Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Scary Stories for a Sleepless and Rainy Night | Cryptid, Deep Woods, Forest, Skinwalker

Episode Date: October 4, 2023

These are 3 Scary Stories for a Sleepless and Rainy Night | Cryptid, Deep Woods, Forest, Skinwalker Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►https://www.reddit.com/user/Lycian-Sarpedon/ ►Anonymous ►Anonymous Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:29:53 Story 2 00:42:49 Story 3 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #nationalpark #forest #deepwoods 💀As always thanks for watching! 💀

Predator Badlands, now streaming on Hulu and Hulu on Disney Plus. Here, you're not the predator. You're the prey, prey, prey, prey, prey, prey, prey, prey. Critics are saying it's epic, stunning, and breathtaking. Many have come here. None have survived. Predator Badlands, now streaming on Hulu and Hulu on Disney Plus, rated PG-13. I sold my car in Carvana last night.

Well, that's cool. No, you don't understand. It went perfectly. Real offer, down to the penny. They're picking it up tomorrow. Nothing went wrong. So, what's the problem? That is the problem.

Nothing in my life goes to smoothie. I'm waiting for the catch. Maybe there's no catch. That's exactly what a catch would want me to think. Wow, you need to relax. I need to knock on wood. Do we have wood? Is this table wood?

I think it's laminated. Okay, yeah, that's good. That's close enough. Car selling without a catch. So your car today on... Carvana. Pick up fees may apply. The summer of 2022 was a warm one as far as summers in Alberta go.

During COVID, I had taken up hiking as a means of both passing the time and keeping myself in some semblance of good shape. Now that the pandemic and its related restrictions had largely abated, I had grown so fond of my hiking expeditions that I began to retain it as part of my regular activities. I won't claim to be any sort of professional hiker, but I had learned my fair share via trial and error to the extent that I always packed well. and took all the necessary precautions for wherever I was heading. If you've never been to Alberta before, I would highly recommend it.

We're not well known as far as Canadian provinces go, but we have some of the best wilderness in the world for campers and hikers, looking to enjoy the serenity of nature. The northern reaches of the Rocky Mountains form our western border and provide an abundance of trails, campsites, and provincial parks that can be enjoyed for free, sparing the expense of getting there. It was to the Rocky Mountains that I had planned my latest hiking excursion. The Heritage Day long weekend was fast approaching,

and I had decided to abscond to the mountains for a good four-day hike to get a break from the bustle of city life. I had recently found a trail that I had never hiked before, called Crestwood Trail, which, from the pictures online, promised to be a beautiful trip, dotted with suitable campsites for a three-day journey. I had managed to rope a couple of friends into coming with me on this hike. Two were well-seasoned in mountain hikes, Evan and Evangeline. The other two, Emma and Aaron, not so much.

The plan was for all of us to arrive separately on Friday afternoon, make camp at the trailhead, then begin on Saturday morning to return sometime on Monday. Having the Monday off due to the holiday, I booked that Friday off work so that I could make my way to the mountains at a leisurely pace. departing Edmonton as the sun reached its zenith, I made Hinton just after three o'clock and pulled into the parking lot of a local diner to put something in my stomach and to check on the status of my fellow hikers. I settled into a booth, ordered a cup of coffee along with a greasy plate of meat, eggs, and hash browns, and took out my phone. The rest of the company

was still some ways away, so I had plenty of time to eat, reach the campsite, and pitch my tent before expecting the presence of anyone else. I finished my meal in the food. I finished my meal in leaned back satisfied. I always used hiking trips as an excuse to binge on my favorite unhealthy breakfast foods. I got a refill on my coffee and asked for the bill the next time the waitress happened by, and sat at the booth, gazing out the window, watching the cars zip by on the highway. The coffee was strong and bitter, but there's something about a crappy cup of diner coffee that scratches a particular itch like nothing else. Need the machine? Came a voice from my right, and I pulled my attention away from the highway to focus on the waitress standing next to me.

Smile on her face and debit machine in her hand. Yes, I will. Thank you, I said, as I set down my cup of coffee and tilted to the side to fish my wallet out of my back pocket. Heading to the mountains for the weekend? The waitress asked as I punched my pin into the machine. Yeah, three-day hike, actually. I replied with a smile as I returned the machine to her and drained my cup of coffee. Ooh, fun. Whereabouts you headed? she asked, tearing a receipt off the machine and handing me a copy.

Crestwood Trail, a bit northwest of here. Never been, I said with a smile that quickly evaporated as I watched the face of the waitress darken as I mentioned the trail. They say that's an evil trail, you know, she said. Evil? Like, it's haunted? I asked, raising an eyebrow. Well, no, it's not a ghost. Folks say it's a monster, she said, with a sloth. tilt of her head. What kind of monster? I asked. The waitress glanced around the diner. It was in between the lunch and the dinner rushes, so the whole place was pretty much empty aside from me and two other tables. After satisfying herself that it wasn't too busy, she sat down across from me in the booth and leaned forward. I always enjoy a good folk legend, so my attention was fixed on her. So, way back in the early days, she began. When settlers'ers,

first showed up here at the foot of the mountains, there was a preacher who came from the east with his daughter and set up one of the first churches around these parts. Now this preacher was one of those old school men, the Puritans or whatever, super strict. He and his daughter would be working all day, never laughing and never smiling. But the one thing this preacher would allow his daughter was that he got her a pet dog, after her mama died, a big, beautiful dog, who loved that girl and was always by her side. The problem was, as the preacher got older, well, he got even stricter and harsher in the house. Before long, the preacher was saying that his daughter loved the dog more than she loved God. He might have been losing his marbles a bit by that point too, because he was

saying that the dog was possessed by a demon that was making his daughter stray away from the Lord. A text pinged on my phone, which I ignored, and the waitress poured me another cup of coffee, which I sipped at absent-mindedly as I listened to the story. So this preacher, thinking that there's a demon in his daughter's dog, gets up from his prayers one day, and grabs his musket to go put an end to the mutt, which was out playing in the field with his daughter. Now, as you might guess, the daughter is screaming and crying and begging her dad not to do it, but the preacher won't listen. Now, the preacher goes to shoot the dog, and the daughter, she pulls out her pocket knife and stabs her dad right in the arm, her and the dog. They book it off into the woods, right up where Crestwood Trail is nowadays.

