Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I Found The Witch of Appalachia. I'll Never Go Into The Woods Again | Scary Stories

Episode Date: June 29, 2024

Never go into the woods of Appalachia alone... Story from TheOldStag Make sure to check out more of their work at TheOldStag   Cover Art from Danny Ingrassia Original Post: The Willow Woman : r/nosleep  Original YouTube link: I Found The Witch of Appalachia. I'll Never Go Into The Woods Again   Merch: lighthousehorror.shop  For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Sound Effects: Freesound Zapsplat Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech  Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

Let me tell you why the Wizard of Oz is bullshit. For those of you unfamiliar with a film that came out the same year as World War II, beware. There are spoilers ahead. Dorothy gets caught in a tornado, which acts as some form of interdimensional portal that transports her, her dog, and her house to the wonderful land of Oz. She and the house fall out of the sky and land directly on top of the wicked witch of the east. The rather understandably upset sister of the victim, the Wicked Witch of the West,

shows up and demands her sister's shoes from Dorothy. But Glinda, the Good Witch, arrives on the scene as well as bestows ownership of the shoes onto our girl from Kansas as some kind of a trophy for her first kill. The Wicked Witch swears vengeance on Dorothy, who is then commanded by the Good Witch to embark on a fantastical adventure filmed in cutting-edge technicolor. which she will make friends, brave dangers, and perhaps learn a thing or two. The villainess of the film is of course the Wicked Witch of the West. We know that she's going to raise all sorts of hell for Dorothy, because she's green,

wears black, and very subtly, is named the Wicked Witch of the West. She makes multiple attempts on Dorothy and her stalwart companion's lives, but through courage, Foxy, and sometimes just plain luck. Dorothy prevails, kills the witch, and is allowed to return home to Kansas. Great movie, Bad Guide on Witches. The real things are nothing like that. They're not green, they don't ride on broomsticks, and they certainly can't be killed by a little water.

Or falling houses, for that matter. No. Of all the witches in that film, the one that is closest to the mark is Glinda, and the Linda, the good witch. You see, real witches are master manipulators. They wouldn't come to you with green skin and boils. They would seem beautiful, charming, benevolent. Sound like anyone we know? Let's look at what Glinda actually does for Dorothy of Kansas. She provides her with a pair of magic ruby slippers that were stolen from a corpse and then sets Dorothy off on foot, in heels no less, to visit a wizard that the good witch knows to be a charlatan. Along the way,

Dorothy experiences horrors and hardships until she winds up killing the wicked witch, ridding Glinda of yet another rival. Only after her contract is completed, Glinda tells Dorothy that she could have gone home at any time and probably spared herself a lifetime of nightmares. Kind of an asshole, right? So, yes, real witches are more like Glinda, than the wicked witch, beautiful and enchanting. Until the mask slips, and if you should find yourself in one's path, pray that she passes you by, because a real witch will take you places, make no mistake. They just won't be places you'd want to go. I know this, because I came across one, or at least my approximation of one. And though I lived to tell the tale, there's

There's not a day of my life that I'm not haunted by what transpired in the woods all those years ago. I can only hope that what I gave that thing was enough for it to leave me alone. But a part of me that grows stronger every day knows that I'm deluding myself. She has claimed me, and one day she will come to collect her due. Let me tell you about the wicked witch of Appalachia. I could bore you with my plans and failures, but let's just say I got the dog and my ex got everything else. I bought a one-story house on the edge of the Blue Ridge forest. It was made of craggy stone and dark, weather-beaten timber, covered in places by thick moss that made the place seem oddly cozy,

with a roof that was slanted at a stark angle in the German fashion. Before me was a vast hilly expanse, a field, and behind a small backyard with a wooden perimeter fence with a small shed. Behind that, was a long triangular path flanked by trees that tapered and led off into miles and miles of woods. Most of my stuff was still in a dragon's hoard of cardboard boxes in my living room three days after I moved in, but I had the bed and liquor cabinet unpacked, and that seemed like fine progress in my eyes. I spent those first few days drinking and talking to my dog.

Barron was an English wolfhound and had in the preceding months become my best friend, if for no other reason than his ability to sit and listen to me carp about my love life. For that, the boy deserved a medal. The move was good for both of us. It gave Baron the space he needed to stretch his long, loping legs, and me a badger's den to drink and lick my wounds. Most mornings would begin with me making some pitiful attempt at breakfast, while taking swigs of the bottle or whatever I'd finished the night before.

