Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Terrifying SKINWALKER Horror Stories That Give You Nightmares

Episode Date: January 10, 2025

These are 4 Terrifying SKINWALKER Horror Stories That Give You Nightmares Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ Timestamps: 00:00 Intro 00:00:18 Story 1 00:17:01 Story 2 00:34:49 Story 3 00:52:44 Story 4 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 #skinwalker #cryptids #sleep #narration #reddit 💀As always thanks for watching! 💀

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Too quiet. The trip started out like any other. Baxter and I had done plenty of these solo outings before, and I had no reason to think this one would be any different. I'd packed the essentials, sleeping bag, snacks, the knife I always carry, and Baxter's favorite chew toy, just in case he got restless. We were heading to a spot deep in Gallatin National Forest that I'd found years ago, miles away from campsites or other people, perfect for catching the meteor shower.

The drive was long, but the view of the stars from the winding mountain road made it worth it. By the time we arrived, it was just after sunset, and the fading light painted the trees in hues of gold and deep purple. Baxter leapt out of the truck sniffing at everything like he was on a mission. His enthusiasm was contagious, and for a while I felt the usual excitement that comes with being out here, away from the noise of the world. I got the fire going as the first stars began to peek out, sitting back with Baxter curled up beside me. The quiet of the woods was peaceful at first, a welcome change from the buzz of everyday life.

The fire crackled, its warmth chasing away the evening's. chill, and I leaned back to take in the sky. One meteor streaked past, then another. I grabbed my phone, snapping a few pictures to show friends later. That's when Baxter growled. It was low, almost a rumble, and I felt it in my chest before I fully registered the sound. I glanced down at him, expecting him to be looking at a squirrel or some other harmless animal, but he wasn't. He was staring at the tree line, ears flat, his entire body rigid. Hey, what's up, bud? I said softly, trying to calm him down.

He didn't look at me. The fire popped loudly, making me jump, and I realized the usual hum of the forest. Crickets, rustling leaves, distant owls, had vanished. The silence was so complete it felt suffocating. I grabbed my flashlight and stood, my boots crunching on the dry leaves. Probably a deer, I muttered, more to myself than to Baxter. His growl deepened. Sweeping the light across the trees, I searched for the source of his unease.

Nothing. Just shadows, and the faint outline of branches swaying in the breeze. But something felt off. The shadows were too dark, too solid, as if they weren't cast by the firelight but by something else entirely. And then I saw it. At first I thought it was just a trick of the light, a tall, thin shape, standing perfectly. still among the trees. But as I kept the flashlight on it, my stomach dropped. It wasn't a tree. It was a figure, unnaturally tall and gaunt, its limbs too long and its head tilted to the side,

almost inquisitively. I froze. Baxter whimpered and back toward the truck. Hey, I called out, hoping it was just another camper who'd wandered too close. My voice sounded small, swallowed by the trees. The figure didn't move. I still. stepped back instinctively, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. The flashlight shook in my hand as I kept the beam trained on it. That's when its head moved. Slowly, jerkily, like it was figuring out how to move for the first time. The tilt became more exaggerated, almost upside down,

and then its eyes, two faint yellowish glows, opened. My breath caught. Those weren't human eyes. They weren't animal eyes either. Baxter in the truck, I whispered, my voice trembling. The figure didn't step forward. It slid. No sound. No shift in the undergrowth. One second it was ten feet into the tree line, and the next it was five feet closer. Its glowing eyes locked on me.

Okay, we're leaving, I muttered. More to myself than to Baxter. I turned and bolted for the truck, Baxter right on my heels. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears as I fumbled with the keys, dropping them once before finally managing to shove them into the ignition. The truck roared to life, and I slammed it into reverse, spinning the tires as I backed out of the campsite. My headlights swept across the clearing, and for a brief moment I saw the figure again, standing in the middle of where my fire had been. It hadn't moved like it should have been able to. It was just there. I didn't wait to see what it would do next. The truck skidded

onto the dirt road, and I floored it, speeding into the dark. Behind me, the clearing vanished, swallowed by the trees, but the silence stayed with me, heavier than ever. Something had followed me out of the woods, and I wasn't sure I'd left it behind. The road felt endless. My hands were gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles were white, and Baxter was curled into the farthest corner of the passenger seat, trembling. Every bump in the road sent shocks. through the truck, and every shadow that crossed the headlights felt like it could be it. I tried to convince myself I was just seeing things back there, but my gut wouldn't let me. Something was wrong, and no matter how far I drove, I couldn't drop the feeling it was still there.

I glanced at the rearview mirror out of instinct, and my heart stopped. There, in the faint glow of my taillights, it was. The same impossibly tall figure, running, no, sprinting. Only it wasn't running like a person. Its limbs were moving wrong, like it had too many joints or none at all, each step covering far more ground than it should have. It moved like a predator, silent, relentless, and impossibly fast. Oh no, oh no, no, no, I muttered, slamming my foot on the gas.

The engine roared as the truck lurched forward, tires spitting gravel. I risked another glance at the mirror. It was still there, and worse. It was getting closer. Baxter barked sharply, his hackles raised, and I almost screamed. I didn't dare look over at him. My eyes were glued to the road, watching as the headlights carved through the endless dark. The forest closed in on both sides.

The trees like a tunnel, and I realized how trapped I was. There were no turnoffs, no clearings, just this single, suffocating road. Then came the screech. It started low like me. metal grinding against metal before rising to an ear-splitting whale that made me jerk the wheel. The truck swerved dangerously close to the edge of the road, and I fought to keep it steady. Baxter yelped and ducked under the dash. The sound wasn't coming from behind me. It was coming from above. Something slammed onto the roof of the truck, and I felt the entire vehicle

shutter under the weight. My heart felt like it was going to explode. I could hear it moving up there, dragging itself across the metal with a sickening scrape, the sound vibrating through the cab. I knew what it wanted. It wanted me to look. Don't, I whispered to myself, my voice shaking. Don't look. Just keep driving. The roof groaned again, denting inward just slightly. The thing was heavy, far heavier than it should have been. My brain screamed at me to pull over, to stop, to do something, but my body refused to listen. I slammed the gas pedal harder, willing the truck to go faster. The trees whipped past in a blur, and for a moment I thought maybe I could outrun it.

