Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Supernatural DEMONIC Horror Stories

Episode Date: May 19, 2025

These are 3 Supernatural DEMONIC Horror StoriesLinktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepyStory Credits:►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/Timestamps:00:00 Intro00:00:18 Story 100:21:46 Story 200:40:15 Story 3Music by:►'Decoherence' by Scott Buckley - released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.auhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wM_AjpJL5I4&t=0s► Myuu's channelhttp://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Musichttp://bit.ly/2f9WQpeBusiness inquiries: ►[e-mail]#scarystories #horrorstories #demon #supernatural #deepwoods 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

We'd been driving since dawn, and by the time the O'atchita Mountains began to swallow us, their jagged peaks and thick greenery felt like something from another world. I'd booked this trip, an isolated A-frame cabin tucked away in the heart of the O'Oachita National Forest, mainly because the photos promised seclusion and a weekend free from distractions. I wanted us to disconnect, laugh, maybe even scare ourselves a bit. Turns out, I'd get far more than I'd bargained for. I remember pulling into a dusty gas station near the Talimina Scenic Drive to fill up the tank and grab some snacks before heading deeper into the wilderness. The cashier, a grizzled local with wary eyes, gave a strange look when I told him where we were going.

He hesitated, then mumbled something about that old place, and shook his head, returning my change without another word. Tyler joked that we'd stumbled into a cheap horror movie setup, but Emily glanced at me uneasily. Maybe I should have noticed the worry etched on her face, but instead I laughed it off. By late afternoon, our tires crunched down a gravelly forestry road, curving sharply into shadows cast by towering trees. The cabin emerged abruptly around the last bend. It was quaint, simple, and yet eerily picturesque, perched like a forgotten dollhouse in a clearing surrounded by endless trees.

We unpacked quickly, excited chatter, filling the small rustic space. Nina was already poking around, inspecting everything with her careful historian's eye. Emily said about organizing our groceries, her thoughtful silence calming. Tyler cracked beers open, spilling foam on the worn hardwood floors,

and roaring with laughter as he teased us to lighten up. The first hours passed in comfort and laughter. As dusk painted the sky violet, Tyler and I shoved aside a heavy oak dining table to clear space near the stone floor. fireplace. That's when Tyler stumbled slightly, nearly falling as a floorboard gave beneath his weight. He knelt, tugging at the edge of a woven rug. Beneath, a strangely placed board creaked, loose and splintered at one end. Check this out. Tyler called excitedly, grinning at his find.

Emily's eyes narrowed, apprehension evident in her expression. Maybe we should leave it alone, she murmured, wrapping her sweater tighter around her shoulders as if suddenly cold. ignoring her caution Tyler pulled harder, revealing a worn rectangular trapdoor hidden beneath the floorboards. A tarnished iron ring sat flush with the warped wood. Nina knelt beside him, examining it curiously. This wasn't listed anywhere in the rental agreement, Nina noted quietly, clearly intrigued.

She traced the ring gently. This looks old like, really old. Let's open it, Tyler suggested eagerly, grabbing the iron ring. Wait. Emily's voice was tight. She stepped forward nervously. We don't even know what's down there. Maybe it's boarded up for a reason? Tyler scoffed dismissing her fears with a wave. It's probably just an old wine cellar.

Come on, where's your sense of adventure? I chuckled, shaking off my own lingering doubts. It'll be fine. What's the worst that could happen? With an exaggerated grunt, Tyler lifted the trap door, revealing a pitch black hole below. A musty, stale breeze sighed upward, making my skin prickle. Nina clicked on her phone flashlight and cautiously led the way down narrow wooden steps that creaked beneath our weight. At the bottom, the light wavered across bare earth walls. A single stone structure rose ominously from the packed dirt, a squat well,

encircled by rusted barbed wire and sealed meticulously with hardened wax. Symbols carved deep into its stone rim caught the weak light, strange markings older than anything I'd seen before. Don't touch it, Emily warned sharply. Her voice echoed oddly, almost distorted by the cramped cellar. It sealed for a reason, Nina added softly but firmly. But Tyler laughed, a sound unnaturally loud and bold against the claustrophobic space. It's probably just superstition, he declared dismissively. Whoever did this, they were probably trying to hide moonshine or something. Without hesitation, he grabbed a piece of rotted wood lying nearby and wedged it beneath the seal, leveraging his full weight. The wax cracked, then broke apart sharply, pieces scattering across

the floor. The barbed wire groaned as Tyler pulled it aside, rust staining his hands. A strange silence fell, oppressive and unnatural. Emily trembled slightly, whispering something that sounded like a prayer. Nina stared wide-eyed, clearly uneasy. Even Tyler seemed hesitant, though he quickly hit his nerves behind bravado. See, nothing, he laughed, stepping back, but none of us moved closer. That night, as we lay restless beneath unfamiliar quilts, sleep overtook us uneasily. The cabin creaked gently in the mountain breeze, lulling me into an uncomfortable half-sleep. But peace gave way quickly.

In dreams, darkness dragged me downward, slipping into something deeper than sleep, into choking silence and blackness. A clawed hand, cold and clammy, wrapped around my ankle, pulling me steadily downward. Eyes blinked open around me, far too many eyes, glowing and unblinking in the dark. I fought and screamed without sound, trapped in the nightmare,

until dawn finally broke through the small, dusty windows. When we gathered silently in the kitchen the next morning, I noticed the same haunted expression reflected on everyone's face. No one spoke until Nina glanced around, visibly shaken, and asked quietly, Did you guys have that dream? Emily paled, nodding slowly. Tyler didn't respond. I called his name, glancing toward his room.