I'd wallow around in my robe until I'd catch my reflection in something and see how haggard I was starting to look. I'd lost weight, needed a haircut, a shave, and hadn't been able to sleep through the night. The one productive thing I did each day was to go on a hike with a dog. At first I thought there were worse. places to be for self-imposed exile. The woods were gorgeous, the colors just beginning to transition from the sun-beaten intensity of the summer to the burnt and dry of the fall. Those first few weeks, Baron and I would spend hours out there, finding new paths or game

trails, rocky bluffs or tranquil ponds. The forest was enormous, and I found that while I was out there, I felt at peace. That feeling would go away as soon as I returned, however. My nights were made of booze and old movies and television shows. When I did turn in, I often spent my time staring at the ceiling and thinking about my ex, not the one that left me high and dry and convinced me to literally become a hermit. No, I'm thinking about the one I dated a few years before I met my wife, the classic one that got away. Any breakup you experience will take some getting used to be. used to. But for my money, there's nothing that fills the hole left by the one that got away.

Getting cheated on is a huge betrayal, and growing stagnant and finding indifference in someone you once loved is tragic. But the one that got away is worse than them, because you will forever compare that person to what you currently have. A part of you, whether big or small, will always hold on to that comparison. Pining over. over what could have been. More than anything, there's the bitterness. So, I'd sit there and think about Emily. Or if I fell asleep, I'd dream about her. The dreams were the worst, because those stuck with me. I'd go weeks without thinking about her, and then I'd have one passionate dream, and when I woke up the next morning, her hooks would be right back in me again.

That's why I tried to pass out every night. Anyway, I was a very long. at the house for a little over a month when Barron and I found the cabin. It was a brilliant fall day. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the blue was magnificent. We'd hiked for about six miles into the woods when the trees thinned out and we saw what remained of a cabin you might expect to see in a frontier exhibit in a museum. I went to go poke around inside, but Barron was acting strange. He stayed near the tree line and made by the low growling sounds. Since that day, I've learned to trust a dog when he doesn't like something. I only wish that I heeded his warning sooner, because everything that would happen started when I stepped

inside that cabin. The roof was half caved in, and the floor was covered in old leaves. I kicked them aside to reveal a wooden floor that was almost completely rotted through. A few bits of furniture were scattered around, but if I was hoping to find gold nuggets, treasure maps, or even some arrowheads, I would be disappointed. What I did find was a strange symbol carved just above the door when I turned to leave. It looks sort of like an inverted pitchfork, with the outermost prongs pointing out diagonally from the center prong. It seemed oddly familiar, but after studying it for a few seconds, I couldn't place it. Outside, Baron still sat where he was, only his hackles were up, and he was licking his fangs

at what? I couldn't say, but it was enough for me to get that walking up the stairs from the basement feeling, and I thought at best we leave. As I was walking away, though, I noticed that there was something odd about the trees. I'd seen sycamores with bark that was white, but there were a few trees here where it was pinkish and had an almost leathery quality. The trunks were long and stooped and were topped by only two large branches that twisted and coiled before splaying out in smaller branches, from which red leaves blossomed.

Stranger still was that each of these trees had an oval-shaped hollow near the juncture of the two branches that yawned open and into darkness. I couldn't say why, but there was something revolting about those trees. I was sufficiently spooked by that point, so I called the Baron and he was more than happy to get going with me. That night, I dreamt of Emily. We were sitting by a river watching the deep dark water speed by. She was mouthing some words at me, but I couldn't hear what she was saying over the roar of the current. Her eyes glittered mischievously, and a small crooked smile appeared on her lips. I smiled back, and then a shadow fell over us, like a cloud moving in front of the sun. Her smile dropped slightly, and for just a moment, that look in her eyes

became one of hunger. I woke up to the wind blowing with the intensity of a storm, howling from the trees and causing the house to creak and groan. My head was killing me from the scotch I'd been drinking, and my mouth was stale and sticky. I was torn between taking steps to mitigate the hangover, or roll over and pull the covers over me, thankful that I had four walls and a roof, to protect me from the elements that battered the house. In the end, I pulled myself from the bed, my bones cracking like an old man's and staggered through the late-night gloom feeling for the kitchen. I filled the glass with water and downed it standing over the sink, and as I refilled it, I looked out the window into the backyard to assess the storm. It was dark back there, but I was

able to make out a weeping willow, the wind causing its branches to flail and whip about. Beyond it, the taller trees of the woods stood like sentinels, swaying back a and forth. Oddly enough, I noticed that the sky was clear, the full moon and stars shining down coldly. I brought the full glass of water back to bed with me. I didn't sleep. I just lay there, my mind once again returning to Emily, as it always did, and listening to the moan of the wind. The next morning, I went off into town for supplies. It was a few miles, and I would often walk, but I was feeling uncharacteristically motivated and wanted to start some projects around the house, which meant I'd need the truck for lumber and what have you. As I was getting