But then the weight shifted again, and the truck shuddered violently. I felt it moving toward the sunroof. The tapping started. Light, rhythmic, almost playful. Just three quick taps, like it was knocking to be let in. I swallowed hard keeping my eyes on the road. You're not real. You're not real.

I whispered, gripping the wheel like it was the only thing tethering me to reality. The tapping came again, this time harder. The sunroof cover rattled as if it could barely hold the thing out. My pulse was deafening, my breath shallow and ragged. I knew, knew that if I opened that cover, I wouldn't survive whatever I'd see. Baxter whimpered from under the dash, his nails scratching at the floor as if he could dig his way out of the truck. Then the tapping stopped. for a brief terrible moment all I could hear was the roar of the engine and the crunch of gravel beneath the tires

The silence was worse than the tapping and then with no warning the weight slid off the roof The truck bounced slightly as it hit the road behind me with a sickening thud and I couldn't stop myself from looking in the mirror There it was lying in the middle of the road it looked crumpled almost broken and its limbs twisted at impossible angles, but it wasn't staying down. I watched in horror as it began to move. Slowly at first, jerky, unnatural movements as it straightened itself out. I could hear the sound even over the engine, the crack of joints snapping back into place, the wet, awful noise of bones grinding together, its head turned toward me,

and those glowing yellow eyes locked on to mine through the mirror. Nope, I said aloud, slamming the gear shift. into reverse. The truck fish-tailed as I backed away from it, trying to put as much distance as I could between us. The thing stood fully upright now, taller than before, its silhouette blotting out the trees behind it. It didn't run this time. It didn't need to. The scream came again, louder and closer, like it was tearing through my skull. I jammed the truck back into drive and floored it, refusing to look back again. My only thought was to get to the nearest town, the nearest light, anywhere that wasn't here.

I drove for what felt like hours, but the forest never seemed to end. Every shadow looked like it was moving. Every sound made me flinch. Baxter stayed under the dash. His wimper's now barely audible over the pounding of my heart. When the glow of a gas station finally appeared in the distance, I felt tears sting my eyes. Safety, light, civilization.

I didn't slow down until I was directly under the heart. harsh fluorescent glow of the lot, parking so close to the building that I almost hit the wall. For the first time in what felt like forever, I exhaled. But even as I stumbled inside to beg the clerk for help, I couldn't get rid of the feeling that it wasn't over, that it was still out there. I hadn't escaped, not really. The gas station clerk looked at me like I was insane. I didn't blame him. I probably looked insane, wide-eyed, shaking, dirt smudged across my face. I was and Baxter refusing to leave the truck barking at nothing in the distance. I could barely get words out as I stumbled toward the counter,

my voice cracking as I asked if he'd seen anything strange. Strange? he repeated, his tone thick with boredom. You mean like UFOs or Bigfoot or something? I wanted to scream at him, shake him, make him understand. Instead, I just nodded, my hands gripping the edge of the counter to keep from collapsing. Nope, he said with a shrug popping his gum, just you. I didn't bother trying to explain further. I bought a coffee I didn't want, just for an excuse to linger in the bright, sterile light

of the gas station. My body felt like it was on autopilot. Every instinct in me screamed to stay put, but the rational part of my brain knew I couldn't. I had to keep moving. Baxter's barking reached a frantic pitch, and I turned to see him clawing at the window of the truck. his eyes wide and wild. My blood ran cold. He wasn't barking at nothing. He was barking at something. I bolted outside, my eyes scanning the darkness at the edge of the gas station lot. The floodlights only

reached so far, and beyond them was the black void of the forest. For a second, I thought I saw movement, something tall and spindly shifting just out of sight. But when I blinked, it was gone. All right, we're leaving. I muttered, mostly to myself. I climbed into the truck, my heart hammering, and slammed the door shut. I didn't bother looking back as I sped out of the lot, the gas station lights disappearing into the rearview mirror. Baxter had wedged himself into the footwell, trembling, and I kept glancing at him like he might somehow reassure me. He didn't.

The road stretched endlessly ahead of me, winding through the forest like a cruel joke. Every shadow seemed to move. Every flicker of light in the trees felt like eyes staring back at me. I turned the radio on, desperate for some kind of normalcy, but all I got was static. And then the tapping started again. At first it was faint, just a single tap, like a pebble hitting the glass. Then another, and another. I knew better than to look, but my eyes flicked up to the windshield anyway.

Nothing. Just the reflection of my own tail. terrified face in the blur of the road. The tapping grew louder, more insistent. It wasn't coming from the windshield. It was coming from the roof. My breath hitched, and I tightened my grip on the wheel, refusing to slow down. Not real, not real, I whispered to myself, the words more desperate each time, but it was real. I felt the truck shudder as the weight shifted again, the metallic groan of the roof echoing in my ears. Something scraped along the side of the truck, nails or claws dragging across the paint.

Baxter whimpered, burying his head in his paws, and I felt the panic rising in my throat. Suddenly, I saw it. Standing in the middle of the road, illuminated by my high beams, was the figure. Its limbs were longer now, stretched to impossible proportions, and its head tilted at that sickening angle.

Those glowing eyes burned into mine, even from a distance. I slammed the brakes, the truck skidding to a halt. For a moment everything was still. I didn't breathe, didn't move, and then it smiled. The figure's mouth stretched wide, too wide, the edges curling unnaturally as if its face wasn't meant to move that way. I screamed. I couldn't help it.

My body moved on instinct, slamming the truck into reverse as I floored it. The figure didn't move at first, just stood there grin. But as soon as my taillights hit it, it dropped to all fours and started crawling toward me. No, not crawling, scuttling. Its limbs moved like a spider's, too fast and too fluid, and it was closing the distance faster than I thought possible. I whipped the truck around and gunned it, gravel flying as I tore down the road. The thing kept pace, darting between the trees, its glowing eyes flickering in and out of view. My chest felt like it was going to burst.

I couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but drive, drive, drive. The road felt like it would never end, and the shadows kept growing darker, thicker, closing in around me. Finally, I saw the faint glow of a streetlight in the distance, my house, home. I didn't stop until I reached the driveway, slamming the truck into park and bolting for the door.