Silence answered me. His bed was empty, neatly made, shoes still neatly placed by the front door, as if he'd stepped out for just a moment and vanished without a moment. a trace. None of us knew yet that we'd broken a seal, unleashing something beyond our darkest imagination, something that was already quietly stirring beneath our feet, hungry and awake. Sunlight poured through the cabin windows, but it felt hollow and distant, drained of warmth. Tyler's absence hung heavy, filling every corner, every silent pause between our hesitant words. We searched frantically at first, shouting his name into the sprawling forest,

scanning desperately for any signs, footprints, torn clothing, anything, but found nothing except oppressive silence. After hours of fruitless wandering, we returned to the cabin exhausted and shaken, our nerves frayed like bare wires. Emily paced the kitchen quietly, her voice faintly trembling as she whispered prayers under her breath. I watched Nina pour over her phone and sketchpad, her fingers flying through pages as she compared the strange symbols, we'd found on the well to something online. Her expression darkened with each passing minute. What is it? I finally asked, my voice hoarse. She didn't answer immediately, just held up her phone screen toward me. The markings on the well, they're similar to old Choctaw and Caddo symbols,

she whispered. They talk about something called the throat of fire beneath the stone. It's mentioned in old folklore as a place where spirits, dangerous spirits, were imprisoned. Emily stopped pacing, her eyes wide, voice shaking. You mean demons. I rubbed my forehead hard, exhaustion pressing down like an invisible weight. That's insane. It's just an old well. No, Nina said voice tight.

We broke a seal that someone went to great lengths to create. The barbed wire, the wax, it was intentional. I wanted to argue. To dismiss it as folklore nonsense, but Tyler's empty bed and shoes by the door mocked me, forcing dread into my bones. That evening after Emily went to bed, I sat alone by the fireplace, guilt gnawing at my stomach. I drifted off without realizing, only to wake abruptly, standing upright, feet numb, the air stale and earthy, panic surged through me. I was downstairs, in front of the open cellar. How had I gotten here? Nina stood behind me, frozen, eyes filled with fear.

Jared, she whispered, What are you doing? My lips parted to answer, but instead of words, a low chant slipped from my mouth, deep and resonant, words I didn't recognize. They echoed horribly in the cellar's gloom,

almost as if someone else spoke through me. Terrified, I snapped my mouth shut, backing away from the opening. That wasn't me, I stammered, shaking uncontrollably. I didn't. I know, Nina breathed, carefully approaching me,

Something spoke through you. We quickly slammed the cellar door shut, barricading it with furniture before retreating into an uneasy silence. The air felt heavy, electric, humming softly beneath our feet. None of us slept well. At dawn, Emily's voice woke us, hysterical from her bedroom. Nina and I rushed in to find her gripping the edge of her mattress, sheets tangled around her feet, her face pale and drenched in sweat. It was Tyler, she gazed. gasped. He was here in the room, whispering to me. His voice, it came from the floor. He kept telling me he's trapped down there. We exchanged frightened glances, each moment becoming clearer. The thing we had unleashed wasn't content just to haunt our sleep. It was seeping into our waking

world, clawing at the edges of our minds. None of us dared say what we were all thinking. It was coming for us next. As the day wore on, I felt a slow unraveling within me. Dark whispers flitted through my thoughts, visions of the well appearing uninvited every time I blinked. Each time I glanced toward the cellar, my heart thundered painfully, dread pooling thickly in my gut. Desperate for answers, Nina climbed the cabin's narrow attic stairs, hoping to find more clues about the previous occupants. Hours later, she returned downstairs, pale, and clutching a faded leather-bound diary tightly against her chest. It belonged to someone named Martha Kincaid. Nina began softly.

She lived here in the early 1950s. Her husband found the well, opened it like we did. Afterward, he changed, became violent, obsessive. She says repeatedly that something wanted to wear them, to walk in their bodies. Did she say how to stop it? Emily asked desperately. Nina's gaze lowered to the diary in her hands. No, she whispered. The entries just end abruptly.

Silence fell like a shroud over us again, oppressive and smothering. Emily crossed herself, lips moving silently in prayer, eyes fixed nervously on the trap door. Nina stared blankly at the diary, but something inside me had already begun to fracture. That night, I dreamt again. Only this time, there was no well. Instead, Tyler stood silently in front of me, skin pale and translucent. He opened his mouth, a sickening black fluid spilling forth as countless insect legs extended slowly outward, twitching and crawling toward me. I jolted awake, screaming and thrashing, pinned by terror and revulsion.

The room was dim, moonlight filtering weakly through gauzy curtains. Emily's figure stood at the foot of my bed, her face white, frozen in terror. Jared, she whispered horrified. What did you do? I looked down. My hands were stained dark, crimson and wet, blood. I staggered back feeling something warm and metallic on my tongue. My hands trembled violently.

What did you do? She asked again, voice barely audible. I couldn't answer, the words locked behind horror in my throat. Instead, my gaze landed on the cellar door, standing open once more, yawning wide, waiting patiently. Nina rushed in, seeing the blood, the cellar. my shaking hands. Her face went ghostly pale. Jared, she breathed, it has you. I collapsed, overcome with guilt and terror. Chain me, I begged. Lock me up, whatever it takes. Nina nodded grimly,

understanding crossing her face. Without hesitation, she found rope, dragging a wooden chair into the kitchen and binding me securely. Emily knelt beside me, her eyes wet with tears, clutching my trembling fingers. I saw the marks on her arm, deep scratches. Scratches I knew I'd made. I'm sorry, I whispered, heart-shattering. I didn't mean, it's not you, Emily said softly. It's the thing we set free. Hours passed painfully slow, tension thickening around us, a malevolent presence just beyond sight, pressing closer. My vision blurred as consciousness slipped. Before I fell away completely, I caught Emily's desperate prayer, Nina's frightened murmuring, and beneath it all, something deep beneath the cabin stirred hungrily, whispering my name.