ringed up at the checkout line, I asked the Hard War store clerk if the storm last night had damaged anyone's property. The guy gave me a look and said there hadn't been a storm, and in fact he and his brother had been outside for half the night, burning garbage in the fire pit. I didn't make much of it at the time, because frankly, it was just idle curiosity that compelled me to ask in the first place. But on the way home, something bugged me in the back of my head that I couldn't quite place. At the house, I pulled the stack of two-by-fours out of the back and stacked them against the fence in the backyard, then grabbed the two saw-horses from the shed. As I emerged, the explanation for that bizarre feeling dawned on me. The window over the sink

looked out over the backyard, the fence that surrounded it, and the forest beyond. What it didn't look out on was a weeping willow. I set the sawhorses down and walked inside to recreate my vantage point from the night before. The memory was very clear in my mind, and I was able to point out the locations of everything I saw that night, now in the light of day. Everything except that tree I did notice something odd, though, and I went in the backyard to investigate. At roughly the same location, the willow from the night before would have been, the grass appeared blackened. It was as if something corrosive had been poured onto that section of yard, that had part

burned, part dissolved the grass, and smelled foul. I was distracted by this and flinched when I heard barren barking like, a maniac inside. I wheeled around to the house and heard him throwing himself against the back door. I looked towards the woods to see what he was so worked up about, and that's when I saw her. Most of what I'm telling you at this point is based off of a story that happened to me years ago. Even still, the memories are as clear as they would have been if it happened a week ago. There are a few times during my recollection, however, where I seem to have two memories of the same event. It sounds strange, but I'll do my best to convey what happened.

This is the first of those events. I looked towards the woods, down the path, and about a hundred yards out, there was a woman. Now think about yourself standing on one end of a football field in good light, looking across at someone on the other. You would see the vague outline of a person, and in such a setting your mind would automatically attribute that form to a person. The first thing I noticed was that she was completely naked. Her skin was the sort of pale that appeared in some light to be luminous and blue. Fish belly white is a popular literary way to describe it. She had long black hair and she stood in a way that was reminiscent of the birth of Venus.

Now, all of this could be discerned from looking at someone from that distance. What was odd about my experience was that even that far away, I seemed to be able to pick out more features that I ordinarily could have. I could see that she was beautiful, but there was something disturbing about that beauty. It was feral and wild. The eyes were too pale and protruding, the mouth wide and red. once sensual in revolting. I also noticed that sound had been replaced by a vibrating silence.

There were no birds, no traffic, the wind did not move, and yet the absence of sound created a sensation. It felt like staring into the Grand Canyon for the first time, the awe at the scale of a thing. I cannot say why seeing this woman inspired such a fact. feeling. I can only say that in those few seconds I stared at her, I knew I was witnessing something monumental. The woman turned her head to the left and pointed with a limp arm towards me, then disappeared into the trees. Sound once again filled the world. I stood rooted in place for a long time, then I went inside and made a phone call. I rented the house from

a guy I found listed on Craigslist. I'd still kept my contact's name written down, and I asked him who the previous owner of the house was. I had to make a few more calls before I finally got the guy's name. He'd lived around there for some time before settling down in the house I currently occupied. He'd lived for the better part of a year before packing up and moving to California. It took a while to finally get a hold of him. I started by making small talk and commenting on the town, but found him to be furtive and abrupt. Finally, I decided to just cut to the chase and, framed with a laugh, asked him if he'd ever seen any naked women on the property. The line went dead for a few seconds. Before he told me that he didn't know what he saw at that

damn house, and if he were me, he'd pack up his stuff and get out before something worse happened. I couldn't get more than two words at a time out of him after that, so I wished him well and hung up. Kind of strange how the human mind can rationalize things. You can see the craziest shit you've ever seen in your life, or being in a situation where you're sure you're going to die, promising God you'll devote your life to him if you can just get out of the fix you're in. And then, suddenly, it's over. You'll be in church every day. for every breath for about a week, then it's back to not giving a shit anymore.

And so it went with the lady in the woods. A week later, I'd chalked it up to just another fugue state that sometimes comes over those who are isolated and on their way to being a full-blown alcoholic. Barron didn't seem to forget, though. In the following weeks, he seemed to get more and more squirrely. He wouldn't even step into the woods with me anymore, so I would walk with him in the large open fields to the front of my house. Looking back, I can't help but think that saved me. Listen to your dogs, folks. Despite rationalizing the willow and the woman, I'd been plagued by nightmares almost

every night since. They were almost always soundless, and more times than not involved Emily. What was stranger, though, was that they all seemed to take place around the house. I recognized a few patches of forest that Baron and I had hiked. I also had the distinct impression that every successive dream was taking us closer and closer to my backyard. In that time, my health had taken a turn for the worse. I'd lost too much weight and looked almost skeletal.