Baxter was right on my heels, his tail between the distance. legs. Inside, I locked every door and window, turning on every light in the house. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold my phone as I tried to call someone, anyone. But the signal was still dead. Baxter whimpered from the corner of the room, staring at the window. I didn't want to look, but I couldn't help it. Slowly I turned my head. There it was. Standing at the edge of the yard, just outside the glow of the porch light. Its head was tilted. Its eye was eyes glowing and that horrible, unnatural smile stretched across its face. I shut the curtains, my heart pounding in my ears, but the tapping didn't stop. Some things work better together,

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Tova forms an unlikely friendship with their crumudgeonly, Marcellus, whose remarkable intelligence leads her to a life-changing discovery. Watch remarkably bright creatures with your remarkable moms this Mother's Day weekend. Only on Netflix May 8th. Ellie's fever had been relentless all day. Her flushed cheeks and the way her tiny body radiated heat through the thin blanket left me on edge. I'd been nursing her through this virus for nearly a week, and tonight felt like a tipping point. Every breath she took was shallow, rasping, as if her little lungs were running out of patience.

I sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on her damp forehead, the other clutching my phone. The alarm was set for 3 o'clock a.m. time for her next dose of medicine. The clock ticked loudly in the silence of our small apartment. I couldn't sleep, not really. Every creak in the walls or distant car engine made me jolt upright, my heart racing. When the alarm finally blared, it startled me so badly that I nearly dropped my phone. I slid out of bed careful not to wake up. her soft murmurs tugged at me but I reminded myself that she needed this medicine padding into the kitchen

I squinted against the glow of the overhead light and fumbled through the cabinet for the bottle of liquid Tylenol that's when I saw it the light it wasn't the warm yellow glow of a street lamp or the faint blue flicker of a distant TV no this was stark white and harsh cutting through the curtains over the sliding glass door It casts sharp shadows across the living room, making the edges of furniture look sharper, almost unreal. I froze, the bottle of medicine in my hand listening. The neighborhood was usually quiet at this hour, but something about that light unsettled me. Slowly I moved toward the door, pulling the curtain aside just enough to peek out. There it was. A car parked at the far edge of the lot, its brights pointed directly into the woods behind the building. The light slighted

through the trees, catching on branches, and throwing jagged reflections across the ground. I thought maybe someone had just pulled in, maybe dropping off a friend or getting back late. But the car wasn't moving. The engine wasn't running. It just sat there, too still, with its lights bearing down on the forest like it was searching for something. Then I saw the movement. At first it was subtle, just a flicker near the edge of the light. My eyes strained to make sense of it. A shadow? A trick of the headlights? No, it was an animal, something low to the ground, slinking between the trees. My immediate thought was a fox. They were common enough around here, though this one moved strangely. Its body seemed disjointed, like its limbs were struggling to obey the same command.

I leaned closer, pressing my forehead to the cool glass. trying to make out the shape. As it stepped into the light, my stomach twisted. It wasn't a fox, or at least it wasn't any more. Its body began to change, the edges of its form rippling like water disturbed by a stone. One moment it looked like a small dog, its tail twitching nervously, and then it stretched, growing thinner, taller, until it resembled a cat.

But even that didn't last. Within seconds, its body collapsed inward, folding unnaturally before emerging as something bulkier. Its movements slower, heavier, like a bear dragging itself across the forest floor. I stumbled back from the door my breath coming in shallow gasps. My mind scrambled for answers, rational explanations. Was it an optical illusion? A shadow cast by swaying branches?

But the way it moved, it was wrong, unnatural. My hands were trembling as I edged back towards. the glass, compelled by equal parts terror and disbelief. The creature had shifted again, now smaller, rounder, with fur that gleamed under the bright headlights, a raccoon maybe, or something pretending to be one. Its body seemed to shimmer, the edges blurring and reforming, like it couldn't decide what it was supposed to be. That's when I realized my heart was pounding so loudly I could hear it in my ears. I needed to wake Paul. He'd see this. He'd tell me I wasn't losing my mind, but before I could step away, the creature paused. It turned, or at least

its body shifted in a way that felt like turning, and though it had no discernible face, I felt its attention. A cold, sinking dread settled in my chest as if its gaze had pierced through the glass, through me, and straight into my core. I didn't realize I was moving until I was already halfway down the hall, my feet carrying me on autopilot. Paul, I whispered harshly. shaking his shoulder. Paul, get up. You have to see this. He groaned, groggy and annoyed,

but I didn't have time for his protests. Grabbing his arm, I hauled him out of bed, dragging him toward the living room. My hands wouldn't stop shaking, and the words spilling out of me didn't make any sense. Something about headlights, the woods, the creature.

By the time we reached the door, the light outside felt even brighter, harsher. I didn't want to look, but I had to. When we pulled the curtain aside together, the thing was closer now, crawling out of the woods. Its form twisted again, shrinking down into something small and striped. A skunk. Relief washed over me so quickly I nearly laughed.

A damn skunk. All that panic over nothing. I turned to Paul, my voice a mixture of nerves and embarrassment. It's just a skunk, I said, chuckling. I— Paul didn't respond. He just stared, his face pale, his eyes locked on the creature outside. Following his gaze, I turned back to the glass. The skunk's fur rippled unnaturally, its body spasming as it grew larger,

then smaller, then larger again. Its tail disappeared, its legs elongated, and in one horrifying moment it looked almost human, crawling on all fours, with patches of fur and exposed skin hanging from its limbs like tattered fabric. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. All I could do was stare as the creature fell apart and rebuilt itself over and over right there under the light. Paul stared at the creature, his face slack with disbelief. His usual gruff confidence, the one that usually annoyed me, was gone. I clutched his arm tightly, afraid to look away, but more afraid not to. The thing outside moved with a jerky, unnatural rhythm, like its joints weren't hinged correctly. It paused under the glow of the headlights, shivering, shifting. My stomach twisted as it began to change again.

