Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Haunted Camping Trips Creepy Humming in Wales and Wendigo Terror in Minnesota PART2 #17

Episode Date: November 8, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #paranormal #hauntedcamping #wendigoterror #creepyencounters #walesmystery  Haunted Camping Trips Part 2 continues the terrifying adventures in Wales and Minnesota, where strange humming and sinister Wendigo sightings escalate. Campers experience unnerving sounds, fleeting shadows, and encounters that defy explanation. This chapter deepens the suspense, highlighting the fear and tension of being alone in the wilderness with something watching from the darkness.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, paranormal, hauntedcamping, creepyencounters, wendigoterror, walesmystery, chillingtales, nightterror, realhauntings, unexplainedphenomena, supernatural, scarycamping, foresthorror, eerieexperience, hauntedadventure

The last trip. I used to go camping all the time. Back then it was my reset button, my way of dealing with the stress of classes, jobs, and everything else life threw at me. Normally I'd pack up my tent, a couple of cheap beers, some food that didn't need much cooking, and I'd head out every three or four months. Just me, the woods, and the kind of silence you can't find anywhere else. So when I tell you that what happened on this particular trip has never left me, and probably never will, you can take me at my word. I've carried it for years, and no matter how much I've tried to rationalize it, no matter how many times I've shared watered down versions with friends,

the core of it is always the same. It happened. It scarred me. And it changed the way I look at the world, the supernatural, and myself. That's my description. before diving in. Believe me or don't. Think it's a story I've exaggerated or some memory warped by fear and time. I honestly don't care. I'm not here to argue. I'm here to unload. And, if I'm being completely honest, I'm here to explain why today, after visiting her grave for what might be the last time, I feel like I'm finally ready to lay the whole thing out. The Cemetery Visit Just this morning, I went to the cemetery.

It's become a yearly ritual for me, even though I dread it every single time. There's a headstone there with her name carved into it, clean letters, sharp against the gray stone, but no body lies beneath it. No casket. Nothing in the earth but dirt and roots and worms. It's a marker for a life that was lost in a way that still doesn't feel real. Standing there, looking at her name, I felt the same rush I always do, guilt, grief, fear. The memories always come back, sharper than I expect. And every time I wonder why I put myself through it.

Maybe it's penance. Maybe I'm just punishing myself. But today, today I think it was the last time. Because every time I stand at that grave, I feel the old terror creeping up on me, and I can't live with it anymore. So let's rewind. Let's go back to the beginning, back to 2004, when I thought I was just heading out

for a fun spring break trip with friends. The plan. I was in my last semesters of college, coasting on caffeine and late-night study sessions, when the idea came up. Jacob, one of my closest friends at the time, pitched it. We were sitting around in the campus cafeteria,

eating fries that tasted like cardboard, when he said, we should go camping. Minnesota. I heard about this place near Red Lake. Jennifer and Caitlin, our girlfriends, jumped on board immediately. They loved the idea of an adventure, of getting out of the dorms and away from the endless grind. I loved it too. I had been itching for an excuse to grab my camera and take some shots good enough to use as screensavers on my beat-up laptop. We spent a week throwing the plan together. Supplies, food, drinks, maps. Jacob made a couple of calls and secured us permission to park our car in a lot off-state Highway 89, near the woods that bordered the

Red Lake Reservation. It all felt simple, like one of those perfect college road trips that you look back on years later and smile about. At least, that's how it should have been. The drive. The drive itself was uneventful. Four of us crammed into Jacob's old car, music blasting, everyone singing along badly. Caitlin had packed too many snacks, Jennifer had packed too many clothes, and Jacob kept reminding us how this was going to be the trip we'd never forget. He wasn't wrong. We pulled into the makeshift lot in the late afternoon, the sun still bright and the air carrying that crisp edge of early spring. The lot was gravel, half eaten by weeds, but it worked.

Jacob locked up the car, shouldered his pack, and grinned like we were stepping into some legendary adventure. It was about a mile hike to the campsite, and at first everything was lighthearted. We cracked jokes, tossed sticks at each other, took turns carrying the heavier bags. But somewhere along the way, the mood shifted. it's hard to explain one second we were laughing the next it felt like the forest itself was swallowing the sound the air grew heavier quieter as though the trees had decided we didn't belong there i know it sounds cliche to say it felt like something was watching us but that's the truth every step forward made me more aware of my own heartbeat the crunch of my boots the way the branches above creaked without wind Nobody said much after that.

