These are 3 More Scary Appalachian Trail StoriesLinktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepyStory Credits:►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/Timestamps:00:00 Intro00:00:18 Story 100:19:52 Story 200:39:48 Story 3Music by:►'Decoherence' by Scott Buckley - released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.auhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wM_AjpJL5I4&t=0s► Myuu's channelhttp://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Musichttp://bit.ly/2f9WQpeBusiness inquiries: ►[email protected]#scarystories #horrorstories #appalachiantrail #deepwoods 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀
Chapter 1: What sparked the hiking trip into the Appalachian Trail?
It was Drew's idea, like it usually was when we ended up doing something dumb but well-intentioned. He called me after eight months of silence, no texts, no memes, not even a Merry Christmas, just a one-line message at 2.04 in the morning. You still hike?
i didn't respond right away truth was i hadn't hit a trail in over a year work a breakup and the kind of creeping exhaustion that settles in your bones had kept me firmly planted indoors but something about the timing about the way drew asked made me say yes without even asking where We met up in Asheville three days later.
He looked rough, pale, gaunt around the eyes, like he hadn't slept properly in weeks. But when I asked about it, he shrugged it off. Said he just needed to get out of the city, clear his head, breathe real air again. And I didn't push because frankly I needed the same. Drew had picked the spot, an isolated stretch of the Appalachian Trail near the Tennessee-North Carolina border.
We'd hike for four days, circle back using a fire road, and crash in the truck. No service, no noise, just miles of nothing. It sounded perfect. I should have asked him why he picked that spot. Should have asked a lot of things, really. We parked his rust-bitten Tacoma on an overgrown shoulder near an old mile marker. The trailhead wasn't labeled on any map I had.
Drew just said, "'Trust me, it connects in,' and pointed uphill to a faded break in the trees. The path was narrow, overgrown in places, and I could feel the wetness of the moss through the sides of my boots within the first twenty minutes." The air was heavy, damp, like the woods had just finished raining even though the sky was clear. It smelled old, earthy, but not the good kind.
More like mildew and forgotten things. Every step kicked up the scent of rotting leaves and mud. Still, we laughed a lot that first day. Talked about the usual. Exes, jobs, dumb crap from high school. Drew seemed like himself again. That night, we set up camp in a shallow basin next to a dry creek bed, just a flat enough patch to drop our gear.
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Chapter 2: What eerie events occurred during the first night camping?
We cooked some ramen on my jet boil and passed a tiny flask back and forth until the stars came out in full. Around midnight, the forest got too quiet. It wasn't gradual. One second we could hear the rustle of squirrels, the buzz of insects, the occasional flap of something big in the trees. The next, it was like someone had hit mute on the whole world. The fire still crackled.
Drew's breathing was steady. But beyond that, nothing. I sat up suddenly alert. Do you hear that? He didn't say anything, just nodded, eyes fixed on the dark tree line beyond the fire. That's when we heard it. This low grinding noise. Not footsteps, not a growl. It sounded like someone dragging a bag of rocks through wet gravel. Long, slow, pausing every few seconds.
It moved just beyond the trees where the firelight faded to black. We didn't speak, didn't move, just listened. It circled, slowly, like it was checking us out. When it stopped, Drew whispered, Don't move. It's circling. I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. My skin felt electric. My body coiled tight like a spring. I grabbed the hatchet near my sleeping bag and held it low. Minutes passed.
Maybe hours. I don't know. At some point, I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes again, the sky was turning gray and the fire had burned to ash. The woods were noisy again, birds chirping, a squirrel scampering up a trunk like nothing had happened. Drew was already awake, standing at the edge of camp with his arms folded. I walked up next to him and followed his gaze.
Boot prints, deep ones, not ours. They circled the camp in a wide arc, maybe 15 feet out, where the brush was just thick enough that you wouldn't see someone unless you were looking for them. Drew didn't say anything, just turned and started packing up.
we hit the trail again around seven a m both of us were quieter not as quick with the jokes there was this shared understanding between us now unspoken but heavy something had been watching us last night and it wasn't a bear or a deer or anything that belonged out here We hiked most of the day without seeing anyone.
