Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Terrifying Scary Stories For A Chilling And Stormy Night | Forest, Deep Woods, Camping, Cryptid

Episode Date: October 11, 2023

These are 3 Terrifying Scary Stories For A Chilling And Stormy Night | Forest, Deep Woods, Camping, Cryptid Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Anonymous ►https://www.reddit.com/user/Old-Drama-2399/ ►https://www.reddit.com/user/m7741/ Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:17:18 Story 2 00:54:31 Story 3 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #cryptids #forest #woods #rain 💀As always thanks for watching! 💀

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comfortable banter that comes from years of friendship. Remember last summer at Red Creek? Jack said with a chuckle. Gary fell right into the water trying to catch that trout with his bare hands, Gary scowled, though there was amusement in his eyes. In my defense, I nearly had it. Lucy, always the peacekeeper, intervened before the friendly banter turned into a full-blown reminiscence war. Let's just hope this trip doesn't involve anyone taking an unplanned swim, she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

I focused on the road, guiding the vehicle past a particularly gnarly stretch of terrain. It wasn't my first time driving through rugged landscapes, and there was something about maneuvering through nature's obstacles that I always found satisfying. Still, today's destination was a new one for all of us, a secluded part of the forest that came highly recommended by a fellow hiker. By late afternoon, the dense trees parted to reveal our campsite. It was a quiet, serene spot, a small clearing bordered by tall pines and spruces. A gentle stream bubbled nearby, its waters clear and inviting. Looks perfect, Lucy commented, stepping out of the vehicle and taking a deep breath.

Her hair, which was typically confined in a neat bun, was now surrendering to the gentle breeze, loose strands framing her face. Gary and Jack were already unloading the gear, their earlier banter replaced by the kind of efficient teamwork you'd expect from seasoned campers. We had a system in place. Lucy and I would handle the tents while the guys took care of gathering firewood. As the sun began its descent, casting golden hues upon the forest floor, I couldn't shake off a particular thought. The woods around us were silent, but not the usual tranquil silence I was accustomed to.

This was deeper, more profound. It was as if nature itself held its breath, watching and waiting. Lost in my musings, I almost didn't hear Lucy's voice. Everything okay? I nodded, brushing off my concerns. just soaking it all in, I replied, forcing a smile. She seemed to accept this, and we got to work. Soon our tent stood proud, and a fire was crackling cheerily in the makeshift pit Jack had dug.

As darkness began to creep in, stealing the vibrant colors of the day, we all settled around the campfire. The logs popped and hissed, throwing sporadic bursts of sparks into the night. We talked, laughed, and shared stories, the camaraderie a welcome distraction from the lingering unease I felt. But as the flames danced higher and our shadows grew longer, I couldn't help but wonder

if we were truly alone in these woods, or if something else was quietly observing our intrusion into its domain. The night was still young, but an underlying tension had settled, like the prelude to a storm. And deep down, I feared the night had more in store for us

than just stories and laughter. The fire was our anchor, its warmth countering the creeping cold of the night, But as the shadows lengthened and deepened, there was an underlying note of anxiety in our conversation. The city's ambient noise was something we had left behind, and out here, the silence was amplified. At first, it was just the random, barely audible rustling of leaves. But soon enough, there were noises that didn't fit the usual pattern of the forest. A twig breaking, the soft thud of something heavy touching the ground,

probably just deer passing through, Gary remarked, trying to inject some reason into the growing unease, but his voice lacked the usual confidence, and it didn't do much to dispel the tension. We tried to drown the unsettling forest murmurs with our own tales and laughter. Lucy, in a valiant attempt to divert our attention, began recounting her encounter with a bear during a solo hike. Jack, not to be outdone, launched into his story about being stalked by a mountain lion. I strained my ears trying to discern the sources of the sounds around us, and then, quite suddenly, the distant thud of footsteps, heavy, deliberate, closing in. Did anyone hear that? Jack whispered, his jovial demeanor gone.

Everyone nodded, eyes wide. It's strange how shared fear can create a bond, and how it can draw people closer without words. We all shifted subtly, forming a tighter circle around the fire. Lucy, ever the voice of reason, tried to reassure us. It could be another camper or hiker, right? But the logic didn't quite land. This part of the woods was meant to be secluded. And besides, there was something off about the footfalls.

They weren't the regular rhythm of a human. They were too irregular. It wasn't just footsteps. Now there were other noises, the soft whisper of something brushing against a tree trunk. The faintest hint of breathing? As the reality of our isolation set in, a genuine fear began to take hold. The darkness beyond our campfire was thick, impenetrable. It felt as if it was pressing in on us, trapping us. A pair of eyes glowed momentarily in the distance,

catching the fire's light, then disappearing just as quickly. I felt Lucy's grip tightened on my arm. Jack and Gary, meanwhile, had grabbed hold of the larger sticks from our woodpile, holding them like makeshift weapons. It's just an animal, Gary tried to reassure himself, more than anyone else. A raccoon, perhaps, or a deer. But deep down, I knew better. Deer didn't have eyes that glowed like that. And they didn't make footsteps that sounded so deliberate. The noises circled our camp, the unseen presence making itself felt but not seen. Hours seemed to pass, though it was likely only minutes. Finally, as abruptly as they started, the noises stopped. The forest returned to its previous stillness, the silence even more

oppressive than before. We sat there, too stunned to speak, the weight of what had transpired pressing down on us. Whatever had been out there in the dark had chosen to retreat, for now. But as we tried to gather our composure, one question loomed large in my mind. What was it watching and waiting for? The forest seemed to come alive with every imagined horror my mind could conjure. Each rustle of leaves, each brush of wind against our tent, magnified by the consuming darkness was a reminder of our vulnerability. Jack broke the silence with a murmur. We need a plan, something better than sitting here like bait. But even as he spoke, the dread grew palpable. We were surrounded by an oppressive weight, the kind that pushes down on your chest,

making every breath an effort. Lucy, ever the resilient one, tried to rally us. We stick together no matter what. Maybe it's gone. But any hope of that vanished when it happened. A scream, raw, visceral, echoing through the trees with a chilling resonance. A sound that was neither animal nor completely human. A cry of anguish mixed with an unearthly fury. Gary's face drained of color. What the hell was that? He whispered, barely able to find his voice.

The scream faded as quickly as it had appeared, but it left a void, a silence so complete that my own heartbeat sounded like a drum in my ears. And just when I thought the tension was insurmountable, Lucy's voice, trembling but determined, broke through. We need to check if everyone's okay. We did a hurried roll call. Jack, Lucy, Gary, and me, all present, all shaken. The initial shock gave way to an adrenaline-fueled need to act.

We can't stay here, I said. Whatever's out there might come back. Jack, ever the pragmatist, countered. But we don't know what's out there. It's safer to stay put until dawn. Debate ensued, but the woods had another plan. That haunting scream returned, louder, closer, and more desperate. It was as if the forest itself was resonating with the agony of that cry.

