Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Terrifying Scary Stories To Help You SLEEP

Episode Date: February 5, 2025

These are Terrifying Scary Stories To Help You SLEEP Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ ►https://www.reddit.com/user/JJCheesman/ Timestamps: 00:00 Intro 00:00:18 Story 1 00:14:48 Story 2 00:26:11 Story 3 Music by: ► Myuu's channel http://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Music http://bit.ly/2f9WQpe Thumbnail art: ►Just Creepy Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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Get ready for a new case. We're going to crack this case and prove for our decoranist partners of all time. New friends. You are Gary Destnake. And your last name? The Snake. Dream team. Hit new habitats.

Zootopia has a secret reptile population. You can watch the record-breaking phenomenon at home. You're clearly working at. Zootopia 2. Now available on Disney Plus rated PG. When I was in my teens, my friend Robert and I would often visit Forest Glen National park. It's a National Forest Preserve that's located just about 15 miles from my hometown. It offers camping, fishing, and most importantly for our purposes back then, many winding trails to hike on.

Robert and I didn't have a whole lot to do back in the day, so Forest Glen is where we would go to spend a lot of our time. Both of us enjoyed the outdoors, and we would go hiking on one of the many trails nearly every day. Sometimes we'd do two or three depending on our mood. It wasn't long, of course, before we knew them all by heart and we both had our favorites. That didn't matter, though. We would still go on any of them on any given day. Eventually, though, time went on, and Robert and I grew up. Robert and I are still good friends, but we hadn't been out to Forest Glen in a long time. It was recently that I had been reminiscing about those old trails, though,

and I decided that I wanted to go back out there and visit some of my favorite spots. So two weeks ago I called Robert and asked if he wanted to go back out there with me that weekend. And to my surprise, he was overjoyed at my proposal. He said he'd been thinking about going out there himself, but just hadn't gotten around to it. So it was decided, on Saturday morning we would head out to Forest Glen and meet up at one of Robert's favorite trails. I made it out to that trail at Forest Glen, about 10 after 6 in the morning. When I drove out to the reserve, I parked my car in the spot closest to the trail. but I didn't see Robert's car. There's more than one entrance into the park, so I thought

that Robert hadn't arrived yet, or he was parked at one of the spots that was near one of the other entrances. I thought I might call him, but when I looked at my phone, I saw that I only had one bar and figured that it wouldn't go through. I should have known the reception would be bad out there. Stashing the phone in the glove box, I got out and made my way to the trail. I started to do some stretches in front of the trail. entrance while I waited for Robert to arrive. After waiting for what felt like about ten minutes, I began to wonder if Robert was going to show up late. When we made the plans to show up at the trail, we agreed on 6.30 a.m. I thought about jogging back to my car to grab my phone and call him after

all, but I decided to instead venture into the trail a little ways, and then return after a moment to see if he had shown up. I started my walk at a brisk pace into the opening of the trail. The clear The other patch of the trail's entrance quickly gave way to a narrow, cleared path, surrounded on both sides by a thick growth of brush and tall trees. The trail seemed a bit more overgrown than I remembered, but I suppose that was a good thing. It meant that the preserve was thriving. I did notice, however, that it was rather quiet out there on the trail. That isn't to say there was no sound at all.

I could hear the occasional caw of a bird and the rustling of leaves, but the sound seemed somehow muted. It was if the entire woods had its volume button turned way down low. About three minutes into my stroll, I stopped just before a small stream that cut through the trail. I looked to the other side of the stream where the trail's path resumed. The path stretched out a few hundred feet beyond the stream and looked like it forked off in two different directions, as far as I could tell. This is when I decided to turn back and wait for Robert at the entrance. I never knew this trail like Robert used to, and for the last. life of me I couldn't remember how far it went. Before I turned to leave, I knelt down to tie my

sneaker. When I finished, I stood up and had to stifle a scream. Robert was standing right in front of me, grinning like an idiot, and when he saw the look on my face, he howled with laughter. My face went hot and I gritted my teeth. What the hell, man? I yelled, you nearly gave me a freaking heart attack. Robert had to stifle his laughter to be able to reply. Sorry, bud, I couldn't help myself. I was up farther on the trail when I decided to turn back and wait for you. When I saw you kneeling here, I just couldn't resist. I couldn't help but smile after that, and I could feel the red hot feeling in my face start to drain away. It's okay, but you did scare the living hell out of me. I didn't even hear you. Robert said nothing. He only smiled a wide-toothy grin.

I gestured down toward the part of the trail Robert came from. I was wondering if you had gotten here yet. You can lead. I assume you know the way. Robert nodded in reply, then jerked his head back to where the fork in the trail was, before he turned around and bounded over the stream that divided the trail. When his feet hit the other side of the small bank, he just kept on running. Hey, wait up, I called after him. He acted as if he didn't hear me and carried on deeper into the wood. I really wasn't prepared to jog yet. I wanted to walk a little more first and stretch out my legs. However, it seemed I didn't have a choice, and I bounded after Robert, hopping over the stream and pushing myself to catch up with him. Robert was jogging at an even pace, but not a quick one, and soon I was just behind him.

