became. Jack glanced at the sky through the dense canopy, noting the sun's rapid descent. The threat of darkness was closing in, and with it came a growing sense of dread. Damn it! The voice came, warped and distorted, as if if the forest itself was trying to mimic him. Jack's blood ran cold. He stopped dead in his tracks, straining to listen.

Damn it! The voice echoed again, warbled and wrong, sending chills down his spine. Max, sensing the danger suddenly bolted, disappearing into the thick underbrush with a frightened yelp. Max! Max! Come back! Jack shouted, but his voice was swallowed by the oppressive silence.

Panic surged through him, as he realized. he was now completely alone. He stumbled forward, trying to follow the sound of Max's frantic barking, but it quickly faded into the distance. Max, come back! The voice mocked, closer and more insistent. Jack's heart pounded in his chest as he spun around, desperately trying to pinpoint its source. The forest seemed to twist and contort around him, every tree looking the same, every shadow hiding potential threats. Stay calm, Jack muttered to himself. his voice trembling, just stay calm. He took a deep breath and tried to focus. He had to find Max and get out of these woods before nightfall. Jack's flashlight flickered weakly as he trudged forward,

casting eerie dancing shadows on the trees. Max, Jack called, his voice swallowed by the forest. The nod of anxiety that had formed in Jack's stomach tightened as the battery to his flashlight flickered several times before giving out, plunging him into darkness. Max! The voice echoed, unnervingly close. Jack's breath hitched. He turned in circles, trying to catch any sign of movement,

any hint of where the voice was coming from. The forest was now a maze of shadows, each one hiding potential danger. Who's there? Jack shouted, his voice breaking with fear. What do you want? Silence. Then, a low, guttural laugh echoed through the trees, sending shivers down Jack's spine. He backed away.

his eyes wide, straining to see anything in the encroaching darkness. The laughter chased him deeper into the forest. Jack turned and ran, ignoring the branches that whipped at his face and the roots that tried to trip him. He had to find Max. He had to get out of these woods. But as he ran, the forest grew darker, the trail more indistinguishable. Jack's footsteps echoed in the silence, each one a reminder of how alone he was.

His heart pounded in his ears, his breast. coming in desperate gasps. Suddenly he stumbled into a small clearing, the last light of the setting sun casting a dim glow over the area. Jack collapsed to his knees, panting heavily. He looked around hoping to see Max, but the clearing was empty. "'Max!' he whispered, his voice breaking. Tears welled up in his eyes as he realized the full extent of his situation. He was lost, alone, and being hunted by something that could mimic his own voice. Jack The voice came again, softer now, almost a whisper.

Jack looked up, his vision blurred with tears, and saw a figure standing at the edge of the clearing. It was tall and emaciated, its pale flesh almost glowing in the fading light. Hollow black eyes stared back at him, and a twisted smile played on its lips. Jack backed away, his mind racing for a plan, any plan, but the forest had turned into a labyrinth, and every path seemed to lead deeper into darkness. He knew he couldn't outrun the creature, but he had to try.

Gathering the last of his strength, Jack turned and bolted into the woods, the creature's laughter echoing behind him. He ran blindly, branches slashing at his face, roots tangling his feet. The forest seemed to close in around him, and Jack knew he was running out of time. Jack stumbled, falling to the ground. He scrambled to his feet, but it was too late. The creature loomed over him, its hollow eyes boring into his soul. Jack's scream echoed through the forest, but there was no one to hear it.

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that, we took a dip in the nearby springs, and then, after sundown, we went on a night walk to enjoy the mountains illuminated by the full moon and the stars. It was really dark at this point, and people dipped out, so only a few of us ended up actually going on this night walk. Side note, the three of us that went had all been microdosing mushrooms pretty much the majority of the night. Things were slightly trippy, but I don't like to get super gunky and unaware of my surroundings. So, it's the four of us, myself, two friends, and one of my friend's dogs. We were walking uphill for about ten minutes, flashlights lighting the way before us, when we suddenly took a right onto a trail. We didn't even make it three minutes before hearing

