These are 4 Scary True Forest Horror Stories Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ Timestamps: 00:00 Intro 00:00:18 Story 1 00:18:04 Story 2 00:34:23 Story 3 00:55:38 Story 4 Music by: ► Myuu's channel http://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Music http://bit.ly/2f9WQpe Thumbnail art: ►Just Creepy Business inquiries: ►[email protected] #scarystories #horrorstories #forest #deepwoods 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀
Chapter 1: What eerie events unfold at the creek?
But tonight, it felt like the trees were leaning in a little too close, like they were trying to listen. I shook it off. It was just another late night. I'd told everyone to meet me at the creek for a fire, and I figured I'd get there early, set things up, and surprise them with everything ready to go.
I had my bag slung over one shoulder, stuffed with firewood, a lighter, my lantern, and a blanket to sit on. It wasn't much, but I didn't need much. The place had its own kind of magic, quiet, peaceful, just the sound of the water rushing over the rocks.
the path down was dimly lit as usual two old lamp-posts lined the trail one halfway down and one at the base of the creek where the dirt turned to sand their light was faint barely cutting through the trees but i liked that it made everything feel more secluded The first lamppost flickered as I walked past it, the bulb buzzing faintly. I laughed to myself.
"'Classic horror movie vibes,' I muttered, my voice sounding too loud in the silence. When I reached the clearing by the creek, I dropped my bag and took a deep breath. The smell of the water and pine was sharp, earthy. It was nice.' I set up my lantern on a rock and flicked it on, its warm light spilling over the sand.
Then I started digging the fire pit, using a small camping shovel to scrape out a shallow circle. The sound of the shovel cutting through the sand was rhythmic, almost calming, until I heard the splash. It wasn't close, not at first. It sounded like it came from farther downstream, a loud, deliberate plunk that cut through the quiet like a gunshot.
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Chapter 2: What happens when the protagonist hears splashes in the water?
I froze, the shovel gripped tight in my hands, and turned my head toward the sound. My lantern didn't reach that far, and all I could see was the glint of the creek under the sliver of moonlight. Just the water, I said under my breath, trying to convince myself. Maybe a fish or a branch fell in. I went back to digging, but I couldn't shake the unease creeping up my spine.
A few minutes later, another splash. This one was closer, louder, like something heavy being thrown into the water. My hands started to sweat. I stood up, holding the shovel like some kind of makeshift weapon, and scanned the creek again. The lantern flickered for just a second, and my heart skipped.
I swung the beam toward the trees lining the water, but there was nothing, just shadows shifting in the breeze. Hello? My voice cracked and I hated how scared I sounded. Silence answered me, thick and heavy. I laughed nervously, more to myself than anyone else. Okay, calm down, Alex. It's just water. I went back to the pit, but my hands were shaking now.
Every scrape of the shovel felt louder, like it was bouncing off the trees and echoing back at me. And then I heard it, the rustling. It wasn't loud, just a soft crunch of leaves, but it was unmistakable. It came from across the creek, just past where the bridge arched over the water. I snatched the lantern and swung it toward the sound, my pulse pounding in my ears.
The light swept over the trees, catching on the glint of water, but there was nothing. Maybe it's a deer, I whispered, but the words didn't even convince me. It didn't sound like an animal. It sounded deliberate, like someone was stepping carefully, trying not to make too much noise. The rustling stopped, but my heart didn't.
I stayed frozen, holding the lantern up like a shield, scanning the shadows. Just when I started to think I was imagining things, I saw it. A flash of pale skin. It was quick, just for a second, but it was there. Something, or someone, moved in the trees, hunched low and still. My stomach dropped. My throat felt dry. I stayed perfectly still, the lantern trembling in my hand.
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Chapter 3: What mysterious figure appears in the woods?
Hey, I called out, my voice shaking. Who's there? No response. The figure didn't move, but I knew it was watching me. I could feel it, the weight of its gaze pressing down on me. My skin crawled. I didn't wait for a second sighting. I turned back to my bag, stuffing the shovel and blanket in with fumbling hands. Whatever was out there, I wasn't about to stick around and find out.