Can you wait just a second? I asked. Why? What are you afraid of? He asked, turning to me with a wide, toothy grin that seemed to have not left his face. That question caught me off guard. What did he mean by that? Nothing, just need to stretch a little more before I pull something as all. Robert didn't stop or slow down. He just kept on smiling as he turned his head back around to face forward. You'll be fine.

There's a nice place to rest just after the fork in the trail. We kept on jogging until we hit the fork, and I followed just behind Robert every step of the way as we veered off onto the right path. Shortly after the fork, the trees of the forest grew denser and numerous, their leaves blotting out light from the sky above. Even the path itself started to become more overgrown, as weeds and brush seemed to reach out toward the center of the path, attempting to catch what sunlight they could.

Where before it seemed that the sounds of the forest were on low volume, here they seemed to be on mute as not even a buzzing of an insect could be heard. Though I could attribute the muted sounds of the forest to not being able to hear them over my heavy breath and stomping feet, The dense growth could not be ignored. This trail doesn't seem very well maintained. Are you sure you know where you're going? I asked Robert, still keeping close pace behind him,

though my right leg was starting to burn. Robert didn't answer, but ignored me instead without slowing down. I stopped and knelt down to rub my leg. I looked up to see Robert stop and turn around to walk back to where I was kneeling. Sorry, man, I told you though I needed to stretch more. I think I already hurt myself. Robert just smiled as he leaned on a tree next to me. Sorry, man, I thought you'd be able to make it.

We're not far from a really cool spot. I just got excited to be out here with you again. At Robert's words, I couldn't help but laugh and return a beaming grin back to him. I had no idea he missed being out here so much. On top of that, it had been a couple weeks since we had done anything together, so maybe Robert also just missed hanging out. I couldn't blame him. I did too, but grow up.

growing up gets in the way. Don't sweat it, man, I said. I really missed this, too. What's the really cool spot you wanted to show me? Robert's grin seemed to somehow get even bigger. Okay. Do you remember that wooden bridge we found one of the last times we were out here? It has that really deep stream running under it.

The memory came back to me in a rush. It was vague, but I did remember finding a bridge the last time we came out here. I had completely forgotten which trail we found it on, though. I remember the water under that bridge was so clear you could easily see the fish swimming about within it. It's on this path? I asked excitedly. It sure is, and I can't wait to take you there. I've been down there already. It is absolutely beautiful, Robert said. I stood up quickly and brushed some dirt off my knee. Well, let's go, I exclaimed, walking forward on the trail. Okay, but we can walk. I don't want you to hurt yourself, Robert said. I was going to tell him I would be fine if we jogged again, but I thought better of it. Though the excitement that came with the prospect of seeing that bridge again abated some of the pain in my sore leg, it was still there.

So we walked on, talking about the memories of being out here on the trails, as we walked side by side. Robert was recounting things I hardly remembered. He said he remembered a time when I scrapped up my knees really bad after a nasty fall on one of the trails, but I didn't remember that. For the most part, I could recall every memory Robert had, and I realized how much time we really had spent out there. We spent nearly all our time out here as teenagers, staying in shape to try to impress the girls in school. We had been walking for nearly five minutes when Robert said, Hey, do you remember when you fell down that slope and hit the bottom? I thought you died. Robert belted out a loud, booming laugh. I stopped walking, because something about what

he said didn't make sense. I remembered falling down that slope like it was yesterday. It was terrifying. Robert, you fell down that slope too, remember? Robert, who hadn't stopped walking until then, froze just ahead of me. He turned slowly to me and slapped a hand to his forehead. Oh, duh, yeah. Well, I didn't fall as hard as you. Robert laughed again, dropping his head and gesturing back down the trail. Come on, we're almost there. I began to breathe heavily, and I took a step back. Something was wrong. I didn't know what it was, but I had to get out of those woods and away from Robert. I had to get away because a memory had finally resurfaced to the shore of my recollection, a memory of me falling and scraping my knees. Robert's grin for the first time since he

snuck up on me, faded from his face. What's wrong, bud? He asked, a little shaky. I need to go back, I said, a little shaky myself. Robert took a step toward me and a look of concern spread on his face. Come on, man, we're so close. Why do you want to leave? He pleaded. Because you were home sick the day I scraped my knees. Robert's eyes widened in realization as I turned tail and began sprinting in the other direction as fast as my legs would carry me. Green leaves and brown bark flashed by in my peripheral vision as a blur. The sound of wind swished around in my earlobes as I ran. I couldn't hear footsteps behind me, and I was thankful for that.

My right leg throbbed and begged for me to stop, but I wouldn't. Fear is one hell of a motivator, and it pushed me past the fork in the path, and over the small stream that divided the trail. I never looked back to see if Robert, or whatever wore Robert's skin, was following me, not even once. I kept my eyes on the path in front of me, and focused on not tripping over anything the whole way back out of the trail. I didn't stop running till I got into my car.