some very loud and very close rustling in front of us. We stopped in our tracks, and my friend in the front of the line started scanning the area with his flashlight. Have you ever seen a big cat's eyes in the dark. The way they glow is chilling, especially when the cat is bigger than you. So when I tell you I have never been so scared in my life, I mean it with all my heart and soul. We were face to face with a big old mountain lion. It was not more than a few yards in front of us, an instinct kicked in for all of us, as we just backed away slowly. My friend's dog, on the other hand, had an instinct of its own and ran off to the right of us into the woods. But the mountain lion didn't cash in on her. kept those glowing eyes glued directly on us. We continued to back away until we couldn't back

away anymore, and sure enough we saw the dog right next to us, in which case, what had we heard running up behind us? We shined the flashlight, and holy crap, another freaking mountain lion. Only this one, we figured, was her baby. On the other side of the fence was someone else's campsite, and we had no choice but to turn around and jump it. We got the dog over first and then jumped it, ripping all of our clothing in the process, with my friend cutting his leg pretty badly. So, we're in someone else's campsite on Friday the 13th under a full moon in the mountains, tripping on some shrooms, completely lost. We didn't know where the people were, but we didn't care. We got into their unlocked car and honked the horn for about a minute to scare off the cougars.

We made sure to clearly yell and let anybody around us know that we weren't robbers, and that there were cougars close by. We got out after a couple of minutes and were pretty weirded out that nobody came out to check on their campsite. My friends swore that she could hear someone screaming or trying to scream, but her boyfriend insisted that we needed to leave the campsite. Part of me believed her, though I didn't hear any noises, but I was also ready to just GTFO away from that area.

We found the exit of their campsite, and on the way back to ours, I said my final prayers, and I'm not even religious. We got back to camp, and every rustling noise around me had me convinced that we were being stalked by these cougars. I had a full-fledged panic attack in the car for about an hour, and was absolutely covered in knots because of the sunroof being cracked. Everyone else was having fun around the campfire, even the other two who had just gone through the same experience I had. I was hung over as all hell the next morning.

No-showed my job, and got to my job. I got fired when I got back into town, which sucked, but I didn't give a single F. I was just happy to be alive. The drive to Lake Umbagog was a silent agreement between me and Rob that we needed this trip more than we cared to admit. The past few months had been a grind, the kind that wears you down to a nub. Rob had his struggles at the office, and I, well, I had my own battles with the new management at the plant.

This trip, a retreat into the wilderness of Maine and New Hampshire, was not just about fishing, it was about breathing again, without the chokehold of daily life. We arrived late in the afternoon, our truck growling softly as we pulled up to the cabin we'd rented for the weekend. It was a sturdy little thing, hugged on all sides by trees that were just starting to turn, a riot of oranges and yellows against the deep greens of the pines. Rob hopped out and stretched. his face splitting into a grin. This is perfect, he declared, and I couldn't have agreed more.

The cabin was simple, one room, two beds, a wood stove for heat, and a front porch that faced the lake. The water was a mirror reflecting the changing leaves, and the air was crisp, carrying the promise of a cold night. We unpacked, settled in, and decided to spend the rest of the evening fishing off the dock. As we cast our lines into the cooling water, the troubles of the city seemed to melt away. The lake was calm, its surface barely disturbed by our bobbers. Rob caught the first fish, a decent-sized brook trout, and I followed soon after. By the time the sun dipped below the tree line, we had a stringer full enough to feel proud of. The night called for a celebration.

We built a fire in the pit by the cabin, the flames flickering against the growing dust. darkness. Rob pulled out a bottle of bourbon, a good one, and we toasted to the simple pleasures of fire, whiskey, and friendship. As the bourbon warmed our bellies, we swapped stories, the taller the tail, the louder our laughter. It wasn't just the alcohol that loosened our tongues. It was the wilderness, the isolation. Out here, you could speak your fears into the night, and the darkness would swallow them up. Rob talked about his kid, about how fast he was growing up. About how fast he was growing up and how little he saw him because of the job. I listened, nodding, throwing in my bits about the factory, the layoffs looming like storm clouds. Later, as the fire died down to embers, a local

who'd been fishing further down the shore wandered over. He was a wiry guy, with a face carved from the harsh New England winters. You folks should try the north end of the lake, he said, pointing to a spot that was hidden from view by a bend in the shoreline. There's a honeyhole up there. There's a honeyhole up there, Big Lake Trout. His eyes twinkled with the knowingness of a seasoned fisherman. Rob and I exchanged a look. We'll give it a shot, I replied, the prospect of tomorrow's adventure already kindling a spark of excitement in my chest. That night, as I lay in my bunk, the last of the bourbon humming through my veins, I felt a piece I hadn't known in months. Outside, the lake whispered in the dark, lapping gently at the shore, and I drifted off to sleep