I was drinking too much and had fallen into some kind of doldrums, where I would lay around in a sort of half-consciousness, only rousing to use the same. the bathroom or crack a new bottle. I capitalized on a rare spout of motivation and decided to get a sitter for Barron, hop in the car, and drive back for some civilization for the weekend. I went up to Columbus, Ohio, got a hotel, and set off on the strip surrounded by college students. They only served to inform me of how out of the loop I was in the current trends, so I found a dark corner of some bar and posted up, reassuring myself that being around other human being still counted as socializing. I went back to my hotel later that night and

hoped that if nothing else I'd get a good night's rest. I dreamt I was walking arm and arm with Emily on a path flanked by trees. Strange constellations filled the sky and revolved like a time-lapse video. Once again, there was no sound. She opened and closed her mouth, Her face close to mine, as if imparting a secret, and soon a light appeared before us at the end of a long path. She stopped next to me, and when I turned to face her, she was naked, her face hidden behind a wild thatch of hair. The sound of a waterfall seemed to generate in my head, growing louder and louder, until

I was tempted to clap my hands over my ears. But Emily just looked at me and pointed towards. towards the house with a limp hand. I turned and saw that the lights were coming from inside the house. My house. A surge of adrenaline hit me, and I knew that at any second I would snap awake, covered in sweat like I had so many times before. But as the seconds passed, I began to realize that this was no dream. I walked towards the house, and soon I could hear barren howling and slamming himself against the window of my bedroom. I stepped through the gate of the fence and saw that the back door of the house hung open. Inside the house was dark and Barron was locked

inside my bedroom. I let him out and he stepped through the door trembling with tail between his legs. I was still dazed from what I was experiencing. How could it be possible? Earlier that night I was around 200 miles away from home and yet here I was. The truck was nowhere in sight. Strange as it is to say now, but at the time all I wanted to do was sleep. I was bone tired and felt as if I'd been drugged. I didn't even make it into my bed and instead collapsed on my couch in the living room surrounded by the boxes that I still had not bothered to unpack in the few months I'd lived in the house. That night, I had the last dream I'd ever have.

It was a popular one with me. Emily and I had been on a date, and then we went back to my place. I watched as her hands changed from small and dainty to long and thin, spider-like. A foul odor filled the air, and soon I could see my bedroom door rattling, almost tearing free from the hinges. I moved my arms behind me and tried to sit up. But when I did, the hands shoved me down with terrible strength. Through the mass of black stringy hair that blew and flickered like an angry black flame

or a weeping willow in a storm, a set of eyes with all the coldness of deep space stared at me. An oval mouth yawned open, though it looked less like a mouth than a hollow cave with centuries of carrion and charnel hidden inside. It descended slowly onto my face, and when the cold approximation of lips touched mine, everything went dark. I woke up on the couch screaming. Not the sort of surprised yelp you get when you snap awake, but a real sustained scream. I screamed until I ran out of breath, then I screamed more. It took a good long while before I summoned the courage to stand up and stagger into the kitchen.

Baron was cowering in a puddle of urine as far away from my open bedroom as he can get, and I closed the door without looking inside. I called the taxi service to pick us up and take us into town where I'd get a hotel where me and my dog would stay until I could find the truck and leave that town forever. I called the hotel in Columbus, and they told me that my truck was still parked in their lot and that they'd hold it until I could make arrangements. I ended up hiring one of the bellhops to drive the truck down, and then I turned around and took him back to Columbus. I called my contact that had rented me the house and told him I wouldn't be staying

there anymore. I paid him through the year, plus a little extra for him to move my stuff out of the house. He also said that I wouldn't get the deposit back because of damage to the house. I asked what he meant, and he told me that I'd carved up the walls in a few spots. He said it looked like some kind of upside-down, why sort of thing. I hung up shortly after that. And that was pretty much the story. Baron and I moved to a city very far away from the woods. My old friend died three years ago, and after a respectful morning period, I got myself a new Irish wool found and promised that I would always have him near my side, and that I'd listen to him.

Like I said, it's funny how your mind can rationalize these things. I'm still scared shitless of the dark and will not go near the woods, but the naked terror I felt like pressure on a raw nerve has subsided over the years. I don't dream anymore. I'm a little jumpy, but I didn't think I'd be institutionalized anytime soon. But just a few hours ago, I got a call. It was from a man that said he'd gotten my name regarding a piece of property he was renting. I got cold because I knew what he was going to say.

And I was mostly right. What's got me thinking that I should write this down is the last thing the guy said to me. I know I'll never forget it for the rest of my life. He asked me if I'd ever seen a naked woman out in the woods. a naked woman and a child.