Once inside, I grabbed the keys that I'd left sitting in the passenger seat and quickly turned them in the ignition. I paid no attention to the speed limit as I raced all the way home. Once at my house, I grabbed my phone out of the glove box and ran into the house, latched the deadbolt behind me. I turned my phone off when I stored it in my car at the preserve, so once I got inside, I turned it on and sat on my couch while I waited for it to boot up. My plan was to call Robert immediately, but when the display on the screen flicked on, I saw I had a text message from Robert. I opened it, but I was shaking so bad from the adrenaline it was a little hard to read. Hey man, so it looks like we can't go out to Forrest Glynn. I was talking to my neighbor this morning and he said they closed it down.

At least four hikers have been found dead by drowning out there. I hope this gets to you before you leave. Maybe we can just catch a movie or something. When I read the last word of the text message, there was a loud knock at my door. I jumped and stood from my spot on the couch. The knock came again, even louder, and I crept over to the door as quietly as I could look through the peephole. It was Robert.

Robert stood on my front stoop with a wide, toothy grin. I saw him raise up his hand to knock once more, and as the sound thundered from the wood of the door, I backed away. On my phone I searched my contacts for Robert's name and dial. After two rings, Robert picked up. Hey man, what's up? Robert asked. Robert, where are you right now? I asked. Well, I'm at the store right now. Do you want?

His voice cut out as I hung up and immediately began dialing the police. I explained to the dispatcher that there was an intruder trying to break into my house and I did not feel safe. The woman on the other end told me to remain calm, and she would be sending help to my address. When I hung up with 911, I went to the door once again to look through the peephole. The Robert Imposter was gone. When the police arrived, I just told them someone tried to break into my house, and I came home to find them messing around with my door before they ran off. I didn't know what else to say.

They said they would file a report and send a squad car by every couple of hours that day to make sure everything was fine. That was two weeks ago. ever since that day, late at night, that thing comes back and knocks on my door. In a warped mockery of Robert's voice, it calls to me, let me in, it wails, let me in, I am just so lonely, come be with me. The first time, I obviously called the police, and the time after that. The third time, they stopped coming.

That creature is always gone when they get here, but he always comes back. He's back tonight, and I can hear him as I sit on my couch with a bottle of of brandy in a tight grip on the large butcher knife I own. Oh, please let me in. It pleads in a gargled whale that sounds nothing like Robert anymore. I need more friends. I don't know what the hell is in Forest Glen National Park, but it followed me home. This episode is brought to you by Welch's fruit snacks. Big news for your kids' lunchbox. Welch's fruit snacks are now made without any artificial dyes. A snack parents can feel good about and the same delicious taste kids can't get enough of. All made with no artificial dyes.

Try Welch's fruit snacks today. I was stretched out on my couch, halfway to drifting off, when a scraping sound pulled me awake. My living room was dark. Every light switched off hours ago, so I wasn't sure if I'd imagine the noise. It happened again, a slow, faint scratch that felt too deliberate

to be some random outside disturbance. I remember thinking how unnerving that kind of quiet can be. Like the walls that, themselves were waiting for something to happen. Part of me wanted to ignore it, retreat under a blanket, and pretend everything was normal. But a stronger part, the part that always has to know, pushed me to get up. I tiptoed past the darkened hallway toward the sliding glass door in the back. The glass was foggy from the cool night air, and for a second, all I saw was my own reflection in the haze. Then I noticed another shape behind the door. At first, it looked like a stray dog,

just standing there, paw raised against the glass. I reached for the handle, hesitating as my mind raced. Nobody else should be on my property, let alone this late. I squinted through the haze, trying to piece together what kind of animal would be scratching at a door in the dead of night, and why? A flicker of recognition flooded through me. That dog wasn't just any dog. It had the same coloring, the same head tilt, the same soulful eyes I used to know by heart. My breath caught in my throat. Everything in my chest twisted with the realization that this was Buddy, my dog, my buddy from three years ago. Logic told me Buddy couldn't possibly be standing there. Buddy was gone, but there he was, tail wagging in that gentle way, as though we'd never been apart.

Without thinking, I slid the door open. A part of me was terrified, but an even bigger part was desperate to believe. Buddy stepped inside, fur brushing against my leg, warm and soft, exactly how I remembered. The tears came before I could stop them. I knelt down, pressing my cheek to his neck, inhaling that familiar earthy scent. It was as if no time had passed, like we'd just spent the evening apart, and he was back for another walk. Things felt almost normal until morning. That's when the unease sank in. I set out a bowl of kibble, tossed in some leftover steak, but Buddy ignored it entirely. It wasn't picky-eater refusely. It wasn't picky-eater refusal either. He acted like it didn't even exist. Hours went by with him just hovering near the

back door, occasionally letting out a low whimper. I tried everything, called his name, offered water, but his attention stayed fixed on the yard outside. By the time night rolled around again, my nerves were frayed. I woke up from a restless doze around two in the morning to this raspy, almost labored breathing. I found Buddy in the hallway, staring at me in the dim light. his eyes. They weren't the same brown anymore. They were dark, reflecting shapes I couldn't really process, and his mouth was moving like he was whispering words. I stood there, heart hammering, too stunned to make sense of what was happening. The next day, I decided to dig out old photo albums, partly for comfort, partly to reassure myself I wasn't losing my mind. Flipping

through snapshots from buddies' last few weeks, I paused on a photo taken in the yard. I'd never noticed it before, but just behind Buddy, in the corner of the frame, there was some kind of silhouette peeking through the edge of the woods. A creeping dread crawled over me. I slammed the album shut. That night brought a scratching sound of a different kind, this time from under the floorboards. My basement was little more than a crawl space, so I grabbed a flashlight and a crowbar. Dust billowed as I pried up the wooden panels. I expected maybe a trapped animal or a broken vent. Instead, I found, Buddy.