So, the girl haunts the trail or something then? I asked, taking a sip from my coffee. Nope. The thing is, that preacher might have been right about there being a demon in that dog because she paused to look around. They never saw the girl or the dog ever again, but they say that when you go up that trail, sometimes you find these, things with the heads of dogs and the bodies of people so like a dog minotaur i asked with a smile pretty much the waitress said laughing and standing up from my table well that's a good story where'd you hear it i asked family it's a story that makes the rounds in all seriousness that trail does get some bears and wolves now and then along with a couple of rock slides you be careful up there may not be no monsters but it is a dangerous trail she said as she took my plate oh don't worry i know what i'm doing i said standing up with a smile after finishing my coffee i strode out of the diner taking a mint from the bowl by the front door on the way out i lit a cigarette and leaned against the driver's side i lit a cigarette and leaned against the driver's side door of my car. I gazed up at the handful of clouds that were drifting lazily across the

sky and sighed out a cloud of smoke into the pleasantly warm summer air. I chuckled as I thought over the folktale that the waitress had told me and crushed my smoke out underfoot. I gave my back and legs a final stretch, sat down in the car, and hopped back onto the highway, heading west into the mountains. It only took another hour to reach to the trailhead of Crestwood, and most of that delay was due to having trouble finding the spot. I parked in the lot, packed up my things, notified the gang that I was there, and set off for the campsite we were all planning to meet at. It was a brief walk, quite close to the trailhead, which we planned merely to use as our staging ground for the first day. The trailhead was nearly deserted, with only one or two other cars in the lot, and not a soul in sight. I had snapped a

picture of the trail map at the lot just in case I needed it later. It was the height of summer, but a cool breeze was blowing off the mountains from the west. The world felt fresh, crisp, and alive. Birds were singing, squirrels chased one another back and forth, and a few rabbits were nibbling on patches of grass aside the trail. I reached the clearing that we had decided on for our first campsite, tossed my bag on the ground, and took a deep breath of fresh air. A small creek was gurgling past the clearing, and ancient pines ringed the space around. The crestwood trail was just visible past the underbrush, which would make it easy to call out to my friends as they passed by. I gathered a pile of stones from the creek and created a small spot for a fire in the center of the

clearing, and after gathering up enough dead wood and kindling, had a respectable blaze going shortly after. I pitched my tent and sat down by the fire to bask in the peaceful serenity of unadulterated nature. When I'm in nature, the closest I get to keeping track of the time is knowing where the sun is, so I can't tell you how long it took for Evan and Evangeline to show up, but it couldn't have been that long. I said hello and asked all the standard questions like how they were and how their trip was, and then helped them set their tents up. We were halfway through the setup when Emma and Aaron came plotting up the trail,

causing the whole process of questions and set up to begin anew. Barring a few hiccups by the two inexperienced hikers, we quickly had our campsite set up and a small dinner cooked to. over the fire. Stummocks full, we settled down, and passed a few drinks around the circle. As the sun began to sink below the horizon, I heard the howling of something deep off in the wilderness, either a wolf or a coyote, and it sent a quick chill up my spine, reminding me of the story the waitress in Hinton had told me. I piped up, told the group I had a story and related the tale that I had heard that afternoon, to the general approval of my friends.

They thought it was at least a unique local folk tale, albeit not a particular scary campfire story. This devolved into us telling scary stories around the fire for another hour or so, though it was nothing beyond your very stereotypical ghost stories or serial killers with hookhand stories. With a slight buzz and a full stomach, we all retired to bed after spending a good half hour gazing at the beauty of the mountain stars, which were shining in full, unobstructed beauty, unimpeded by the light pollution of a city. As I slipped into my cool sleeping bag, my head filled with thoughts of trees gently swaying in the wind and crystal clear glacial creeks snaking silently along the floors of ancient valleys. We woke early to the gentle tittering of the mountain birds, and I stepped out

of the tent, shivering as I yawned. Sunbeams were shattering themselves against the dewdrops that coated both the trees and the grass, causing the whole clearing to glitter like crystal. A few ribbons of fog were hung about the creek, distant and dismal cousins to the rolling banks of fog that embraced the upper reaches of the mountain peaks about us. I relieved myself and dug through the ashes of last night's fire, where I found a few red coals desperately clinging to life and heat in their ashen tomb. With some kindling and a series of deep breaths, the crackling of a fire soon joined the chorus of sounds on the morning mountain. I sat for a while as I let the warmth flood over me. Summer though it is, a night in the mountains is almost always cold, regardless of the time of year. A lesson I learned the hard way when I almost froze on a mountain one summer night.

I boiled a pot of coffee on the fire and began to fry up breakfast, the smell of which served well in waking up my still sleeping friends. We gathered around the fire, eating and drinking in silence, until everyone's mood seemed to perk up once they had some coffee in them. We broke camp and kicked out our fire, chatting all the while about what had been going on in our lives. At 8 o'clock that morning, we returned to the path and began our hike up Crestwood Trail. The hike that day was largely uneventful. Don't get me wrong, it was an absolutely beautiful trail, snaking through the hearts of a number of valleys. We were passing by groves of trees, fields of flowers, and pure blue ponds and rivers. We sat on the side of a shale outcropping for a quick lunch,

and a break from the walking, and camped that night on the banks of a glacial pond. It was another great night of stars and good company, and we all went to bed early to rest our aching legs. Emma and Aaron not being avid hikers had slowed us down somewhat, but we were still on track to reach the trail end by tomorrow and be back to the trailhead on Monday. I had my morning coffee while laying on the bank of an ice-cold pond and watching dawn break over the peaks of a mountain range. It was absolutely beautiful. Like the day before, we broke camp quickly and were off again on the trail. This day promised to be harder than the ones before, as it was largely uphill, with terrain far rockier and more treacherous. The end of the

trail was supposedly one of the most captivating glacial waterfalls in the world, however, so I found sore feet a small price to pay. The five of us were crossing a portion of the trail that was buried under a shale slide when I heard a yelp from behind me, and the sound of rocks being tumbled down the side of the hill. I spun around to see that Aaron had slipped on some of the loose stones and tumbled a few feet off the trail. You all right? Evan called as he picked his way down to her to help her back to her feet. Yeah, I think so. Aaron winced as she was lifted back to her feet. She let out a little yelp and had to lean on Evan for a moment, who lowered her back down. We had gathered around, and Aaron had pulled her boot off to reveal that her ankle looked in

somewhat of a bad state. Could be sprained, Evangeline said worriedly. It's hurting when I put pressure on it, Aaron said. I don't think you should keep walking on that, I added. Well, not much of a choice at this point, Emma said, gesturing to the broad wilderness all around us. I can head back and you guys can keep going without me. I don't want to spoil the weekend, Aaron said with a smile.

