Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Scary Skinwalker Stories To Fall Asleep To

Episode Date: January 8, 2025

These are 3 Scary Skinwalker Stories To Fall Asleep To Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ Timestamps: 00:00 Intro 00:00:18 Story 1 00:22:32 Story 2 00:40:07 Story 3 Music by: ► Myuu's channel http://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Music http://bit.ly/2f9WQpe Thumbnail art: ►Just Creepy Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #skinwalker 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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Sign up for your $1 per month trial at Shopify.com slash special offer. The woods were always quiet, but that night they felt weirdly quiet. I don't know how to explain it exactly, like the forest itself was waiting for something. My boots crunched over the dirt trail as Ryan and I moved deeper into the southern quadrant of Black Ridge. It was supposed to be a routine patrol. Nothing about this job ever felt routine anymore. Ryan was new. Fresh out of training, full of questions and energy, practically bouncing.

as he walked beside me. This place is amazing, he said, gesturing at the endless expanse of trees. I don't get why people say it's creepy. I didn't answer right away. How could I explain the feeling that had been gnawing at me for weeks? The forest didn't just feel creepy. It felt alive, watching. And with all the disappearances lately, I didn't trust it.

You'll see, I said finally. It wasn't much of an answer, but I was, wasn't about to dump my paranoia on him. The sun was starting to dip below the tree line, casting long shadows that stretched across the trail like claws. I checked my watch. 6.45 p.m. Sundown wasn't far off, and the rules were clear. We were supposed to be back at the station before dark. No exceptions. I quickened my pace, but Ryan lingered behind, staring at something on the ground. What is it? I called back. Not sure, he replied, It looks like...

Blood? I froze. Sure enough, there was a dark stain on the trail. Fresh. My stomach turned as I stepped closer, scanning the area. It could be an animal, I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Ryan didn't respond. His attention had shifted to the woods on our right.

His brow furrowed. Hey, do you see that? He asked, pointing. At first I didn't see anything, just trees and shadows, but then... There. A figure, small, motionless. My breath caught.

It looked like a kid, maybe eight or nine, standing just at the edge of the trees. What the hell? I muttered. Kids weren't supposed to be out here. No one was. Not this late. I'll check it out, Ryan said, already stepping off the trail. Wait, I snapped, grabbing his arm. You don't just walk into the woods after some random. It's a kid, Chris.

He cut me off, shaking me loose. What if they're lost? Something about the way the child stood there, so still, sent a chill down my spine. But before I could stop him, Ryan was gone, flashlight bouncing as he pushed through the underbrush. Ryan, I called after him. We don't have time for this. We need to head back. Now.

No answer. Just the rustle of leaves and the distant snap of a branch. I stayed where I was, my hand hovering near my radio. Protocol said we weren't supposed to leave the trail. Whatever this was, it didn't feel right. Minutes passed. The forest seemed to grow darker, the trees closing in around me. I glanced at my watch again.

7.05 p.m. My gut churned. Ryan should have been back by now. I grabbed my radio. Ryan, where are you? Do you copy? Static. I tried again, my voice more urgent.

Ryan, answer me. We need to get out of here. For a moment. There was nothing but the crackle of static. Then faintly, his voice came through. Chris, I think I... Found. The transmission cut off abruptly.

My pulse quickened. Ryan, repeat that. What did you find? No response. Just silence. Heavy. Suffocating silence. Screw the rules.

I wasn't leaving him out there. I drew my flashlight and stepped off the trail, following the direction Ryan had gone. The underbrush was thick, branches snagging at my jacket as I pushed forward. Every step felt wrong, like the forest didn't want me there. Ryan! I shouted, my voice echoing, answer me. Nothing. And then footsteps, light, quick, moving just ahead of me.

Relief flooded my chest. Ryan, is that you? The footsteps stopped. I froze, the beam of my flashlight shaking as I scanned the trees. Ryan? My voice cracked. A faint whisper answered. My name.

Chris. It didn't sound like Ryan. It sounded off. Like someone else was trying to mimic his voice. My heart pounded as I swung the flashlight around, the beam cutting through the darkness. Shadows shifted, trees loomed, but there was no one there. Ryan! I shouted again, desperation creeping in.

If this is a joke, it's not funny. Something rustled to my left. I spun toward the sound, flashlight trembling in my grip. My stomach dropped. There caught in the beam was Ryan's radio. It lay on the ground, cracked and smeared with blood. I backed away my breaths coming fast and shallow. This wasn't right.

Something had happened to him. Something bad. I then saw it. Movement. A figure, small and hunched, darting between the trees. It wasn't Ryan. It wasn't even human. I turned and ran, branches whipping at my face, roots clawing at my boots. The voices followed me,

faint and mocking. Chris, come back. By the time I broke through the tree line and stumbled onto the main trail, my lungs burned and my legs felt like jelly. I didn't stop running until the ranger station came into view, its floodlights piercing the darkness. I burst inside, slamming the door behind me. The other rangers looked up, startled. Where's Ryan? Someone asked. I couldn't answer. All I could do was shake my head, my mind replaying those voices,

that figure in the woods. Later that night they asked me to file a report. I told them everything, but they didn't seem surprised. They just nodded, like they'd heard it all before. The next day, Ryan's name was quietly removed from the roster.

No explanation. No investigation. Just... Nothing. And that's when I realized, whatever's out there in the forest, it doesn't leave survivors. The next morning, Lena arrived without much of an introduction. She was sharp-eyed, older than me by a couple of years, and her posture screamed authority.