This time it was unmistakably clear, the sound was drawing nearer. Panic spread like wildfire. We abandoned thoughts of leaving and instead huddled together in the largest tent. Gary and Jack, gripping their makeshift weapons, took guard at the entrance. Their silhouettes framed against the dim light filtering through the tent fabric. Lucy and I sat close. flashlights in hand, casting weak beams that seemed to be swallowed by the overwhelming darkness. We didn't speak. Words seemed inadequate, and the only communication was the silent exchange of

glances, each one asking the same question, what is out there? Time lost its meaning. Moments stretched into hours, and each sound, each hint of movement outside, sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through us. And just when the night seemed endless, the scream, the scream echoed again, right outside our tent, its volume overpowering, its pain palpable. Then, just as suddenly, silence. Dawn felt like a distant dream, a forgotten memory of safety. The oppressive weight of the forest, the unknown entity lurking just beyond our sight, held us captive. The only certainty was our shared fear, the realization that we were trapped in a real life nightmare, one that showed no sign of ending. Yet, even as hope dwindled, a shared resolve grew amongst us. We might be prey,

but we wouldn't go down without a fight. And as the night wore on, with every shiver and every shared look of determination, our bond strengthened, forged in the fires of shared terror. The first light of dawn pierced the trees, providing a meager but welcome reprieve from the suffocating darkness. With the veil of night lifted, the forest took on a different field, a deceptive serenity masking the terror of the previous hours. I cautiously unzipped the tent, the sound almost unbearably loud in the morning stillness. The campsite, which had been a source of joy and anticipation just yesterday, now resembled a war zone, overturned belongings,

scattered embers of a long extinguished fire, and are once cozy tents, now looking vulnerable and exposed. Jack emerged from another tent, rubbing his eyes but alert, We need to pack up fast. Lucy nodded in agreement, her usually radiant face drawn and pale. Let's get out of here before whatever that was comes back. Yet, as we hurriedly began to dismantle the camp, Gary's voice brought us to an abrupt stop. Guys, come see this.

We gathered around where he stood, and a collective gasp escaped us. Encircling our tents was a series of symbols, intricately etched into the earth, a chilling mix of runes and patterns that seemed both archaic and menacing. The realization hit us hard. While we had huddled together in fear, something had been here, silently marking its territory, taunting us. Is this some kind of sick joke? Lucy whispered, looking at each of us, searching for an answer.

But the raw fear in our eyes mirrored hers. This was no prank. We had unknowingly trespassed on hallowed or cursed ground. It's a warning. Jack murmured, tracing one of the symbols with a shaky finger. The patterns seemed to exude a cold energy, making the air around them drop several degrees. With a newfound urgency, we worked in unison, packing up our gear. Every rustle of the leaves, every chirp of a bird, made us jump.

Our sanctuary had turned into a prison, and we were the hunted. As we prepared to leave, I couldn't shake off a feeling of being watched. I scanned the tree line, half expecting to see those glowing eyes again, or perhaps some shadowy figure observing us, but there was nothing, only the oppressive weight of the woods and its secrets. Gary, who had been silent for a while, suddenly spoke up, his voice laced with fear,

we need to make sure we don't take any of this with us. He pointed towards the symbols, suggesting that they might somehow attach or transfer their malevolence to our belongings. Although it sounded like a stretch, none of us were in the mood to argue. We carefully checked our gear, making sure no trace of the ominous symbols came with us.

The forest, once a playground, had revealed its hidden teeth, and we weren't about to take any chances. As we finally left the campsite, the forest felt different. The trees, which had stood silent sentinels during our ordeal, now whispered among themselves, as if discussing the intruders who had dared disturb their realm, every step toward civilization was a step away from the harrowing nightmare, but the scars of the experience were indelible.

The forest had shown us a glimpse of what lay beyond the known, a dark underbelly that existed alongside our everyday reality. And even as the sounds of the city grew louder, signaling our return to safety, the woods' eerie whispers seemed to follow, a reminder of the night we'd never forget. The days turned into weeks, and the city's hustle and bustle, once annoying,

now felt like a comforting embrace. But the shadows of that ill-fated, camping trip clung to me like a second skin, refusing to be shed. I'd taken to avoiding any semblance of wilderness, parks, tree-lined streets, and even potted plants felt like portals to that dreadful night. But it was the nights that were the worst. The veil of darkness would descend, and with it the memories would come flooding back, visceral and raw. Jack, Lucy, Gary and I had become inseparable after the incident. We met often, holding on to each other as lifelines. There was solace and shared trauma. During one such gathering, Lucy whispered what we'd all been thinking.

It followed us back. We'd all felt it. The oppressive weight, the sense of being watched, the nightmares that seemed almost real. And then there were the symbols. The ones we'd found in circling our campsite had started appearing elsewhere, scribbled in the margins of a newspaper, etched faintly on a frosted window, even in the shadows cast by the evening sun. Gary, always the researcher, had dived deep into ancient texts, searching for any reference to these symbols. He'd found something. An old legend spoke of a forest spirit, neither good nor evil, but fiercely protective of its territory. Any who trespassed with ill-intent or disrespected its domain would be marked. These symbols were its claim, a sign that the trespassers belonged to the forest.

It says here that once marked, there's no escape. The forest will reclaim its own, Gary had said, his voice quivering. We'd scoffed, attributing our experiences to trauma and shared hallucinations, but deep down, a seat of dread had been planted. It grew with every whispered wind, every rustling leaf, and every shadow that seemed to stretch just a tad too long. One evening, as the sun cast its golden hue over the city, I found myself drawn to a park.

The trees bathed in that golden light seemed inviting. The memories of the camping trip felt like a distant dream. Maybe it was time to face my fears. Stepping into the park, I felt an immediate chill. The world around me seemed to blur, the city sounds replaced by an eerie silence. Before me stood the forest, its trees tall and imposing, their branches stretching out like gnarled fingers. It was as if I had been transported back to that fateful night. A familiar rustling caught my attention, and I turned, half expecting to see my friends.

Instead, I was met with those haunting, glowing up. eyes. They were not alone. All around, the forest seemed alive with similar eyes, all focused on me, their intensity unwavering, a cold wind blew, carrying with it that blood-curdling scream. But this time, it wasn't a singular scream. It was a cacophony, echoing from every corner of the forest, closing in. I tried to run, but my feet were rooted to the spot. The symbols, once outside, were now under my feet, glowing with a sinister light. They seemed to pulse, each beat drawing the eyes closer. The realization hit me with icy clarity. I was being reclaimed. As the shadows closed in, a final thought crossed my mind. We had never left the forest. We'd merely been allowed a temporary

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At only $12, it's great for affordable touch-ups on the go. Get this new must-have concealer at Sephora or at Sephora.com today. From a young age, I have seen or experienced things that could be terrifying to some. When I was seven, I would stay on my grandparents' farm in Colorado, and while there, I frequently had dreams about a young boy with a brutally injured head speaking to me. When I woke up, I would swear to my parents that I saw a little boy running across the room, and I would see flashes of light across the basement, where I slept. They always calm me down, explaining that I had an active imagination and put me back to sleep.