Not alone you won't, Evan said. We sat there on the shale and debated for a bit. We found a walking stick for Aaron and managed to bind her ankle up so it stayed in place better. It was decided that Evan would take her as far back as they could go that day, and camp somewhere, meeting up with us as we made our way back the next day. We sat on the shale slide, taking a break and passing some whiskey around, which seemed to put everyone, including Aaron, in a better mood. We bid goodbye to one another as Emma, Evangeline and I carried on up the trail,

while Aaron and Evan hobbled slowly away in the distance. After about half an hour of walking, they were out of sight. With just the three of us, and now feeling like we were in something of a hurry, we reached the end of the trail not long after the sun had peaked in the sky. It was as beautiful as promised. A stream of ice-white water cascaded down the stones above us to spill out into the riverhead that bounded down the mountain into the valleys below. Pine trees and shrubbery filled the entire mountain cove where the mountain cove,

the waterfall began, and we spent some time exploring and taking pictures. Hey, come check this out. I heard the voice of Emma cut through the sounds of the afternoon. I pushed through some underbrush before I found her, standing at the mouth of a yawning black cave. Whoa, Evangeline said as she emerged from the undergrowth to stand next to us. The mouth of the cave opened up the face of the mountain rock, and before the cave was strewn a random collection of bones, blood, feathers, and fur. Some sort of totem? Was constructed just outside the mouth of the cave. A pile of rocks stacked one on top of the other, with strange symbols and patterns drawn on them in what looked like it was blood.

On top of the pile sat what looked to be the skull of a wolf, or huge dog, that glared at us from empty black eye sockets. On the sides of the mountain, flanking the entrances of the cave were what looked like ancient cave paintings, scenes of animals being hunted. But unlike most cave paintings where it was humans hunting buffalo or whatever, this one seemed to show some sort of animal-headed man hunting things. It looked like some sort of ancient Egyptian god. The three of us stood in dumb silence, gazing at the scene before us, and my stomach started to turn as I thought of the story from the diner. I knew, or thought I knew, that monsters weren't real, they were just stories. But at this moment, all reason was out the window, and I was ready to get the hell off

of that mountain. All right, that's enough for me, let's go, Emma said. Yep, I said. Okay, Evangeline said, and the three of us turned and nearly ran back down the trail away from the waterfall. I shuddered at the sound of a howl far off in the distance as the three of us descended in silent haste. I was taking up the rear, and though it was never vocalized, I could feel that the cave had unsettled all of us. The unease was palpable. I cast a number of furtive glances back over my shoulder, and periodically I could swear I was seeing things in my peripheral vision. We moved so quickly down the trail that we soon had to stop and take a break. What do you think that was? Emma asked with a quake in her voice. Probably just some prank that has to do with the folk legend,

that waitress was pretty excited to tell me that story, I said, between gulps of water. What if there's actually a dogman monster thing on the mountain? Evangeline said with an unconfident smile. No such thing as monsters, I spoke. Either way, I'm not dying sober, Emma said, as she took a swig from the bottle of whiskey that she was carrying in her bag. She passed it around, and we all took a drink as well. We kept a quick pace going as we traced the trail back to its source. Each of us had picked up a stick to use for support while walking, and perhaps on some primal level we wanted them as weapons in the event there was a monster out there. Emma and I had each brought bear spray with us,

which we kept very close at hand as we walked. All of our heads were on a swivel as we passed back down the shale slide where Aaron had fallen earlier. We hit the floor of the valley quickly and were nearly jogging down the trail when we stopped again for a break. With Aaron's ankle, she and Evan can't have made it much further. I bet we overtake them soon, Evangeline said. Do we stop in camp, or do we make them keep moving? Emma asked. I say we set up our tents and wait for Evan and Aaron to come back. They probably didn't expect us for a few hours more and just wandered off. And if they don't come back, Emma asked, sitting down and fishing her whiskey out of her pack,

then we deal with that when it happens, I said, shrugging my pack off. Evangeline remained silent. We set up our tents and heaped the campfire a bit higher. Everyone was moving and working in nearly complete silence, ears trained on the woods around us, starting at the slightest sound. As much as I was trying to ram the idea into my head that there was a perfectly rational explanation for what was going on, I couldn't help but be startled a few times at the sound of some of the sticks cracking and breaking in the fire. We sat silently as an hour past, and then a second one. Our shadows were beginning to lengthen, and the only thing on everyone's mind was

that Evan and Aaron should by all means have been back by now. It was almost as if we were all too paralyzed to broach the subject, that if none of us mentioned it, if we didn't speak the words, it wouldn't be real. They're not coming back, Emma said, slurring her words slightly at this point. Evangeline turned away and rubbed her face with her hands. I stared straight into the fire. We'll find some park rangers when we get back and report them missing. They'll find them, I said. Find their bones more likely. Emma scoffed. Let's eat something and get some sleep.

