Lighthouse Horror Podcast - My Dogs Keep Barking At The Woods. Last Night I Found Out Why | Scary Stories

Episode Date: January 15, 2024

We should've listened to them...        Story from Entropy_Kid  Make sure to check out more of their work at u/Entropy_Kid  Original Post: I wished the dogs would be quiet, until they were. : r/nosleep  Original YouTube link: My Dogs Keep Barking At The Woods. Last Night I Found Out Why           For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Merch: lighthousehorror.com  Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Darren Curtis Music - YouTube  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!

I am packed and ready to leave. So I've got some time to write all this down. Grandpa's talking with the two trucks that just pulled up. Still waiting on the last one. Then we're headed north. For now, I've got time to kill. I always meant to do this. And it's officially now or possibly never.

Fair warning. This is a long one, folks. Eight pages. Buckle up. And if anyone in East Texas wants to tag a lot. long, message me. We're taking as many people as we can get. This was the third night in a row they were unhinged in the tree line. In my room at the end of the double-wide trailer put me right beside their ceaseless barking. I peered to the left as my thumb unlocked

the iPhone screen on the nightstand. One 30 a.m. I thought how I'd ask my dad about kenneling them on the porch, knowing he'd give me some excuse about them being necessary for our home. The first line of defense, our protectors, our alarm system. Looking back, we should have realized it then. To their credit, Daisy and Rose excelled at their duty. All manner of interloper received a billowing cascade of howls and barks on our property. I thought how scared a single raccoon, possum, or coyote must have felt, when the sisters barreled into the tree line at them,

shattering the piece of night. The echoes that trailed through the woods gave every impression there were more than two guards. None stayed to find out. They often startled me awake when the pair flew off the porch and an eruption of sound. My room filled one corner of the trailer pointing east towards our driveway, the forest a dozen yards beyond. My uncle and cousins hand-built the pine porch that I unfortunately shared a wall with. I had no bed frame, my mattress on the floor next to the stubby short nightstand. Over the years I'd learned the pattern of footsteps both inside our trailer and the outside porch.

I could feel them. The heavy boot-clad stumps of my father, the dainty steps of my little sister, the multiple light paws as the girls returned from driving off a would-be invader. I could identify everyone by their steps. The dog's normal process was broken these last few nights. Normally, once an intruder was identified, one of them would sound off. The second would answer the call, affirming backup. Together, they would drive with speed and resonant fury towards the enemy.

They charged the trees. The interloper fled. The night returned to peace. We never had more than one incident per night, though it was always jarring when it occurred. This was different. For three nights straight, Daisy and Rose came alive with activity, as soon as the evening dusk gave way to full darkness. They slept during the day now. Not naps, deep full sleep to regain their strength from the prior patrol.

Then together, they prowled the edge of the Blackwoods, low growls and occasional half-grunts ran the full duration of the night. More than once, they would erupt in blistering, synchronized anger, but eventually returned to their tense surveillance. There were no more one-off encounters ended with a blitzkrieg of ferocious intimidation. It was hourly now, consistent. Whatever they drove off kept coming back. I rolled onto my back and stared at the lightly luminescent sticky stars on the ceiling. My baby sister and I found a bag of them at the local dollar store, and my father always

melted under the combined pressure of his kids. We initially agreed to split the bag between our rooms, but after putting half up in mine, she insisted we needed them all to make a real night's sky. She slept in my room for a week straight after that, together looking at our tapestry of glimmering plastic. Our own little universe. I stared at them, as the barking pushed farther away. me silently hoping they'd continue into the distance for the remainder of the late hours

so I could get some sleep. This is where my life changed forever. At first, I thought my exhausted mind played a trick, reminiscing about building galaxies with my sister had pulled me away from reality, and the sharp distant yelp brought me back. I sat up in my bed, held my breath, ears perked. The still far barking became high-pitched, strained, desperate. It was coming closer, and most noticeably.

It was alone. At 15, I was probably too old to wear the pajamas my aunt had got me for Christmas, but they were just too comfy. Clothed feet slid into loose flip-flops as I stood to make my way to the door. There was no doubt in the second Yelp. followed by a hyper, stuttered half bark, half squeal, much closer than before, practically in our driveway. It strained, struggled, then ended abruptly. For the first time in three nights, I finally got what I wanted, and it filled me with dread.

Silence. I opened my door the same time my little sister opened her. Her 10-year-old frame peaked nervously around the edge of her white door across from mine, eyeing me over the small gap that separated our rooms and led to the kitchen. Before either of us could step under the five-feet-long, four-feet-wide landing of carpet that separated us, my father's shadow burst into the kitchen, shotgun in hand. Stay in your rooms. Lock the doors!