At first it looked like it was shedding, as if clumps of fur and skin were peeling off its body, falling to the ground in sticky, wet slaps. But then it would reassemble itself, the pieces sucking back into its core, twisting into something new. It stretched upward, its limbs unnaturally long, its back arched at an impossible angle. for a moment it stood there swaying and I swore it looked like a person if a person's skeleton had been broken and reassembled by someone who didn't understand how bodies worked

paul muttered something under his breath but i couldn't make it out his voice sounded far away muffled like it was coming from underwater my pulse roared in my ears as the thing collapsed again dropping to all fours with a sickening crunch this time it crawled forward dragging itself across the gravel lot like it weighed too much for its limbs to support. Its head jerked in our direction, and I felt it again, that awful, suffocating sensation of being watched. We need to call animal control, Paul said finally, his voice strained. He reached for his phone, but I grabbed his arm. It's not an animal. The words came out harsher than I intended, but I couldn't stop myself. My throat was dry, my mouth barely able to form the same.

syllables. You saw it. That thing. It's not normal. Paul hesitated, his fingers hovering over his phone. What the hell else could it be? He snapped, his voice shaking. He was trying to be rational, trying to explain this away, but I could see the fear in his eyes. He didn't know what it was any more than I did. Before I could respond, the car's headlights flickered. The light dimmed for a moment, then surged back, brighter than before. The creature froze mid-crawl, its head twitching to the side, almost like it was listening to something. Then, without warning, the headlights cut off completely. Darkness swallowed the parking lot and with it the creature disappeared. I grabbed Paul's arm my nails digging into his skin. Turn on the porch light, I hissed, now.

He fumbled for the switch and the small bulb over the sliding door sputtered to life, casting a pale, weak glow over the deck. It wasn't much, but it was enough to see the edge of the lot, and the first few feet of the woods, enough to see that the thing was gone. Paul exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping as he leaned against the wall. It's gone, he said, more to himself than to me. It's gone. But I didn't believe it. I couldn't.

The way it had moved, the way it had looked at us. It wasn't the kind of thing that just disappeared. It was still out there, somewhere in the dark, waiting. I'm going out there. I said suddenly, the words spilling out before I could stop them. Paul's head snapped toward me. The hell you are! I need to see, I said, my voice trembling.

I need to know it's really gone. Are you insane? Paul grabbed my arm, his grip firm. You just saw whatever the hell that was. You're not stepping outside. But I couldn't sit here, couldn't wait for it to come back. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to do something, anything, to take control of this nightmare. I wrenched my arm free and grabbed the flashlight from the kitchen

counter. Before Paul could stop me, I slid open the door just enough to step outside. The cold air hit me like a slap, sharp and unforgiving. The night was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that felt wrong. No crickets, no rustling leaves, just the sound of my own breathing, shallow and rapid. I held the flashlight in a death grip, its beam trembling as I pointed it toward the tree line. Just a quick look, I whispered to myself, though my voice didn't feel like my own. Just a quick look. I shone the light over the gravel lot, searching for any sign of the creature. The car was still there, its engine off, its windows dark. The ground where the thing had been crawling was empty, but the gravel looked disturbed, like something heavy had dragged itself through

it. As I inched closer to the edge of the deck, I heard it, a faint, wet sound, like something being dragged through mud. My flashlight flickered, the beams sputtering weakly, and for a moment, I thought I saw movement in the shadows, a shape, low to the ground, scuttling just out of reach of the light. My heart raced as I stepped back, nearly tripping over the doorframe. I slammed the sliding door shut and locked it, my hands shaking so badly I could barely turn the latch. What did you see? Paul asked, his voice sharp with urgency. Nothing, I lied, my voice barely above a whisper. It's gone. But I didn't believe it, not for a second. I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it, the creature, its body twisting and tearing apart,

only to reform into something even more unnatural. Paul had managed to drift off eventually, his steady breathing an unwelcome reminder of his ability to compartmentalize. I, on the other hand, was wide awake, perched on the couch with a blanket draped over my shoulders, and the flashlight clutched in my lap like a lifeline. The clock on the microwave glowed faintly in the dark. 2.45 a.m. 15 minutes until the time it all started last night. I stared at the sliding door, my breath fogging the glass as I leaned closer, trying to peer into the darkness beyond.

The porch light was still on, casting a weak, uneven glow over the deck. Beyond that was an impenetrable wall of black. I hadn't told Paul about the sound I heard, that horrible wet dragging noise. I didn't need to. It had echoed in my head all night, a sound so unnatural it felt like it had been burned into my brain.

I thought about Ellie, asleep in her bed down the hall, and my stomach cleansed. What if it came back? What if it was already here? Watching? By the time the clock clicked over to 3 a.m., my nerves were frayed. I told myself I was being paranoid that I was letting fear get the better of me.

But deep down, I knew better. I could feel it. The same oppressive, suffocating presence I'd felt the night before. The air seemed heavier, thicker, as if the apartment itself was holding its breath. And then there was a little bit of the apartment. it was, a faint glow flickering through the curtains. I froze, my grip tightening on the flashlight. It wasn't the car this time. The light wasn't steady or bright. It pulsed, dim and irregular, like the dying glow of a firefly. Slowly I rose from the couch, every muscle in my body

screaming at me to sit back down, to pretend I hadn't seen it. But my legs moved on their own, carrying me toward the sliding door. I pressed my face to the glass, squinting into the night. At first, I saw nothing. The glow had vanished, leaving only the weak light of the porch bulb to illuminate the deck. But then, just at the edge of the woods, something shifted. A shadow, darker than the night around it, moved. My breath hitched as the shape emerged, slowly, deliberately. It was the creature. It hadn't left. This time its movements were different, more purposeful, as if it had finally decided what it wanted to be. It crawled on all fours, its body stretched and hunched,

its skin rippling like water. The weak light from the porch caught its face, or what should have been a face. Instead, there was only a smooth, featureless expanse, blank and unfeeling. It stopped at the edge of the deck, its head tilting upward as if it were looking directly at me. My legs turned to jelly, and I stumbled backward, clutching the edge of the couch for support. The fly flashlight slipped from my hands clattering to the floor and rolling under the coffee table. No, I whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding of my heart. This isn't real. This can't be real. The thing began to move again, its limbs jerking unnaturally as it crawled onto the deck. The boards creaked under its weight,