with thoughts of what lay beneath those waters. The giant lake trout, the secret spots. Tomorrow held the promise of something big, and I was ready for it. Morning at Lake Umbagog broke with a mist hovering above the water, the sun struggling to assert itself against the stubborn remnants of night. Rob was already up, coffee in hand, staring out at the lake with that quiet anticipation that fishing breeds. After a quick breakfast of eggs and last night's left over trout, we loaded our gear into the canoe, the locals tip about the honeyhole in the north playing on repeat in our minds. The paddle up the lake was tougher than expected. The water was calm, sure, but there was a resistance about it, as if the lake knew we were intruding on

something sacred and wasn't eager to let us pass. The trees loomed tall and tight around us, their reflections in the dark water doubling their guard. The farther we paddled, the quieter it became, the only sounds are paddle stirring the water and our breaths, growing heavier with each stroke. By the time we reached the spot, the eerie quiet had settled deep in my bones. We cast our lines into the lake, the plop of our lures breaking the surface sounding unnaturally loud in the hush. Fishing started slow, and the sense of isolation grew with each passing minute, the hills around us like the walls of some ancient fortress. Then the fog began to roll in. It came softly at first, a gentle whisper across the water, then thickened until it swallowed

up the far shore. It was then, in that shrouded world, that my line went tight with a ferocity that startled me. The fish on the other end fought like the devil, pulling with a wild, desperate strength that was almost personal. Got a monster here, I grunted, struggling to keep my balance in the rocking canoe. Rob, net in hand, watched with wide eyes as the battle dragged on, minutes stretching like hours.

When the fish finally surfaced, it was indeed a monster, a lake trout that had to weigh at least twenty pounds. But it wasn't just its size that took our breath away. Tangled in its mouth was an amulet, silver tarnished to nearly black, etched with symbols that neither of us recognized. I reached for it, my fingers brushing the cold metal, when the trout gave a sudden, violent thrash. The line snapped, sending the creature in its mysterious cargo back into the depths, leaving us staring at each other, our hearts pounding. We should head back, Rob said after a moment,

his voice low, almost shaken. But neither of us moved, the weight of what had just happened anchoring us there. It was the sight of the other canoe that finally spurred us into action. Materializing from the fog, it was an old weathered thing, floating eerily still about 30 yards off. A lone figure sat in it, facing away from us, unmoving, unresponsive to our calls. The air grew colder, the back of my neck prickling as we paddled closer. That's not possible, Rob whispered, his voice hoarse with fear. I didn't ask what he meant. I didn't need to. The figure in the canoe was ghostly, translucent, its presence an impossible thing in the daylight world. Panic raw and powerful gripped me then.

We paddled hard for the shore, not daring to look back, the fog closing in like a curtain behind us. By the time we reached the safety of our cabin, the figure and its canoe had vanished, swallowed by the mist. That night we spoke little, each lost in our own thoughts about the apparition and the amulet lost to the lake. When dawn broke, we packed up without a word, the thrill of fishing forgotten, replaced by an urgent need to leave the mysteries of Lake Umbagog behind us. As we drove away, the lake disappeared into the rearview mirror, a shiver running down my spine as I wondered if, perhaps, some places are better left unexplored. We always thought we knew everything about the bayou near our hometown in southern Louisiana. My cousin Jed and I grew up here, spending most of our

days and even some nights out on the water, fishing and exploring. But one night, about five years ago, something happened that made me swear off nighttime fishing forever. It was a way of It was a warm, muggy July evening when Jed and I decided to go gigging for frogs. We had done this a thousand times before. We loaded up our old John boat with all the necessary gear, gigs, headlamps, and some snacks. I remember tying the boat to the back of Jed's truck, the metal clinking softly as we secured it. As we headed out to Bayou Marmot, the sun had just set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple.

By the time we reached our usual spot, darkness had settled over the swamp. We launched the boat into the water with a gentle splash and climbed in, ready for another night of adventure. The bayou was alive with sounds. Crickets chirped loudly from the banks, and every so often, a frog would croak, breaking the steady hum of nature. We turned on our headlamps, the beams of light cutting through the darkness as we started scanning the banks for the telltale glint of frog eyes.