He commanded mid-stride. My mother's smaller frame quickly waddled behind him in a purple nightgown. He hit the front door with force. My room rattled as the wood slammed against the outer wall. I felt his steps quickly descend the five porch stairs and vanish into the drive. The glow from the now-lit overhead porch light illuminated a single yellow square from the front door's window. The light stretched down onto the linoleum to my right, just past the dime. dining table and landed next to the little gap between our rooms. Mom's shadow appeared in it

a moment later, and I heard every lock we had latched beneath her worried fingers. Mommy? My little sister asked with a child's innocence. Neither of us moved from our respective door cracks. Mom rounded the corner, hurried fingers fumbled with her phone. It's okay, Melissa. It's going to be okay. She said. She lied. It's hard to describe that square of light on the kitchen floor next to me, how it's burned into my memory. The front door was just around the corner from my room. It'd be easy to take two rights and walk straight outside.

To see the situation with my own eyes, to no longer linger in that tense confusion, I would not be able to see anything from the only window in my room, which faced south, on the long side of the trailer. Curiosity began to get the better of me. But I stayed. Mom walked into my sister's room, attempted to comfort her and guide her back to sleep. As the oldest, I received no such consideration, though I stood there a long while as if expecting it.

I could see their shadows moving inside Melissa's room, could hear their worried whispering. My heart sank. when I felt the first step of the porch bend downward. The thought of it being my father vanished, as the weight warped and popped the boards underneath its mass. My breathing halted again, but this time not by choice. Instinct froze me in place, paralyzed everything. A second, heavy footstep cracked the third board, completely skipped the second.

I stared at that golden square. of light next to me, anticipation and fear grew in equal amounts. The fifth port-step protested next. The boards buckled and twisted beneath monstrous weight. The contrast is what haunts me the most, I think. The shadows of my loving mom and sweet sister in a darkened, half-lit gloom across from my door. The hairy black shape that grew into the yellow square,

shining on the kitchen floor. I could see both, practically one in each eye. Comfort and love. Unknown and horror. Things I cherished. Anything I feared. Even from the silhouette, I could tell the hair was coarse and all-encompassing. A large cone-shaped head rose from wide shoulders.

I couldn't tell if it had a neck. Not much taller than my father. Yet horrifyingly heavier. It faced through the window, unable to see any of us from the unlit kitchen and around the sharp corner. Luckily, we'd turned on no other lights, but I wasn't sure if it could hear their muffled conversation, as quiet as it was. I found some courage at that, slowly opened my door wider, prepared to sneak over to them and lock ourselves inside Melissa's room together.

I heard a guttural low growl, and somehow I knew it was annoyed. It turned to its side, looked up. The shadow of its face was long, too long. What looked like large eyebrows fell into a flat nose and a jaw that extended well down to its chest. I couldn't see the rows of teeth therein, but I knew they were there. I couldn't think of a single animal with a large, oval-shaped head like that, not even a mythical one.

With the twin sounds of a small grunt and glass breaking, the light from the porch vanished. The kitchen plunged back into near-complete darkness, taking the yellow square with it. I heard my mom and sister pause, finally aware something was out there. If they tried to look now, it would see them. I had to prevent that. My foot lightly touched the carpeted space between our doors. The entire trailer shook, with a violent impact and a deafening, primitive roar. The front door slid past on the kitchen floor, buckled into the center, and nearly split in half.

Hinges, locks, glass and splinters flew like insects. They ricocheted and clattered off every surface. hanging lights and closed blind swung as the entire trailer rocked on its foundation. Instantly I moved. Without thought, without choice. Somehow, I knew this was my one chance, a desperate and reactionary motion, to use this momentary chaos to mask my actions,

a storm of sound to cover my own. I grasped my sister's door handle and slammed it shut. Instantly retreated into my own room in the same motion and slammed mine as well. Only then did I register the massive bloody footprint on the crumpled front door. I sat on the floor, back against the plain wooden door that would not save me. My breathing became a ragged mass, shallow and still too noisy, even with both hands latched over my mouth. head was dizzy, ears thumped from the hefty dose of adrenaline my brain flushed into every corner of my body. Yet even then, the only clear thought that repeated in my mind was a desperate plea for my mother and sister not to scream.

That thought shattered as a new material twisted and cried nearby. Linoleum. A single Titanic foot crushed glass and tile underneath. Heavy, deep sniffs filled the kitchen with more curiosity than anger. Maybe we'd be lucky, and the hungry nose would lead it to the pantry near the front. Maybe it would leave after gorging itself on potatoes, bread, and apple cinnamon toast crunch. I waited. Cool beads of sweat formed on my skin.