It was clear from the start that Lena wasn't here to make friends. Not that I wanted to talk. After what happened to Ryan, I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that kid in the red hoodie, or whatever it was, standing just beyond the tree line. Chris, Lena said curtly as we prep the Jeep for patrol. Here's how this works. You follow my lead, no questions. We stick to the trails.

We don't split up. And if you hear something, anything, you ignore it, understood. Yeah, I muttered, pretending to focus on the map in my hands. She didn't seem satisfied. I'm serious. No wandering off. No heroics. You do exactly what I say, or you'll end up like your rookie friend.

Her words hit like a punch to the gut. What do you mean by that? I demanded. Lena didn't look at me. She grabbed the thermal camera from the equipment locker and tossed it into the Jeep. People go missing out here, she said. That's all you need to know. It wasn't all I needed to know, not by a long shot, but something in her tone made me shut up. The air was heavier that day, the kind of damp heat that made every breath feel sticky.

As we drove deeper into the north. northern quadrant, the forest thickened, the trees towering like sentinels, their branches clawing at the sky. Even in daylight the place felt oppressive. Shadows pooled beneath the canopy, and the faint hum of cicadas did little to drown out the feeling of being watched. Lena barely spoke as she navigated the jeep down the overgrown trail. Her eyes constantly scanned the trees, her hand hovering near her rifle. I tried to focus on the map, but my mind kept drifting back to Ryan. What had he seen before he disappeared? What had taken him? We're close, Lena said suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts. Close to what? There was a report of an

abandoned campsite near here. We're going to check it out. I didn't like the sound of that. The last abandoned campsite I'd seen had bloodstains and shredded gear, and I wasn't eager to repeat the experience. But Lena didn't wait for my input. She stopped the jeep, grabbed the thermal camera, and gestured for me to follow. The campsite was a mess. Torn tents lay crumpled on the ground, their fabric stained and shredded. A charred fire pit sat at the center, surrounded by scattered belongings, a backpack, a child stuffed animal, a pair of broken glasses.

My stomach twisted. Animal attack? I asked, though I already knew the answer. Lena didn't respond. She knelt beside the fire pit, running her fingers over the claw marks gouged into the dirt. Then she pulled out the thermal camera and scanned the area. What are you looking for? I pressed, trying to keep my voice steady. She didn't answer right away. Then she stopped, her body going rigid. There, she said, her voice low, she handed me the camera.

I hesitated before looking. The screen flickered with faint static. I then saw it, a figure standing jaded. just beyond the edge of the clearing. It was humanoid, but... Wrong. The shape was too tall, too thin, and cold as death on the thermal display. What is that? I whispered.

Trouble, Lena said, taking the camera back. We're leaving. Now. Back in the Jeep, Lena's mood had shifted from stern to outright hostile. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel, her eyes darting to the mirrors, as if she expected something to be. following us. I didn't have to ask if she saw it, too. The answer was written all over her face.

Okay, seriously, I said, breaking the tense silence. What's going on out here? What was that thing? It's not your concern, she snapped. The hell it's not. I saw it. I saw what it did to Ryan. Lina's jaw tightened. You don't know what you saw. Then tell me, I shouted. Because whatever's out here, it's not just animals or bad luck. People are dying, Lena, and you know why, don't you? She didn't answer. The only sound was the crunch of tires on gravel as we sped back toward the station. We were halfway there when the forest came alive. It started with the sound of branches snapping, followed by something crashing through the underbrush. Lina slammed on the brakes, and we both grabbed our rifles. The jeep's headlights illuminated the trail ahead, but nothing moved. Just the

swaying of trees in the breeze. Stay here, Lena ordered, stepping out of the vehicle. Like hell I will, I muttered, following her. My hands shook as I held my rifle, scanning the darkness for movement. The forest was too quiet now, the air thick with tension. I heard it, a low, guttural growl coming from the left. Lena heard it too. She raised her rifle, her finger on the trigger.

Don't move, she whispered. The growl grew louder, close. sir. My heart hammered in my chest as I tried to pinpoint the source. Then from the corner of my eye I saw them. Eyes, reflective, glowing, staring at us from the tree line. Not one pair, but many. Back to the Jeep, Lena said, her voice barely audible. Slowly. We moved in unison, stepping backward toward the vehicle. The eyes didn't blink, didn't flinch. They just watched, and then they moved. The figures emerged from the shadow. their shapes flickering in and out of the light, pale elongated bodies with limbs that bent the

wrong way, their movements jerky and unnatural. I froze, my brain struggling to comprehend what I was seeing. Chris, move, Lena barked. The creatures darted toward us faster than anything I'd ever seen. I fired wildly, the sound of gunfire deafening in the confined space of the forest. One of the creatures fell, its body twisting unnaturally as it hit the ground. But the others kept coming. Lena grabbed me, dragging me toward the Jeep as I continued firing.

We barely made it inside, slamming the doors just as the creatures clawed at the windows. Their faces, if you could call them that, were pressed against the glass, pale and featureless, except for those glowing eyes. Lena floored the gas, and the jeep lurched forward, the creatures chasing us down the trail. I didn't stop shooting until the headlights illuminated the ranger station in the car. the distance. The creatures stopped abruptly, retreating into the shadows as if the light repelled them. We skidded to a stop outside the station. Lena turned off the engine and sat there, gripping the wheel so tightly her hands shook. What the hell were those things? I asked.