The real Buddy. His fur was caked with dirt, ribs half exposed, paws reduced to bloody tatters. He looked like he'd tried to claw his way out from under the house. I staggered back, bile rising in my throat, as the realization set in. Whatever had returned to my home was not Buddy. A presence loomed behind me. When I turned, the imposter crouched. on the edges of the open floorboards, teeth bared in a grin that seemed more human than

canine. Its breath puffed out in uneven, rattling gasps, and those eyes, too dark, too deep, locked onto mine. It spoke, voice crackling with an edge that didn't belong in any living creature I knew. In those few seconds, I sensed a wrongness so profound it made every hair on my body stand on end. I can't remember making a decision to flee. My instincts took over, me scrambling up the stairs, flinging open every cupboard until I found the gas can I used for my lawnmower. I splashed it all over the floors, the walls, tears stinging my eyes as I did it. My vision blurred, but I kept going, kept drenching the place in fuel. A single strike of a match was all it took. Flames erupted, crawling along the walls and devouring the floor. The thing

that war buddies' form let out a tortured inhuman cry. I burst out the front door, coughing on the black smoke that swirled around me. By the time I stumbled onto the lawn, the entire house was aflame. The heat roared behind me, and the air reeked of burning wood and something far worse. I collapsed onto the grass, trembling and staring at the inferno. My mind was a tangled mess of regret, grief, and the faint hope that nothing that hideous could possibly survive fire, but that hope didn't last long, because as I watched the flames dance, I felt an unshakable sense of dread take hold. I destroyed my home, yet a gnawing voice in my head insisted the nightmare was far from over. I thought burning the house to the ground would end the nightmare.

After the fire, I drifted between motels for a while, telling the authorities it was some fluke electrical accident until I finally found a small apartment on the second floor of an old brick building two towns over. It wasn't exactly comforting, but I couldn't stand the idea of of another house with a yard. The last thing I wanted was to see some shape hovering at the back door again. Those first few weeks, I busied myself unpacking, keeping the TV on at all hours just to fill the silence. I'd double-check the locks every night, pull the curtains tight, and sit awake until morning light peeked through. Some nights, memories of that imposter dog, its voice croaking about bringing Buddy back, haunted my thoughts.

A single question stayed lodged in my mind. Could something that came from beneath the floorboards be destroyed by fire? Sometimes I convinced myself yes. Other times, I couldn't shake the dread that it was only a matter of time before it reappeared. Eventually I forced myself back into a routine, go to work, eat something, come home, repeat. It felt robotic, but I needed normalcy. Then, around three weeks after I moved in, I was jolted a way. by a faint tapping on the glass. For a moment, I told myself it was nothing, maybe a branch

outside, or a pigeon perched on the window sill, but the noise persisted, slow, rhythmic, calculated. My gut tightened, and every instinct I had screamed to stay in bed. Instead, I found myself creeping toward the window. My apartment sits on the second floor, well above street level. Nobody should be out there, especially not an animal. inch the curtain aside. Dimm streetlight illuminated the shape of a dog hunched on the flimsy fire escape. Wet fur matted its body, and two gleaming eyes locked with mine. If I hadn't seen this with my own eyes, I would have called myself crazy. It lifted a paw as though to wave. A moment later, its mouth stretched into a bizarre grin. Something about that smile made my hands tremble

against the window sill. I stumbled back, nearly tripping over a chair in my rush to the bathroom. My heart thudded so loudly I thought it might burst. I pressed my ear to the door, unsure if it had followed me inside. Nothing. Just oppressive silence. Then I noticed something on the floor, a few clumps of damp dirt scattered across the tiles. My stomach lurched. How did that get in here? I took a shaky breath, flicked on the light and saw it. buddy's old collar lying near the sink. The leather was split, stained with what looked like old dried blood. I spent the rest of the night crammed in the bathroom corner, unable to sleep.

By morning, I convinced myself I'd had a stress-induced hallucination. Yet when I ventured out, every muscle stiff and sore, I found the dog calmly sitting in my kitchen. It looked cleaner now, fur dry and bright. The creature turned its head, ears up, tail wagging in an imitation of it. of normal canine behavior. For a second, I allowed myself to imagine it was the real buddy, back from the grave, eager to greet me like old times. Then it spoke. Its voice sounded almost gentle, a near whisper that made my stomach twist. It said it had come back for me, that it was here to stay. My chest tightened as I took a step back. The creature stood, its nails