No other hikers, no trail markers, not even the occasional candy wrapper left behind by an amateur. It felt like we were the last two people on the trail. At one point I checked my phone just to see the time and noticed something weird. The time was wrong, off by two hours. I laughed at first, thought I must have hit daylight savings or messed with the settings.
But Drew checked his watch and went pale. Same thing. We both had different brands, mine digital, his analog. But both were off, exactly two hours behind. No way both of them are busted, I said. Drew didn't answer, just looked back over his shoulder, scanning the trees like he was expecting something to step out of them. The rest of the day passed in a fog.
At some point, we found an old overhang, looked like it used to be a trail shelter before it collapsed in on itself. The beams were weather-worn and splintered, roof caved in like it had given up fighting gravity. We didn't stop, just moved past it and kept walking. And that's when we saw him. A man. Walking the opposite direction. Maybe 50 yards ahead.
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Chapter 3: What unsettling discoveries did they make on the trail?
When it got dark, we didn't tell stories or pull out the flask. We just sat there, watching the woods, listening. And that's when we heard it again. Three short whistles, sharp, deliberate. We both froze. Then the sound of something stepping just beyond the trees. One step. Pause. Another. Pause. Closer.
drew whispered that's not the same thing from last night i didn't answer i just gripped the hatchet and prayed it would leave us alone but deep down i knew something had followed us something was out there and it knew we were here the morning after the whistles neither of us said a word about what we'd heard Maybe we were too afraid to put it into words.
Maybe it felt safer to pretend it didn't happen. But the silence between us wasn't normal. It was sharp. Tense. Like a wire pulled tight between two people trying not to panic. We broke camp faster than usual. No coffee. No breakfast. Just packed our gear with stiff fingers and got moving before the sun had fully cleared the trees. The trail was wrong, I don't know how else to put it.
The path looked the same, but the woods felt off. The spacing of the trees was too even, like they'd been planted, and I swear they were closer together than they'd been yesterday. The light filtered through the branches in thin, pale streaks that didn't feel like sunlight. It looked like the glow off a TV screen in a dark room, cold and artificial. An hour in, we found the first marker.
It was carved into a tree trunk. Deep gouges in the bark, done recently. At first I thought it was trail graffiti until I got closer and saw the shape. Three straight vertical slashes, evenly spaced. Not letters, not a hiker's initials. It looked more like tally marks. But there were only three, like someone or something was keeping track. We pushed on, trying to stay calm.
But the deeper we went, the more signs we saw. Not just carvings, stones stacked into little pyramids beside the trail, with tufts of fur wedged between them, twine hanging from branches in haphazard knots. Once, we passed a log covered in dozens of dead moths, wings splayed like they'd been arranged there.
Drew didn't say much, but I caught him looking over his shoulder constantly, and he started mumbling, just little things under his breath. Don't look at it, or keep walking, over and over like a mantra. I finally stopped him. What's going on, man? He looked at me, eyes glassy. I've been here before. My stomach dropped. What?
I... I don't mean literally, not like I remember hiking this part, but I know this place. I've seen it. In dreams. That tree. He pointed to a crooked cedar split down the middle by lightning. I've seen that tree a dozen times. You didn't tell me you'd been dreaming about this. He didn't answer, just started walking again. By midday, it felt like we were the only people left in the world.
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Chapter 4: What happened when they encountered a strange man on the trail?
No birds, no bugs, just the sound of our own breathing and the crunch of boots on damp leaves. And that's when we saw the footprints. Not ours, not from boots, bare feet, one set. Deep heel impressions, long toes, wide apart, like someone or something had been running barefoot along the trail. And they were fresh. We stopped dead. The prints curved off the path and into the woods.
I could see the trail they left behind in the undergrowth. Bent grass. Disturbed leaves. It wasn't random. It was like it wanted us to see where it had gone. We should turn around, I said. Drew shook his head slowly. We won't get out that way. You don't know that. He looked at me, and there was something behind his eyes that made my stomach twist, like he wasn't sure if we'd ever get out.
We followed the trail for another hour, then came upon a structure. It wasn't on any map, just a single rotting shelter buried deep in the woods. Old ranger station, maybe. The roof sagged like a broken spine, windows boarded, the door hanging off its hinges. I didn't want to go in. Every part of me screamed not to. But Drew was already stepping through the threshold. Inside it was worse.