I woke to the taste of iron and the raw ache of rope burns cutting deep into my wrists. The cabin felt colder now, the air charged with a silent, waiting dread. My vision cleared slowly, revealing Nina crouched by the fireplace, her phone illuminating ancient symbols she'd hastily sketched from the diary. Emily stood by the front window, eyes bloodshot, arms wrapped around herself as if trying to hold her sanity together with sheer force. It's getting stronger, Nina muttered, glancing up as she noticed me awake. Her voice cracked slightly. The symbols. They're a ritual, a binding. Martha mentioned a Choctaw elder named Joseph Talchief. He helped them seal it originally. Then we need him.

Emily whispered urgently, stepping forward. Before it's too late, my head pounded, reality wavering around me. The demon lingered, whispering at the fringes of my mind, pushing at the boundaries of my consciousness. Please, I croaked. Do something. Nina stood abruptly, gripping her keys tightly. I'll find him. Stay awake.

Fight it, Jared. I nodded weakly as she rushed out into the fading daylight. As the door slammed shut, Emily knelt beside me, eyes wet, voice a trembling whisper. It's going to be okay. We'll fix this. But as darkness descended over the forest, the cabin became a prison. Shadows deepened and stretched impossibly, climbing walls and seeping along the ceiling. Emily lit candles, placing them around the room, her lips silently moving in prayer. I felt a heaviness pressing from beneath the floorboards, cold and ravenous.

Suddenly, the cellar door creaked loudly, unlatched itself, and swung open slowly, blackness bleeding upward. I tried to cry out, but terror held my voice captive. Emily froze, eyes wide and locked onto the open cellar trembling violently. Don't listen, I begged hoarsely, desperate tears stinging my eyes. Whatever you hear, don't trust it. She stepped closer, entranced, face pale as a ghost. It's Tyler.

whispered, grief-stricken. He's down there. No, I pleaded. Fighting against my restraints, rope-tearing skin. It's not him. But she leaned closer, mesmerized, staring into the abyss. He needs help. She whispered weakly, the cellar's darkness reflecting in her glassy eyes. Then Nina burst back into the cabin, panting, dragging someone else behind her, an elderly Choctaw man whose face seemed carved from weathered stone. Joseph Talcheefeethev stepped. forward, gripping Emily's shoulders firmly. It's deceiving you, he said sternly. Don't listen to the voices. They've tasted your fear. Emily shuddered, clarity flooding her eyes as she staggered back from the cellar's edge. Nina rushed to free me, quickly loosening the ropes. My wrists burned,

but adrenaline numbed the pain. Joseph knelt swiftly by the cellar opening, his eyes scanning the symbols urgently. The seal must be reforged, he said grimly, but the cost of as high. Cost, Emily whispered fearfully. He met her gaze solemnly, blood and sacrifice willingly given. The weight of his words sank into the room. Nina shook her head, lips pressed thin, there must be another way. Joseph shook his head gravely. The first ceiling required it. The second demands no less. The darkness beneath us stirred violently. The cabin shuddering as if enraged. The candles flickered erratically, shadows writhing upward like grasping hands. My stomach twisted, fear closing like a fist around my throat. We'd unleashed this. I'd unleashed it.

A harsh wind blew upward whispering a chorus of voices. Tyler's laughter, Martha's sobbing, then something guttural and inhuman, ancient and ravenous. Emily stepped forward, eyes suddenly calm and resolved. It should be me. No! I shouted desperately, staggering to feet. Emily, but she'd already grabbed Joseph's knife, slicing open her palm decisively. Blood dripped heavily onto the cellar door, sizzling and evaporating instantly into black smoke. Joseph began chanting fiercely in his native tongue, urging the symbols awake. Nina wept quietly, holding Emily's other hand tightly. The cellar screamed, a horrific, unbearable wail shaking the walls. A shadow erupted upward, coalescing into Jared, no,

into something wearing my face, a twisted mirror, grinning cruelly, eyes black and hollow. You can't trap me again, it hissed, voice layered, echoing hideously. I'll wear each of you until the world falls quiet. My vision spun, stomach churning violently. Emily stood firm, unyielding, her blood dripping steadily onto the ancient stone. The symbols glowed faintly, pulsing with each syllable of Joseph's chant. The demon lunged forward, reaching desperately for Emily. With all my strength, I grabbed the impostor's form, my own distorted flesh burning like acid under my grip.

It twisted violently, shrieking, fighting to escape. Seal it now, I roared desperately. Emily closed her eyes, whispering one final prayer. Blood streamed freely, pooling around the cellar entrance. The symbols blazed fiercely, illuminating the entire cabin. A force surged upward, pulling violently downward, wrenching at the creature and myself. I clung desperately to a floorboard, fingers slipping, splintering wood digging into my flesh. With a final savage pull, the cellar slammed shut, the air suddenly still. Silence rang out,

deafeningly complete. Slowly, painfully, I raised myself upright, shaking violently. The cellar door was sealed, fused shut as if it never existed. Emily was gone, vanished completely. Nina knelt silently on the ground, tears streaming unchecked down her face. Joseph stood quietly, hands clasped together, murmuring a quiet blessing. The authorities came days later, drawn by the smoke rising from a fire we started before leaving, burning the cabin to ashes, ensuring no one would ever unseal that nightmare again. Nina and I returned home separately. unable to face one another, our friendship buried with Emily in that awful place. In the quiet moments afterward, I tried to share our story, posting photos of those carvings,

desperate for someone to believe me. But each time, my files corrupted, images dissolving into meaningless static. Eventually I stopped trying. Tonight, sitting alone in my dark apartment, I'm exhausted, haunted by Emily's courage and Tyler's laughter, each echoing faintly behind my eyes. Before drifting into sleep, I whisper Emily's name into a disconnected phone number, foolishly hoping she'll answer, forgive me somehow. But every night the dream returns, unending darkness, hungry limbs dragging me down, and each time Emily's voice softly warns from somewhere far below, don't dream. Whatever you do, don't dream. Own it all. Pay off your home, travel for life, drive a Ferrari. In celebration of the world premiere of the Monopoly Big Board