clicking on the tile. There was a ripping sound when the fur around its front leg. It was a ripping sound when the fur around its front legs tore, revealing something like twisted fingers beneath. They flexed, almost human in shape, but capped with blackened claw-like tips. In that moment, I wanted to bolt for the door, but it moved impossibly fast, blocking my path. Its eyes bored into mine. The stench of earth and something rotten filled the air. A distorted laugh, part snarl, part hissing breath, escaped its throat. My head spun with the realization that I had no gasoline here, no plan, no escape route from a second floor apartment. All I had was raw terror and a desperate need to survive. Somehow, adrenaline kicked in. I lunged around it, flung the front

door open, and barreled down the hallway, not caring about the neighbors or the echo of my footfalls. My thoughts blurred with fear, memories, and some twisted semblance of guilt that I'd ever buried Buddy in the first place. As I fled, I could practically sense it smiling behind me, as if sure I had nowhere left to hide. Even now I can't settle. The knowledge it found me again clings to my thoughts. Every creek of the building, every rustle outside my window, sets me on edge. It isn't just a haunting presence. It's relentless. No matter where I run, it finds a way in, wearing my beloved dog's face. And as much as I try convincing myself otherwise, I know this battle is far from over.

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The Hilton sale is on now. Book on Hilton.com or the Hilton app and save up to 20% to get the stay you expected. When you want savings, not surprises. It matters where you stay. Hilton for this day. It all started with the way the sky turned that yellowish gray color right before the clouds open up. I was sitting in our cramped living room, listening to the wind rattle the window frames, waiting for my parents to say goodbye before they drove off to their gig.

The house wasn't much more than some creaky boards glued together with mismatched nails, and every storm felt like a personal attack on its fragile structure. My younger brother, Eric, was at the kitchen table, coloring in some old magazine pages, since we didn't have real coloring books. The tension in the air made everything feel off. When my folks finally headed out, I watched from the screen door as their beat-up sedan disappeared along the rain-slick dirt road. The plan was for Eric and me to camp out in the living room. Maybe watch an old VHS tape if the power didn't conk out. Instead, I just paced around the tiny space, eyes darting to the windows every time the wind

made them shudder. The storm was getting worse by the minute, fat drops pounding the roof, thunder rolling through the valley like distant explosions. I decided to check on moose, our so-called guard dog. He was more lanky than intimidating, and my dad had tied him to a rusted engine block on the screened porch. It wasn't pretty, but it kept him from wandering off. Moose was usually pretty mellow, spending his days flopped on the porch, only barking at random shadows now and then. Tonight, though, the wind had him shifting around, ears back, tail-tucked. The second I opened the porch door to see if he was okay, it nearly blew off its hinges, letting in a gust of wet air that chilled the entire front hall. Moose perked up,

probably wondering if I was taking him inside, but my dad never allowed that. Before I could check the knots on his chain, the wind slammed again. This time, the front door's flimsy latch gave way and it wrenched completely loose from the frame. It felt like a giant had peeled it back just for fun. Moose freaked out and jerked against the chain, which scraped along the concrete floor of the porch with a shrill metallic sound. By the time I turned around, he was already lunging outside, trailing that chain behind him. The sight of our only watchdog bolting into a raging storm sent a jolt of panic straight through my gut. I slammed a foot against the door, what was left of it anyway,

just to keep more rain from rushing in. Eric, eyes wide, stood in the hallway, his little hands clenched in fear. I had this moment of indecision. Should I chase moose? Should I stay inside and hope he came back? My parents would never believe I'd done everything I could

if that dog went missing, and Eric was too young to help, so I told him to stay put and not open any doors no matter what. We didn't have a real lock to secure the front, just a rusty hook latch that hung crooked from the wood, but it was the best we could do. I grabbed my father's giant rubber boots from the corner. They nearly swallowed my legs, but they were the only protection I had from the ankle-deep water forming outside. No flashlight in sight, either I forgot in the rush, or I was too rattled to think straight. The wind roared like it was daring me to come out. And I did.

The rain hit me so hard it might as well have been hail. It felt like the storm was trying to drive me back into the house, but I forced my way across the yard, yelling Moose's name. A flash of lightning revealed a quick glimpse of him scrambling down the back slope, heading for the creek. That creek was already more of a raging stream from the downpour, and our makeshift bridge was basically two planks set across the bank. I let out a shaky breath, not that it helped, and charged after him.

Mud sucked at my boots with each step, and thunder pounded overhead. I could see branches flailing, the trees bent at unnatural angles. Everything looked like it might snap at any second. Despite the roaring wind, I managed to pick out the scrape of Moose's chain. It guided me like a beacon, though it was faint. and easily drowned out by each thunder-clap. I lost track of time stomping through the yard. Maybe it was a minute, maybe ten.