each step slow and deliberate. My stomach churned as I watched its shift once more, its body folding in on itself, collapsing into a pile of of limbs and fur. When it reassembled, it was smaller, more compact, but no less horrifying. It looked almost human, its arms too long, its legs bending backward at the knees. The porch light flickered, casting the creature into momentary darkness. When the light returned, it was closer. I wanted to scream, to wake Paul, to grab Ellie and run, but I couldn't move. My body refused to obey. All I could was watch as the thing pressed one long gnarled hand against the glass. Its fingers splayed, leaving behind a wet, smeared print that drips slowly down the surface. Then it leaned

forward, its head tilting to the side, and though it had no eyes, I knew it was staring at me. I felt it, deep in my chest, a suffocating weight that threatened to crush the air from my lungs. From down the hall, Ellie's small voice broke the silence. Mommy? The sound shattered whatever trance I'd been under. I turned and bolted, my feet slipping on the hardwood as I race toward her room. She was standing in the doorway, clutching her stuffed rabbit. Her cheeks flushed with fever. It's here, she said softly, her voice eerily calm.

It's looking for you. I scooped her up, her small body hot against mine, and ran back to the living room. The sliding door was empty now, the deck bare, but the wet smear on the gleners. glass remained, a grotesque reminder that it had been there. Paul stumbled into the room, bleary-eyed and disoriented. What's going on? He demanded, his voice thick with sleep. I couldn't answer. I just stood there, clutching Ellie tightly, staring at the sliding door as if the thing might reappear at any moment. My voice finally came, trembling and weak. We're not safe here, I said. We have to leave. Now. Paul looked at me like I was crazy, but I didn't care.

I knew the truth. Whatever that thing was, it wasn't going to stop. It wasn't going to leave us alone, and it wasn't going to let us go. When I think back to that summer, I can still feel the weight of the forest pressing down on me, the thick, humid air carrying a silence that didn't feel right. My uncle's cabin sat miles away from anything resembling civilization, tucked deep into the woods where the trees grew too close together, and the dirt road in was more crater than path. It wasn't the kind of place you found yourself accidentally. You had to want to be there, or, in my case, have no choice. It was the first time my cousin Alex had come to stay with us. He was older than us, tall and confident in a way that felt reassuring back then.

He had this way of making everything seem like an adventure, even if it was just lugging water from the creek or chopping firewood. My siblings, Noah and Emily, adored him, and I father. followed suit, trusting him completely the way only a kid can. We spent most of our days playing games in the woods, hide and seek, tag, whatever Alex dreamed up. But there was an unspoken rule. We didn't go past the big hollow tree. The tree stood like a sentinel at the edge of a small clearing. Its trunk wide enough for all of us to hide behind at once. Its bark was scarred with deep grooves that looked too deliberate to be natural, like someone, or something, had clawed at it over the

years. Alex told us it marked the property line, and we weren't supposed to go beyond it. He said it was because of the steep ravine on the other side, but even then, I could tell there was something he wasn't saying. That evening started like all the others. The sun was sinking low, turning the sky a dusky orange, and the woods were alive with the hum of cicadas. Alex suggested we play hide and seek, and as always, I was the seeker. I didn't mind. I liked the chase, the thrill of finding someone crouched behind a tree or tucked into a hollowed out log. But as I counted to twenty with my eyes squeezed shut, I felt the first prickle of unease. The forest had gone quiet, too quiet. The cicadas had stopped their droning, and even the

occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze had faded. It was just me and the sound of my own breathing. I shook it off, chalking it up to the nerves that always came with being alone in the woods. When I finished counting, I opened my eyes and called out, ready or not, here I come. My voice sounded too loud, bouncing off the trees in a way that made me shiver. The game started like normal. I found Noah first, his sneakers sticking out from under a bush. Emily was trickier, tucked into the shallow dip of an old tree root. That left Alex. He was always the hardest to find, and I figured he'd gone deeper into the woods than the rest of us dared. Alex, I called, peering around tree trunks and kicking at piles of leaves.

The sun had almost disappeared, casting long shadows across the ground. The hollow tree loomed up ahead, its gnarled branches stretching like skeletal arms. I hesitated, remembering Alex's rule. But then I heard it, a faint rustling, like someone shifting behind the tree. Gotcha, I said, circling around. But when I reached the other side, there was no one there. The forest felt heavier now, the silence oppressive. I turned to head back toward the clearing when I saw him.

Alex was standing just beyond the hollow tree, his back to me. He wasn't moving, just standing there. His head tilted to one side as if he were listening to something I couldn't hear. Alex! I called again, louder this time. He didn't respond. My stomach tightened. There was something off about the way he was standing, too rigid, too still.

I took a hesitant step forward, and that's when he turned. His face wasn't right. The shadows distorted his features, but his smile was what froze me in place. It stretched too wide, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. His eyes. There was something wrong with his eyes. They didn't look like Alex's. They didn't even look human.

I whispered, my voice barely audible. He took a step toward me, his movement stiff and jerky, like a puppet being yanked by invisible strings. I didn't wait to see what he would do next. I bolted back toward the cabin, my heart hammering in my chest, branches whipped at my face, and the ground seemed to tilt beneath me. I heard footsteps behind me, too fast, too heavy to be mine. When I burst into the clearing, Noah and Emily were already there. Their faces pale. Did you see him? I gasped, barely able to get the words out. They both nodded, their eyes wide. He-he smiled at me, Emily said, her voice trembling, but it wasn't him. We didn't stop running until we reached the cabin. The door slammed shut behind us, and we shoved the old wooden table in front of it

for good measure. It wasn't until we turned around that we saw Alex, the real Alex, standing in the kitchen doorway, rubbing his eyes. What's going on? He asked. He asked. his voice groggy. We stared at him, too stunned to speak. Finally, I managed to choke out. We, we saw you, in the woods. His face changed then. The color drained from it, and his eyes darted to the windows. Lock everything, he said, his voice low and urgent. Don't make a sound. We did as he said, but I couldn't stop shaking. Outside the forest was quiet again, but it didn't feel right. It felt like something was out there. Alex didn't say anything as we scrambled to lock the doors and windows, but the tension in his movements told me everything I needed to know. This wasn't a game,

and whatever we'd seen wasn't something we could explain away. His hand trembled as he bolted the last window, the sound of the lock snapping into place, echoing in the oppressive silence. The cabin felt like a flimsy box made of twigs, and outside the woods pressed against it, dark and heavy. Noah, Emily and I huddled in the living room while Alex paced, gripping the old rifle he kept behind the door. He muttered under his breath, too low for us to hear, but his face gave him away. He was scared. Alex, the unshakable, was scared. What did you see out there? I finally asked. My voice barely louder than a whisper. I wasn't sure I wanted the answer. Alex stopped pacing, his eyes darting to the window.