We can start back right at sunrise, I said, as I began to assemble a few things to cook over the fire. I'm not hungry, Evangeline said, as she quietly walked away from the fire back into her tent. Emma followed her with her eyes and then shrug toward me. I cooked for Emma and me in silence, and we ate quickly as the sun began to set. We finished and packed our things up

before I knocked on the front of Evangeline's tent, Yeah, what? Came her voice from inside. Emma's going to bed. I'm going to stay up and keep watch, I said. Okay, Evangeline said quietly. Good night. Emma retreated to her tent,

and I took up my walking stick and my bear spray, and planted myself next to the fire, which I heaped with a few extra branches. My legs and back were sore, and I was exhausted, so I boiled some coffee for myself, and shakily smoked a cigarette. The nicotine calmed me down, and the coffee perked me up. The valley was silent save for the hooting of some owls

and the skittering of some nocturnal animals along the forest floor. I paced around the campsite for a while to keep the blood flowing through my legs and managed to smoke my way through about half the pack of cigarettes I had with me. Something howled far off in the distance, which sent a primordial shiver of fear through my body. What was normally the serene beauty of the countryside blanket of stars now seemed to mock me, displaying its beauty. beauty with cosmic indifference to what was happening below. I turned at the sound of a tent being unzipped. Evangeline was emerging from her tent wrapped in a jacket and looked at me. I nodded to her. Want me to take over? She asked quietly. Sure. Give me one of those cigarettes first. She said with a

weak smile. I handed her one and held up my lighter for her. She breathed the acrid iron smoke out into the still night air and walked over to the fire. Good night, I said. There's coffee there that's still warm if you want some. Thanks. Good night. She smiled. I crawled into my tent and tucked myself into my sleeping bag without zipping it closed, preparing in case I had to suddenly leap to my feet.

Sleep overcame me quickly, but it was a brief and fitful sleep choked with nightmares and visions of running through the forest, pursued by some unnatural anti-deluvian beast that snarled and snapped at my heels. I was dreaming that the beast had caught me and was sinking its teeth into my my ankles. I let out a shrill scream, but the scream sounded like it was made with a voice that wasn't my own. I bolted awake. The scream wasn't a dream. I ripped out from my sleeping back and smashed through the flap of my tent, walking stick in one hand and bear mace in the other. The scream was coming from Evangeline, who was sprawled on the ground next to the fire,

with some sort of hulking human form crouched over top of her. The beast had the body of a huge, hairy man, something like seven feet tall, but the head. The head was that of some mangy wild dog, with blood on its teeth and a huge tongue lolling down from its snout. Its eyes were a deep blue and flashed violence by the light of the campfire. I raised the bear mace and released it at the monster. A jet of aerosolized spray leaped towards the beast and coated it from the head to the waist. It reeled back off of Evangeline, howling and tearing at its eyes and face. It backed and bounded it off into the tree line, crashing into the trunk of a huge pine as it went, howling and screeching all the way. What the hell was that? Emma yelled as she was fumbling out of her tent flap. No idea,

I said breathlessly as I rushed over to where Evangeline was lying bloody on the ground. Whatever it was had got at her throat and opened up what I assumed was an artery by how much blood was coming out. She looked at me, her skin deathly pale in the firelight, and she grabbed my arm with her blood-soaked hand. She tried to move, but grunted and fell back onto the ground. She looked as though she was trying to say something, but all that came from her mouth was a gurgling sound, followed by a trail of blood running out from her lips. She went limp on the ground and shut her eyes. Do something, Emma yelled. No use, I said, as I stood back up and readied my bearspray again. The sound of the beast's howling had faded to silence, and I couldn't make out

the sound of underbrush being crashed through any longer. What do we do now? Emma hissed. Grab only bare necessities, leave everything that would just be extra weight, we're going to make it back to the cars, I said, as I scanned the tree line for any signs of movement. Emma rushed back into her tent to pack things. I gazed up at the sky briefly, where the stars continued to twinkle, and the moon sat,

shining down on the scene of horror, unfolding in the wild. Emma was ready in a moment, and I left her to keep watch with her can of mace while I packed my things, which amounted to almost nothing save some water, snacks, and a flashlight. I came back out and we left our tents there in the clearing next to the smoldering fire. We hit the trail and immediately started running, allowing the moon to light our path and saving the flashlights only if they were absolutely necessary. Emma was much shorter than me, so we made a slow pace,

and before long the sound of howling began to cut the side. of the night behind us. We're never going to outrun it, Emma said, panting and stopping on the side of the trail. Do you have a better idea? I said as I opened my water bottle and took a long drink. Nope, give me a cigarette, Emma said, extending her hand. I gave her one and lit one for myself. Now doesn't seem like the time, I said, still catching my breath. It ran from the mace once. I think our only chance is to hit it again and keep running, she said. Or I leave you behind because you're not as fast.

I smiled. Screw off. We moved off the trail and hid in a small ditch that was surrounded by bushes, deciding that we had to try and immobilize the thing one more time. The howling was quickly getting closer, and we wouldn't be able to run all night. We each had a final swig of the whiskey bottle as the howling started to get so close that the hair all over me was standing on end. We could both hear the thing prowling around just over the lip of the ditch, and we made eye contact and nodded. We both jumped from the ditch at the same time, each of us discharging a shot of the mace at the thing. It was covered head to toe, but instead of immediately turning the monster, it merely howled and leaped toward us. It landed on Emma and sent her crashing down to the ground.

The beast had obviously been blinded somewhat by the mace, as it tried to sink its teeth into her, but merely managed to bite into the ground next to her head. As I raised my walking stick to strike the monster, the last thing I saw was an end. Emma's hand, which had managed to squirm its way into her pocket, flicking the lighter she had taken from me when she lit her cigarette. With a sudden whoosh, a blinding light, and a searing heat, the monster and Emma were immediately engulfed in a towering flame as the butane from the bear spray ignited in half a second.

The monster shrieked and screamed and howled with a terrible primal ferocity that made my blood run cold as it writhed on the ground. I heard a pitiful, choked scream escape from Emma's burning form as I turned in fear and began sprinting down the trail. Adrenaline is an unbelievable drug. I ran for what felt like hours, my legs screaming in pain and my mind a furious hurricane of thoughts that had only the goal of survival in mind. The screams of the dying and the smell of burning flesh and hair never left my consciousness

for a second as I was running. As the sun began to make its presence known in the eastern sky, I reached the parking lot and collapsed on the gravel in front of my car. I began crying, heaving sobs that were both gasps for breath, and attempts to expel the horror I had just witnessed. My limbs felt like jelly, and it took nearly ten minutes before I was breathing regularly enough to be able to swallow some water. I climbed into my car, a shattered husk of a person, and began to back out of the parking lot, with the goal of finding the nearest ranger station. Before I could floor the gas pedal away from the crest of wood trailhead. I looked back to where I had come from, and far off through the tree line,