Buck slot machine by Aristocrat Gaming, Yamava Resort and Casino at San Manuel is giving one person a $1.6 million dream package. The biggest prize in Yamava's history. Club Serrano members can earn daily instant prizes and secure a spot in the finale May 29. Don't pass go and own it all. Only at Yamava, celebrating its 40th anniversary. You win? Details at Yamava.com must be 21-20. Please gamble responsibly. Monopoly is a trademark of Hasbro. Hasbro is not a sponsor of this promotion. I was 15 when we moved into that place. Mom said it was temporary. Just a small duplex on the edge of nowhere until she could get back on her feet. After she left my stepdad, we couldn't afford much,

and this place was cheap, real cheap. A two-bedroom, two-bath unit in rural Arizona, right next to an abandoned private airstrip. I remember standing in the gravel driveway that first day, staring at the old windsock hanging limp off a crooked pole, the air still and dry. We were in the middle of nowhere, and that wasn't an exaggeration. Just desert, cactus, and and sun-bleached hangers that hadn't seen a plane in years. The layout of the place was weird. When you stepped inside, the entire back of the house was visible straight through a narrow hall and an open-planned living room in kitchen.

The first bedroom, mine, was on the right, then the guest bathroom, and finally my mom's room at the end of the hallway. All three doors lined up like tombstones, exactly eight feet apart. I remember measuring once, just because something about the spacing bothered. me, too perfect. But the worst part wasn't the layout. It was how quiet everything was. At first, it was the kind of silence you crave when you've lived around chaos. But by the third or fourth night, it started to feel unnatural, like the house was holding its breath, waiting for something. Then the doors started slamming. I was lying in bed one night, not even asleep yet when it

happened for the first time. All three doors on the right side of the hallway, Mine, the bathroom and my mom's, slammed shut at the exact same moment. The sound echoed down the hall like a shotgun blast. I sat straight up, heart pounding. Mom yelled from her room, and I heard her feet hit the floor. We both thought someone had broken in. We searched the whole house. Nothing.

No sign of wind. Windows were shut. The AC was off. There was no draft, no pressure change, no explanation. Just three doors that had. violently shut on their own. It kept happening, once, twice a week, always at night, always those same three doors. We started keeping them cracked open with rubber wedges, but the wedges would be thrown across the hallway and the doors would still slam. Toby, our golden lab,

started acting strange right around that time. He'd always been high energy, barked at everything, even tumbleweeds. But he changed, stopped playing, stopped exploring. One morning I was a I found him sitting in the living room with his nose jammed into the corner of the wall, not moving, not asleep, just hiding. I called his name three times before he even blinked. I tried to pull him away, but he let out this low, shaky growl, not angry, terrified. That was the first time I felt it. A pressure in the air, not like heat, heavier than that,

like someone was standing behind me but refusing to speak. I didn't tell Mom. she was already stressed enough, working late shifts and trying to act like everything was fine, but I knew. I knew something was wrong with that house. Then came the day that everything changed. It was summer, dry and miserable. I got home from school, grabbed a sandwich, and flopped onto the couch, still in my shoes. Toby curled up on the floor in front of me, facing the hallway. It was the first time in weeks he'd stayed close to me. I must have dozed off because the next thing I remember was screaming, not mine, Toby's. He yelped so loudly I jumped off the

couch, heart hammering. My eyes flew open just in time to see his body being dragged across the tile by something I couldn't see. His nails scratched deep grooves into the floor as he fought it. His back legs were stiff, his mouth open in terror. It looked like something had him by the tail and was yanking with every bit of strength it had. I bolted forward, shouting his name, but the second I stepped into the hallway, I felt it, cold. Not a little chilly cold, freezing. Like stepping into a walk-in freezer. I looked down at my arms and saw goosebumps rising instantly.

I could see my own breath. In July, in Arizona. Then came the smell. It hit me like a punch in the throat, rotting eggs and burned hair. I gagged and stumbled back, pulling Toby into my arms. He was shaking, whining, tail limp. The air felt like. thick, wrong, like the molecules didn't want to be there. The temperature snapped back a few seconds

later, and the smell vanished with it. But something had been there, something strong enough to throw a 70-pound dog across the floor, something cold and angry. That night I couldn't sleep, I lay in bed with the light on, staring at the ceiling. Toby refused to leave the corner of my room. Around three in the morning, I heard it again. Footsteps, not out of the same. Tosolns. Not out Inside, inside, walking down the hallway toward my room, heavy, slow, like boots dragging across old tile. I didn't breathe. The steps stopped just outside my door.

The knob creaked like someone was testing it. I sat up, grabbed my bat from under the bed, and tiptoed to the door, flung it open. Nothing. Just an empty hallway. Quiet. Still. The next morning I noticed something weird about the stereo. We had this old Panasonic system my stepdad left.

left behind when he moved out. It hadn't worked in years, but that morning it was on. Static blaring from the speakers. No lights on the control panel, just static. I went to turn it off and noticed something underneath the white noise, something low and rhythmic. Voices, not clear words, not music, wailing, layered chaotic screaming, hundreds of voices overlapping, crying out in agony. I turned the volume down but the noise stayed the same. Eventually I unplugged the system. The sound kept going for almost ten seconds before it finally died. And that's when I realized, we weren't alone in that house. We never had been. After the stereo incident, I stopped pretending everything was normal. I didn't tell Mom, not yet, but something had shifted

in me. Like a blindfold had been ripped off. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't focus. Every corner of the house felt like it was hiding something. And Toby? He wasn't just scared anymore. He was deteriorating. He barely ate. He drank only when I brought the bowl to him. I don't think he left the living room for more than a few minutes a day. If I tried to drag him down the hallway toward the bedrooms,

he'd plant his feet and whimper like I was taking him toward a firing squad. That's when I started digging. The place we lived in wasn't exactly listed on Google Maps. The airstrip didn't have a name anymore, just private property no trespassing signs half buried in weeds. But I found the original parcel info through the county assessor's website. The property was registered to a man named Elliot Warren, a retired pilot. Apparently he'd built the strip in the late 70s

and ran a hobbyist aviation club until the early 2000s, when it shut down under unclear circumstances. But it was his son, Daniel Warren, who kept showing up in articles. Not many, just enough to give me that sick feeling in my gut. Three overdose deaths, all unsolved, all within a five-year window. Two in Prescott, one here, on this very property. Official cause in every case, accidental overdose. But there were no records of prior drug use for any of the men.