He glanced at me, then at Emily and Noah, and shook his head. It's nothing, he said, but his tone wasn't convincing, probably just some animal messing around. It wasn't an animal, Emily said, her voice trembling. It was you, out there, but it wasn't you. Alex's jaw tightened and he looked away. Stay inside, don't open the door for anything. Got it?

Before we could protest, he turned and stepped out onto the porch, slamming the door behind him. We all froze, listening to the heavy thud of his boots as he moved down the steps. Through the window I could just barely make out his silhouette disappearing into the trees, the rifle slung over his shoulder. For a long time, none of us spoke. The cabin creaked around us, the old wood groaning as if under some invisible weight. The silence outside was absolute, and that was the worst part. No wind, no insects, no nightbirds, just stillness. And this. And Then we heard it. A scream tore through the night raw and guttural, a sound that didn't belong to anything natural. It wasn't Alex. It couldn't have been Alex. It was too deep, too twisted, like the sound of metal scraping against stone.

It sent a shiver down my spine, and Emily grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. What was that? Noah whispered, his voice barely audible. None of us had an answer. We stared at the door, half expecting it to burst open, but nothing happened. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. I started to think Alex wasn't coming back. Maybe whatever was out there had gotten him. And then, suddenly, the door slammed open. Alex stumbled inside, slamming it shut and bolting it behind him.

His face was pale, his shirt torn, and there was a scratch running down his arm, the blood dark against his skin. He leaned against the door, breathing heavily, his eyes darting around the room like he was still looking for something. What happened? I asked, my voice shaking. He didn't answer right away. He moved to the window peering out into the darkness. It's gone, he finally said, though he didn't sound convinced. He turned back to us, his face grim. Everyone stays together. No one goes near the windows, and no one goes outside. Got it. "'What's out there?' Emily asked, tears streaming down her face. Alex hesitated, his hand tightening on the rifle. "'I don't know,' he admitted.

"'But it's not human.' The room fell into an uneasy silence. I wanted to ask more, but something in Alex's expression stopped me. Instead, we sat together in the corner of the room. The three of us pressed against each other while Alex kept watch. As the hours dragged on, the oppressive silence returned. But it didn't feel empty. It felt full, like something was out there, circling the cabin, waiting.

Every so often I thought I heard faint whispers, too low to make out but just loud enough to set my teeth on edge. And then, as if the forest itself decided to exhale, the whispers grew louder. At first they sounded like the wind, brushing against the cabin walls. But then they became voices, familiar voices. Emily, a voice called, soft and coaxing. It sounded like my mother. Come outside, sweetheart, it's okay. Emily stiffened, her eyes wide.

That's not... It's not her, she whispered, clutching my arm. Then another voice joined in. Noah, it said, and I recognized it immediately. It was Alex's voice, but Alex was right here, sitting in front of us, gripping his rifle so tightly his knuckles were white. the whispers grew louder, overlapping, and chaotic. They called our names, each voice more convincing than the last.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block them out, but they seeped into my head like a bad dream I couldn't wake from. Don't listen to it, Alex said, his voice sharp and commanding. Whatever it is, it's trying to get inside. Don't open that door. The voices persisted for hours, clawing at our resolve, until finally they stopped. The silence returned, heavier than before, and the cabin felt like it was suffocating under its weight. I didn't know how much time had passed, minutes, hours, days. All I knew was that I didn't feel safe anymore, not even with Alex there. As the first light of dawn

crept through the cracks in the shutters, Alex lowered his rifle. It's gone, he said, though he didn't sound convinced. We didn't argue. We were too tired. too scared. But as the sunlight stretched across the floor, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was still out there, just beyond the tree line, waiting for the darkness to return. Dawn felt like a fragile reprieve, the weak sunlight spilling through the gaps in the shutters doing little to chase away the fear that clung to us. Alex hadn't said a word since declaring it was gone. He just sat there, staring at the rifle across his knees, like it was the only thing keeping whatever was out there at bay. None of us wanted to stay in the cabin, but the thought

of leaving felt even worse. The woods outside were too still, too quiet, as though the trees themselves were holding a secret we weren't meant to know. Even the birds, usually so lively at dawn, were silent. It wasn't until Alex stood up, stiff and pale, that any of us moved. We need to leave, he said, his voice flat. Pack up whatever you. you can carry. We're heading out as soon as the sun's high enough. I wanted to believe we'd actually make it out of there, but the tension in Alex's voice made my stomach churn. Something about the way he avoided looking at us made it clear he wasn't convinced we'd make it either. We scrambled to gather our things, moving quickly, speaking in whispers. Noah was digging through

the kitchen drawers when Alex froze by the door. He patted his pockets, then his face twisted in panic. The keys, he muttered. I had them last night. We all froze staring at him. You had them when you went outside, Emily said softly. Alex didn't respond. His silence said everything.

The keys were gone, and that meant one of two things. They were somewhere in the cabin, or they were out there. Alex didn't hesitate. Stay here, he said, grabbing the rifle. Lock the door behind me. If I'm not back in an hour, hour. You're not going out there. Emily cut him off, her voice trembling. You don't know what's waiting for you. I know exactly what's out there. Alex snapped. He softened almost immediately, his shoulders sagging.

That's why I have to go. You can't. Before we could stop him, he opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight. The door clicked shut behind him, and we locked it, standing there in stunned silence. We waited. Minutes turned into an hour. The sunlight crept higher into the room, but it didn't bring the warmth or safety we hoped for. The quiet outside pressed against the cabin walls like a physical weight. I tried to listen for Alex's footsteps, his voice, anything, but there was nothing. Just the maddening stillness. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.