My voice barely more than a whisper. Lena didn't answer. She just looked at me, her expression cold and distant. That's why you don't ask questions. That night, I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those glowing eyes staring back at me. Whatever was out there, it wasn't human. We left before dawn, just as the fog began to curl through the trees like pale fingers. Lena didn't say much as we loaded the jeep. Her face set like stone. I'd stop trying to get answers from her. Whatever was going on out here, she knew it, but getting her to talk was like prying open a steel trap. Still, the silence weighed on me. I was on edge. hyper aware of every sound, every shift in the shadows.

I couldn't stop thinking about the night before. The creatures, their glowing eyes, the way they moved. No animal I knew moved like that. No animal should. We'll patrol the northern sector, Lena said finally. Her voice sharp and clipped. Keep your weapon close and your head on straight. If something happens, follow my lead.

Got it? Got it, I muttered, not like I had much of a choice. The northern sector was a nightmare. The trees were denser here. The canopy so thick it blocked out the rising sun. The jeep's headlights struggled to pierce the gloom, casting long shadows that seemed to shift and writhe like they were alive. Lena drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her rifle. Her eyes never stopped scanning the trees. I gripped my own rifle tightly, my palms slick with sweat. Why the northern sector, I asked, breaking the silence. There's been activity up here, Lena said without looking at me. Campers heard voices,

things moving in the night. Voices, I repeated my stomach tightening. Like Ryan's? She shot me a glance, her expression unreadable. Just stay focused. Halfway through the patrol, the Jeep stalled. The engine sputtered once, then died, leaving us stranded in the middle of the forest. I could feel my pulse quicken as Lena cursed under her breath and popped the hood. Stay in the Jeep, she ordered, stepping out. I didn't argue. I watched her through the windshield as she fiddled with the engine. Her movements quick and efficient.

But something felt wrong. The forest was too quiet. No birds, no insects. Just silence. Then from the radio, a faint crackle. I grabbed it, my hands trembling. Lena, the radio. Before I could finish, a voice came through.

soft, distant, but unmistakable. Chris, help me. My blood turned to ice. It was Ryan. Lena, I shouted, panic creeping into my voice. It's him, it's Ryan. Lena's head snapped up. Turn it off, she barked, slamming the hood shut and climbing back into the Jeep.

Now, but turn it off, she shouted. I fumbled with the radio, my fingers clumsy with fear. The static hissed and popped. Ryan's voice breaking through again, more urgent this time. Chris, I'm here. Please. I shut it off. My heart pounding. Lena didn't say anything as she tried the engine again.

It roared to life, but I barely felt the relief. My mind was spinning, torn between terror and guilt. What if it really was him? We drove in silence, the tension between us thick enough to cut. The forest seemed darker now. The trees pressing closer. their branches scraping against the jeep like nails on a chalkboard. I kept glancing at the thermal camera in my lap,

half hoping, half dreading that I'd see something. And then I did. Lena, I said, my voice barely a whisper. Stop the Jeep. She hit the brakes, her eyes narrowing as she turned to me. What is it? I held up the thermal camera, my hands shaking. On the screen was a figure, human-shaped but cold.

It stood motionless about 50 yards ahead. just off the trail. Lena grabbed the camera, her jaw tightening. Damn it, she muttered. She turned off the headlights, plunging us into near total darkness. Grab your rifle, stay close. We moved quietly, our boots crunching on the gravel as we approached the spot where I'd seen the figure.

The darkness was suffocating, the only light coming from the weak beam of Lena's flashlight. My grip on the rifle was so tight it hurt. The figure was gone, but the air felt heavy, charged with something I couldn't explain. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to run, but Lena pressed forward, her movements deliberate. And we heard it.

A low, guttural growl, followed by the sound of branches snapping. I swung the flashlight around, the beam trembling as it cut through the trees. The growl came again, closer this time. Lena, I whispered my voice shaking. What is that? She didn't answer. Instead, she raised her rifle, her eyes. fixed on something ahead. I followed her gaze and froze. There were eyes, dozens of them,

glowing faintly in the darkness. They blinked in unison, and my stomach turned. Back to the Jeep, Lena said, her voice low and steady. Now. We moved slowly at first, trying not to provoke whatever was out there. But the eyes didn't stay still. They moved closer, and with them came the sound of footsteps, hundreds of them, all around us circling, closing in. Lina didn't wait. She turned and ran, and I followed, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst. The footsteps were deafening now, the growls turning into a cacophony of screeches and howls. I didn't dare look back. We reached the Jeep and scrambled inside, slamming the doors just as the creatures burst from the trees. Pale twisted forms with two long limbs and faces that were almost

human but not. One of them lunged at the windshield, its jagged teeth scraping against the glass. I fired through the window, the sound of the gunshot deafening in the enclosed space. Drive! I shouted, but Lena was already flooring the gas. The Jeep lurched forward, throwing the creatures off as we sped down the trail. They gave chase, their movements unnaturally fast, their bodies flickering in and out of view. Don't stop, Lena said through gritted teeth, her hands tight on the wheel. No matter what, don't stop. The creatures finally stopped chasing us as we approached the station. I don't know why. Maybe the floodlights scared them off, but I didn't care. We stumbled out of the Jeep, battered and shaken, but alive. Inside the station was eerily quiet.

Too quiet. Carter, the Ranger on shift, was gone. His gear was still there, his radio crackling faintly on the desk. But there was no sign of him. Lina, I started, but she cut me off. We're locking down, she said, her voice cold and final. No one leaves this building until sunrise. I nodded, too shaken to argue, but as I sat in the corner of the room clutching my rifle, it wasn't over. The voices were still there, faint and distant, just at the edge of my hearing. Chris, they called. come back. And somewhere in the darkness, they were waiting. The next morning, we staggered into the sunlight like survivors of a war.

