The Face Behind the Trees
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What motivated the storyteller to take a solo hike on the West Highland Way?
G'day mates, it's BBuster here. And before the episode begins, I would just like to let you know that Be Scared, which is produced along with Studio 71, features scary stories from around the globe on a weekly basis that aim to fuel your nightmares with a smile. And if you enjoy the podcast, it would be great if you could hit that subscribe button and drop a review. But thanks for listening guys, and without further ado, let's begin.
Back in 2001, I was living in Glasgow, working a soul-crushing office job, and I really needed a break. So I took a week off and headed up to hike a section of the West Highland Way and I'm an experienced hiker and I know how to handle myself in the backcountry. I had this spot in a remote glen that I'd scouted on a map, miles from any town, wedged between two big ridges. It was exactly what I wanted as well, quiet and total isolation. The first couple of days were fine too, but the night that this happened was just really off. It was dead silent, but in a weird way. I mean, usually you get the wind or some wildlife, but that night it was like the world just held its breath. round midnight I stepped out of my tent to check the perimeter.
It was cloudy as heck, basically pitch black, and I shone my headlamp toward the tree line about fifty yards out, scanning the area, ready to go and pee, and That's when I saw something. Just a glimpse, but it was a face, perfectly white and stark against the dark bark of a tree. It didn't look like a mask, it almost looked like bone. It was peeking out from behind the trunk though, perfectly still and I froze, my heart kicking into my throat, and I focused my light on it, and it didn't move. It just sat there, staring, if you can call it that, with features that looked flattened and really wrong. Then, in the split second that I blinked, it was gone. I think a duck behind the tree, yeah. I didn't go any closer though, I didn't even check to see if it was a person.
I just grabbed my gear and I didn't have the guts to hike out in the dark, so I huddled in my tent until the first hint of grey light, gripping my knife like it was actually going to do something. As soon as there was enough light to see the trail, though, the I packed up and I moved quickly, you know. I was about three miles into the hike back to the trailhead too when I felt it. That prickling sensation on the back of your neck when you feel like somebody's watching you. I stopped and looked back, but There was nothing. But for the next six hours, every time that I stopped for water or to adjust my pack or whatever, I would see it again. I would hear things moving around me. I think that I saw something at one point too, a flash of white behind a ridge, a patch of pale colour darting behind a boulder a few hundred yards off the path.
It felt like I was being herded almost, and My pulse was redlining the entire time, and I didn't take a single break after that. I didn't eat, I didn't drink, and I just put one foot in front of the other, listening to the crunch of my own boots, trying to ignore the snapping of the twigs that were happening all around me at different times. When I finally hit the trailhead too, I didn't look back. I practically threw myself into my car, locked the doors instantly, and drove until I was back in the city, where I downed a couple of pints. I haven't been back to the Highlands since then, and quite honestly, I'm not making any plans to ever return there again.
The house that I grew up in was one of those sprawling split-level builds from the seventies. My bedroom was tucked away in the back corner of the basement level, separated from the rest of the house by a door that never quite latched properly here. To a kid. It felt less like a bedroom and more like a bunker, really, and The walls were finished with that dark, heavy wood panelling that seemed to soak up light, and since the window was small and at ground level, the room was perpetually trapped in a state of sort of muted grey twilight. I spent most of my childhood in that room though, and for the most part it was fine really.
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Chapters
8 chapters
1
What motivated the storyteller to take a solo hike on the West Highland Way?
0:00–5:05
2
How did the midnight encounter with a pale face in the woods unfold?
5:05–9:31
3
What happened when the narrator saw the same apparition repeatedly during his hike back?
9:31–13:29
4
How did the childhood bedroom experiences shape his fear of unseen presences?
13:29–18:18
5
What unsettling events occurred after moving into the isolated cottage?
18:18–22:49
6
How did the mysterious activity in his city apartment manifest?
22:49–27:28
7
What was the climax of the haunted house encounter with his dog Buster?
27:28–32:31
8
What lingering questions does the narrator still have about the entities he’s encountered?
32:31–38:44