He's been gone too long, I said. What if he's hurt? What if I couldn't bring myself to finish the thought? Emily and Noah exchanged nervous glances, but neither of them argued. Grabbing a flashlight in one of the kitchen knives, I opened the door, my siblings trailing behind me. The morning light felt weak, as though the forest itself was trying to dim it. The shadows between the trees were long and thick, swallowing the ground beneath them. We followed Alex's tracks into the woods, moving as quietly as we could.

The path led toward the hollow tree. I didn't want to go near it, but there was nowhere else to look. As we drew closer, the air grew colder and the sunlight seemed to dim even further. When we reached the hollow, we found his rifle lying on the ground. The wood scratched and splintered. There were no signs of Alex, just the overwhelming feeling that we were being watched. I then saw it. Something moved within the hollow tree.

A pale, humanoid figure crouched just inside the shadows. At first it was still. its form blending almost seamlessly with the bark. But then it turned its head, and my breath caught in my throat. Its face wasn't a face at all. It was a grotesque parody of one, like it had studied human features but gotten everything slightly wrong. Its eyes were too wide, its mouth stretched far too much, and its skin looked like it had

been stretched over something that didn't quite fit. Alex, it said in his voice, Emily screamed, and the thing moved. It unfolded itself from the hollow, its limbs long and spindly, bending in ways that made my stomach churn. It moved with terrifying speed, jerking toward us as if its body couldn't decide how to function. Run! I shouted, grabbing Emily's hand and yanking her away. Noah was already ahead of us crashing through the underbrush. Behind us, the thing let out a sound, a horrible, guttural shriek that vibrated in my chest and made my ears ring. We ran without looking back, branches clawing at our faces and legs.

The cabin came into view, but the thing was faster. I could hear it, its footsteps too heavy, too loud. It was close, so close. We burst through the cabin door, slamming it shut and throwing every piece of furniture we could find against it. The thing hit the door with a force that shook the entire cabin, and for a moment I thought it would break through. But then, it stopped. We waited.

Holding our breath, as the whispers began again. They were louder this time, more insistent. They called our names, mimicking Alex's voice, my mothers, even my own. I clamped my hands over my ears, but it didn't help. The voices weren't just outside. They were in my head, burrowing deep and pulling at something primal. The whispers stopped abruptly as the first rays of sunlight pierced through the shutters. The oppressive weight in the air lifted, and for the first time,

time, I felt like I could breathe. But Alex didn't come back. We left the cabin later that morning, never looking back. Whatever had happened in those woods, whatever had taken Alex, stayed there. But I can't forget the thing's face or its voice, calling out to me in the dark. Even now, years later, I wonder if it's still there, waiting for someone foolish enough to wander too close to the hollow. Make Mother's Day even more special at Whole Foods Market. brunch or dinner with quality cheese and charkootery with no synthetic nitrates. Then go seafood. There's an abundance on sale at Whole Foods Market, where it's all sustainable while caught

or responsibly farmed. At the bakery, grab seasonal treats like their strawberry pretzel cream pie, and you can't go wrong with a ready-to-heathe Kish Lorraine, Deviled Eggs, and fresh-cut fruits to go. Celebrate Mom with Whole Foods Market. It started like any other hunting trip, but by the end of the day, I wished I'd stayed home. I parked my truck on the side of an old logging road, a good 10 miles from the nearest paved highway, the kind of place where even the wind seems to think twice before passing through. The forest here always felt older, like it had seen things no one was meant to see.

But I shook it off. I wasn't the superstitious type. This area was a hunter's dream, rugged, remote, and untouched. No weekend hikers or noisy dirt bikers to scare off game. I'd been out here more times than I could count, and knew the trails like the back of my hand, but even seasoned hunters can't ignore the weight of silence when it falls too hard, too sudden. The first mile into the woods went smoothly enough. The trail was overgrown in places, thick with brambles and roots that seemed to claw at my boots. Above me, the canopy blocked out most of the afternoon sun, leaving the woods bathed in a dim, greenish light.

I'd chosen this spot because I'd seen fresh buck tracks the week before. Big ones. But today, the woods felt different. I told myself it was just the weather. The air was heavy, damp, and oddly still. Usually you'd hear birds flitting between branches, squirrels arguing over acorns, maybe the distant howl of a coyote if you were lucky, not today. Today, the woods held their breath.

After about an hour, I reached the clear. I'd scouted earlier. It was a perfect setup, a small meadow surrounded by dense underbrush. If anything crossed through, I'd have a clear shot from my blind. I climbed up into the tree stand I'd rigged last season, settling in for the evening. The sun was just beginning to dip below the tree line, painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple. Prime time for deer. For a while, I let the piece of the woods wash over me. Hunting isn't just about pulling the trigger, it's about sitting still, blending in, and letting the forest forget you're there. But the piece didn't last long. The first scream cut through the quiet like a blade. High-pitched and ragged, it sent a jolt

through my chest. A rabbit, I thought. Probably a hawk or a fox got hold of it. But the sound didn't stop. It just kept going. A horrible, gut-wrenching whale that made my skin crawl. If you've ever heard a rabbit scream, you know it's not a sound you forget, but this was worse, longer, louder, and more desperate. It echoed through the trees, making it impossible to tell where it was coming from. I tightened my grip on my rifle, scanning the underbrush.

The scream rose and fell in waves, each one more piercing than the last. Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The silence that followed was worse than the noise. It pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating, like the whole forest was waiting for something. I adjusted my scope and scanned the clearing, my heart pounding. That's when I saw it. At first I thought it was a deer, a pale shape moving low to the ground,

weaving through the thicket about 30 yards away, but something about the way it moved was wrong. Its limbs jerked awkwardly, like it didn't quite understand how to walk. I squinted through the scope, trying to make out details. but the undergrowth was too thick. It vanished behind a tree, and I held my breath, waiting for it to reappear. It didn't. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows that stretched across the clearing.

I should have felt relieved when the pale shape disappeared, but instead a cold knot formed in my stomach. Something wasn't right. I stayed perfectly still, listening, but all I heard was my own breathing. Then it came, a voice, saw, at first, barely more than a whisper. Help, help, help.