Finally, I reached the creek just as another jagged bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. The old planks were slick and crooked, but I had no choice. I gingerly stepped on the wood, praying I wouldn't slip into the raging water. For a split second I glanced behind me toward the house. The dim glow from our living room window was barely visible. through the sheets of rain. I wished I could turn around and retreat,

but Moose was out there alone, and that thought twisted my stomach. So I pushed on, crossing the bridge in two large strides, boots squelching loudly. The sound of Moose's chain seemed further up toward the mountain. The slope beyond the creek

was a tangle of briars and soggy leaves, and it didn't help that darkness clung to every inch of the forest. One misstep, and I'd be sliding down into the water, or worse. Still, it was better than going home empty-handed to face my father's wrath. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to keep moving. Overhead, thunder boomed again, so powerful it rattled my ribs. The forest ahead swayed as if alive, full of silhouettes

shifting against each other. Something about it felt unnatural, like it was quietly waiting for me, biting its time. My pulse hammered away, and my thoughts spun with every possible bad scenario. All I knew was, Moose was out there, and I had to find him before something else did. I gritted my teeth, hands shaking, and started up the slope. If I were lucky, moose was just around the bend, maybe tangled in a bush. If not, well, I tried not to think about that. Either way, there was no going back. I trudged forward, the road. The roar of the storm making every step feel like I was venturing deeper into another world. The creek was just behind me. It's water raging loud enough to drown out almost everything else.

I'd crossed on those slippery planks, heart pounding in my ears, so it took me a second to realize that Moose's chain had gone quiet. The silence felt wrong somehow, even with the rain pounding leaves and the thunder crashing above. I had this deep sense that something out here was holding its breath. I kept calling Moose's name, my voice ragged. A flash of lightning lit the trees for an instant, revealing the chaos of the forest floor, tangled undergrowth, small streams of runoff winding between boulders, and everything slicked with water. No sign of moose. I pushed on, boots squelching and ankle-deep mud. The wind whistled between branches, almost like it was whispering warnings I couldn't quite understand. After another minute of

struggling uphill, that smell hit me. It was a stench so foul my throat seized in protest, like rotting meat left out in the summer heat. I'd come across dead animals before out in the Appalachian wilderness, but this was different. It was stronger, like a carcass that had been there a week or more, oozing and attracting flies. Except I couldn't hear any flies, just the thumping of the storm around me. Whatever it was, it made me want to turn around and run. but I forced myself to keep going. If moose had gotten hurt or tangled somewhere, I couldn't leave him. My eyes watered from the vile odor, and the mud sucked at each step.

A branch snapped overhead, making me jump, like something had stepped on it. I whipped around, but all I saw was the black swirl of the forest and the downpour. I tried to swallow back the dread and called out again, Moose! My voice came out sounding desperate, bouncing off wet trunks. The thunder grumbled its response. No chain sounds, no whining dog, nothing. Lightning flashed once more,

cutting the darkness for maybe half a second. In that brief light, I spotted something pale on the ground a few yards away. My stomach churned as I took a cautious step closer. It looked like an animal's ribcage, possibly a deer's, picked clean to the bone. The edges were dark and ragged, as if something had gnawed on them.

rainwater and mud slicked the remains, making the bones gleam unnaturally. I felt a wave of nausea, but terror kept me from throwing up. The wind gusted hard, and the leaves overhead thrashed as though furious I was still there. I realized the smell might be coming from that carcass, but it felt like there was more to it, like something else was in the air, beyond just death, something old and malevolent. Then lightning illuminated the area once again, but this time I noticed that certain patches of the forest weren't lighting up at all. It was as if a section of the trees had been painted with ink so black the light refused to touch it.

I blinked, trying to clear rainwater from my eyes, certain it had to be a trick of shadows. Except it stayed there, a dense void where tree trunks and undergrowth should have been. Suddenly, I heard a barking frenzy. My head snapped to the right, and in the dim, stuttering light, moose bounded into view. chain clattering on rocks. He was soaked and wild-eyed, barking at that patch of darkness. I yelled his name again, voice cracking in relief. He kept barking, the chain tangling around his legs as he inched closer to the void. Every instinct in me screamed to keep him away from whatever that was. I stumbled forward, arms flailing for balance, and managed to snatch the chain

just before he lunged. Moose's hackles were raised. and a low growl rattled in his throat. The barking stopped abruptly as if he realized we were both in serious danger. Then a low rumble echoed from higher up the slope, a sound deeper than any animal I'd encountered. It felt like it vibrated through my ribs, so heavy I nearly lost my balance in the mud. That was enough for both of us.

I yanked moose back, and we started downhill. Calling it a retreat would be an understatement. It was a panic scramble. The ground seemed determined to keep us there slipping under my feet. Every time lightning revealed tree limbs, we jerked around them, half expecting something massive to burst through the brush. Moose fought the chain in terror, but for once he and I were on the same page. We needed to get out of there, and fast.

The descent was a blur of snapping twigs and thorns slicing at my arms. Rain plastered my hair to my face, forcing me to wipe my eyes constantly. I barely kept track of Moose's chain in my hand. A flash of lightning was followed by the biggest boom of thunder I'd heard all night. It rattled the leaves off nearby branches. The steep slope made me feel like I was skiing on wet leaves. My boots slipped, and I nearly fell face first into the muck. Behind me, a loud crash echoed, like a gigantic branch broke under tremendous weight.