The air was thick, foul, like old meat and mold. The walls were covered in claw marks, not scratches, gouges, deep enough that flakes of wood curled at the edges. Something had torn through here, recently.
In the corner was a pile of bones, small ones, animal probably, but they were laid out in a pattern, symmetrical, deliberate, skulls stacked on top of each other like a totem, and next to it, a pile of clothes, folded, clean, too clean, a faded hoodie, hiking pants, a baseball cap with a tiny patch that said WANDERMORE. There was a name stitched into the jacket collar. Ryan S. Drew said nothing.
Just stared at the clothes like they were radioactive. Then we heard it again. The whistle. Three notes. This time closer. Right outside. Drew turned to me slowly. It's hunting. No, I said, backing away. It's toying with us. We bolted out of the station and ran, full sprint, packs bouncing, lungs on fire. We didn't stop until we were halfway down a ravine, gasping and soaked in sweat.
That's when I realized my GPS wasn't in my pocket anymore. Gone. Just gone. I'd checked it maybe ten minutes earlier. No way it fell out. It was taken. "'Mine's dead,' Drew said, holding up his screen. It was cracked straight down the middle. The display flickered once and shut off for good. We sat there in silence for a while, listening to the forest breathe.
The sun was going down behind the ridge. We didn't have long. "'We need to make camp,' I said. "'Set a fire. Keep watch.' drew nodded but didn't move and then he whispered something that chilled me more than anything that day i don't think we're on the trail anymore i looked around he was right the path we'd been following wasn't a trail not really no markers no blazes
Just a worn line through the trees that we'd been blindly following, thinking it would lead somewhere safe. But it didn't. It was a path meant for something else. We didn't sleep that night. We built a fire and took turns watching it, listening for the whistle. It didn't come. That somehow made it worse. At least before, we knew where it was. Now, it could have been anywhere, all around us.
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Chapter 5: What ominous signs suggested they were being watched?
We kept walking. After a few hours, we hit a clearing, a wide circular opening in the trees. No sound, no birds, just a field of stones, big flat slabs laid out in tight unnatural rows. Some were cracked, others looked like they'd been burned, and in the center, a tree, dead, blackened, split right down the middle. At its base, something had been carved into the wood. Come closer. Come closer.
Drew just stared at it, like it was calling his name. I grabbed his arm. We're not going near that thing. He didn't argue. Just let me pull him away. That's when we heard it. Not the whistle this time. It was our voices, my voice, Drew's voice, coming from the woods. It said, this way, then, help, and then, laughing, mocking, like it was trying to remember how to be human, but got the tone wrong.
Off, just enough to make your skin crawl. We ran. The path was uneven, roots rising to grab our boots, branches clawing at our arms. I lost track of how long we moved like that. Ducking, stumbling, shoving through brush like we were being chased even when nothing was behind us. Eventually we hit another trail, a real one. I recognized the markers. White rectangles on the trees.
Appalachian trail blaze. I nearly cried, but Drew wasn't celebrating. He just stood there, staring into the woods. It let us find it, he said. It wants something. What the hell are you talking about? He looked at me, expression flat. We're not both getting out. No, I said backing away. Don't do this. But he was already taking off his pack, dropping it in the middle of the trail.
You've got a wife, a real life back home. I don't. This thing, it followed me first. I grabbed him by the jacket. I'm not leaving you out here. And that's when we heard it. Footsteps, not shuffling, not creeping, running, fast, heavy, right toward us. We turned and bolted. Whatever it was, it was behind us. Close. I could hear the snap of branches, feel the vibration in the ground.
I didn't look back. I couldn't. We ran until my lungs felt like they were filled with glass. My legs barely worked. Drew was falling behind. He stumbled once, hard, rolled down a slope and hit a tree with a sickening crunch. I stopped, turned back. He wasn't moving. The thing was close now. Too close. I could hear it breathing. Wet, rattling breaths. I had to make a choice. I turned and ran.
I ran until I saw a clearing in the glint of metal. A trail sign. Bent, rusted, half covered in vines, but real. I followed it, crashing through the underbrush until I saw a gravel road. A ranger truck. A man in uniform. I don't remember what I said. I think I screamed. He grabbed me, hauled me into the truck, and drove. He didn't ask questions. Didn't talk. Just kept his eyes on the road.