No rehab, no known addictions. Just three guys in their early twenties who suddenly stopped breathing in their sleep. Quiet deaths. neat ones. But it wasn't until I started searching old forums and message boards that things got worse. I found a post from over a decade ago, buried on a dead aviation site. Someone had written. Warren's kid had a thing for putting stuff in people's drinks.

Stay out of the hangar. That's where he took them when they passed out. That one sentence kept repeating in my head, stay out of the hangar, and it made sense in a way I wish it hadn't. That hanger always felt off. I'd never stepped foot inside it. Even walking past it made the hair rise on my arms. I always felt watched, not just the eerie kind of watched, but targeted, like whatever was in there knew me by name. As the days past, the house's energy shifted from creepy to hostile. It started with the spiders. At first it was just one black widow,

curled in the upper corner of the kitchen cabinet. Then I found another, in my shoes, a brown recluse under my pillow. My mom stepped into the shower one morning and screamed. There were three of them crawling along the drain. She tried to laugh it off, but she couldn't hide the look in her eyes, that raw, quiet fear. Two days later she was bit. She thought it was just a rash at first, but her leg swelled up like a balloon, red, hot, and weeping. I drove her to urgent care, and the nurse said the venom had started breaking down her skin tissue. You got lucky, she told my mom. If you'd waited another day, we might have been talking skin grafts.

Then my little brother, Ben, got sick. It started as a red eye. Then it swelled shut, and he couldn't stop crying. The doctor at the ER took one look and immediately called for a specialist. They told us the infection was so advanced, it could have destroyed his optic nerve. Another day or two, and he might have gone blind. No one could explain how it had spread that fast. I wanted to believe it was just bad luck, but that house had stopped being subtle.

One night, I woke up gasping, out of nowhere. It felt like someone had their hand on my chest. I reached for the lamp, flipped it on, and froze. The closet door, always shut, was wide open, and inside something moved, not scurrying, not scratching, shifting. I grabbed the bat from under my bed and stepped forward, heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst. nothing just empty hangers and dusty shoes but i knew something had been in there watching that was the same night the wall over my bed changed i didn't notice it until the next morning when the sunlight caught the wall at the right angle there was a word scratched faintly into the drywall just above my headboard i had to step on to my mattress to read it mine i stood there for a long time just staring every cell in my body wanted to run

to scream, to wake Mom up and make her pack. But something deep inside me, the same thing that had kept me from looking under the bed all those nights, told me it wouldn't matter. We were already inside its web. That weekend I finally snapped. I grabbed my flashlight and headed out to the hangar just after sunset. I didn't tell Mom, didn't even say where I was going.

I just waited until she went to bed and slipped out the back door. The hangar was quiet. Massive. The metal siding creaked in the wind. The big industrial roll-up door was chained shut on one side, but the pedestrian side door was just latched. I opened it slowly and stepped inside. It was colder than I expected.

My flashlight flickered the moment I crossed the threshold. The air smelled stale, like gasoline and mildew. Dust swirled around my ankles as I walked across the concrete floor. Everything in me screamed to turn back. But I didn't. I made my way toward the far end of the hangar, where the breaker box was mounted on the wall. That's where the garage buttons and light switch were, too,

glowing softly from their built-in lights. At least they should have been glowing. They weren't. That's when I realized why. Something was blocking them. A shape, roughly human-sized, stood directly in front of the breaker box. My light cut through the space around it,

but not through it. It was darker than dark, Like my flashlight beam was getting swallowed whole. I stopped. My legs wouldn't move forward, and then it tilted its head. Not much. Just enough to let me know. It saw me, and it was waiting.

I don't know how long I stood there in that hangar, just staring at it. That thing, whatever it was, wasn't a shadow. Shadows don't watch you. They don't tilt their heads like animals studying prey. And they sure as hell don't block light. But this thing? My flashlight hit it directly and the beam stopped. It just ended.

Like the air in front of it was a solid wall. I couldn't move. My chest tightened. Every hair on my body stood on end. I felt like if I breathed too loud it would charge. Then without a sound it did. It didn't run. It didn't float.

One blink and it was right in front of me, inches from my face. I didn't even see it move. My flashlight dropped from my hand and clattered to the floor. plunging the hangar into near total darkness, except for what little light from the moon made it through the slit above the door. I wanted to run, but my legs were locked, and now I could see it, its face, not fully human, not really anything. It was wrong, features that didn't line up. The mouth was too wide, the skin looked like melted wax, and its ears were too small, pressed tight against its skull like they were afraid to exist. But the worst part was its eyes. I'll never forget them, not red, not glowing, just black, so black, like pits in the world,

but not empty, alive. At the center of each was a faint, milky gray pupil, spinning slowly like a drain. I felt like if I looked too long I'd fall in. My brain screamed for me to look away, but I couldn't. That's when I understood. Its eyes were holding me in place. I wasn't paralyzed because of fear. I was trapped because this thing had reached inside me. I could feel it digging, not with fingers, with thoughts. Memories started flashing, my worst ones. Toby yelping, my mom screaming when she got bit, Ben crying in the ER, blood in the sink. The word mine scratched above my bed. It was flipping through my life like a photo album, feeding. I was slipping. My knees buckled, my head spun. I felt like I was outside my own body.