The forest behind us loomed dark and silent, but I could still feel its presence, hungry. We didn't speak as we climbed into the battered jeep, Lena's hands trembling as she gripped the wheel. The road out felt endless. When the trees finally thinned and the small ranger station gave way to the open highway, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. I turned to Lena, her face pale and drawn. Her eyes locked on the road ahead. Never again, I muttered, more to myself than to her.

She nodded once. Her lips pressed into a tight line. We didn't look back. We couldn't. Because if we did, we both knew we might never leave. We are never going into those woods again. This is a Bose moment. It's ten blocks from the train to your apartment door.

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These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. This product is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any disease. I stepped out of the house, Roscoe's leash, tight in my grip, and immediately noticed how quiet it was. Too quiet. The kind of silence that feels wrong, like the world's holding its breath. normally even in this sleepy town you'd hear something a car in the distance the buzz of a street lamp maybe a dog barking but to-night it was just me roscoe and the sound of his nails clicking against the pavement roscoe my big brindled pit bull trotted ahead his ears perked and nose twitching he was in his element tail swaying confidently i tried to match his energy but something about the air felt heavier than usual

like it was pressing down on me. Still, it was just another walk. I told myself to shake it off. We rounded the corner onto the main road where the forest started to creep closer to the edges of the houses. That's when I saw them, the coyotes. Three of them, standing at the edge of the woods

where the road curved toward the trailhead. At first I thought they were just passing through. Coyotes aren't uncommon around here, though you usually hear them before you see them. These, though, they were some. silent. Still, too still. Roscoe noticed them too. His ears pinned back and a low growl rumbled in his throat. I tightened my grip on the leash. Easy, buddy, I whispered, my voice barely breaking the silence. The coyotes didn't move, didn't flinch. They just stared,

their eyes reflecting the pale glow of the street lamp. Then, almost as if on cue, they started walking, not away, but toward the trail. In every few steps they'd stop and look back at me, not at Roscoe, at me. I laughed nervously. What? You guys giving me a tour now? I muttered, trying to keep my tone light, but the words felt hollow. My feet hesitated, but Roscoe tugged forward, pulling me along. The coyotes disappeared into the shadows, but the feeling they left behind lingered. As we approached the woods, the smell hit me. Rot, thick and sour, like something had been left to fester for weeks. I gagged, covering my mouth with my free hand. Rasko froze, his fur bristling. His growl turned into a snarl, and he started backing up, something he never did.

All right, we're turning back, I said, but my voice shook. I yanked the leash, but Rosco didn't budge. His eyes were locked on something ahead, something I couldn't see yet, and then I saw it. It wasn't much, just a blur of movement in the trees, pale, fast, and impossibly smooth. It was there, then gone, like a ripple in the darkness. My heart slammed against my ribs. I gripped Roscoe's leash tighter and swallowed hard, telling myself it was nothing, just an animal, a deer maybe. But my gut was screaming at me to leave.

We were almost at the trailhead when the smell got stronger, thick enough to make my eyes water. Roscoe was shaking now, pulling against the leash to go back, but I caught sight of one of the coyotes again. It was crouched low on the opposite side of the road, separated from the woods by a thin stretch of gravel. Its head was tilted, eyes locked on me. It wasn't moving, wasn't even breathing. Something about the way it crouched made my skin crawl. It didn't look like it should be able to stay in that position for so long. My flashlight cut through the dark, landing square on its face. Its eyes didn't even flicker.

I thought about taking a picture, but I didn't want to take my eyes off it. Roscoe started pulling harder, practically dragging me backward. Okay, okay, we're going. I muttered, my voice barely a whisper. I stepped back, then again, never taking my eyes off the coyote. That's when it happened. In the space of a single breath, it was closer, at least 12. 20 feet closer. It hadn't moved. I didn't see it move, but it was there, crouched in the same unnatural pose, its eyes still locked on me. My heart stopped. My flashlight shook in my hand as I fumbled to steady it, but the beam only made the coyote look more wrong, more unnatural.

Let's go, Roscoe, I said, my voice cracking. I didn't wait for him to follow. I turned and started walking fast, almost jogging, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts. I glanced back once, just once, and saw the coyote still there, still watching, but now standing upright, silhouetted against the tree line. The walk home felt endless. Every rustle of leaves, every crack of a twig made me jump. Roscoe stayed close to my side, his tail tucked, his growls low and constant. By the time we reached the door, I felt like I was being suffocated by the weight of something unseen. I slammed it shut, locked it, and double-checked every window in the house. That night, Roscoe didn't leave his spot by the front door. He sat there, stiff and alert, growling at shadows

I couldn't see. And even though I was safe inside, I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever had been out there was still watching, I thought I was losing it. Sitting on the couch, I kept replaying the night in my head. The coyotes, the smell, that thing I'd seen darting through the trees. My logical brain tried to explain it away. Maybe the coyotes were sick, and the thing in the woods was a deer moving too fast for me to process. But none of it sat right, especially the way that lone coyote had moved, or hadn't moved. Roscoe was still planted by the front door, growling every so often.

at nothing in particular. I could tell he wasn't going to let up. The tension in the house was thick, pressing on me, suffocating. I needed to get out, even just for a little bit. So I grabbed Pepper's leash and called her over. Pepper, my Jack Russell mix, came bounding up like her usual excitable self, wagging her tail and hopping on her back legs. Her energy was a relief. Unlike Roscoe, who had clearly sensed something I couldn't, Pepper seemed completely unobesual. Pepper seemed completely aware of the weirdness in the air. I told myself her carefree demeanor was a good sign. We headed out into the night. The neighborhood was quiet and the streetlights buzzed faintly overhead. The stillness that had felt oppressive earlier now felt almost peaceful. I kept to the streets

closer to the town center, deliberately avoiding the woods. Pepper trotted along happily, sniffing every mailbox and bush, oblivious to my unease. I even started to relax a little, chatting with my wife on the phone as we walked. I think I just freaked myself out earlier, I said, forcing a laugh. Coyotes are weird sometimes, right? And that smell? Probably just roadkill or something. My wife humored me, though I could tell she wasn't buying my casual tone.