We had been at it for about an hour when suddenly Jed grabbed my arm. Luke cut the engine, he whispered, his voice tense. I immediately turned off the motor, and the sudden silence seemed louder than all the noises just a moment before. You see that? Jed pointed towards a narrow side channel we had never explored. About 50 yards ahead, there was a dim light. It looked like an old kerosene lantern just floating there in the dark.

Now, we knew there shouldn't be anyone else out here this late, and we were pretty sure lanterns couldn't float by themselves. It's probably just some reflection, maybe from someone's campsite, I suggested, trying to make sense of it. But Jed shook his head. No campsites out here, Luke, and that ain't no reflection. He was always the brave one, or maybe just foolhardy. Let's check it out, he said with that mischievous grin I knew too well.

Against my better judgment, I agreed. As we slowly approached the light, I noticed something really strange. The air was getting colder. That didn't make any sense, not in July in Louisiana. And the sounds of the bayou, the crickets and frogs, had all gone silent too. It was like everything was holding its breath. When we got about 20 feet from the lantern, I could see it clearly. It was one of those old-timey lanterns, the kind you see in old movies,

hanging there as if held by an invisible hand. Its flame cast eerie shadows on the cypress trees around us. Jed reached out to grab it, and I swear that thing moved. It drifted just out of his reach and started to bob slowly down the channel, like it was leading us somewhere. Jed, of course, started to follow it. I hissed at him to come back, but he was transfixed. I had no choice but to trail after him, my heart pounding in my chest.

Whatever this light was, it was leading us deeper into the bayou, into parts unknown. And as we followed, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were not supposed to be there. As Jed and I followed the mysterious lantern deeper into the swamp, the trees seemed to close in around us. The light from our headlamps barely pierced the darkness that swallowed up the path ahead. Everything was quiet, too quiet. It felt like we were stepping into another world, one that didn't quite well-combed. us. The lantern continued to float just out of reach, bobbing gently as if it was being carried

by a soft breeze, though the air around us was still and heavy. I tried to keep my voice steady, but it shook as I whispered, Jed, maybe we should go back. He didn't respond, just kept his eyes fixed on that eerie light leading us onward. After what felt like forever, the lantern stopped at a small clearing. There, right in the middle of the middle of the middle of the middle of the middle of this circle of space, stood an old shack. It looked like something straight out of a horror movie, rotten wood, sagging roof, and all surrounded by dense dark trees that seemed to lean in curiously. The lantern floated right up to the shack's door and then flicked out, as if someone had blown out the flame. Jed stood frozen for a moment staring at the dark doorway. Then,

as if pulled by some unseen force, he began walking towards it. Jedd, Wait, I called out, but he didn't seem to hear me. My stomach churned with fear, but I couldn't let him go into that creepy place alone. We reached the door and Jed pushed it open without hesitation. The hinges groaned, sending a shiver down my spine. Inside, it was pitch black except for a single candle burning on a table in the center of the room. That tiny light threw grotesque shadows onto the walls. Then I saw it.

A figure was hunched over the table. dressed all in black with a wide-brimmed hat. It slowly lifted its head and my heart nearly stopped. Where its face should have been, there was nothing. Just a smooth, blank stretch of skin. Jed gasped, a sound of terror I'd never heard from him before. That seemed to break the spell. He turned and ran, almost knocking me over as he bolted for the door.

I followed close behind, my legs trembling so badly I could barely run. We rushed through the swamp, tripping over roots and splashing through muddy, water. Every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves made me jump, thinking that faceless figure was right behind us. We didn't stop running until we reached our boat. Panting and sweating, we pushed off from the bank and didn't look back until we were far away from that haunted place. Back at the landing, as we loaded the boat onto the trailer, Jed finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper. Luke, what the heck was that? I shook my head, unable to find the work. to explain the horror we'd just escaped.

Even now, years later, I still think about that night. What was that faceless figure? And what would have happened if Jed had taken one step further into that shack? I don't know. And I don't want to know. That night taught me some places are best left unexplored. It's why I only fish during the day now. The swamp has its secrets, and some are too dark to ever bring into the light. Introducing the new best skin ever ultra slim precision concealer from Sephora Collection.

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It doesn't get much better than that. Each morning, I wake up to the chirping of birds, and the gentle whisper of the wind through the pines. The air is always fresh and cool, and the smell of the forest after a rain is my favorite scent in the world. Buck usually wakes up before I do, wagging his tail and ready to start the day. He's not just a pet. He's my fishing buddy, and the best friend I could ask for out here.