Back still pressed against the bedroom door. To their credit, my mother and sister could have vanished for all the sound they made. A second step bent the floor again, as it fully entered our home. I considered running then. This was my best chance. I glanced at the trophies on the shelf, some toppled from the earlier impact. Most earned as the starter for the track and field relay race team, with a few from various cross-country meets.

I was fast. Surely faster than that huge thing. If I went now, I'd be within arm's reach of it only briefly, but the element of surprise was on my side. I could run straight through the trailer and head out the back door in the laundry room. It didn't know the layout inside, another advantage. This was the best time to lead it away.

Then I could surely outrun that massive monster once I got it outside, right? My budding confidence exploded in the same manner the dining table did. It slammed against the kitchen cabinets like a comet, shattering countertops, drawers, and itself in the process. It had taken both my father and uncle to move that heavy oak table up the porch steps and through the door. Two men to move it.

And this thing just... The muffled sound for... my sister's room might as well have been a signal flare. The monster paused. It, like me, held perfectly still. The single accidental sob of a frightened ten-year-old girl ended as fast as it came. But it was noticed. I eyed my trophy rack, now considered which would be best to stab an eye or wedge down an open throat. Even in my terror, if it went for my family,

I would go down fighting to protect them. My hands glistened with sweat. The greenish light that my fake galaxy above reflected from them filled me with a faux bravery. A misplaced confidence to fight monsters with no training, no ability, and most importantly, no actual weapon.

I'd need to improvise. Fast. It was so fast. The monster moved with a speed, unbefitting its weight. With two massive strides, it was between our doors. This time the feet were quiet. Impossibly quiet. It didn't keep the momentum through their door. Instead, it paused on the small carpeted gap. I felt it lower itself, squatted into a crouch. Its breathing was heavy, invasive. Horrible nostrils pulled at the air between us, and it waited. Quiet. Patient. Again, I realized the only thing between me and it was an inch of hollow wood. My lungs halted completely when it rushed, but the rancid smell of its oily hide entered my nose anyway.

My eyes watered, small tears formed in the corners. Dear God, please. It was huddled right behind me. I stared at my short nightstand in my phone. It seemed miles away. All my confidence, all my internal bravado, gone. Someone save me. Please, God, don't let us be torn apart by this monster.

I considered crawling for the phone, but I knew I could never do so without alerting it. I could picture that long face on the other side of my door, crouched low with matted hair, atop powerful meat, layers of primal muscle, coiled into piles of potential violence, waiting for one of its victims to lose their composure. I wondered if it felt pleasure in that. Headlights pierced the edges of my south-facing window blinds. The sound of parting gravel heralded the approach of a large vehicle. Uncle Rick Silverado had to be.

He only lived a mile up the road. That's right. My mother had her phone with her. My cousin James was on leave from the military. He'd be with him for sure. A sensation of relief rose in me. Briefly. I knew when it noticed them.

Its long breaths paused with realization. I felt its massive weight turn, still crouched next to me. Its bulk brushed against my door, hinges strained as it pushed inward against my back. That almost broke me. It stayed there, still low and waiting. It had to know I was there. It had to. Its breathing resumed, now much lighter and nasally, but still long.

I planted my palms slowly and silently into the carpet with one of its inhales, trying to mask my movement. I rooted my trembling limbs to the floor, tried to prevent them from shaking the wood behind me. God. We were leaning against the same door now. Three distinct slams echoed outside. An extra person I didn't expect. Good. A mumbled conversation grew ever closer.

Sudden terror gripped me as they approached the porch. I realized it was waiting. I had to warn them. I had to tell them it was in here. But how? My heart raised with a surety they were walking into an ambush. A horrifying awareness dawned on me then. Knowledge of the beast intelligence.

Knowledge that only I possessed. Knowledge that more of my family walked into danger. I could scream, but it would kill me before any help could make it to them. I could run, try to jump through the window. It would take the monster a few moments to realize, and I would be able to warn my uncle outside. But if the glass didn't break, it would be through the door and rip me to shreds before anyone even got inside. I could sneak for the phone, the monster paying more attention to the men approaching now. But that was an assumption. A dangerous one, considering it continued to lean

against the same door I did. The voices paused outside. The monster's breath matched. Silent moments passed. Then the first boot hit the wooden step. It apprehensively approached the darkened shattered doorframe on the porch. It was horrifying how lightweight that boot was. Two others ascended behind the first. Three men in total. I could picture the raised rifles in front of scanning eyes,

unsure if there was even a threat left, wondering if it was a bear or a mountain lion. None of them dreaming of the monstrously strong beast awaiting them inside. Ready to strike. I was running out of time. They were all going to die. We were all going to die. The first steps made it to the doorframe.