She knew me too well. Just be careful, okay? She said, and don't stay out too long. Yeah, yeah, I replied, waving it off. I didn't want to admit how much her words unsettled me. Pepper and I were only a few blocks from home, and nothing felt off, not yet. We turned down the alley that ran behind my house, a shortcut I'd taken a hundred times before. The alley was narrow, with tall wooden fences on either side and a single streetlight at the far end.

The light flickered erratically, casting jittery shadows that made the space feel smaller than it was. Pepper slowed down, her ears flicking back as she sniffed the air. That's when I saw them. At first I thought they were people, two figures standing at the far end of the alley, just beyond the reach of the flickering streetlight. They were tall, easily over six feet, and broad. Their shoulders hunched forward like they were leaning into the wind. But the longer I stared, the more wrong they looked. Their arms were too long, their movements too jerky, like marionettes being yanked along by invisible strings. stomach dropped. They weren't people. Their skin was pale, almost translucent, stretched, taut over bulging muscles. They were hairless. Their heads misshapen. And their eyes, God, their eyes. Hollow, dark pits that seemed to drink in the faint light, making the shadows around them ripple unnaturally. Pepper froze, her little body trembling as a low, guttural growl escaped her throat. I'd never heard her make a sound like that before.

My feet felt glued to the ground, my mind screaming at me to move, but I couldn't. The figures shifted, their heads tilting in perfect unison as they turned to look directly at me. The way they moved made my skin crawl. Their steps were slow, deliberate, and wrong, like they were mimicking the way humans walked, but didn't quite understand how. The sound of their footsteps echoed unnaturally in the narrow alley, wet and heavy, like flesh slapping against concrete. Pepper, I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my ears.

Let's go. But she wouldn't budge. Her growling turned into frantic barking, high-pitched and desperate, as the figures continued their slow advance. My legs finally obeyed, and I yanked hard on the leash, scooping her up as I stumbled backward. My breath came in ragged gasps, my eyes locked on the figures as they moved closer. One of them stopped under the streetlight, its pale skin. glowing faintly in the flickering light. It raised a hand, long, spindly fingers, twitching like it was trying to reach for something it couldn't quite grasp. The other figure paused, then turned its head toward the shadows on my left, as if it had heard something. I followed its

gaze and immediately wished I hadn't. A third figure stepped out from the darkness, larger than the other two, its movement smoother, more confident. Its hollow eyes locked onto mine. It's hollow eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a cold wave of dread wash over me. This one was different. It didn't shuffle or jerk like the others. It moved with purpose. I ran. I don't remember how I made it back to the house.

My legs burned and my chest felt like it was going to explode. But I didn't stop until I was inside. The door locked and bolted behind me. Pepper squirmed in my arms, still barking furiously as I collapsed onto the floor. Rasko was on his feet. his growls deep and resonant his eyes fixed on the windows i crawled over and shut the curtains my hands shaking so badly i could barely grip the fabric the house felt suffocating the air heavy with a smell i couldn't quite place damp earth and something metallic like blood i sat there on the floor clutching pepper as rosco barked at the door outside i could hear faint wet footsteps on the pavement slow deliberate Coming closer. Then they stopped. And the tapping began. I didn't sleep that night. Every time I

closed my eyes, I heard the tapping, faint but deliberate, like fingernails on glass. Sometimes it was at the windows, sometimes it was at the walls, always in a slow, maddening rhythm. I tried to convince myself it was just my imagination, but Roscoe's growling and peppers trembling told me otherwise. whatever was out there wasn't leaving. When dawn finally broke, the tapping stopped. The house fell silent, but the air felt just as heavy, like it was saturated with something unseen. I waited until the light spilled fully into the room

before daring to open the curtains. The yard looked normal at first. The patchy grass, the leaning fence, the lone tree in the corner. It was all exactly as it should be, but then I saw the marks on the door. deep gouges crisscrossed the wood, the kind you'd expect from claws or a blade. They hadn't been there the night before.

My stomach churned as I stepped outside for a closer look. The air smelled faintly of rot, a stench that made my throat tighten. The ground beneath the windows was disturbed, the dirt scuffed and scattered. At first I thought it was just from animals, but then I noticed the footprints. They were huge, far larger than any animal I'd seen. The shape was all wrong, too. The impressions were wide, with long, clawed toes that dug deep into the earth. I squatted down, pressing my hand into one of the prints.

It dwarfed my palm. My pulse quickened as my gaze landed on something else. Symbols carved into the dirt. They were crude and jagged, like someone had dragged a stick or a claw through the soil. Swirls and lines that didn't make sense but felt deliberate. intentional. I didn't want to look at them any longer. I grabbed Roscoe's leash, muttered something reassuring to myself, and headed for the neighbor's house. If anyone would know what to make of this, it was old Mr. Larkin. Mr. Larkin had lived in the neighborhood longer than

anyone. He was the kind of guy who knew everyone's business, whether you wanted him to or not. When I explained what I'd seen, leaving out the worst of it, of course, his face went pale. You saw them, didn't you? He said, his voice. barely above a whisper. His hands shook as he set down his coffee mug, the pale ones. I frowned. The what? They don't come around often, he continued, his eyes darting toward the window, only in the fall, when the nights get long. They're not animals, not people either, something else, something old. His words didn't make sense, but the fear in his voice was undeniable. He warned me to avoid the woods and to keep the curtains drawn after dark.