It wasn't until I was much older that my mother revealed, hoping not to scare me mindless, that a little boy had died on my grandparents' property. The interesting part is that he had died from falling off his horse and being dragged through the back pasture. His foot caught in the ropes, killed by being dragged headfirst into a rock on the ground. That was not the only incident I had that was unexplainable, but as I grew older it became challenging for me to distinguish what might be paranormal, and what might just be my imagination acting up. I had nightmares constantly, two or three a night most nights.

My parents slept on my floor on many occasions throughout my childhood, as my nightly terrors frequently resulted in me knocking on their door, ashamed, asking for help to make it through the night. The weird thing about these dreams, however, was that sometimes they followed me after waking up. After some dreams, I would lie in bed and feel like there was something else in the house, wandering around. It felt like whatever was in my dream piggybacked a ride into my house by using me. Over the nights, I began to put together, whether from imagination or actual experience,

that when I woke up from a nightmare and sensed something in the house, they could also sense me. More importantly, I felt they wandered around with supernatural hearing, hearing every single small thing I did, sensing my every movement. I would hear a rustling down in our kitchen, so quiet that only someone awake and actively listening could catch it, and I would freeze, trying to not make a single sound to hear better. Eventually I would need to swallow, and every time I did, I noticed the movement downstairs would change. Sometimes it directly related to how many times I swallowed as ridiculous as it sounds. I would swallow, and I would hear a footstep going up one of the stairs, swallow again, and another step was taken. Naturally, this terrified me.

which was part of how I ended up running to my parents' door every night. Luckily, the footsteps never really made it to the top of the stairs, and for the most part I became used to the process. However, there was one night when everything changed, and the dream I had frightened me in a way none of my previous dreams had before. I was about eight years old at this time, and in the dream I was standing in the living room of my grandparents' house, with my mother, sister, and father standing next to me.

My grandparents were nowhere to be found, but the three of us were conversing with smiles, happy about something I was unable to put together in the haze of the dream. In the middle of saying something, my father turned and looked down the hallway from the living room where we were all standing, his smile dropping and his demeanor changing instantly. It was at this point that I noticed how dark the house was, and how the end of the hallway melted into a suffocating pitch black. My father remained transfixed on the end of the hallway, and I saw my mom's expression change similarly,

as if they were coming to the same conclusion in their head that I was unable to attain myself. What did they know? Suddenly, my mom frantically pushed my sister and I onto the couch a few feet behind us. She handed us a pillow, and as she was talking to us, I witnessed my father begin walking down the hallway into the darkness.

Hold these as tight as you can to your face and think about the funniest joke you can remember. Do not remove these pillows from your eyes no matter what. Do you understand? I recognize that she was battling to appear as if she was not worried, while still conveying an intense sense of urgency and seriousness to us. Without saying anything, I pressed the pillow against my eyes, fear beginning to swell in my stomach like a balloon. I knew something was horribly wrong, but I could not understand what.

I heard my mom's footsteps softly move away from us on the carpet, towards the direction my dad had gone down. I began to see fuzzy shapes from how tightly I had my eyes forced together. The faint presence of my sister sitting on the faded leather couch, a few feet to my right, comforted me slightly, but it was not enough to counter the unexplainable terror that soaked me like cold water. My attention shifted, as I heard the smallest commotion from the end of the hallway, not a crashing or a banging or even a sound as loud as a normal conversation. The way I remember it, with the sound muffled by the corners of my ears being folded into the coarse pillow,

was like a quiet slicing noise, like what it would sound like to cut through a ripe peach, only a little louder. What happened after this was unexplainable to me. After years of nightmares, I had developed the ability to sense when I was in a nightmare, and used that realization to calm my nerves with the rebuttal that it was all fake. In this dream, I did not feel that way. I felt a paralyzing fear, and even recognizing that I was dreaming, I knew something was different. There was a weight of dread that had never been in any of my previous dreams, something that clearly separated what was happening now from anything I had experienced.

After hearing the noise and concluding in my head that the sooner I could figure out what was happening, the sooner I could wake up, I slowly removed the pillow I had been forcing against my face to reveal the room. I could still taste the leathery fabric of the pillow. The first thing I noticed was that my sister was no longer on the couch next to me. Her pillow was, but it was torn, and stuffing was falling out of it. In a normal dream, I would have found blood on the pillow, and that would have been the end of it. But this was not a normal dream, and the lack of blood or apparent horror unsettled me even more. I have never had a nightmare that has built suspense intentionally.

I felt trapped in my dream. It was an inescapable prison, and my conscious mind was screaming, attempting to wake up so violently that my mind was ringing, but I could not get out. How did I hear something down the hallway, but not hear my sister leave from a few feet next to me? Terror and confusion intertwined in my head as a blaring siren,

indistinguishable from one another, but both begging for me to wake up. I panned over the room, from where my father had been standing to the left, where the hallway he had walked down lay, meeting the corner of the living room. The next thing I noticed was how the overwhelming darkness at the end of the hallway had seeped out into the living room I was in. It reached just over the first quarter of the room, about ten feet away from where I sat on the couch. My body filling with the indescribable lead of panic, I scanned for an explanation of where my family had gone.

As I finished my scan, I finally found what I had been dreading. In the darkness at the corner of the living room buried beneath layers of black nothingness, it was hiding. I couldn't see its shape from the darkness. I had no idea what it was or how large it was. The only thing visible from the darkness was a pair of stunning, bright white eyes and a few inches beneath them, an inhuman white smile that jutted out of the darkness. The smile consisted of clearly human teeth, but was double the length.

of any normal person's best grin, and it leered at me, smiling directly and intentionally at me across the room. It was mocking me, and it had been waiting for my eyes to find it. My heart sank, and dread swallowed me whole, and as the smile widened, I was thrust back into my bedroom, finally awake. Upon waking up, for half of a second relief relaxed me, thinking the horror was finally over. The rustling in the kitchen quickly eliminated this feeling. in tandem with the rustling, the almost instant sense that something was in my house draped over my mind. I tried to calm myself, stating that I had done this hundreds, maybe thousands of times over the past few years, and I was used to it. But deep down, I wasn't consoled. I was terrified.