watching this thing peel me apart from the inside out. Then, like a spark in the void, I remembered something. My grandmother. When I was little, she told me a story, some backwoods Appalachian thing, about how evil sometimes walked on two legs, and that if I ever came face to face with it, I should call on God. Not just think it, say it, out loud, as if my life depended on it. Back then I thought it was superstition, but now,

with this thing boring its eyes into me, it was the only thing I had left. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. I tried again. My throat was locked. The thing's face was still inches from mine, expressionless, watching. Finally I pushed out a whisper. I, I rebuke you, in God's name. Nothing. It didn't flinch. I said I rebuke you, I said louder. In God's name, still no reaction. Then I screamed it. I rebuke you. I rebuke you. I said louder. I said louder. In God's name, still no reaction. Then I screamed it. I rebuke you in the name of God. The effect was immediate.

Its face twitched. Then it jerked backward like I'd hit it with a shovel. Its mouth opened, not in a roar, but in a soundless scream. The air around me changed. Pressure slammed into my ears. My teeth rattled. Then the sound came. It was like every hurricane, every tornado, every freight train I've ever heard, all at once.

It was an roar. It was a howl of hate, a scream that felt personal, like it knew me, like it hated that I existed, and then it charged. But instead of hitting me, it passed through me. I collapsed, the cold. God, I'll never be able to describe it. It wasn't just temperature. It was a presence, like drowning in ice. My lungs seized, my heart stopped.

I'm sure of it. For a second, I thought I was dead. Then it was gone. Just like that, the air snapped back to normal. The hanger lights flickered back on. The breaker buttons on the wall glowed again, soft and orange. I sat there on the cold concrete, gasping like I'd run a marathon in a snowstorm. My whole chest burned.

My arms were covered in goosebumps. But I could feel it wasn't there anymore. Not in that moment. I grabbed my flashlight still blinking from the floor and ran. I don't even remember how I got back into the house. I just remember bursting through the back door and falling to my knees. Mom was in the kitchen. She looked up, startled.

What was that noise? I stared at her shaking and realized she hadn't heard any of it. Not the screaming, not the wind, nothing. Something outside, I said. I think it was just a coyote or something. She narrowed her eyes. You look like you've seen a ghost. I didn't say anything.

Just went to my room and locked the door. We moved out two months later, no dramatic ending, no priest, no exorcism. Mom said she was tired of the place, said she needed a fresh start. I didn't argue. Years later, I drove by the old airstrip, just to see it. The duplex was still standing, the hangar still there. The windsock was gone. But as I passed the gravel drive, I saw something that stopped me cold.

A yellow lab, sitting in front of the hangar door, perfectly still. staring into the corner, just like Toby used to. I grew up in the shadow of these mountains, spent my childhood hiking ridgelines, hunting elk, and camping beneath the stars of the Selway Bitterroot Wilderness. The Idaho backcountry never scared me. It felt like home. But that October, everything changed. I parked my truck near the Magruder Corridor Trailhead at dawn, double-checking my gear one last time. My pack was stocked for a week, lightweight tent, food, water purifier, and my rifle, a Remington 700 with a high-powered scope. It was elk season, and I wanted to fill the freezer before winter. Solo trips were always my favorite,

but as I strapped on my pack, I felt something shift in the quiet around me. The birds were silent, not a single rustle or chirp. That alone should have warned me. The first two days passed without seeing much sign of wildlife. Usually there'd be tracks or scat, something. But the trails were oddly pristine, untouched. My unease started to build on the third morning as I made my way up toward Bear Creek Pass. Sunlight filtered weakly through low-hanging clouds, and the forest was dense and cool, cloaked in a damp stillness. I stopped to scan a nearby ridge for movement. Adjusting my scope, I carefully glanced the slopes ahead. Something Something strange caught my eye, a shape suspended high in a lodgepole pine about 30 feet off the ground.

At first, I assumed it was a bear cache, maybe an elk carcass hauled up by a mountain lion. But as I focused the lens my stomach tightened. It wasn't an animal. It looked human. A limp figure in worn jeans and a faded flannel shirt hung loosely from one arm, feet dangling like a forgotten puppet. I felt sick, heart racing as I adjusted the scope. Had someone gotten hurt climbing? Had a hunter fallen from a stand?

Just as I convinced myself the poor bastard was long dead, the figure slowly, impossibly slowly, lifted its head and turned it toward me. My mouth went dry. My body refused to move, frozen with disbelief and horror. Then it smiled. It wasn't a normal smile,

not a friendly grin, not even a grimace of pain. It was an unnatural stretching of the mouth, a grotesque widening that revealed too many teeth. Too sharp, too white, wet. It stared straight through the scope into my eyes, as if it knew exactly where I stood. I dropped the scope in panic, stumbling backward against a fallen log. My breath came in shallow bursts, fogging in front of my face. When I managed to look up again, the figure was gone. The tree branches swayed gently, empty and mocking.

adrenaline took over. I had to get down from that ridge, put distance between me and whatever I'd just seen. I moved quickly down the trail, rifle gripped tight. Every shadow now held menace, every creaking tree a hidden threat. That night, I set up camp near Deep Creek. Darkness closed around me like a physical weight. I huddled in my tent, rifle by my side, trying to rationalize the encounter. Maybe exhaustion had gotten to me. Maybe it was just shadows playing tricks. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't forget that hideous smile. Sleep came slowly, troubled by anxious dreams.