And don't let them mark you, he added cryptically. If they do, they'll never stop. I left his house with more questions than answers, my mind racing. Mark me? What did that even mean? I couldn't shake the feeling that he knew more than he was letting on. Back at home, I grabbed Roscoe's leash and decided to retrace my steps from the night before. It felt reckless, but I needed answers. The alley where I'd seen the creatures look normal in the daylight, though the flickering streetlight at the far end was now shattered. Glass littered the ground, catching the weak sunlight. Roscoe was restless, pulling against the leash as we walked. I kept my eyes on the ground, scanning for any sign of the

creatures, but all I found were more of those strange symbols, etched into the dirt in long, looping patterns that seemed to lead toward the woods. We didn't make it far. Roscoe froze, growling low in his throat, his body rigid as a board. He wouldn't move, wouldn't even look at me. His eyes were locked on the shadowy tree line ahead. I followed his gaze but saw nothing, just the dark outlines of trees, their branches swaying in the breeze. Still, I felt it.

That oppressive weight in the air, the same feeling I'd had the night before. We turned back. That night, the tapping returned. it started softly, just a faint click, click, click against the window. I stayed in the living room, clutching a kitchen knife like it would do any good. Roscoe sat by the door, growling steadily, while Pepper hid under the couch. The tapping grew louder, more insistent. I tried to ignore it, tried to tell myself it was just the wind,

but then I heard the footsteps, slow, deliberate, like wet flesh slapping against concrete. My stomach tightened as the footsteps, circled the house, pausing every few feet before starting again. I held my breath as something scraped against the front door, long, slow drags that sent shivers up my spine. Roscoe lunged at the door, barking furiously. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the knife, and then came the voice.

It was faint at first, barely audible over Roscoe's barking, a low guttural whisper that didn't sound human. It called my name, not once. but twice. Drawn out, distorted, like someone trying to mimic a voice they didn't quite understand. I didn't wait to hear it a third time. Grabbing both dogs, I bolted for the garage. My car keys were already in my pocket, and I fumbled to get the door open. The dog scrambled inside as I started the engine, my hands trembling on the wheel. As I backed out of the driveway, I caught a glimpse of them in the rearview mirror. Three figures stood at the edge of the yard, their hollow eyes glowing

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It matters where you stay. Hilton, for the stay. Living on the edge of a forest teaches you a thing or two about silence. I'd grown used to it, or so I thought. The cabin my brother and I shared wasn't much, but it was ours, tucked into a clearing surrounded by tall trees. Quiet was normal, peaceful even. Until that night, I'd decided to walk the trail later than usual.

The heat of the day had been unbearable, and the cool night air seemed like an invitation I couldn't refuse. Luna, my shepherd mix, trotted at my heels, her tail wagging in anticipation. She loved these walks as much as I did. I grabbed my flashlight, double-checked the batteries, and stepped off the porch into the dark. The first half of the loop was always my favorite. It skirted the meadow with just enough moonlight to guide my way. Tonight, the grass shimmered silver under the half-moon, and the air was heavy with the scent of damp earth. I could see the faint outline of our cabin from the corner of my eye, a comforting anchor as I walked.

Luna sniffed at the trail, darting ahead, her nails clicking against the hard-packed dirt. When we reached the forest edge, I paused, staring into the dark wall of trees. The second half of the loop cut deep into the woods, where the canopy blocked the moonlight, and the air grew thick with the smell of woods and decay. The flashlight beam was thin, swallowed by the shadows almost as soon as it touched them. Still, I'd done this walk dozens of times before. There was no reason to feel uneasy, or so I told myself. The woods were quieter than usual, no rustling leaves, no chirping insects,

just the crunch of my boots and the soft panting of Luna somewhere ahead. I adjusted my flashlight, swinging it left and right, but the shadows seemed thicker tonight, as if they were closing in. I told myself it was just my imagination, shook it off, and pressed forward. I was nearly at the bend that marked the halfway point when I heard it. Can you hear me? I need help. I froze. The voice was faint but clear, cutting through the stillness like a blade. It wasn't frantic or scared. If anything, it sounded flat, practiced, like someone reading lines off a script. I swung my flashlight toward the sound, but all it

caught were trees. Can you hear me? I need help. The same words, the same tone, known, no variation, no urgency. I clicked off the flashlight, suddenly aware of how exposed I was. The dark closed around me like a fist, and my heart thudded hard enough to hurt. I crouched low, gripping Luna's collar to keep her from barking, but she wasn't barking. She was growling, a deep guttural sound I'd never heard from her before. "'Luna,' I whispered, trying to pull her back. She didn't move. Her eyes were locked on the trees. Her teeth bared. growl rumbling in her chest like distant thunder. I followed her gaze, but the shadows gave

nothing away. The voice came again, closer now. Can you hear me? I need help. I felt a spike of panic shoot through me. My first thought was someone was hurt, lost in the woods. But there was something wrong, something about the way the voice didn't carry like it should have. It was too even, too measured, as if whoever was speaking wasn't really speaking at all. Luna broke away from my grip and bolted toward the sound. No, I hissed, scrambling after her, my flashlight swinging wildly. The beam caught her for a split second, a blur of black and tan fur disappearing into the underbrush. The voice called again, louder this time, the monotone cutting through my panic like a razor. Luna, I called my voice shaking. The forest answered with silence. Then it laughed. Low and guttural,