Even the presence, which I felt everywhere, was infinitely more overwhelming than any I had experienced before. The part most frightening was that I knew it sensed me. I felt it crawling around the walls of my mind, listening to me, mocking me. I tried not to swallow, but after about 20 minutes, I failed for the first time. Hyper-fixing on not swallowing makes it so incredibly hard not to. You notice how dry your throat is. It feels as if it is swelling with sand. You are drowning in your own saliva, and eventually, you always fail. The normal goal for me was not to make it through the night without swallowing, though, it was only to swallow few enough times to fall back asleep before whatever was in my house took enough gentle steps to make it to my room. I had never

allowed anything into my room before, and I tried to reassure myself of that fact after my first failure. Following my swallow, the slight commotion downstairs in my kitchen stopped immediately, and there was a painful silence for a few seconds. I knew better than to be relieved, and following the few seconds of silence, there was a pounding of footsteps downstairs, as if someone was sprinting from the kitchen towards the stairs, as fast and as violently as they could. Fear crawled across my skin and down my spine, and I panicked, unsure of what to do, but too paralyzed by terror to move. I envisioned the smile standing on the steps, pointing at me as if it could see me through the layers of walls. It felt like more than a vision. I knew the smile was doing exactly

what I pictured. I knew it as if it were a fact. I felt it. I lay flat at it. I lay flat at in bed, frozen, and listened as the stampede of footsteps stopped with the first one on the staircase. I knew when the first step had hit the staircase, as it always gave off a recognizable squeak from the old wood under the carpet. I tried to compose myself and shut my eyes, desperately trying to recite the lyrics to a song in my head, a trick I used to try and fall asleep faster and distract myself. I was much too terrified for this to work, unable to get the vision of the smile out of my mind, and after about another ten minutes I swallowed again, furious with myself for failing. Like the first time, the house went quiet, even though there was virtually no noise in the previous

minutes, as whatever was on the stairs had remained motionless since finishing its sprint. Three seconds later, I heard the staircase shake as something pounded up the stairs towards my room, the wood in the banister shaking and the steps squealing with each progression. At this point the fear was nauseating for me. I began to feel like I was going to either throw up or pass out, and I hoped for the latter. I found myself wishing for death just to escape the feeling. But I couldn't. I couldn't do anything.

I tried to weigh my options with the few minutes I had before I would fail and swallow again. I could run for my parents' door at the opposite end of the hallway, but I would go right past the top of the stairs to do so, which eliminated that option for me. My door was open, so I considered trying to shut and lock it and scream for help. But again, from the top of the stairs, there was a direct line of sight into my doorway, which I could not see as my bed was tucked into the corner of the room parallel to the door. Yet this option felt vain as well. I knew there were only a few steps from the top of the stairs to my doorway,

and based on the speed at which it had been moving, I knew it would reach me before I could close the door. all these options felt meaningless anyway. I was glued to my bed like a plank of wood, my legs cramping from how tightly I coiled myself, every one of my muscles now painfully stiff. As the minutes went on, I realized that I was stuck, and I genuinely thought I was going to die. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do, and I couldn't fall back asleep or stop swallowing for the rest of the night. I fought as hard as I could, but after 25 painful minutes, I eventually swore to. as the rest of my body fought it, making a sort of half swallow. There was complete silence,

and I heard no footsteps for at least a few minutes. At the exact point that I began to wonder if I had survived, and maybe that thing had left, my thought was interrupted by the feeling that something was in my room. It had chosen not to sprint into my room this time, but I knew it was here. I had been squeezing my eyes shut out of fear, listening intently, and had heard nothing walk towards my room and enter it. Nonetheless, I knew it was within a few feet of me, somewhere everywhere surrounding me and laughing at me. Again, I wished I could die to escape the fear, unable to move at all or even open my eyes. Without hearing anything out loud, I knew something was in my closet across the room. I don't know how I knew, but I did as if

someone placed the thought in my head intentionally. For the same reason we can't look away from car crashes. With logic gone, and the anticipation taking over my mind, I don't know. I I opened my eyes, just as I had done in the dream about an hour ago. Exactly as it was in the dream, across the room, in the endless darkness of my closet, the same pair of eyes and smile looked back at me. The smile widened, just as it did in my dream, but this time there was nowhere for me to go. I couldn't wake up like I did from my dream. Instead, I forced my eyes shut, praying to all gods that might exist to please offer me

salvation from what was smiling at me across the room. I prayed and squinted my eyes shut as hard as I could, using all my willpower to not open my eyes again. There was no noise, no movement in my room, but as I lay on my left side, facing the room and the closet across from me with my eyes forced shut, something leaned over my right shoulder and exhaled a shaky, warm breath into my ear. Within the first second of feeling the breath in my ear, I flew out of my bed, my leg catching on my sheets for a second before I kicked it loose. refusing to look at my bed or the closet to my left i tunnel visioned on my door and took off propelled by an insurmountable amount of fear i raced down the hallway toward my parents room wasting no time and shrieking as loud as i possibly could

i reached their room banging on the door until they opened a few seconds later petrified that something was wrong as you can probably expect they checked my room and nothing was there Though that was the first time I encountered him, it certainly wasn't the last. That smile followed me through the next six years or so of my life, appearing randomly every few weeks or months to ruin one of my nights and reignite the fear I had of it. The dreams always started the same. I was with people I trusted, happy and having fun, and suddenly the entire mood of the dream would switch,

and despair would cover every surface. The people I loved and trusted would mysteriously disappear, with something always indicating that they had been killed, and at the very end of it all, hidden somewhere in my vision, was that smile leering at me from the darkness. That continued for a while until the first real relief I found was when we moved to Pennsylvania when I was 14, and I saved up and bought a cute little pug to keep me company. Rosie, my new pug, slept at the end of my bed around my foot, and since the night I bought her, my nightmares reduced by nearly half, whether or it was from the move or rosy or both, I had a few-year stretch where I didn't see the smiling

thing, and I finally thought I shook it. It took me a little while to realize that maybe I didn't. When I was at the end of my senior year of high school, now 18 years old, I slept over at my closest friend's house on the last weekend before graduation. Having smile-free dreams for years now, the thought of the man reappearing never even crossed my mind. In a way, he didn't reappear for me. I just found it strange that the following morning, while we were eating breakfast, my closest friend Charlie, mentioned that he had the worst dream of his life the night before. Still suspecting nothing, I asked what happened and felt the dread creep back into my body as he mentioned his dream. He had been with his family at an amusement park, and then his family had disappeared. Following that, he had been looking around and found a roller coaster that was going with only one person on it.

He said that the person on it was flailing around with a huge smile on their face, and it was the only thing he could see from where he was at. Yeah, that does sound scary, I told him the conclusion of his story, trying to mask my own fear. No, no, you don't get it, he insisted, now way more serious than he had been before. That wasn't the scary part. The scary part was when I saw it when I woke up. I was now too scared to want to hear more details and wanted to move on. I'm sorry, Charlie, that sounds freaky, but I am glad to. it's gone now. It probably was just your imagination messing with you, I consoled, hoping to convince him. He shook off the fear, trying to regain his normally humorous and unconcerned mood.