We drove for maybe 20 minutes before I caught my breath enough to speak. My friend, Drew, he's still out there. The ranger didn't look at me. He just muttered, ''You're lucky it let you go.'' What are you talking about? What is that thing? He finally turned his head just enough for me to see the deep lines in his face. We get a few like you every couple years. Pairs, mostly. One gets out.
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Chapter 6: What terrifying experiences did they face in the woods?
One doesn't. I stared at him. So what? You just leave them? We've tried, he said. Sent teams in. Dogs. Drones. Sometimes we find pieces. Sometimes we don't. It's not our land. Not really. We rode in silence after that. Back at the station, they gave me water, took a statement I barely remember giving, told me someone would look into it, but I could see it in their eyes.
They already knew how this ended. But Drew? Drew made it. Three days later, a rescue team found him wandering down a game trail, six miles from where I'd left him. Shirt shredded, shoes gone, blood crusted down one side of his face. He was muttering something about names and mirrors. They sedated him on the spot. He doesn't talk anymore, not to me, not to anyone.
He moved to New Mexico, changed his name, deleted every trace of his old life. Sometimes I text him, just to see if he's still there. He never replies. As for me, I moved out of the city, don't hike anymore. I stay away from wooded areas. I don't go near parks. Sometimes I catch myself listening too closely at night, waiting for the wind to shift. And once, just once, I swear I heard it again.
Three sharp whistles and my voice calling from the trees. I didn't grow up with ghost stories. I didn't grow up believing in curses, forest spirits, or anything that couldn't be measured or explained. My family wasn't superstitious. We were practical. We believed in what we could see, touch, quantify.
That's probably why I didn't take Everett seriously when he grabbed my arm that night, his nails digging into my skin, eyes glassy and wide. If the woods go quiet, you stop, don't talk, don't run, don't turn around. That's what he told me. I should have listened. Everett lived out past Blue Ridge, in this patch of the Georgia mountains where the trees felt older than time.
his cabin was one of those places that never had good cell reception never got mail delivered directly and somehow always smelled like damp stone i'd driven in that afternoon to grab the will paperwork he'd finally gotten around to finalizing
he wasn't dying but he looked like he was getting there thin pale like something had hollowed him out from the inside he wasn't eating said the woods had been too loud lately then too quiet whatever the hell that meant His windows were covered in newspaper and black duct tape. He'd unplugged his fridge, covered all the mirrors, and kept bundles of sage hanging above every door frame.
It looked less like a house and more like a bunker for someone who thought the trees were conspiring against him. When I asked about the blackout curtains, he just said, they don't like to be watched. I laughed. He didn't. When I stood up to leave, Everett didn't follow me to the door. He jumped ahead of me and blocked it, clutching the frame like he thought it might vanish if he let go.
Just stay the night, he said. I'll drive you back at first light. It's safer that way. It's a mile and a half, I said. I know the trail. I've done it a hundred times. I'll be home in less than an hour. Everett stepped aside, but not before pulling something from his pocket, a small cloth pouch tied shut with a knot of red twine. "'Take this,' he said. "'Don't open it. Don't lose it.'
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Chapter 7: How did the situation escalate during their hike?
The trail was familiar, narrow, winding, but clearly marked. Light bled through the trees in thin golden strands, and the air was crisp, still clinging to that late autumn chill. I kept a steady pace, earbuds in, just wanting to get home before my mom started blowing up my phone. I was about a quarter mile in when I noticed it, the silence.
Not the peaceful kind either, the kind that makes your stomach tighten before your brain even catches up. No wind, no crunch underfoot. Even my own footsteps sounded muted. I paused, pulled out one earbud, and realized the forest wasn't just quiet, it was dead. No birds, no insects, nothing. I don't know how long I stood there before I realized I was holding my breath. I took a step forward.
Something shifted in the corner of my vision. Just trees. Another step. A low, creaking noise echoed from behind me, like a tree groaning under its own weight. I kept walking. That's when I smelled it. Something foul, heavy, and sweet, like meat left in a plastic bag on a hot day. It hit my nose like a slap and lingered in the back of my throat. I covered my mouth with my sleeve, eyes watering.