Our cabin is simple, nothing fancy, but it's cozy. There's a fireplace that keeps us warm during the chilly nights. and a small porch where I like to sit and watch the sunset. I spend my days doing what I love most, hiking through the forest and fishing in the North Umpqua River. I learned how to fish from my dad. He used to take me fishing when I was just a little kid, and I've loved it ever since.

He taught me everything, from tying hooks to knowing the best times to catch fish. Even though he's not around anymore, I feel like he's with me every time I cast my line. fishing here is amazing. The river is full of life, especially during the fall when the Chinook salmon run starts. These fish are huge and strong, and catching them is a real adventure. They swim up river to the same spot they were born to lay their eggs, and let me tell you, they put up quite a fight when you hook one.

Today, like most days, Buck and I headed out early. The sky was just starting to light up with colors of pink and orange as the sun peaked over the mountains. I grabbed my fishing gear, a couple of sandwiches for lunch, and we were off. Our favorite spot is right at the base of Tokati Falls. The water crashes down into a big pool before flowing down the river. It's the perfect spot for salmon because they rest there before moving upstream. And for me, standing in the middle of the rushing water, surrounded by towering trees and the sound of the falls, it's exhilarating. I waited into the river, the colds cold water rushing around my legs. Buck stayed on the shore, watching closely as I prepared my

rod and cast the line into the swirling waters. Fishing requires patience, something I've gotten better at over the years. You have to wait for the right moment, feel the slightest tug, and then react fast. As the sun climbed higher, I lost track of time. It was just me, the river, and the peacefulness of nature. Every so often, a fish would bite and my heart would race as I reeled it in. Buck would bark excitedly every time I caught one, his tail wagging as if he was just as proud of the catch as I was. Days like this, I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. Sure, life out here can be lonely sometimes, but I've got Buck, the river, and a whole forest to keep me company. This is my paradise, my perfect escape from the world. That evening was one I'll never forget. I had already

caught a few good-sized salmon and was thinking about heading back when I decided to make just a few more casts. The sun was setting, painting the sky with strokes of orange and purple, and the river seemed extra calm. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day, or so I thought. I cast my line into the deepest part of the pool below the falls, where the water swirled mysteriously. The air was cool, and the river sounded like it was whispering secrets. Buck sat next to me, his ears perked up as if he sensed something unusual. Suddenly, I felt a tug on my line. It wasn't like the usual pull of a salmon. This was something much stronger. Before I could even brace myself, it yanked so hard I nearly lost my footing. Whoa, Buck! I shouted, gripping the rod with both hands as Buck

barked loudly, sensing the excitement. The creature on the other end of the line was powerful. My reel screamed as the line peeled off, and my rod bent so much I thought it might snap in half. I dug my heels into the riverbed, fighting to stay upright. Come on, I muttered, my arms straining against the weight. Whatever was on the other end was unlike anything I'd ever hooked before. The battle went on for what felt like hours. The creature would swim furiously, dragging me along, and then I'd reel it back in slowly, gaining inch by inch. My arms ached and my back was sore, but I couldn't give up.

This was the fight of a lifetime. Finally, as the last light of day lingered in the sky, I started to see something in the water. At first, I thought it was just a big log or a shadow, but then I saw it clearly, a tail fin, massive and powerful, thrashing back and forth. My heart raced. What in the world? I gasped. The creature came closer into the shallow water, and I could finally see it clearly. It was long, easily the length of a small car, and as thick as a tree trunk. Its scales weren't the shiny silver of a salmon, but a weird, mottled gray green that blended with the river rocks. But the eyes, those were the scariest part. They were huge, black, and shiny like polished stone,

and they looked right at me, like they knew me. I stood there frozen, staring back at those eyes. There was something about them, something almost human, or like they'd been here long before any of us. A chill ran down my spine. This wasn't just some fish, it was something ancient, something mysterious. Then with a sudden thrash that sent water splashing all over, the line snapped. The creature gave one last look at me and buck, and then it's a sudden thrash. slipped back into the deep dark water, disappearing from sight. I stood by the river for a long time after that, too shocked to move. Buck nudged me gently, whining a little, as if telling me it was time to go home. We walked back in silence, the excitement of the day replaced by a haunting

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