I don't know, man. I'm just glad it wasn't looking at me. He chuckled nervously. I stopped in the middle of my walk to his kitchen sink, with the dirty cereal bowl in my hand. Wait what? What do you mean? What do you mean it wasn't looking at you? I felt my heart picking up pace. My nerves were on end, began to feel like I was being watched. No, man, it wasn't looking at me, thankfully. I thought it was looking at you. The eyes were looking to the left of me, down where you were, and the smile kept like getting wider and narrower in the same pattern of your breathing. It would like widen every time you inhaled and then get smaller when you exhaled again. My heart was bursting through my chest at this point, and I didn't feel safe in his house. Why would you not wake me up? Why didn't you

shake me or something, I questioned. The panic beginning to come off like irritation. I'm sorry, man. I scooted forward to reach out and touch you, but as I was reaching out, I looked to the doorway again, and it was gone. I just figured it was tweaking out like you said. Why does it matter? He questioned, apologetically. It doesn't. That's a creepy dream, though, I reverted, trying to downplay it. I left his house that day, terrified to go to bed at night, convinced that the smile would visit me as soon as my eyes closed. Luckily, though, he didn't. I never fully understood why.

A few years later, I went to college and met someone in my hallway, whose family friend was apparently a psychic. My college friend knew a little of my history, after asking one time why I was so tired, and I briefly explained that I had multiple nightmares a night. She recommended I visit this psychic, and curious for myself, I obliged. When I met with him, her, I explained everything weird that had happened to me, cynically, noting how I didn't really

believe in any of it, and knew it was just my imagination. She met with me for free as a friend, so I felt fairly convinced she wasn't playing anything up for money. After hearing my story, she said she suspected, among other things, I had an ability to dead talk, simply just meaning that those who have died could communicate with me. She said most of the time their communication is unintelligible, and they only really try to show me feelings. Most of the spirits that are strong enough to appear in a dream or make a noise in my house were spirits that were traumatically trapped, whether it be from a painful death or something along those lines.

Thus, when they tried to converse with me, it often came across as fear, confusion, and anger, explaining how they concocted nightmares for me every night with little tie to my life. When I went into detail about the smiling thing, I could tell she was a little bit more uncomfortable, and I almost got the sense she was trying to relax me the same way I had tried to relax my friend Charlie without letting him know the full story. She essentially said that if something terrible had been following me for a few years, I had somehow found a way to force it out. Except, if it was still appearing to those that slept near me because apparently sleep was its way in, it was never fully gone. Instead of having free rein in my head, torturing me whenever it

wanted, I had unintentionally created a barrier that prevented it from reaching my dreams, according to her. I thanked the psychic lady for meeting with me, unsure of what to make of her information, and continued with my life. About six months later, in the summer after my freshman year of college, the next incident occurred. My girlfriend, who I had been dating for a year, was over at my house one afternoon, while my father and mother were home as well, working. My sister was living in Colorado, having moved there during college. My girlfriend was taking a nap in my bed while I was working on my computer to the right of the bed. My mom and I had planned to go to Lowe's. I was going to buy her some flowers and plant them for her as part of her Mother's Day gift.

My father tagged along, and I left my girlfriend, not wanting to disturb her. I sent her a little text saying we would be back in an hour or two in case she woke up and headed out. 30 minutes later I was in Lowe's when I got a call from her I picked up and stepped to a side aisle while my mom continued looking at flowers and was bombarded by her blurting out words in a frenzy she was clearly upset and was choking out sentences between flowing tears eventually she was able to calm down enough to get out a few broken sentences I just had the worst dream of my life can you please get back home

I really need you yeah yeah I will be home in maybe 30 minutes or so can you make it that long? I was looking for my mom to get an estimate of what flowers she still wanted to look at, calculating in my head how quickly I could be home. No, I think I'm just going to go home. I don't really want to be here right now. She responded, improving slightly from her last sentences. Okay, okay, I'll stop by your house when I am done. Please get home safe and we can talk later. I wasn't too worried about the drive because she was literally one street away from her house, but I was still concerned about her. When I stopped at her house an hour later, she was still visibly upset, but obviously much more put together than she had been before.

She was reluctant to talk about it, but I finally was able to coax her into telling me what happened. She informed me that she was in a dream where she was standing in my driveway, with me next to her, and we were laughing while talking about something. She said it looked like a pretty day, and it was a nice dream. There were lots of birds flying around, and she was happy. Well, I was happy, and then everything changed really fast, she explained. The birds that were flying through the air frozen place, and I turned to ask you what was happening, and you were laughing at me, and then you were just gone. I grabbed her hand and looked at her intently, pushing her on without saying anything.

So I was turning around and trying to look through all of these frozen birds, and then the day felt a lot worse. I felt like it was the worst day of my life, even though nothing had happened, and it felt so dark. This fit the formula so far, so I was pretty convinced it was him. Sure enough, she continued, I walked out into the street in front of your house looking for you, and I just felt like something horrible was next to me.

I felt like something terrible was looking at me, and I couldn't find it. I did circles around the street with all those birds frozen everywhere around me, and then I saw this thing on the roof of your house. Just by saying that, she clearly grew more upset, and tears welled up in her eyes. Bursting with fear and anticipation now, I squeezed her hand and asked what it was she saw. Well, it was like a bird, but a lot bigger.

It covered the entire roof, and it was lying flat on it, not standing up, she continued, fighting back tears. It had a long neck that was missing feathers, so it was all red and bloody, and the worst part is that its neck was all twisted and broken, so its head was completely upside down, while the rest of its body was lying flat on the roof. Any doubt that I had left was eliminated, and she confirmed my suspicion.

But its head wasn't normal. It had these huge human teeth, and it was smiling at me with its upside-down face from the roof, and I swear it was looking directly at me. Now that I had all the information, or at least I thought I did, I shifted into comforting mode instead of interrogation, reaching forward to try and rub her arm and begin working on making her feel better. She winced back, though, and continued talking. No, I'm not done.

I kept trying to wake up after that thing was grinning at me, and I couldn't wake up. I was trying so hard to get out, and there was nothing I could do. I just felt stuck. And then I did wake up, but not because I wanted to, because there was something tapping me on the shoulder. It was at this point that she began to burst into tears again, overwhelmingly upset from the recollection of the feeling, Something was tapping me, and then I rolled over because I thought it was you napping with me, but it wasn't you. There was something just smiling at me an inch from my face.

Her voice picked up, and she began to lose control of herself. I tried my best to help her as she finished. It was smiling at me, right next to me, and I saw its finger still poking out. She was now standing, pointing her shaking finger at me to display what she saw. The smiling man had never gotten that close to me. so at that point I was beginning to panic as well, but I didn't want to make her feel worse, so I did my best to hide it. What happened after that, I asked, my voice shaking for the first time.

I jumped out of the bed and it was gone. She was incredulous, and I could tell she was worried about what I thought of her. I grabbed her and held her, not asking anything else while my mind raced through what to do. I had never told her about the smiling man, and there was no way that many coincidences could line up. When I returned home later that day, as it was getting late, I noticed that my room felt particularly uninviting. This could have been a placebo from the story, but the room seemed to hold hostage, an all-too-familiar sense of dread.