Uncle Rick's voice whispered, Holy shit. His boot crunched the shattered glass as he entered our kitchen cautiously. The monster took a deep, quiet inhale, lungs filled with fuel to slaughter my family. Chills ran down my back in waves, coldness gripped all my organs, every pulse filled with ice. Tears ran freezing trails down my cheeks, my teeth gritted in frustration. I looked up at the stars, thought of my sister, and I made my choice. I screamed.

Looking back, I think I wanted to say words, but they were panicked and flighty. I just remember my voice felt as a volcano in the Arctic. A rush of heat exploded out in defiance of the cold, embracing every inch of me. A piercing agonized screech of utter and complete fear birthed into the night air. The monster met my scream, with a bellow of its own. It's ironic how some emotions permeate every language even in nature. The staggered whale was not of anger as its plan being foiled, nor was it joy at one of its victims finally losing their composure during the hunt.

It roared in pure, unadulterated shock. A hole appeared next to my head a second later. An explosion of splinters and anger entered my dim green galaxy. say. Large gray fingers uncoiled from the fist they were a moment before, claws black and dirty, slick with blood still. Red mangy hair covered the back of the hand and the entire forearm. The monstrous palm opened and swung inward towards my head. My entire body hit the ground in a curled ball. There were no more plans. There was nothing else I could do. I'd cast the dye now. I did all I could. Two of its fingers found purchase in the loose fabric of my

pajamas. Panic racked my everything as they curled into a grip. I pressed my back to the bottom of the door, screamed again. This time I was answered by a gunshot. Most people only know guns from movies. You see the hero shooting his pistol in a stairwell or a tight corridor or a submarine. Then they have conversations with ease? Guns are not quiet. The first blast inside the trailer rattled my skull and replaced most of the sounds

with a constant ringing. Though even that consistent monotone chime didn't overtake the pained screech of the monster as its back hit my sister's door. Though my hearing was hampered, and I dared not look through that hole,

I could piece together some of what happened from the vibrations communicate. through the trailer's floor. Mumbled shouts. More boots. The kitchen filled with challengers. The monster charged. Its gate too large, too fast.

It was on them. Gunshots pierced the ringing. It made it worse. The floor trembled with collisions and mass. The wall beside me rattled with an impact. A weight thudded to the floor. It scampered and rose returned to the fight. Dishes and glass shattered.

Cabinets warped. Chairs broke, as did bones. Gunshots gave way to fevered screams and anguished roars. I hoped my warning had saved someone. Anyone? Please say it helped. My trembling increased as the brawl ended. newly gifted tinnitus masked the victor, and the floor had become depressingly silent.

The only vibration was an odd random shake that paused in irrational intervals. I rose slowly to peer through the hole in my door. What little I could see of the kitchen was destroyed, nearly every inch slicked in bright blood. The metallic tinge overwhelmed my nostrils. A large bloody splotch adorned the ceiling, red handprints on each side. One tan work boot laid on the counter with two jagged splintered bones still in it. Cabinets hung from the wall or were missing entirely, and a destroyed stool lay in a heap on the stovetop.

A mangy red form rose from the other side of the small island. coarse, ragged hair now matted in blood. It faced away from me, twisted and jerked. A horrifying rip pierced the ringing in my ears. The monster dropped something heavy on the kitchen floor. It landed with a flat, permanent thump. It stood to its full height slowly, and I could see its long gray jaw move as it chewed.

Yet it seemed to wobble, reeled slightly. For the first time of the night, its footing felt unsure. As it turned back towards me, I ducked in realization, a promise from before a vendetta not finished. It had won, and now it was time for revenge on the small creature that started it, that ruined its crafty ambush, was to blame for every bit of damage and pain it felt now, How?