the sound rippled through the trees. My skin prickled and my knees locked. It wasn't a human laugh. It couldn't be. It was too deep, too wrong, like the growl of an animal that had learned how to mimic us. I turned and ran. Branches clawed at my arms and legs as I crashed through the underbrush, the flashlight beam bobbing wildly ahead of me. The laugh followed, rising and falling, echoing from everywhere and nowhere. My lungs burned, but I didn't dare slow down. Images filled my mind. Something crouching in the dark, grinning wide enough to split its face,

watching me run. When I finally burst out of the woods and into the clearing, I didn't stop. The cabin was in sight, the porch light glowing faintly through the dark. I stumbled up the steps and slammed the door behind me, my chest heaving, my ears straining for any sound beyond the walls. Luna was on the porch, waiting, her fur bristling. She stared at the woods, growling low and steady, her eyes fixed on something I couldn't see. That night, the forest was silent, too silent, and I knew deep down that silence wasn't the absence of sound. It was the sound of something watching, something waiting.

By the time I slammed the cabin door behind me, my legs were shaking so badly I could barely stand. Luna followed me in, her tail tucked and her eyes still fixed on the woods outside. She growled low in her throat, a sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Whatever was out there, she'd seen it. I hadn't, and maybe that was worse. What the hell is going on?

My brother Nate came stomping out of his room, barefoot and holding a wrench he must have grabbed in a hurry. He froze when he saw me, out of breath and wild-eyed. You look like you've seen a ghost. I don't know what it was, I said, gasping for air. I couldn't bring myself to explain right away, not with my chest still tight and my ears ringing from the run. Something in the woods. I heard someone. And Luna, she just ran off.

Nate's expression hardened. He wasn't the type to scare easy, and I could tell he thought I was overreacting. Still, he pulled the curtains shut and turned the lock on the door. Calm down, he said. Start from the beginning. I tried to.

I told him about the voice, the way it sounded too, wrong, about the laughter that didn't belong to anything human. Nate listened, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his face unreadable. When I finished, he shook his head.

You sure it wasn't a coyote? They can make some freaky noises, he said. But his voice lacked conviction, and I could see him glancing at the window just like I had. I know what coyotes sound like Nate. I snapped, still shaking. This wasn't an animal. This was something else. Before he could argue, there was a noise outside, a soft, deliberate tapping on the window by the front door.

Luna stiffened and let out a deep, throaty growl. Her body coiled like a spring. Nate froze, and we both stared at the window. The curtains were drawn tight, but the tapping continued, steady and unhurried. What the hell? Nate muttered under his breath. He grabbed the shotgun from its rack by the door and held it at the ready. The tapping stopped. We stood there, holding our breath, waiting for it to come back. But it didn't. Instead, the silence. pressed in, heavy and unnatural, like the air before a storm. I felt a beat of sweat slide down my temple. Luna broke the quiet with a sharp bark, her attention snapping toward the back wall.

That's when the scratching started. It came from the other side of the cabin, long, deliberate drags against the wood, as if someone were running a claw or a knife along the exterior. Nate's face darkened. He raised the shotgun and gestured for me to stay behind him. He raised the shotgun, and gestured for me to stay behind him. Slowly, we moved toward the back door, Luna close on our heels. The scratching stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Nate yanked open the door and stepped out onto the back porch. The shotgun raised. I followed, my flashlight trembling in my grip. The beam cut through the dark, illuminating the yard and the forest beyond. Nothing. Just the trees swaying gently in the breeze, the moonlight casting jagged shadows on the ground. See anything?

I whispered. No, Nate said. His voice tight. He lowered the shotgun and scanned the tree line. Whatever it was, it's gone. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe it was all in my head, some cruel trick of the night.

But then I saw them. Three long, parallel gouges carved into the wooden post by the porch steps. They were fresh. The splinters still pale and raw against the aged wood. Nate, I said pointing. He followed my gaze and his jaw clenched.

We're going inside, he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. The rest of the night was a blur of restless waiting. We sat in the living room with the shotgun propped against Nate's knee. Luna curled at my feet, her ears twitching at every sound. I thought the worst of it was over. I thought whatever it was had moved on. But when dawn broke, the world outside felt wrong. The air was too still, the forest too quiet.

There was no chirping of birds, no rustling of leaves, just an oppressive, watchful silence. Nate insisted we go check the trail, though every instinct in my body screamed to stay away. Armed with the shotgun in a crowbar, we retraced my path from the night before. The further we went, the heavier the air seemed to get, like the woods themselves were holding their breath. We found the spot where I'd first heard the voice. The underbrush was trampled, and there were scratches on the trees, deep, jagged marks that couldn't have been made by any animal I knew of. Then we found something worse.