We just walked, silent, until the campsite finally came into view. Setting up camp. The spot was beautiful, no denying that. A clearing surrounded by tall pines, with a stone fire pit already in place, like it had been waiting for us. We set up two tents, one for Jacob and Caitlin, one for Jennifer and me, then gathered wood for the fire. Dinner was easy, hot dog skewered on sticks, chips, cheap beer cracked open with the hiss of aluminum. The tension from the hike faded, replaced by the warm glow of firelight

and the buzz of alcohol. We laughed again, teased each other, and watched the sun dip below the tree lean. By the time night fully swallowed the woods, Caitlin had drunk too much. Jennifer was holding her hair as she puked into the bushes. Jacob fussed over her, cleaning her up and tucking her into their tent. Jennifer crawled into hours, muttering about needing sleep. That left me and Jacob sitting by the fire, staring into the flames, too wired to turn in. That's when the real conversation began. Jacob's unease. Jacob leaned close, his voice low like he didn't want the forest to hear him. I can't shake this feeling, he whispered.

Something's out there. Watching. I tried to brush it off. Man, we're in the middle of the woods. Of course it feels weird. We're just not used to it. Keep your knife handy, and relax. But Jacob wasn't buying it.

His jaw was tight, eyes scanning the tree lean. No. This isn't just nerves. I don't have a good feeling about any of this. What do you want to do? I asked. Pack up, leave everything, and drive to some crappy motel. We've been planning this for weeks. He didn't answer right away. The fire popped between us. Finally he muttered, this is a mistake. At the time, I was a mistake. At the time, I was a moment. I figured he was just spooked.

But looking back, I think Jacob knew something. Or at least sensed something that the rest of us couldn't. His grandmother was Native American, full-blooded Ojibli. Maybe that gave him a connection, an instinct, that I didn't have. I shrugged it off, but Jacob couldn't. The Wendigo After a while, Jacob dug into his bag and pulled out a notebook. He scribbled something on a page, then pushed it toward me.

The word read, Wendigo. Don't say it out loud, he hissed, glancing toward the trees like the sound itself would summon something. I raised an eyebrow. What the hell is that? Jacob's face was pale in the firelight. It's, a monster. A spirit. A man twisted by evil until he isn't.

human anymore. Skin stretched, bones showing, eyes burning like fire. They say it's born when someone gives into their darkest hunger, when they eat human flesh. It becomes this, abomination. And it never stops hungering. It tricks you, mimics voices, draws you in. Then it eats you. Body and soul. He looked me dead in the eye. These woods. This is a Ojibwe land. To us it's just a campfire story. To them, it's not a joke. I laughed nervously. Come on. That's just folklore. Legends don't last centuries for no reason, he shot back. That's when it happened. A sharp snap, like a branch breaking, echoed from the darkness. Both of us froze.

Jacob stood, knife in hand. I grabbed my flashlight and aimed it toward the sound, my heart pounding in my chest. Who's there? I stammered, my voice trembling. The forest didn't answer. The fire crackled. My beam of light cut into the trees, but showed nothing. Nothing yet.

The snap in the woods The snap of the branch hung in the air, sharp and sudden, like a warning. Jacob froze, every muscle in his body taut. I could feel my stomach twisting itself into knots, and my hands shook so badly that holding the flashlight felt like a battle. The fire between us seemed suddenly small, powerless, casting feeble light into the shadows that now felt alive. I whispered, Jacob, it's possible.

probably just a deer, or some raccoon. My voice sounded pathetic, even to me. But even as I said it, I didn't believe a word. My instincts screamed at me to run, to leave the fire and the campsite and the safety of the faint moonlight behind. Jacob's eyes were wide, scanning the tree lean like he expected to see something moving any second. I don't think so, he said quietly, his voice steady but low. Deer don't snap branches that loud and then stop. Something's different. I wanted to laugh, or at least try to convince him I was okay, but my teeth were chattering from a mix of fear and the sudden cold night air. Even though it was late spring, the temperature had dropped sharply, and the breeze, or whatever it was, made the hairs on my arms stand

I tried to peer into the darkness, shining the flashlight across the tree trunks, but the forest seemed endless, a wall of blackness beyond the reach of the light. The branches whispered softly with every movement of the wind, or maybe something else. My mind started playing tricks, a shadow moved. No. Did that sound like a whisper? Maybe. Every rustle, every break of a twig made me jump.

Jacob's voice cut through my thoughts. Listen. You've heard the stories, right? Wendigo. I nodded, trying not to show how terrified I was. Yeah, yeah, I heard them. Stories about, monsters. Spirits. Whatever. Just legends. He shook his head. No, you don't get it. This isn't a legend when you're in its territory. We just stepped into something that's older than us. Meaner than anything we've ever imagined. The Uneasy Night We didn't sleep that night, not really.