I could make out a terrible black, loping shape. The hair had been burned off of it across its entire body, and what wasn't covered in soot and dirt was a mess of bloody, ragged skin that was beginning to slough off from the flesh-consuming power of the butane. It merely stood in the tree line and stared at me with its hateful, icy blue eyes. I made it to a ranger station and spilled out this entire story. Unsurprisingly, they think I'm insane. There's a huge search currently underway for the four that I left behind, but nobody has been found yet. Safe to say, I've now become suspect number one in the disappearance of everyone, so I've been asked to put my story into writing for the use of the police and whatnot. They might all think I'm insane, and who knows, maybe I am, maybe my

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Some folks, I suppose, might call it a tragedy, being shrouded in an eternal night. But me? I never understood the fuss. I've been blind from the get-go, and you can't miss something you've never known. That's not to say I wasn't curious about this thing called sight, but I wasn't a mourner at a funeral. I was just someone who couldn't appreciate the visual scenery. My life was a series of well-practiced motions, much like a dance you've learned by heart. I knew the terrain of my life, knew the pathways my feet had. had memorized, and the familiar corners that told me where I was. Every day was a composition of routines, a repetition of known landscapes. Home was an apartment about a mile away from a local

steakhouse, a run-of-the-mill joint that did its steak just the way I liked, rare, with a side of baked potato that smelled like a dream. I knew the ten-block radius around my place, like the back of my hand, every crack in the sidewalk, every rustle of the trees, every hum of the city I called home. It was a day like any other when I decided to take myself out for a spin, indulge in a solo outing to my favorite haunt. The air was crisp, the noises of the city a familiar song. I navigated the familiar streets with the assistance of my white cane, its tap-tap against the pavement, a comforting sound in the symphony of urban life. There was a certain rhythm to it, a rhythm I had been dancing to since I was a kid. The rhythm of life, I guess you'd call it.

There's a pleasure to independence, to making your own way in the world, despite what life throws at you. Sure, I was blind, but I wasn't helpless. I had my routines, my spaces, my independence. That night was about a simple pleasure, a steak dinner on my own. Little did I know it was the night my understanding of my world would change, the night that darkness would take on a whole new meaning. In that moment, though, I was blissfully unaware, the tap of my white cane leading me towards a delicious evening. an evening that was just a preamble to a night that would redefine what i knew about the dark the restaurant was a modest place tucked in between the brick and mortar establishments that made up my city's fabric

There was nothing particularly special about it, but the steakhouse had been there for as long as I could remember. The smell of grilling meat was a landmark, a sensory signal that told me I was close. It was bustling that evening, the noises painting a vivid picture in my mind. I could hear the clatter of dishes, the low hum of conversation, punctuated by laughter, and the occasional chime of the entrance bell. With my stick leading the way, I found my usual spot at the bar, right next to the window that overlooked the door. the street. The texture of the weathered counter beneath my fingertips felt familiar, the worn down edges a testament to countless hands that had sat here before. The bartender, a man named Dale, recognized my voice. Evening, he greeted. The usual? His voice was warm, tinged with a bit of roughness

that spoke volumes of the cigarettes he smoked during his breaks. Evening, Dale, yes, the usual, please, I responded. As I waited for my meal, I found myself drawn to the conversations around me, the ebb and flow of life unfolding in this little corner of the city. There was a certain beauty in the mundane, in the routine exchanges, the shared laughter, the clink of glassware, it was a symphony of normalcy that I cherished. The steak arrived, the tantalizing aroma hitting my senses before Dale's voice did. Enjoy your meal, and enjoy it, I did. The steak was juicy, just the right side of rare, and the baked potato was done to perfection. It was a sensory feast,

the robust flavors igniting my taste buds, the satisfying texture of the meat, and the crunch of the potato skin grounding me in the moment. In the cocoon of these familiar surroundings, I was at ease, content. I was just another patron enjoying his meal, another thread woven into the fabric of the city's vibrant tapestry. It was the perfect end to a day,

a humble celebration of independence and normalcy. As the hour grew late, I decided it was time to make my way back. I paid my bill, left a generous tip for Dale, and rose from my seat, white cane in hand. As I made my way to the entrance, I could hear the familiar sounds of the city outside, cars honking, people chatting, and the distant sound of a dog barking. Be safe out there, Dale called after me, a note of concern coloring his tone. We'll do, Dale, I called back, stepping out into the cool evening air, walking back home the noises of the night were a comfort a lullaby that was all too familiar little did i know that the melody was about to change that my dance with the darkness was about to take a chilling turn my journey home was a practiced routine each step as familiar as the next the night was draped around the city a comforting darkness that was as much a part of me as the beats of my heart about halfway home my path crossed with an alleyway a

narrow strip of city that ran perpendicular to the sidewalk. It was usually quiet, nothing but the echo of distant city sounds reaching its depths. Tonight, though, something was different. A sound broke the monotony, a strange noise that didn't fit into the usual night music. I halted, head tilted, trying to make sense of it. It was quiet but discernible, a wet squelching noise followed by a suppressed whimper. I felt a chill raced down my spine. It was a sound I had encountered, before, not in reality, but in the scores of movies and shows I had listened to, someone was being hurt. I felt a surge of fear rise within me, followed by the instinct to flee. As quietly as I could, I started to retreat, hoping to disappear into the night undetected.

My attempt at escape, however, was cut short by a sickening thud, like the sound of a heavy bag of meat hitting the concrete. It was followed by a loud yell. Panicked footsteps echoed through the alleyway, growing louder as they neared. I froze, backing up against the cold brick wall, heart pounding like a hammer against my ribs. Hey you! A voice thundered, filled with rage and panic. You weren't supposed to see that? The voice cut off abruptly. The soft clatter of my dropped cane followed, and an eerie silence filled the air. Oh, ho ho ho, ho, you're blind. The man spoke again, his voice softer this time, but no less terrifying. I stood there, rooted to the spot, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I felt the rush of wind against my face as he waved his hand before my eyes.