I don't know why I looked left. Maybe instinct, maybe stupidity. But through the thick brush, just past the slope of the ridge, I saw something standing between two trees. At first I thought it was a person, just a man watching me from a distance, but it didn't move, it didn't breathe. Its arms were too long, hands drooping low enough to brush the tops of its knees.
The legs were bent like a deer's, and its skin, what I could see of it, looked leathery, like it had been stretched too tight over the bones. And its face, god its face, it had a mouth, a human one. full of teeth, too many teeth, and eyes like open coals glowing just faintly in the dimming light, like they weren't reflecting light but making it. I blinked. It was gone.
I laughed, mostly out of panic, and forced myself to keep walking. I told myself I'd imagined it. Some illusion from the shadows. My brain playing tricks. That's what I told myself. That's what I needed to believe. Because if I didn't, I'd have to accept that Everett wasn't crazy. That he was right. That there's something in those woods that watches you when the air goes still.
My shoe came untied about halfway through. I bent down to fix it, hands shaking more than I'd like to admit. as i did something snapped in the trees ahead not a twig a crack like something heavy had stepped on a branch without caring how much noise it made i froze another snap this time closer i stood up fast tight or not and started walking
not running just walking that's what everett said right don't run don't talk don't look back i tried to hum keep myself calm but even my voice sounded swallowed up like the trees were listening then i heard it singing low feminine No words, just a tune, carried by a voice that sounded human, almost, but there was something… off. Notes held too long. Vibrato where there shouldn't be any.
A voice that sounded practiced, like it had learned the song by watching people sing, but never tried it until now. It came from behind me. I didn't turn around. The sound moved, circling to my right, then to my left, then above. I told myself it was an echo, just sound bouncing off rocks or cliffs or whatever. But the air was too flat, too thick.
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Chapter 8: What was the ultimate fate of Drew and the narrator?
I kept thinking, just a little farther, but my legs were tight with tension, and my back felt like it was being watched, scanned. I hadn't seen that thing again, but the memory of it was burned into me. That mouth, those eyes, the way it just vanished. I kept my pace steady. No running. No talking. Just walking, like Everett said.
I even kept my eyes down, watching the dirt, the scattered leaves, the faint depressions in the path. That's probably why I almost missed it. The second mile marker. I blinked at it, confused. It looked exactly the same as the one I'd already passed. Same angle, same faded white numbers, same nail poking out just a little too far.
I reached out, hesitating, and ran my fingers along the cracked wood. It was the same. Not just a copy, the same one. I hadn't gone in a circle. The trail didn't loop. There were no offshoots. I knew this part of the AT like the back of my hand. But somehow, I was back where I started. That was the first time I really started to panic.
i turned slowly trying not to make any sudden moves nothing but trees nothing but mist in the far-off pines the sun had dipped below the horizon completely now and the forest was cast in that final blue haze just before full dark and then i heard the laughter children Not happy laughter, not innocent. This laughter was dry and mean, like kids daring each other to poke a dead animal with a stick.
It echoed weirdly, bouncing between the trees in short bursts, rising and falling like waves. I froze. Then it got louder. One voice. Then two. Then more. It sounded like they were running around me. Fast. Their footsteps were impossible, light but quick, circling, weaving, closing in. I turned in a slow circle, heart thudding, and still saw nothing. That's when one of them whispered my name.
Not screamed, not called, whispered right into my ear. I spun, swinging wildly behind me, but nothing was there. My flashlight nearly slipped from my hand. Another whisper. This time from the other side. Then a giggle. And another voice. My own voice. Mimicking the way I'd said I know the trail back at Everett's house. Word for word. Same tone. But it was wrong. A fraction too slow.
The cadence just slightly off. Like it was trying to understand the way I spoke, but hadn't figured it out completely. I started moving again. Fast. Not running. But not calm either.
every shadow looked like it was about to reach out and grab me the trees leaned a little too far into the trail like they were listening watching i pulled out my phone no service no signal just a blinking red battery icon figures then for a split second i saw myself
at first i thought it was a reflection a trick of the light but it was me my clothes my face everything standing just off the trail to my right head tilted arms limp a mirror image except it was smiling a big toothy unblinking smile that felt like a mask stretched too tight i didn't scream i couldn't my throat locked up i just stared heart frozen in my chest as it raised one hand and slowly mimicked a wave
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