Then I woke sharply sometime after midnight. A noise, quiet yet distinct, echoed above my tent. Dragging, like something heavy being slowly pulled along the branches overhead. I lay perfectly still, straining to listen. The dragging continued. No footsteps, no cracking brink. branches, just that endless scraping across the bark. Pine needles pattered softly onto the tent fabric above my head. My pulse hammered in my ears. I grabbed my flashlight and unzipped the tent.

Cold air rushed in as I stepped out. Rifle pointed upward, sweeping the beam through the black canopy. Nothing. The beam caught only tangled branches and shadows that danced with the wind. But there was no wind. The dragging paused. Silence pressed against my ears until, it hurt. Hello? My voice was thin, swallowed immediately by the wilderness. Nothing responded. I forced myself to breathe, lowered my rifle slightly, trying to calm my shaking hands. Then, directly above me, something shifted with deliberate slowness. I looked straight up, heart pounding, flashlight trembling in my grip. There, hanging silently from the branches just out of clear sight, was a hint of pale, sickly skin, long fingers curled around.

pine bark and those same worn jeans and faded flannel sleeves it swung ever so slightly mockingly gentle the flashlight beam was shaking so badly I couldn't get a clear view but I didn't need to I knew it was watching me and just beyond the beam's reach hidden in shadow I saw the glint of too many teeth stretching into that monstrous grin at dawn the forest felt hollow stripped of life and color every tree seemed taller closer, leaning over me in silent mockery. Exhaustion made my thoughts sluggish, tangled like a nest of roots, but adrenaline forced me onward. I broke camp hurriedly, stuffing gear back into my pack, eager to leave Deep Creek far behind. My rifle was heavier now. I carried it tightly,

muzzle raised, ready for whatever might drop from the canopy. My plan was simple, head north toward Magruder Ranger Station, report what I'd seen, and never look back. But the miles stretched endlessly through tangled wilderness. The trails now barely recognizable beneath thick mats of fallen pine needles. The eerie silence amplified every breath, every footfall, and soon paranoia took hold. Every snapping twig, every rustling leaf stopped me in my tracks. But each time I scanned the trees, nothing revealed itself. It felt like something was trailing me, patient, invisible, hanging in the branches and watching my every move.

My skin prickled with awareness, a feeling so intense I spun around several times, rifle pointed upward, whispering useless threats to the empty air. Around noon the trail turned muddy near a creek bed. Typically this spot would be crisscrossed with elk prints, moose tracks, even wolf paw marks, but today the earth was eerily smooth, undisturbed, as if nature itself had retreated from this place. I crouched, uneasy, brushing my fingertips over the unnatural stillness. When I looked up, I froze again. A freshly killed elk hung above me, suspended 15 feet off the ground, its neck bent sharply backward. Its antlers tangled grotesquely in the branches. The carcass wasn't torn open by teeth or claws. It looked stretched, twisted, as if some amending.

force had wrenched it upward through branches too dense and narrow to allow it. No blood dripped, no entrails dangled. It just hung there, impossibly, staring at me with dead eyes wide and glassy. My stomach clenched, and bile rose in my throat. Whatever had put it there was powerful, inhumanly powerful. Every primal instinct screamed for me to flee. Forget the elk, forget the hunt, forget pride, just escape. But, but, Before I could move, a noise filtered through the trees behind me. I spun, rifle-ready, heart thudding painfully. There on the trail stood a figure, a weathered old trapper, half hidden by shadow and brush.

His beard was tangled, face creased with age, eyes sunken and wary. He raised his hand slowly, showing he meant no harm. You saw it, didn't you? His voice rasped softly, barely audible over my own panicked breathing. I didn't lower my rifle completely. What is it? What did I see? He hesitated, eyes shifting nervously toward the trees,

then spoke quietly, almost reluctantly. We call it the taker. Folks around Darby, Hamilton, even down toward Elk City, they all got stories. Old-timers talked about it more before the disappearances started getting too frequent. It don't leave tracks.

It don't bleed. And it don't hunt like nothing else, you know. He glanced upward briefly, then met my eyes with an intensity that rattled me. It stalks you from above, takes what it wants, and leaves the rest behind like trash in a tree. He pointed upward. I forced myself not to follow his finger, terrified I might see movement among the branches. You saw it smile, means it marked you. He shook his head gravely.

Best leave now. Don't stop till you're clear of these woods. Before I could ask another question, he turned and vanished into the thick brush, footsteps unnervingly quiet, fading quickly into nothingness. My pulse hammered against my temples. I was alone again, more vulnerable than ever, my heart sinking at his words. It marked you. Night fell quickly in these mountains.

My original plan to reach Magruder Station felt impossible now, with darkness already closing around me. Reluctantly, I set up a hasty camp in a small clearing near Lost Horse Ridge, my back pressed against a large granite outcropping. The illusion of security was all I had left. I didn't light a fire. I sat inside my tent, rifle in my lap, ears straining for the slightest noise. It didn't take long.

A familiar voice drifted softly from the darkness. At first I thought it was imagination or fear twisting normal sounds into horrors. But it came again, clearer, achingly familiar. Caleb, help me. My chest tightened painfully. I recognized the voice immediately, my brother Jake, who died in an avalanche three winters ago. My rational mind screamed the obvious.

It couldn't be Jake. But the voice was exact. Same timbre, same hesitant way he'd spoken when he was alive, as if lost somewhere in the trees and begging for rescue. Caleb, please, it hurts. Jake, my voice broke on his name, betraying the dread and despair that swirled inside me. The rifle trembled in my hands. Then another voice joined the first, my own voice, distorted and whispering, threaded with malice.

I see you, I see you, I see you. Fear surged through me, turning every muscle rigid. It was mocking me, using my own voice to taunt and torment. The whispers circled the tent, never touching the ground, always above, rustling branches, brushing gently against fabric, trying to coax me out into the night. I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to answer, to acknowledge them. Silence stretched unbearably long, my heartbeat deafening until suddenly, all noise ceased completely. Minutes passed, long enough that hope crept in.