Panic overtook me. Sopping tears now a constant fight to keep silent. It was going to kill me. I was sure. It was going to eat me. The massive foot landed with wetness. Blood so thick on the kitchen floor I could actually feel it. A second less sure step landed after that, but to my surprise, it was headed towards the front

door. staggered, planted full weight behind each exhausted step. One footfall crunched glass near the doorway, then heavy knees collapsed down into tile. It held there a moment, then toppled forward, shaking the outer porch with the bulk of its torso landing with no resistance. Half inside, half outside, its ragged breaths large enough to vibrate through the floor, now. Then. Stillness. I waited. Out of fear, shock, disbelief. My mind raised as the weight of loss finally caught up to it. My dad, uncle, cousin. This wasn't supposed to happen to people to entire families. After a minute I found my resolve as my rational mind regained control. I

Crawled to my phone on the nightstand. I palmed it in sweaty, quivering hands. My back leaned against the wall. The porch stepped just on the other side. Waited for it to rise, to continue its rampage. But it didn't. A sob brewed as I looked at the family photo on my phone's background, typed the password in a pained wetness, blurred the numbers. Exhaustion and anguish. finally breaking the levee that held them this long. I can't describe the feeling when that solid, heavy foot crunched into the second porch step. Oh, God. My hands moved in a blur.

The message clear and direct. I confirmed it sent. Quietly, I prayed Mom would see it fast. The new monstrous feet climbed the stairs and paused in front of the first. beast in our doorway. Impossibly, another set ascended after that. Two more. My screen lit up then a message from Mom.

Where are you? Before I could type, twin roars rattled the wall I leaned against. Primal. Gutterall. Yet somehow more human. They continued for a solid minute. Each paused only briefly, but never at the same. time. Eventually, they faded back into silence. My ears returned to a single constant ring.

Maybe they descended into quieted grunts I was unable to hear. Maybe even tears. The weight of the dead one lifted with terrifying ease, and the two creatures descended the steps of the porch and back into the night. It was finally over. Mom and I texted back and forth. I told her to call 911, and I'd stay put and warn her if those things came back. Even though I couldn't hear much, I could feel, and I was too close to this wall to risk calling for help myself. I couldn't hear well enough to speak with a dispatcher anyway.

She texted me back that she'd reached several family members and the police were already on the way. Looking back, she made the... right choice? If she'd panicked and called herself, we'd all be dead. A half-hour went by, before I had the courage to move to Melissa's rum. I was finally sure they were gone. My mom sobbed uncontrollably as she hugged me tighter than she ever had. I told her and sister to not go out there. They didn't need to see any of that. Neither protested. Even traversing the tiny gap between our rooms scarred my heart forever. James's body was crumpled against the end of the

island. One arm missing at the shoulder. Both orbital sockets replaced with a long, horizontal gash. His bottom jaw hung by one joint. I didn't see my uncle, or whoever the third person was. I didn't want to. I didn't want to go look for my dad. or Daisy or rose. I shut the door to the carnage, retreated in with my mom and sister, crouched in the corner with them. Fear, grief,

an injustice felt in silence for so long finally received voices. We bawled in huddled anguish, the pain of living, the guilt of surviving. We wept in victorious, misery. It's been one year. Three things happened after that night. My baby sister lives with family in Seattle. My mother hasn't been sober since. And I've spent every day at Grandpa Murphy's.

My father's father. A retired sheriff, military vent, and self-proclaimed gun nut. He's taught me everything about him. Shooting, cleaning, sighting, calibrating. He got me a Remington 20-gauge shotgun for my 16th birthday. I'm ready to put it to use. I suppose you want to know the count. Everyone does. Dad was dead. I didn't hear How, didn't care to. My uncle Ricky, my cousin James, and one of his military friends. I feel bad I forgot his name. All closed casket funerals, all heroes I never got to thank, braving something monstrous and violent, while I hid away, worthless and pathetic, laying in a ball as they died.

Every single night, I hear it breathing next to me. Every single night. I get to relive the screams. Hear them die. Feel them die. I lay there every time. Doing nothing. Maybe something as simple as grabbing its leg would have saved one of them.

Maybe stabbing it with a relay race trophy could have saved them all. Well, I'll never be helpless again. I dropped out of school after that. They had me on several medications I've stopped taking. They took my edge off. They made me dull. I've been training with Grandpa. Even in retirement, he's maintained his fitness,

still able to march up and down mountains on his bi-monthly hunting excursions I've been joining him on. We've practiced with rifles. Small arms, close quarter fighting, and several months of Krav Maga. The last one is more for fitness. and good for a young man to know, Grandpa says. He always apologizes to me,

says he wishes he would have been there. I do too. But he shouldn't feel that guilt. It wasn't his fault. There was a triple homicide somewhere east of Livingston. Being an ex-Sheriff has its perks. Grandpa said to Packlight, that's code for we will be moving a lot.

It's finally time. my preparation is about to pay off. I'm taking my two favorite pistols, my sour P320, and my Desert Eagle. I named them Daisy and Rose. Fitting. Ironic. Poetic?

Call it whatever you want. This all started with a Daisy and Rose barking in the night. And it's going to. to end that way too.