I slowly cased my room, not sure what I was looking for, but unsure of what else to do. I eventually gave up, thinking that I was going to have to sleep in my bed at some point. So it might as well be tonight. I was thinking about how scary it was that this smiling thing, thing appeared in the sunny hours of the day, for the first time ever, when I felt my leg brush against something. I reached down under the blankets, pushing my precious Rosie a little to the side to see what I had felt. What I pulled out from under the blankets made my heart drop again. In my bed was a large bird feather, one about four times the size of a crow feather,

but of similar color. There was no blood on the feather, no smile, no other message, but it was enough. knew what he was saying. After years of searching for a way in, a way to finally get close enough to impact me physically, he had done it. This all brings me to today, about a week after I discovered the feather, and my girlfriend experienced the terror I grew up with. I began writing this yesterday afternoon, and I have not slept since. The night after finding the feather, and every once since then, I have seen him in my dreams. When I woke up, the past few days at least, I have not seen anything. It was almost worse, not being able to see the smile somewhere in my room. I feel his

presence. The helplessness looms over me as I sit paralyzed in my bed every night, waiting for him to finally appear. At this point, I am confident this is all part of his game. Years of interacting with him have shown me how clever, and more accurately, evil the smiling man is. Whether he gains something from it or just does it because he enjoys it, he will bleed out my fear until it is impossible to live with, and I feel like I would tear off my own skin just to escape. Even worse, he is smart about the way he appears, and does it almost insultingly, as if to add emphasis to how powerless I am. For example, the birds my girlfriend saw in her dream were all mourning doves. Birds that I had told her a few weeks before gave me comfort and made me feel safe because I grew up

with them. I find it no coincidence those were the same birds in her dream. He mocks me in every little detail, dragging out the torture. Now I don't even need to be sleeping to sense him arrive. Even in the middle of a warm summer day, I noticed something watching me while I'm out mowing lawns. The trees sway in the wind, and I catch the silhouette of something behind the leaves every few seconds. I never can find him, but I know exactly when he appears, feeling the cold seep into my skin. I put up with it for a few days, but concluded that if he was this powerful while I was awake, the next time I slept would be the last for me. Thus, that is why I haven't slept in a day, and that is why I have begun writing this as both a coping mechanism for what I believe

is my final day alive, and hopefully a warning to anyone else. You may be wondering why I am giving up so easily, why I am not going to a priest, or calling anyone, or trying to stay near my family. The simple answer is, I don't think it will matter. He clearly has found a way into the minds of any of my friends or family just from sleeping in the same room as me, and now that he is apparently more alive than ever before, I don't know what sanctuary anyone could provide from me. In fact, they would probably just be eliminating themselves as well. As far as a priest or supernatural help goes, I did try. I called the psychic lady I talked to a few days ago, and clearly sensing my panic, she tried to reason out with me what was going on. A few minutes into our call,

I began to feel like I had someone I could rely on for support. Yet, while detailing which crystals to buy, she concluded her recommendations by saying, In the end, you know it won't really matter anyways. He is already there. He is all around you, watching and laughing, and no crystal will be able to stop him. Can't you see me right now? The switch to first person at the end of the sentence, paired with the lowering of the voice into a deep guttural octave, confirmed to me that I was not talking to the psychic lady over the phone.

I did not know if I ever had been. That's my entire point. I don't know what is real or what is a game anymore. His real form is so well shrouded by layers of false security that reaching out for help only stresses me out more. I would prefer to just die than to be built up and let down repeatedly. My eyes are watering, typing this, and I feel the exhaustion beginning to catch up to me. However, I have one last act of defiance.

residing in the plate of sleeping pills I have resting on my bedside table. Or maybe that is exactly what he wants. Either way, I don't care. I am tired of being terrified. As I type this, it grows later into the nighttime, and I feel his presence waiting for the right time to begin the show. Panic is bubbling in my gut slowly, and though I am tired, my mind still provides me no peace from the fear.

Right on cue, I hear a pan drop in my kitchen downstairs, shocking me and making me jump from where I am sitting on my bed. My mind pumps adrenaline, and I am painfully aware that this time he has a lot more capabilities than just a breath in my ear. My typing is speeding up, and as I am finishing the sentence, he is already on the first step toward my room. I heard the squeak. His steps are slow and intentional, different than the first time I met him. Now he is at the top of the stairs, pacing towards my room. My parents sleep blissfully. and my girlfriend one neighborhood over.

They all have no help to give. There is nothing more dangerous than being the last person awake in the house. There is a quiet, gentle knock on my door. Three slow, intentional knocks. I feel the smile through the door as if the door is not even there and I am looking right at it. My muscles tense and I feel thrown back in time to the days of paralyzing fear in my younger days.

Rosie, the last shred of comfort these last few days, looks up and tilts her head at the door, her ears raised. Tears are welling in my eyes, hopelessness battling fear to be the victor of my emotions. My attention shifts, as I hear my closet doors rattle with three gentle, drawn-out knocks. I see the doors rustle over the top of the laptop I am typing on. I have closed it, anticipating in the night's past he might try to make an appearance there. Nonetheless, he smiles at me through the closet, and my shaking hands take a few tries to spit out each of these sentences.

I don't want to waste any time waiting for the sleeping pills to kick in, so I grab the plate next to me and get down as many as I can. Ironic that a few years ago I would fight so hard to not swallow in the presence of this smile, and now I do it as a form of escape. The pills are down, and I can only hope for them to kick in quicker. The window on the left side of my room has the blinds open. How could I have forgotten that? In my peripheral vision, as I continue to type, I see two bright white shapes stabbed through the door, darkness of the night sky, dropping down slowly from the top of the window. I refuse to look at the window, knowing as the third wider white shape lowers over the window, it is him, smiling upside down.