Then slowly, tentatively, I pushed open the tent flap and looked outside. All my gear sat neatly packed and stacked beside my tent, arranged as if lovingly prepared for travel. A sickening dread filled me. It was impossible. I'd scattered my belongings carelessly in haste, frantic to set up camp. My pack was zipped tight, my boots arranged carefully side by side. My rifle was gone.

I stood frozen, staring helplessly at the carefully arranged items as realization seeped coldly into my bones. had been inside my camp, inches away, separated only by thin fabric, silently moving around me, unafraid. My breath came in ragged gasps. I raised my eyes slowly, reluctantly, upward into the dark branches above. Dangling gently from a branch directly overhead, silhouetted against the faint starlight, was a small noose woven crudely from sinew. It swung softly, mocking my vulnerability. A message clearer than words. The trapper's voice echoed in my mind. The taker marked you. Above the noose, deeper in shadow, I sensed more than saw it waiting patiently, watching with that terrible,

inhuman grin. At first light I ran, with no rifle and only a hunting knife strapped to my belt. I abandoned my gear and sprinted down the narrow trail toward Elk's summit trailhead. The mountains seemed to close tighter around me, their steep slopes clawing upward, channeling me deeper into shadows. The forest pulsed with menace, every towering pine a silent sentinel, hiding whatever watched from above. Fog rolled in steadily, blotting out the ridgeline ahead, swallowing my path until only a pale, ghostly tunnel remained. My breath burned in my chest, ragged and desperate. Fear propelled me forward, even as exhaustion seeped into the my bones, dragging me down. Sixteen miles lay between me and the trailhead, 16 miles of

isolated wilderness haunted by something that moved effortlessly above, unseen, relentless. Around midday, voices began filtering through the mist, soft and indistinct at first, drifting down from the treetops like whispers on the wind. I didn't dare look up, didn't dare slow down. You're almost there, one voice crooned sweetly, eerily familiar. Just look up and see, another laughed softly, sharp and cruel. Why won't you look at me? The voice is multiplied, my brother's voice, my own voice, and others I didn't recognize, swirling and echoing through the mist. Each word twisted through me, cold and merciless, tightening around my sanity. My lungs heaved and my boots stumbled over roots and stones slick with dampness.

Still, I refused to pause. Then abruptly the whispers vanished, replaced by a sudden heavy silence. A head, something cracked sharply, not overhead but behind me, close and deliberate. I froze, every muscle locked, terror surging through my veins. Slowly, painfully, I forced myself to turn. In the gloom behind me, silhouetted by the fog, a pale shape dropped silently from a pine tree onto the path barely ten feet away. body unfolded slowly, joints creaking softly as it rose, limbs impossibly long and thin,

bending backward in places they shouldn't. Its pale skin stretched tight over jutting bones wet and glistening, as though freshly peeled. My throat closed, trapping a scream. Its face was human only in mockery, eyes narrow slits, impossibly dark, fixed hungrily upon me. Its mouth spread slowly into that familiar, grotesque grin, too wide, filled with far too many teeth, each sharp, white, and wet. It didn't lunge or attack. Instead it stood silently, patiently, savoring my terror. The world narrowed around us. Time stretched impossibly thin. My shaking hand found the emergency flare tucked inside my vest. Slowly, praying desperately, I drew it out. With a swift movement, I ignited the flare. Red fire burst

violently into life, bathing the creature in stark lurid light. Its grin never faltered. The sudden blaze illuminated the canopy above, revealing a nightmare that stole my breath entirely. Every branch, every limb overhead was gouged with deep drag marks, hundreds of them, criss-crossing chaotically. Entire sections of bark were stripped bare, the marks forming intricate, obscene patterns that no animal could make. The forest canopy itself was scarred by the creature's end of the creature's passage, proof that it had stalked these woods far longer than anyone imagined. You see, it hissed softly, its voice like dry leaves rustling. Now you see. I didn't wait for another word. I hurled the burning flare at its feet and bolted, running blindly through the fog-shrouted

trees, branches clawed at my face, brambles tore at my clothes, but nothing slowed me down. The creature laughed softly above, effortlessly gliding through the branches, matching my frantic pace, always just out of sight, always grinning down from darkness. My lungs burned, my legs threatened to collapse. Every instinct told me it would end here, that the taker would finally close its jaws around me. But then, impossibly, miraculously, the trees thinned, and I burst from the forest edge onto the gravel road of Elk Summit Trailhead. A camper truck idled nearby, two startled hikers stepping back as I stumbled toward them, screaming for help. The woman caught me as I fell, holding me upright, her face stricken with shock at my panicked state. Please, I gasped, pointing wildly

toward the tree line. It's following me, it, it, but the forest behind was still, silent. The hikers exchanged worried glances, eyes wide with recognition, and ushered me quickly into their truck. Back in Darby, after hours spent shaking and recounting my story at a small roadside diner, the couple finally spoke quietly. Their voices low and troubled. You're not the first, the man murmured, staring sadly into his coffee cup. We lost our nephew up there last year. Search parties combed every inch.

Nothing found except his boots. Way up high, tangled in branches. Nobody could explain it. That night I didn't sleep. I sat alone in a motel room, every curtain tightly closed, every door locked, but peace never came. Instead, nightmares claimed me whenever exhaustion briefly won. Always I dreamed of that awful grin, teeth gleaming, mocking me from the branches above. Months have passed, yet it never truly left me. I sold my hunting gear, burned the rest, and swore never again to enter those mountains. But still,

On nights when silence settles heavy around my house, I wake suddenly, heart racing, to the sound of something dragging slowly, deliberately across my roof. And sometimes, in those moments, I find scattered pine needles on my pillow. Silent reminders that it still watches from above, patient, grinning, and endlessly waiting.