The words floated through the trees, flat and emotionless, like someone reading them off a script. Not a plea, not a cry for assistance, just a statement repeated over and over. It wasn't the kind of voice you'd expect to hear in the woods. It sounded human, but there was no fluctuation, no urgency, just a cold, robotic monotone. I froze, every instant.

rose, every instinct screaming at me to stay still. The voice came from where the pale figure had disappeared, repeating the same word, over and over, like a broken record. Help, help, help, I didn't move, didn't blink. It said the word 15 times, yes, I counted. Then it stopped, leaving the wood so silent I could hear my own heartbeat. A sharp crack broke the stillness, loud as a gunshot, a branch snapping underfoot. The sound. The sound was followed by an explosion of motion, birds bursting from the trees, squirrels skittering up trunks, a herd of deer crashing through the brush like something was chasing them. And then, nothing, no footsteps, no voice, no sound at all, just the weight of the silence

pressing down on me again. I sat there, frozen, my rifle clutched so tightly my knuckles ached. The clearing was empty, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me. I knew I had to get out of there, but leaving the safety of the tree stand felt like stepping into a trap. The forest was dark now, the last traces of sunlight swallowed by the thick canopy. My flashlight was back in the truck, along with my sense of security. All I had was the moonlight filtering through the branches, casting twisted shadows across the

ground. I took a deep breath, steadying myself. I didn't know what I'd just witnessed, but I knew one thing for certain. I wasn't alone out here. I don't scare easy. I've faced charging elk, had bears sniffing too close for comfort, even gotten lost in a blizzard once. But this. This was something different, something my gut couldn't categorize, couldn't prepare me for, and that made it worse. I stayed in the tree stand longer than I should have, trying to convince myself I'd misheard the voice. Maybe it was a prank, some idiot messing around, or maybe my own mind, straining against the quiet, had imagined

it. I wanted to believe that, but the way the animals had bolted, the way the woods seemed to hold their breath, it told me otherwise. My fingers ached from gripping the rifle too tightly. I forced them to relax, took a deep breath, and told myself it was time to move. Sitting in the stand was only delaying the inevitable, I couldn't stay up there all night. The path back to the truck, wasn't long, but in the dark, it might as well have been a hundred miles. The first step down from the stand felt wrong, like I was breaking some unspoken rule. My boots hit the soft dirt, and the forest swallowed the sound like it didn't belong. Every muscle in my body screamed to climb back up, but I ignored it. Survival meant moving, not waiting. The clearing was empty,

bathed in faint moonlight that turned every branch and shadow into a potential threat. I stayed low, rifle at the ready, and made my way to the trail. It wasn't much, a narrow strip of dirt winding through the underbrush, but it was my lifeline. I hadn't gone more than 20 yards when I heard it again. Footsteps. They were faint, just behind me, crunching the dry leaves. I stopped dead in my tracks, holding my breath. The sound stopped too, I waited, listening so hard my ears ached. The woods were too quiet, no wind, no insects, just the soft rustle of something or someone waiting. I forced myself forward, keeping my pace steady, whatever it was, it wasn't rushing me, yet. The trail felt narrower than it had on the way in, like the forest had grown overnight. Branches reached out,

snagging at my sleeves, my pack, slowing me down. I swore under my breath as I stumbled over a root that hadn't been there before. Then the footsteps started again. This time they were louder, closer. I spun around, rifle raised, scanning the shadows. The moonlight played tricks on my eyes, turning tree trunks into figures, branches into arms. I knew better than to panic, but my hands were sweating,

my heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted out. Who's there? My voice was steady, louder than I expected. Nothing. Just the whisper of leaves in the merriment. breeze that hadn't existed a second ago, then faint and far too calm, I heard it again. Over here. Please, over here. The voice was closer now, and it sounded, wrong, too flat, too deliberate, like someone mimicking human speech, but missing the part where it feels real. I didn't wait to hear

more. I turned and started moving faster, almost running. The footsteps matched my pace, crunching and snapping just far enough behind to keep me guessing. The trail twisted and turned, each bend feeling like it led deeper into a trap. My flashlight would have helped, but it was back in the truck, clipped to my hat, the one I'd lost earlier. The moonlight was all I had and it wasn't enough. I risked a glance over my shoulder. That's when I saw it. Just for a second, barely more than a flash, something pale, hunched, and impossibly thin darted between the trees. Its movements were jerky, like a puppet with tangled strings, and its eyes, God, its eyes.

Reflective, like an animal's in the dark, but bigger. I didn't stop to get a better look. My instincts screamed at me to move, to get out of the woods before whatever that thing was decided to get closer. The trail ahead was nothing but shadows and shifting shapes. I stumbled again, my boot catching on another route. This time, I went down hard, on my side with the rifle clattering out of my hands. For a second I just lay there, gasping for breath. The footsteps stopped. I scrambled to grab my rifle, rolling onto my back to face whatever was coming. But the trail was empty, or so I thought, the sound of breathing reached me first, low and raspy, like it was struggling to pull air through a broken throat. I aimed the rifle at the

sound, my finger hovering over the trigger. My hands were shaking so badly I wasn't sure I could hit anything if it came at me. The breathing grew louder, closer. Then it stopped. Silence. I didn't wait to find out what was lurking in that silence. I forced myself up and started running. Branches clawed at my face, my pack, my legs. My lungs burned, my heart threatening to explode. The footsteps returned, crashing through the underbrush now, matching my frantic pace. When I finally burst out onto the gravel road, it felt like coming up for air after being in the underbrush. under water too long. But the feeling of safety was fleeting. The forest behind me was still, too still. I didn't dare look back as I ran to my truck. I fumbled with the keys, my hands

trembling so badly it took three tries to unlock the door. I threw myself inside, locking the doors and starting the engine in one motion. As I reversed onto the road, I risked a glance in the rearview mirror. It was there, standing just at the edge of the tree line. pale hunched watching i floored it gravel spitting from my tires as i tore down the road i didn't stop until i was miles away and even then i couldn't shake the feeling that something had followed me and i'll be damned if i ever go back to those woods again