My delayed flinch must have confirmed his suspicions. My, my, the man mused, his voice too close for comfort. What a unique opportunity I find myself with. Then in a bizarre twist I felt him grab my hands, pulling me to my feet. He placed my cane back in my grip. I was too stunned to speak, too terrified to question. What, what are you doing? I stammered out, my mind racing to make sense of the situation. I want to walk you home, he said, his voice casual as if the idea wasn't horrifyingly insane. I shivered as his hand traced my brow ridge, a chilling touch that sent goosebumps spreading across my skin. I felt a push against my back, jolting me out of my terror-induced stupor. Now walk, he commanded, his tone icy. And so, I started walking, my heart hammering in my

chest, the sounds of the city replaced by the terror-filled silence of my world turned upside down. We set off, my steps hesitant, and his confidently firm. I couldn't place his voice, couldn't gauge his size or age, or anything that might give me an advantage. All I knew was that he was the puppeteer now, pulling the strings of my fear. The city, so familiar a moment ago, felt like a labyrinth of uncertainty. A sudden metallic clatter jarred me, sharp against the silent backdrop of the cityscape. Oops, sorry, the man muttered, his tone almost jovial. Drop the knife. His words hit me like a punch in the stomach. The knife, the same knife that had ended life in the alleyway. My skin turned cold, the grim reality of the situation settling in. Why are you doing this?

Why don't you kill me? Why? My voice was barely a whisper, choked with fear and disbelief. He didn't answer. His silence was deafening. The only sound being the steady rhythm of our footsteps. The city seemed eerily still, the usual cacophony of night sounds replaced by a hollow quiet. It was as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for the nightmare to end. After what felt like an eternity, the familiar contours of my apartment building came into focus under my touch. Relief washed over me, but it was short-lived. I could still feel his presence, a looming shadow that turned the familiar into the terrifying. I reached for my key, hands trembling and unlocked the door.

There was a brief moment of silence, then the feel of a hand on my back, a chilling breath against my ear. My heart pounded in my ears as he whispered something, his voice a haunting lullaby that drowned out everything else. I struggled to comprehend his words, my mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion. Have a good night, stranger, he finally said, his tone almost friendly. I stood there paralyzed as his footsteps faded into the night. The echo of his voice hung in the air, a chilling reminder of the horror.

I had just lived through. I stumbled into my apartment, the door shutting behind me with an echoing thud. I was safe for now, ensconced within the familiar walls of my home. Yet I knew the fear would remain, a ghost that had taken permanent residence in my world. I was no longer the same man who had stepped out for a quiet dinner earlier that evening. The simple pleasures, the ordinary routine, everything was stained by the terror of the night. Alone in the dark, I realized that the nightmare was far from over. It had only just begun. I spent the night locked inside, every sound, every shift in the wind setting my heart racing. I was living in a world that had suddenly become a stranger, every familiarity now cloaked in a shroud of terror. Sleep was a far off land,

unreachable through the clamoring fear that had settled into my bones. The morning came with a creeping dawn that I could not see but felt in the warmth seeping into my apartment. I sat there, huddled on my couch, my cane lying lifelessly by my side. The world had shifted on its axis, and I was lost within its new, daunting topography. It was midday when there was a knock on my door. I froze, my heart pounding, the echo of the knock reverberating through my apartment. I remained silent, praying they'd leave, praying it wasn't him. A few minutes passed, then the knock came again, louder this time.

With a deep breath, I rose and walked towards the door. the door, my cane tapping nervously against the floor. Police, a woman's voice called from the other side. We're investigating an incident that occurred near here last night. Can we ask you some questions? My hand shook as I unlocked the door and let the officers in. They questioned me about the night before and I told them everything. I could hear the sympathy in their voices, the underlying horror at what I had been through. The encounter ended with a promise to do everything they could to find the man who had tormented me. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. I tried to find normalcy again, to erase the nightmarish stain from my life. Yet, every echo in the alleyway, every unexpected

sound sent me spiraling back into that night. I was trapped in a never-ending cycle of fear, my world a prison of unseen terrors. It was on one of these terror-filled nights, as I lay huddled on my bed, that I heard it, a soft tap against my window like the wind teasing the glass. I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. Then it came again, louder this time. I reached out, my trembling hand pressing against the cold glass. Hello, stranger, a voice whispered through the darkness, his voice unmistakably familiar. You thought you could forget about me?

His laughter echoed through the night, a chilling lullaby that sank into the depths of my soul. I was blind and alone, trapped in a world of unseen terrors, as his chilling words swirled around me, I knew with a sickening certainty, I would never walk alone again. A text says, you're on my mind. A bouquet from 1-800 Flowers says, you're my everything. Heartfelt moments belong in the real world, not just your phone. For 50 years, 1-800 Flowers has helped millions of people make memories that'll last a lifetime, with gifts they'll cherish forever. Their expertly curated arrangements and gift baskets shipped nationwide with a 100% satisfaction guarantee. Don't wait for the next big moment. Make it when you visit 1-800-flashers.

www.com slash Spotify today. That's 1800flowers.com slash Spotify. I'd never been one for the great outdoors, not like Jim. Jim was born with a compass in his hand and a trail map in his head, the kind of guy who could make a campfire sing. Me? I'm a city boy through and through. But Jim was my best friend, the kind you can't refuse,

the kind you stick with through thick and thin. And so, when he suggested we take a few days to trek some trail miles from civilization, I found myself saying yes. We were rumbling down the old highway, a two-lane road hemmed in by dense forest on either side, in Jim's beat-up truck that had seen better decades. Jim had a way of turning the mundane into an adventure. Remember, it's not the destination, but the journey, he'd say,

a grin splitting his tanned face. His chiseled features, wild hair, and sparkling eyes were more at home in this wilderness than in any city, and as much as I found it annoying, I couldn't help but admire his spirit. We packed the truck to the gills with supplies. I kept asking if we needed all that stuff, pointing to the extra boots, the water filters, the emergency blanket, the bear spray.

Jim would laugh and slap me on the back. You can never be too prepared, buddy. The ride was filled with tales of his upcoming marriage, future in Zurich, his excitement to make me his best man, and his dreams of European wilderness. He planned to make the Alps his new back year. yard. We shared beers, laughs, and songs, making the drive a memorable one. It was one of those moments where life felt whole. He was everything I wasn't, a free spirit, fearless, a man of the wilderness. Me? I preferred my coffee brewed, my food cooked, and my Wi-Fi strong. But somehow,

the wilderness, the promise of an adventure and a bond of a decade made me tag along. As we crossed the county line, I felt a twinge of unease. I looked at Jim, who was humming. along to a country song on the radio. His eyes focused on the road ahead. I could tell he was home, ready for the adventure ahead. Meanwhile, I was unsure, out of my comfort zone, wondering if my friend's sense of adventure would get the better of us. But there was no turning back now. We're here, buddy, he said, patting me on the shoulder as he parked the truck at the trailhead. The forest loomed over us, an untamed beast ready to swallow us whole. Ready? Jim asked. looking at me with those twinkling eyes filled with excitement and a dash of madness.