I live on the second floor of my house. A shadow extends over the white shapes, reaching down towards the bottom of my window. I see a dark movement of what I can assume to be a hand, reach forward, and exert three knocks, all of which are substantially more intense than the past. ones, though they are delivered at the same slow, intentional cadence. I see the triangular smile widen after the third knock finishes. The fear-induced nausea ignites in my stomach, and dread drops like a kettlebell in my stomach, weighing me down against the bed. It takes all my willpower to not look out of the window. I turn to my right, blocking the window out of sight. There are three more knocks on the door to my room and my closet at the same time. I want to scream,

and run and cry and go faster, I want to do anything to remove myself from where I am right now. Something is scratching on the other side of the wall to the right of my bed, and I feel the smile a mere two feet away from me, separated only by a thin layer of plaster, looking directly at me. Rosie jumps off my bed and is now in the center of the room, turning to track all the knocks across my doors, walls, and now the tapping on the window as well. He is begging me to look at him, to see the smile. I know he is, but I won't. My mind keeps reiterating that my parents are only a couple of steps away,

down one hallway, and that I can make it somehow. But the pills are already down, and at this point I don't know if I want to continue on. I sympathize with the survival instinct periodically giving me desperate pushes to do something, knowing it will not win tonight. Suddenly the noise stops all at once, and I freeze. I hear my heart pounding, and my mind races through instances of our interactions. I remember the first time I recognized this silence before he began sprinting across the first

floor of my house, the first night I met him. This is not a good silence. The noise may have stopped, but the weight of all the smiles around the room has not. This is his final act, and he mocks me before eliminating me. I am frozen in place, my heart beats erratic and loud. I focus on Rosie in the middle of the room, refusing to give him what he wants. My beautiful, perfect pug is the only thing I will devote my attention to. I feel his smile waiting for me from every corner, and I feel my stomach climbing into my throat, my vision getting blurry. I will myself to go faster. I focus on the details of Rosie's fur, the patterns I have grown up identifying, and try to find the memories I have with her from the depths of my fear-scattered mind. I study her floppy

ears, and the back of her head as she continues to watch my door. I love her more than anything, and my heart sinks as her head begins to turn, her body not turning with it. Her head rotates, her neck creaking as it turns towards me while the rest of her face doesn't. Her poor smushed nose replaced by a smile that wraps around nearly half of her entire head, filled with human teeth that gleam at me. Kayak gets my flight, hotel, and rental car right, so I can tune out travel advice that's just plain wrong. Bro, Skycoin, way better than points. Never fly during a Scorpio full moon.

Just tell the manager you'll sue. Instant room upgrade. Stop taking bad travel advice. Start comparing hundreds of sites with kayak and get your trip right. Kayak, got that right. This episode is brought to you by Redfin. You're listening to a podcast, which means you're probably multitasking. Maybe even scrolling home listings on Redfin.

Fin, saving homes without expecting to get them. But Redfin isn't just built for endless browsing. It's built to help you find and own a home. With agents who close twice as many deals, when you find the one, you've got a real shot at getting it. Get started at Redfin.com. Own the Dream. All right, so this is going to be a pretty long story, but bear with me. I did change names for privacy.

Also, fun fact, this story doubles as the tale of how I met my fiancé, but let's move on. So, this entire ordeal took place around August 2017 when I was 16 years old. A couple of months before, at the beginning of summer break, my mom unfortunately lost her battle with breast cancer. I'm an only child, so growing up I was really close to my mom. She also had a wonderful marriage with my dad. After she passed away, both dad and I were absolutely wrecked by the loss. Sure, we'd had some time to brace ourselves.

her health had been slowly deteriorating for quite a while, but that didn't make it any less excruciating when the day finally came. Once mom's funeral wrapped up, Dad and I stayed cooped up at home pretty much every day for a while. Having just wrapped up my sophomore year in high school, I only had a small circle of friends, who I gradually started ignoring over the summer months. During those days, Dad and I barely spoke to each other.

There was this crazy tension between us that we couldn't shake, even though neither of us really made any effort to talk through it all either. About two weeks in, Dad gradually returned to work while I remained isolated in the sanctuary of my bedroom. As summer vacation drew to a close, Dad began to grow increasingly concerned about my reclusive tendencies. After all, who wouldn't grow worried seeing their child spend their days locked away in their room? His only reprieves from his concern were when my door would creak open for chores. meal time or the bathroom. In an attempt to help us reconnect, Dad suggested a good old camping trip, something our family had always loved doing together. I decided to give it a shot,

figuring it would be nothing more than a night or two at our usual wilderness retreat. We lived in the Pacific Northwest, which was abundant with beautiful camping spots. In fact, our go-to option wasn't too far from home. And so, on a sunny afternoon, we departed around noon and arrived at our beloved campground around two in the afternoon. Like clockwork, we rolled into our regular camping spot as we had so many times before. However, before settling down for the night, we had to check in at a quaint Ranger cabin where you paid $10 to park your car. Our campsite was nestled about 600 feet away, and though it wasn't located right beside the lake,

its close proximity made for an enjoyable experience nonetheless. For context, the campground featured campers. sites situated quite close to each other, with only a sparse line of trees separating each one. You could easily spot cars and large tents through these thinly spread trees. When we arrived, we noticed the adjacent campsite was already occupied by an RV, much to my dad's dismay, as they tended to play music and be noisier at night. The campground sits right by a vast lake, which served as our primary source of food due to the abundance of fish. consequently we didn't need to pack much food for the trip a short distance away across the road and down a slightly rocky decline there was a small pebble beach that granted full access to the lake you could even catch a glimpse of the water from our campsite strolling down the shoreline would reveal more charming pebble bays in fact whenever my parents swam in the past they preferred to choose a secluded pebble bay free from crowds for their dip i've personally had an aversion to large

bodies of water and swimming ever since I can remember. Sometime around five in the afternoon, my dad and I headed down to the main pebble beach. Its descent was fairly steep and scattered with rocks that could easily trip someone up and cause scrapes and bruises. We managed to catch three fish before scaling the incline back towards our campsite. Once there, my dad asked if I could gut and fillet the fish, a task I agreed to take on. The knife I used turned out to be sharper than I anticipated and accidentally sliced into my lower palm. Unfortunately, we hadn't packed any bandages or other first aid supplies. Reluctant to ask our RV neighbors for medical supplies due to my anxiety-riddled teenage self, my dad stepped up and went over to seek their assistance.

As it turns out, an older couple was staying at the RV site, and they couldn't have been more gracious. After handing my dad an entire box of band-aids, they claimed to have too many, I tended to my wound and tried to put the incident behind me. The rest of the evening followed a rather uneventful but pleasant script. We enjoyed our meal and played poker for a few hours before calling it a night. The next morning, I didn't wake up quite as early as my dad did. When I emerged from the tent, I found him cooking up some potatoes and bacon on a griddle over the fire. He was engaged in conversation with the friendly elderly couple we'd met the previous day, along with a boy who seemed to be around my age and was busy typing on his phone. Following an initially awkward introduction,