We tried. We lay in the tent, but every sound outside made us jump. The wind, or the way the branches scratched against one another, sounded like footsteps circling the campsite. Shadows outside the thin tent walls seemed to move just when we weren't looking. And then the humming started. It was soft at first. Just a low, melodic hum, almost like someone singing a lullaby.

I couldn't make out words, but it was, wrong. Not just wrong, but unsettling. It didn't feel human. And yet, it carried a strange familiarity, like it was echoing something I knew. jacob froze and i could see the same look in his eyes i had been feeling all evening raw primal fear do you hear that he whispered i nodded yeah what the hell is that we didn't answer the hum moved through the trees around the tents circling us or at least it felt like it it wasn't distant it wasn't natural it felt deliberate alive. And then, as if the forest itself had breathed, the humming stopped.

Silence pressed down on us like a physical weight. I couldn't hear my own heartbeat at first. Then came the realization, we weren't alone. A glimpse of the creature. I can still remember the way it appeared. Just a glimpse at first. A tall figure, grayish, two long-limbed, standing perfectly still behind a tree maybe 15 feet away. Its head was small and round, like it hadn't grown properly to match its body.

I thought I imagined it, but Jacob saw it too. His jaw went tight, and he didn't move. It didn't step toward us. It didn't even blink, or at least, I couldn't see its eyes. But the sense of awareness, of intelligence behind that still form, was palpable. I swear it was watching us, reading us, and calculating every movement we might make. Then it moved, or maybe we noticed movement we hadn't before. A slight sway, like it was breathing, but wrong.

Not like a human, not like a deer. Something else. Something predatory. My pulse raced, and I was suddenly. acutely aware of my own vulnerability. Paralyzed by fear. I couldn't move. I wanted to scream, to run, but it was like my body didn't belong to me.

Every muscle locked, every thought frozen. Jacob's hand on my shoulder barely registered, though I think he was trying to nudge me. I stared at that figure, and every survival instinct I had screamed at me to escape, but I couldn't. The humming started again, but this time it wasn't a song. It was, my name, my voice, only distorted. Wrong. A mocking, warped version of my own tone, singing my name over and over. It lasted no more than ten seconds, but it felt eternal.

My mind screamed, my heart was hammering, and my lungs were on fire. Then, every instinct in me flipped a switch, and somehow, somehow, I managed to move. Somehow, I ran. The Sprint I ran blindly into the darkness, not knowing where I was going, not caring if I tripped over roots or rocks. All I knew was that I had to get away. The forest blurred past me. My flashlight was still in my hand, swinging wildly, casting erratic shadows that made the trees seem alive.

Jacob followed, shouting my name, but his voice was muffled by my panic. I ran for what felt like Miles, though in reality it was maybe two or three. Every crack of a twig, every whisper of leaves, made me jump. I didn't stop until I felt a tree against my back, supporting me, and I slumped to the ground, gasping for breath. The forest was quiet again. Too quiet. The kind of silence that makes you certain you've been followed, but you don't see a thing.

I stayed there for nearly two hours, listening to my own ragged breathing, trying to convince myself that maybe, just maybe, it had gone. Returning to the tent. Eventually, I knew I couldn't stay there forever. I had to get my phone and car keys, and I had to get out. Slowly, carefully, I navigated back through the trees. Every step was cautious, every rustle a potential threat. When I reached the campsite, I grabbed only what I needed, my phone and keys.

No tents, no supplies, no fire. I didn't care about anything else. I left the rest behind, not daring to look back. I spent the rest of the night in the back seat of Jacob's car, shaking uncontrollably, unable to sleep. When the sun finally came up, I packed the rest of my things and left as quickly as possible. Aftermath. I took a two-year break from camping after that.

My old trips, my sense of freedom in the woods, it all felt poisoned by what I had seen. Even now, years later, I can't completely explain it. The figure, the voice, the forest itself, it left a mark. And then there's her. The girl whose grave I visit every year. That whole trip, that first camping trip in Minnesota, it somehow connects to the memories of her, her death, the guilt, the fear, and the overwhelming sense that some things are too big, too old, and too dark to fully understand. Somewhere out there, in the deep woods, in places I've never returned to, it waits. I don't know if it was a Wendigo, a spirit, or something else is.

entirely. I don't care to know. All I know is it changed me forever. And that's my story. The one I've only ever told fully to my girlfriend, the one I've mostly avoided because of the trauma it carries. Now it's out. Now it's here. You can believe it or not, but it happened. And it's a part of me forever. To be continued.