I took a deep breath, stepping out of the comfort of the truck. I guess we'll find out, I said, my voice trembling just slightly. As we started our descent into the wilderness, I had no idea what lay ahead. We started our hike into the wilderness, the sun warming our backs, our bags full of gear weighing us down. The trail was beautiful, untouched. The towering pine trees, the chirping birds, the crunch of gravel under our boots. It was a different world from the city. I was beginning to see why Jim loved this so much.

We had been walking for a couple of hours when Jim stopped abruptly. He stood, looking at something off the trail. His usually jovial face was drawn into a serious expression. I walked over to see what had caught his eye. Lying there in the underbrush was a body, a woman. Her body was crumpled up, face down, her blonde hair fanned out around her head like a golden halo. Her pale skin stood out starkly against the dark greens and browns of the forest floor. A chill ran down my spine as I took in the gruesome sight. Jim knelt down next to the body. He was quiet looking her over, his experienced eyes taking in details that I couldn't see. He was no stranger to death in the wild. He'd hunted and fished all his life, but this was different. This was human. We need to be a little. We need to

to call the police, I whispered. My voice choked. Jim looked at me, his eyes dark. We're miles away from any cell signal, buddy. Silence fell between us. I looked at the woman, my heart hammering in my chest. She was young, barely older than a teenager, I realized, my stomach churning. We need to do something, Jim. We will, he said, his voice quiet. First, we need to be sure there's no danger around. The person who did this might still be around. His words sent a cold chill down. my spine. My city boy instincts were screaming at me to run, to get away from here. But we were in the middle of the wilderness, with a dead body and a potential murderer on the loose. I was way out of my comfort zone. We searched the area, our eyes straining for any signs of the killer. My heart

pounded in my chest as every rustle in the underbrush seemed like a potential threat. But there was nothing. Jim insisted we continue with our hike, arguing that it was the quickest way to reach help. We left the body, marked the location on our map, and with heavy hearts, we moved forward. I glanced back at the lifeless form, an icy hand gripping my heart. This was supposed to be a fun trip, a last adventure before Jim got married and moved away. It wasn't supposed to be a crime scene. As we trek deeper into the wilderness, I couldn't shake off the image of the girl. Her lifeless eyes, her pale skin.

Who was she? Why was she here? and who could have done something so horrible. As the sun started to set, we set up camp. But there was no laughter tonight, no stories or beers. The forest was eerily quiet, and the darkness around us felt heavy with the weight of what we had found. As I closed my eyes trying to sleep,

all I could see was the dead girl's face. The next morning was grim. Neither of us had slept much. Our eyes were heavy with the lack of sleep and the weight of what we had discovered. We packed up camp quickly, barely speaking a word to each other. The usual camaraderie between Jim and me was missing. Our trek back to civilization was tense. We moved as fast as we could, but the dense forest and the rough terrain slowed us down.

The chirping birds, the rustling leaves, the sounds of nature that usually brought me peace, only heightened my anxiety now. Each rustle in the brush seemed like a threat. Each bird's call felt like a warning. after hours of walking we saw it, the faint glimmer of a cell tower, civilization. We quickened our pace. As soon as we had a strong enough signal, Jim called the police. He gave them our location, described the scene we had found. His voice was steady, but I could see the worry in his eyes. I sat down on a fallen tree, feeling exhausted and shaken. The wilderness, which had always been a place

of peace and tranquility for Jim, and a newfound escape for me, had turned into something sinister and dangerous. Jim ended his call and came to sit next to me. They're sending a team right away, he said. We did what we could. Now it's up to them. But who was she, Jim? And who could have done something like this? I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Jim didn't have an answer. He just patted my shoulder and gave me a grim smile. When the police finally arrived, we led them back to the body. They roped off the area, started their investigation. Forensic teams moved around, capturing pictures, collecting evidence. Jim and I stood off to the side, watching the grim scene unfold. One of the officers, a gruff man with a thick beard, came over to us. He asked us questions about the

body, about our hike, about what we had seen. His questions were direct to the point. I could tell he was experienced, that he had seen scenes like this before. When he was done, he thanked us and told us we could leave. As we walked away, I glanced back at the scene one last time. The woman's body, now covered by a police tarp, was a stark reminder of the tragedy we had stumbled upon. As we drove back to the city, I couldn't help but think about the woman. Who was she? What was her story? And who could have done something so monstrous? The question circled in my mind, building a nod of worry and fear. That night, as I lay in my bed, the comfort of my own home did nothing to ease my anxiety. The image of the woman's body, the eerieness of the wilderness,

the knowledge of the evil that existed, it all weighed on me heavily. Little did I know this was just the beginning. The wilderness had more secrets to unveil, and they were far darker than anything I had ever imagined. I sat at my kitchen table, nursing my morning coffee, when Jim called. His voice was heavy with urgency, pulling me from my thoughts. They've identified the woman, he said. My heart lurched in my chest. I found myself at the local police station sooner than I'd like, the bitter taste of the hurried coffee still lingering on my tongue. The officer who had questioned us at the scene, Officer Wilson, led us to a small room. I recognized it immediately as an interrogation room. Too many crime shows, I guess. He motioned for us to take a seat. He began to speak,

his voice grave. The woman's name was Sarah Miller. She was a local, lived in town with her husband and two children. The family had reported her missing a week ago. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine as he relayed the information. She had a family. She had a life. She had people who loved her. Wilson's face was stern as he told us about their preliminary findings. There were signs of struggle, defensive wounds. They were treating it as a homicide. It was everything we feared but hadn't dared to articulate. Sarah's picture was on the table. Her smile, disconnected from the grim discussion. Her bright eyes seemed to follow me, her joyful expression a stark contrast to the way we had found her. The officer went on, talking about their investigation,