Near the bend in the trail was a patch of ground where the vegetation had withered and died, leaving behind a blackened, brittle circle. In the middle of it was a small totem, a crude bundle of sticks bound together with a strip of leather with a piece of bone tied to the top. The sight of it sent a ship. down my back. It didn't belong there. Nothing about it did. Some sick joke, Nate muttered, bending down to pick it up. Don't touch it, I said, my voice sharp. But he didn't listen. He

snapped it in half and tossed the pieces into the bushes. Let's go, he said, turning back toward the cabin. Whatever's out here, we're not giving it the satisfaction. I didn't argue, but as we walked back, I couldn't shake the feeling that we'd made a mistake. The war, The woods seem darker now, the shadows longer, as if they were creeping closer. I didn't say anything to Nate, but I knew he felt it too. I could see it in the way he tightened his grip on the shotgun, his eyes darting toward the trees. That night the scratching came back, louder this time, more insistent. And I knew, deep down, that whatever was out there wasn't going to stop, not until it got what it wanted.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, I was already on edge. The whole day had been wrong, the silence, the shadows creeping across the yard, the feeling that every time I turned around, something would be there, watching. Nate hadn't said much since we got back from the trail. He didn't need to. The tension in his shoulders set at all. We locked every door and window in the cabin, even though deep down I knew a wouldn't matter. Whatever was out there didn't care about locks. Luna stayed glued to my side,

pacing restlessly, her ears twitching at sounds I couldn't hear. She'd growl softly every now and then, her gaze fixed on the windows. Nate sat at the table, the shotgun loaded and ready. He hadn't touched his dinner, and neither had I. The cabin felt smaller than usual, like the walls were closing in. Then the first tap came. It was soft, almost polite, like someone knocking on the front door. We froze. Luna let out a low growl, her hackles raised. Nate stood slowly, shotgun in hand, and gestured for me to stay put.

I didn't argue. The tap came again, louder this time, as if whoever or whatever was outside was testing our nerves. Nate moved to the door and peeked through the curtain. his shoulders stiffened. What is it? I whispered. He didn't answer right away. He stepped back from the door, his face pale. There's nothing there, he said finally, but his voice was tight, too tight.

The tapping stopped. For a moment the silence returned, thicker and heavier than before. Then the scratching began. It came from the side of the cabin, long, deliberate strokes against the wood, like claws dragging across the walls. Luna barked sharply, the sound slicing through the tension like a knife. Nate swore under his breath and motioned for me to follow him to the back door. I'm not waiting for this thing to come inside, he muttered. We're leaving. What if it's waiting out there? I asked, my voice shaking. I hated how scared I sounded, but I couldn't help it. My gut told me

we weren't safe anywhere, not in the cabin, not in the yard, not in the truck. Nate didn't answer. He opened the back door a crack and looked out. The scratching stopped. For a heartbeat, everything was still. Then a low, guttural laugh rippled through the air. It came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Get to the truck, Nate said, his voice barely more than a whisper. Now. We made it as far as the porch steps before we saw the trees. The forest had moved. I know how that sounds, but there's no other way to describe it. The tree line, which had always been a good 30 feet from the edge of the yard, was now just a few paces away. The trees loomed tall and menacing, their branches swaying without a breeze. I could feel them watching us, even though I knew that was

impossible. Get in the truck, Nate repeated, shoving me forward. He climbed in behind me, slamming the door shut and jammed the keys into the ignition. The engine sputtered but didn't start. He tried again, nothing. Come on, he growled, hitting. the steering wheel. The laugh came again, louder this time, echoing around us. It felt like it was inside the truck, curling into every corner. I looked out the window and froze. Shadows moved between the trees, tall, spindly shapes that didn't walk so much as glide. Their eyes caught the moonlight, glowing faintly, like embers in the dark. One of them stepped closer, and I realized it wasn't a shadow at all. It was something else. Something wrong. Its limbs were

were too long, its movements too smooth, and its grin was too wide. Get out of the truck, Nate said suddenly, his voice sharp. We'll make a run for it. Run where? I asked, my voice rising. It's everywhere. Before he could respond, Luna started barking wildly. She clawed at the truck door, desperate to get out. I grabbed her collar, but she pulled free and bolted into the yard. Luna, I screamed, fumbling with the door handle. Nate grabbed my arm. Don't. He said, It's what it wants.

But I couldn't just leave her. I yanked the door open and ran after her, the cold air biting at my face. Luna stopped at the edge of the yard, barking at the trees. I grabbed her collar and turned to run back, but the truck was gone. No, not gone, hidden.

The forest had swallowed it, the trees twisting and crowding together like a wall. I spun around, my heart pounding, and saw Nate standing where the porch had been. Only now the cabin wasn't there. It was just him. The shotgun clutched in his hands, surrounded by trees.

The laugh came again, louder and closer. The shadows moved circling us, their eyes glowing brighter. Nate raised the shotgun, aiming into the dark. Stay behind me, he said. Before I could argue, one of the shadows lunged. The blast of the shotgun lit up the night for a split second, and I saw it clearly, its hollow eyes, It's impossibly wide grin.

It's too long arms reaching for us. And then it was gone. The woods were silent again. Nate grabbed my arm, dragging me back toward what used to be the yard, the totem. I remembered the totem he'd snapped in half earlier. My gut told me it wasn't just some weird decoration. It was a warning, or maybe a seal. We have to burn it, I said.

What? The totem, I shamed. shouted, We have to burn the pieces. Nate didn't argue. We scrambled back to the spot where he'd tossed the broken pieces and piled them together. He handed me his lighter, and my hands shook as I flicked it to life. The flames caught quickly, climbing higher than they should have, casting strange shadows on the trees. The laugh faded, the glowing eyes disappeared, and the forest, slowly, began to retreat.

We stood there in silence, watching as the fire burned. itself out. I wanted to believe it was over, but I could feel it. Something's still out there, just beyond the trees. Whatever we'd done, whatever we'd disturbed, it wasn't finished with us. Not yet. Be careful when going into the woods. You never know what you will encounter. This podcast is brought to you by Carvana. Selling your car should feel like one less thing on your list. Not one more. With Carvana, it is. Just go to Carvana.com. And to your license plate or and get a real offer down to the penny. No back and forth, no surprises,

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