I discovered that this boy, let's call him Lee, was staying with his grandparents at the campsite. As we all sat down to enjoy breakfast together, Lee and I struck up a conversation. He turned out to be pretty funny. We spent the entire morning together, and at some point my dad mentioned how great it was for me to have a new friend. To be honest, it annoyed me a bit, more embarrassment than anything, so I decided to take some distance from my dad and asked Lee if he'd like to catch bass for lunch. He was up for it, so we grabbed our fishing gear and followed the same short trail we had taken the day before to reach the Rocky Bay. When we arrived, we noticed other families enjoying themselves, swimming and playing. There was this one kid with his sister, I assume, building a rock

tower, the kind that people use as trail markers. We fished for approximately an hour with me doing most of the work, as Lee had never fished before. We managed to catch two fish, not much, but enough for lunch. As we left the area, the siblings were still working on their rock tower. It wasn't huge or anything, but about three feet tall, made out of large rocks that would stand sturdily against the wind. After hiking back up, we continued chilling together for a few more hours. Around eight in the evening, Lee asked if I'd like to go swimming during sunset. truthfully, I was scared of swimming in that lake, but didn't want to pass up on hanging out with him any longer, so I agreed. We put on our swimsuits and brought along t-shirts to keep warm after

leaving the water. I also brought my pack of sigs and lighter, mostly to impress Lee. As we headed off on our little adventure, my dad was relaxing on a towel near the fireplace engrossed in a book. I let him know that we were going for a swim at the bay and would be back in about an hour or so. He advised us to be careful and enjoy our time. By this point it was beginning to get darker, but it was still light enough for us to see our path and directions. The forest, however, was turning into a blend of shadows and mystery. We followed the exact same trail we'd taken before to reach the beach. Upon reaching the beach, I glanced to my left and noticed the rock tower from earlier had vanished without a trace. There were no rocks piled up in that spot.

the ground lay flat as if there had never been a tower. Someone must have scattered the rocks haphazardly. Both Lee and I saw this anomaly, but remained silent regarding the toppled tower. We hung out at the main beach for a short while, and then it struck me that I could show off to Lee with my cool little cigarettes, but I didn't want my dad to find out, so I suggested we go to a more secluded beach nearby. Lee agreed, and we strolled along the shore for about 100 feet, Although the campgrounds were never more than 1,000 feet away during our walk,

navigating the somewhat steep bank proved slightly challenging. Eventually we discovered a smaller beach surrounded by a dense forest. Cutting through the woods would mean crossing roughly 300 feet before reaching a campsite. I was confident about our location and knew we wouldn't get lost. At the secluded beach, I took out my sigs, lit one up, and passed it to Lee. We chatted for about 20 minutes as he took a drag. and I tried my best not to cough, an attempt to appear cool. Afterward, I left the lighter and sig carton on a rock next to both our shirts.

By this time, darkness was settling in, making it difficult to see the stars. The Erie Lake was formed over an abandoned town, a fact that has always terrified me, and still does. So when Lee enthusiastically removed his shirt and jumped into the water for a swim, I hesitated, but eventually joined him, despite the water being way too cold. We swam for roughly half an hour before boredom started kicking in. When we climbed out of the water, our shirts had vanished. Strangely enough, my sigs and lighter were still there.

We hadn't noticed anyone nearby while swimming and there was no wind either. Just like that, our shirts were gone. Desperation prompted us to search using only the dim light of my lighter, but we found nothing. Then we heard it. An odd, deafening groan that didn't resemble any bird or bobcat, I knew. It was more akin to a guttural scream, unlike the familiar cougar cries some people would attribute such sounds to. Lee and I were petrified, and without a second thought, we sprinted along the beach with the frightful noise growing louder. Visibility was minimal at this point. We

relied on the faint starlight to illuminate the ground. As we reached the main beach, all seemed as we'd left it earlier. Out of breath we raced up the incline towards our campsite, which should have been merely 400 feet away since we had sprinted roughly 600 feet from where we were swimming. The sound, or growl, was so intense that I was sure everyone in the camp would hear it. Yet, Lee and I remained silent as we rushed up the slope, continuously glancing back to ensure nothing was chasing us. But we didn't see anything throughout our nerve-wracking escape. After both of us painstakingly climbed the hill, scraping our hands and knees on the rocks, we sprinted towards the campsite. I'm certain we were.

we didn't make any wrong turns. Despite running about 600 feet, the camp just wasn't there. We found ourselves in the heart of the forest, surrounded by trees with soft ground beneath us, as though it hadn't been tread on for ages. I could hear Lee sobbing, and I was on the verge of tears myself. The mysterious figure or creature behind us kept getting louder, or closer, so we dashed away from the ominous sounds as far as our legs could carry us. Lee trailed right behind me, hoping I knew an alternate route back to camp. As the grunts closed in on us, I fought the urge to glance back, knowing that doing so would have caused me to collide with a tree at our breakneck pace. We continued running until the eerie sounds faded into the distance. Exhausted,

cold, and drenched in sweat, we stopped to catch our breaths and leaned against a tree for support. Neither of us spoke, too frightened to make even the slightest noise that might attract whatever was pursuing us. We remained in place until we could no longer hear those menacing groans. At that moment it hit us that we were just two shirtless teenagers sitting in the middle of the woods, crying our eyes out and looking utterly maniacal. Finding ourselves too drained to run any further, we began walking with weary steps, whispering softly to each other, we confirmed that neither of us knew what had transpired or where on earth we were. We must have strolled for roughly an hour when it occurred to us that it was likely around 10.30 at night or later.

Overwhelmed with fear yet determined to return to camp or find some helpful souls nearby. Having walked at least three miles by then, we spotted a road in the distance and followed it until we stumbled upon a ranger station. Though empty, I quickly realized it was the very station where we paid entry fees for the camp. Located on the opposite side of the lake, we decided to rest there for a bit. Then I escorted Lee back to our campsite. Upon our return, everything appeared unaltered. The fire still crackled where my dad had been sitting.

Lee clung closely to my arm as we approached our campsite. Getting closer, I saw my dad in the exact same spot he'd been when we left, with his book still open on his lap. Since it wasn't particularly long, I figured he should have finished reading by now. As soon as he saw us, his shocked expression startled me. I assumed it was due to our odd entry route, but what he said next will forever be etched in my memory, and I despise it so deeply. Are you back so soon? Have you even gone in yet? I was on the verge of losing it. He informed us that it was merely nine, and we had only been gone for about

30 minutes. I attempted to describe the bizarre events that had transpired, but I abandoned my efforts after asking if he had heard anything peculiar. He stared at us as if we had lost our minds. there was no way I could sleep in the tent, wanting to be as far away from the ground and the forest as possible. Thankfully, Lee suggested that we both sleep in the RV's fold-out bed. The following morning, we awoke and discussed everything, none of which made any logical sense. Our memories of the prior night were identical. After having breakfast together, we proceeded to pack up our separate campsites around 11 a.m. We exchanged phone numbers and bid each other farewell. To this day, my father remains skeptical.

about our experience that night. As for Lee and me, we have since become engaged and frequently reminisce about what might have transpired during those mysterious hours. Upon returning home, I made sure to write everything down in a journal, which I've consulted while writing this account to ensure it remains consistent over time. It's still unclear what happened on that unforgettable night, but all I know is that we're never going back. Spring just slid into your DMs. Grab that boho look for that rooftop dinner, those sandals that can keep up with you, and hang some string lights to give your patio a glow up. Springs Calling. Ross, work your magic. Ryan Reynolds here for Mint Mobile, with a message for everyone paying big wireless way too much. Please for the

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