Maybe it was just the wind, or maybe it was whatever made that growl. I didn't even want to look back. The only thing that mattered was getting Moose and me across that creek and back to the house. When I finally spotted the creek below, lightning flickered again. For a split second, I swear I glimpsed a tall, vaguely distorted shape higher up on the slope. The very air around it seemed to bend. I squeezed Moose's chain, practically dragging him the last few yards. The planks that served as our bridge looked even more rickety now,

half submerged by the swollen water. With no real plan, I splashed across, water sloshing into my boots. Moose leapted beside me, spattering mud everywhere. Another vicious gust hammered the trees, and I heard a crunch of wood. My imagination, or maybe not, conjured the idea that something huge was only a dozen yards behind us, snapping branches in its path. I didn't wait to confirm. Moose and I stumbled back into what was left of our yard, the faint glow from the house's window like a beacon. My legs burned with exhaustion, and my lungs stung from breathing so hard. The storm still raged, but as awful as it was, it felt safer than whatever lurked deeper in the forest. The door had swung shut behind me when I left, and I could see Eric's small face pressed to the glass, eyes large.

He was waiting, probably terrified. Moose and I darted up the muddy slope to the porch. I nearly collapsed onto the door, fumbling to get it open. My hands shook so badly I could barely work the latch. Finally it gave, and we toppled inside. I slammed the door behind us, though there wasn't much left of it to bolt. Rain dripped from my clothes in a steady trail. Moose shook himself, spraying water all over.

Still breathing hard, I pressed my ear to the door, half expecting something to slam against it. But all I heard was the storm raging outside. Eric stood by the dim lamp on the side table, looking so small that my heart hurt to see him. He opened his mouth to ask a question, maybe about what happened out there, but I just raised a hand, still gasping.

There was nothing I could say that would make sense. Not yet. Instead I walked over to the window, parted the threadbare curtain a fraction, and looked out into the darkness. my eyes strained to spot any movement or shape the rain blurred everything into a shifting mess of shadows yet i couldn't shake the idea that something was still out there watching listening waiting in that moment the storm outside no longer felt like the biggest threat something else was lurking in the appalachian mountains that night and i'd come terrifyingly close to it i had no clue what it was or how it had stayed hidden all i knew was that we'd barely gotten away and I didn't want to test our luck twice.

By morning, I was running on fumes. I'd spent most of the night in the living room, fighting the urge to fall asleep. Eric dozed in a chair with moose curled at his feet, a rare moment of calm for that dog, who was still damp from our sprint through the storm. The rain finally started letting up at sunrise, and it gave me just enough courage to crack open the busted door and peer out.

The yard looked waterlogged and torn up, like a battleground of mud and broken branches. Before I could decide whether to investigate the creek, my parents barged in, complaining about the warped door. My dad, wearing an old denim jacket spotted with rain, took one glance at the wood we'd rigged as a latch, and muttered something about lousy craftsmanship before turning on me. He wanted to know why the door was off its frame,

why everything smelled like wet dog, and what had happened during the night. My explanation came out rushed and jumbled, Moose ran off. I chased him. The storm was insane. Something in the woods. He cut me off with a wave of his hand. The expression on his face said he was in no mood for what he believed were wild stories. He turned around and stomped out the door, grumbling that he'd check for any real damage and see if any punks messed with our stuff. My mother followed, giving me a tired look that hovered between concern and annoyance. I stood there, knuckles sore from gripping Moose's chain, so. tight the night before. A part of me wanted to just let my dad go, but my gut told me I should see what he found at the creek. The memory of that snarling sound, the rotten smell, and the impossible darkness clung to my mind like a stain. Eric stayed inside to calm moose while

I stepped out into the dreary morning. Rain still dripped from the gnarled trees overhead. The sky was a dull gray that made everything look washed out, except for scattered piles of shattered wood leading toward the creek. I followed the splinters, my boots sliding in patches of thick mud. My parents were already ahead, picking their way down the slope. The bridge, or what was left of it, looked like something had crushed and shredded it overnight. Chunks of rotted plank lay in the swollen water, and jagged spikes stuck up at odd angles. My dad crouched on the muddy bank, running his hand over a broken piece. His lips tightened in anger. Kids with no respect, he said under his breath,

though he didn't explain how any kid could have snapped boards in such a savage way. My mom glanced over at me, her eyebrows raised. She hadn't said much since we got here, just stared at the destruction with a pale face. I could see the gears turning in her head, trying to reconcile this with the idea of some troublemakers running around in the rain. It didn't fit, and I think she knew it, but she wasn't about to admit it out loud. The smell of decay had faded somewhat, replaced by the

dank odor of morning fog and wet earth, but I couldn't shake the memory of it. I shuffled closer to the water, scanning the opposite bank. The forest beyond seemed calm, just dripping leaves in the faint babble of the creek. In broad daylight, there was no sign of that strange void or the presence I sensed before. It was like the mountain had returned to its usual self, just another stretch of Appalachians brimming with wild critters and tall trees. My dad grabbed a loose plank and threw it aside. He gestured for me to come over and pointed at deep scratches along the wood. Teeth marks? He snapped, as though I was the expert. The edges were jagged, as if something had gnawed or torn at the plank with an unbelievable force. He shook his head. Beaver's maybe. He mummed. He mumbled.

though I'd never heard of beavers large enough to snap a thick board in one bite. He stood up, rubbing his hands on his jacket, looking over the muddy mess. I'll have to fix this, he said, then shot me a glare. Next time keep that dog under control. We can't afford to replace everything he tears up. I wanted to argue, to tell him it wasn't moose, but I could already see the disbelief in his eyes. He'd made up his mind that local hoodlums or some oversized animal caused all the chaos. We made our way back toward the house, my dad muttering plans to gather more wood and reinforce the place.