their leads, or rather the lack of them. They didn't have any suspects yet. Sarah's husband had been cleared. He had a solid alibi. They had no idea who could have done this or why. I felt a pang of frustration. How could such a thing happen? And no one had any clue. The room grinned. The room, silent. Wilson finished his briefing, thanked us for our cooperation, and excused himself. I stared at the photo of Sarah, her face forever frozen in a moment of happiness. I couldn't reconcile it with the image of her lifeless body in the woods. Jim and I left the station in a somber silence. As we walked to our cars, I couldn't help but glance back at the police station. It was just a regular building in our small town,

but it held so much weight now. I couldn't shake off the feet. feeling of unease. There was a killer in our midst, a predator hiding in the wilderness. The thought was chilling, and yet a part of me knew we couldn't sit idle. We couldn't let Sarah's death go unanswered. As I drove home, I couldn't help but think about Sarah's family. How would they cope with such a loss? And how could we, as a community, ensure that this never happened again? Sarah's murder was more than a tragedy. It was a violation, a starker. A stark reminder of the evil that lurked in the corners of our peaceful town. As I parked in my driveway, I made a silent vow. We would find justice for Sarah. We would find the monster who had done this.

That night, as the moon shone brightly in the clear sky, the peaceful wilderness felt more like a battlefield. And I knew, we were at war. The whole town was on edge. You could feel it in the air, a tense quiet that seemed to hang heavy over our once peaceful town, whispers in the grocery store, hushed conversations at the diner, everyone was talking about Sarah, and the fear was palpable. I spent the next few days with a nod in my stomach, restlessly pacing around my house. The silence was deafening, the isolation of my cabin, which I usually found comforting, felt oppressive. The nights were the worst, the shadows in the woods seeming more ominous than ever.

One afternoon as I was attempting to distract myself with some paperwork, Jim called. His voice was a mix of surprise and disbelief. It's Pete, he said. They took him in for questioning. My heart pounded in my chest as I processed what he was saying. Pete Walker, our Pete, he was one of us, a well-liked and respected member of our community. Sure, he was a bit of a loner, living up in the hills. And he had a bit of a temper, but he was no murderer.

I couldn't, wouldn't believe it. I found myself at the police station again, this time of my own accord. Officer Wilson looked surprised to see me, but he let me in to see Pete. The sight of him, sitting behind the glass, his face pale and drawn, was jarring. This wasn't right. Pete denied everything. He claimed he was innocent, and I wanted to believe him. The evidence, however, was damning. He had been seen arguing with Sarah a few days before her disappearance.

He couldn't provide an alibi for the night she was killed. He had a history of violence, barfights, and domestic disputes. His rifle matched the one used to kill Sarah. The air in the room grew thick with tension as Pete pleaded his innocence. I didn't do it, he kept repeating, his voice shaking. His eyes usually so full of life were clouded with fear and desperation. My gut twisted. I left the police station with a heavy heart.

The sun was setting, casting long shadows over our small town. Everything felt different, tainted. Sarah's murder had opened a Pandora's box of suspicion and fear, and there was no going back. I didn't sleep that night. The thought of Pete, alone in his cell, haunted me. The community was divided, some voicing their support for Pete, others condemning him. The peace we had taken for granted was shattered. I couldn't shake off the feeling of dread. What if Pete was innocent? What if the real killer was still out there? As I stared out into the darkness, the woods seemed to whisper secrets. There was a killer among us, hiding in plain sight, and we were his prey.

The thought was chilling. But one thing was clear. We wouldn't let fear paralyze us. We couldn't. We had to fight. We had to uncover the truth, for Sarah, for Pete, for our town. In the quiet stillness of the night, I made another vow. We would not rest until we had answers.

We would not let fear rule us. We would stand together, united in our pursuit of justice, because that's who we were, that's who we are, a community, a family, and we would protect our own no matter what. Days turned into weeks, and the peace that our town once enjoyed seemed like a distant memory. The community was torn apart. Suspicion hung over us like a dense fog. The look in people's eyes, once friendly and open, was now guarded and mistrusting. We had changed.

The question on everyone's mind was, who did it? Conversations whispered in shadowed corners about motives, alibis, and past grudges. Despite our best efforts, Pete's trial had turned up more questions than answers. Jim and I poured over every scrap of evidence, every statement. Our search for the truth became an obsession. Each lead we followed ended in a dead end, leaving us back where we started, lost and frustrated. The weight of our collective failure hung heavy on our shoulders. Then, one night, everything changed. Jim called me late into the evening. He had a lead,

something we hadn't considered. A piece of information so significant, so shocking, it threatened to turn everything we knew upside down. He didn't share the details over the phone. All he said was, you need to see this. When I got to Jim's place, he was pacing the room, his face pale. He handed me a letter, his hands shaking. As I read the words, a cold chill ran down my spine. It was a The letter was written by Bill, the town's good-natured mechanic, a family man, a friend. His words were clear, his remorse palpable. He admitted to killing Sarah. He wrote about the guilt eating him from the inside, the torment of carrying such a dark secret.

I felt a mix of emotions as I read the letter. Shock, disbelief, anger. Bill? It couldn't be. The thought of someone we had known for so long, someone we trusted, being capable of such a heinous act was terrifying. We drove to Bill's house, the darkness of the night matching the darkness that had descended on our hearts. The front door was ajar. Inside the house was deathly quiet, and then we found him.

Bill was in the garage lying motionless on the floor, an empty pill bottle next to him. It seemed he had decided to escape the torment of his guilt in the most tragic way possible. The air was heavy with the stench of gasoline, and a single note lay on the workbench, the the same confession word for word that we had read earlier. Next to it, a matchbox. The realization hit us like a punch to the gut. Bill had planned to take his own life and burn everything down with him, leaving behind a pile of ashes and a terrified, shattered community. My heart pounded in my chest. The horror of it all was overwhelming. Our small town had been transformed into a scene straight out of a horror movie. The trust we had in each other,

in our community, was shattered. As we walked out of the house, I glanced back one last time. The darkness of the garage seemed to engulf everything, a symbolic representation of the darkness that had descended on our lives. It was a terrifying end to a horrifying saga. We had found our killer, but at what cost? Our town would never be the same again. Our sense of security forever shattered.

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