My mom trailed behind him, arms crossed. I suspected she had questions about what really happened, but she stayed quiet. I had a bunch of questions myself, and none of them had good answers. Inside, Eric was petting moose, who seemed exhausted, like he had no fight left. The dog wouldn't even look at the door, and every time a gust of wind shook the house, he pressed himself tighter against Eric's legs. My parents wanted breakfast and coffee, so they shoot us out of the kitchen. We ended up back in the living room, facing the window that gave a perfect view of the yard

and the dripping woods beyond. Eric whispered, was it a bear? I shook my head, not sure how to respond. A bear might tear up a plank, sure, but the snarl I'd heard on the slope wasn't quite animal. I thought about telling him everything. the black void, the smell, the mangled carcass I saw, but I couldn't bring myself to terrify him even more. We'd barely slept as it was. The day rolled on, dull and gloomy, with my parents hauling tools out to patch up the front door. I stood in the yard, eyes drifting toward the tree line.

In normal weather, it was just a typical patch of forest, crowded with ferns and oak trees, occasional deer tracks. Now I pictured the twisted, remains of the bridge and that unnatural darkness hidden somewhere up the slope, waiting for another storm or another unwary wanderer. My mom called me to help with the door, so I wandered back and hammered nails where my dad pointed, trying not to think about the place beyond the creek. It felt like just a few short hours ago we'd been running for our lives, certain that something monstrous was on our heels. But with the daylight creeping in, nobody wanted to mention it. Nobody wanted to believe anything unexplainable lurked this close to our house.

Eventually, when the door was half fixed, my parents turned their attention to the yard and started ranting about muddy footprints and the battered porch. The tension in the house was like a tightening knot. Nobody felt safe, but we all pretended it was just a typical morning after a storm. I retreated to my room for a bit, peeling off the filthy clothes I still had on. Part of me wanted to ask if we could leave, even for a day, go stay with someone else until the weather cleared. But we barely had enough gas money to get my parents to their gig. They weren't about to up and vacate the house because of one scary night. I kept glancing out my window, half expecting a sudden movement near the tree line.

Nothing showed, just water dripping from branches and left over fog hugging the base of the mountains. Under a normal sky, it might even look serene. but I'd seen what the night could hide. My heart thudded every time I remembered that rumbling growl echoing through the storm. The next few hours dragged on. Eric tried to calm moose with bits of food, but the dog wouldn't leave his side. My parents acted like the real villain was the wind, or maybe some vandals who'd chosen the worst weather possible to play pranks.

Nobody acknowledged that the broken bridge, splintered into fragments, was too extreme for a casual prank. Nobody wanted to confront the idea that something beyond ordinary had trampled those planks into matchsticks. Once the evening arrived, a sick feeling settled in my stomach. The sky was clearing, stars beginning to peek out. Normally, I'd be relieved to see no more rain, but a clear night meant every dark corner of the forest stood out in sharp detail. I caught myself scanning the window again, searching the edges for any shape that didn't belong. There was no sign of that darkness, or the stench of decay, yet I couldn't convince myself

it was truly gone. The Appalachians had plenty of hidden corners, caves and hollows, where something could live without being disturbed. Maybe it only came out in storms, or maybe we'd simply stumbled upon its territory at the wrong moment. I hated not knowing. I helped Eric settle in for the night, keeping moose next to us. We sat on the worn couch, lights off, just quietly looking at the window. Sometimes you can feel safer in the dark if you think nothing can see you. Yet I was aware of everything,

every creek in the rafters, every gust of wind outside. A branch scraped the roof, and I nearly jumped. But no monstrous shadow loomed at the window. No chain-rattling chase played out in the yard. When my parents finally turned in, the house fell into an uneasy silence.

Eric drifted to sleep eventually. arms wrapped around moose like a security blanket. I sat there, staring past their forms at the night beyond the window, gripping the couch cushions until my fingers hurt. The moonlight made the tree line visible, turning the shapes of trunks and tangled branches into black silhouettes. Part of me tried to believe nothing was out there, but it was a hollow belief.

Somewhere in those mountains, something was waiting, something I'd practically run headlong into when chasing moose. something that snapped planks left bones in the mud and made a sound that shook the ground like a tremor i just prayed it wasn't peering back this way remembering my scent the idea sent my heart rattling in my chest and so i sat through the night wide awake glancing at the window every time a breeze stirred a branch if the thing from the storm decided to come back i knew our patched-up door wouldn't be enough to keep it out but all i could do was cling to hope that daylight would keep it at bay that the thing from the storm decided to come back i knew our patched-up door wouldn't be enough to keep it out but all i could do was cling to hope that daylight would keep it at bay that that maybe this horror was finished with us, or at least satisfied enough to leave us alone for a while longer.