As I grabbed my things and started toward the trail, I heard it again, the rustling, closer this time. My breath hitched, and I made the mistake of looking back. Something was standing just beyond the creek, barely visible in the lantern's glow. It was a man, crouched low, his pale naked skin shining faintly. He didn't move, didn't make a sound. But his head tilted, like he was curious. I ran.
I didn't think. I didn't breathe. I just ran. Up the narrow trail, past the first lamp post, the light flickering wildly as I passed. My bag thudded against my back and every step felt too loud, too slow. I could hear the crunch of leaves behind me, faster now, closer. And then came the laugh. Low, guttural, like something scraping against stone. It wasn't a sound a person should make.
It was wrong. I didn't look back. I couldn't. My legs burned as I ran harder, the second lamppost finally coming into view. My car was just beyond it, parked at the trailhead. I could make it. I had to, but the laugh followed me, growing louder, echoing in my ears like it was everywhere at once. I don't think I've ever run that hard in my life.
My lungs were burning, my legs felt like they'd been replaced with lead, and my grip on the lantern was slipping with every pounding step. The trail felt endless, the trees pressing in on both sides like they wanted to swallow me whole, and behind me, I could hear it.
him i didn't dare look back but i could hear the crunch of leaves and twigs the steady rhythm of footsteps that weren't my own he wasn't sprinting not yet he didn't have to he was just behind me close enough that i could hear the way his breathing dragged like it took effort to keep up with me My foot slipped on a patch of loose dirt and I stumbled, nearly falling.
I caught myself on a low-hanging branch, the rough bark scraping my palm. My lantern swung wildly in my hand, its beam cutting through the dark and jagged arcs. For a second I thought about turning it off, thought maybe, just maybe, the dark would swallow me up, hide me from him. But then I remembered his eyes. The way they gleamed in the dim light.
How they locked onto me like a predator sizing up its prey. No, I needed the light. I needed to see. The first lamppost was up ahead, its faint yellow glow barely visible through the thick trees. It felt like a beacon, like safety was just a few yards away. I forced my legs to move faster, pushing through the pain in my thighs.
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Chapter 4: How does the encounter with the figure escalate?
i reached the lamp-post and collapsed against it panting the metal cold against my back the trail ahead stretched into darkness but at least the dim light gave me a moment to catch my breath i turned the lantern toward the trail behind me the beam bouncing as my hands shook and that's when i saw him he was crouched at the edge of the light his body low to the ground pale and glistening
His limbs moved wrong, like he didn't know how to use them properly. His head tilted to one side, and his mouth, God, his mouth, stretched into a grin so wide it looked like his face would split in half. He didn't blink. For a second, we just stared at each other. Me, gasping for air, clutching my lantern like it could save me. Him, motionless, except for the subtle rise and fall of his chest.
Why are you doing this? I yelled, my voice breaking. It came out too loud, too desperate. He didn't answer. Instead, he leaned forward, his hands pressing into the dirt, and then he crawled into the light. The way he moved, it wasn't human. His knees and elbows bent at odd angles, his limbs jerking like a marionette on invisible strings.
Every movement made this faint clicking sound, like his joints were grinding against each other. I didn't wait for him to get closer. I bolted again, sprinting toward the second lamppost. My legs screamed in protest, and my vision blurred, but the thought of him catching me was enough to drown out the pain. Behind me, his movements grew louder, faster. It wasn't just footsteps anymore.
It was the wet slap of bare feet on the dirt, the sound of something too large moving too quickly. The second lamppost came into view, its glow steady and unbroken. My heart leapt at the sight of it, but then I felt it, the sharp, icy prickle of being watched. I chanced a glance over my shoulder. He wasn't crawling anymore. He was standing now, running on two legs.
His movements were jerky, unnatural, but he was fast, too fast, and his grin hadn't faltered. If anything, it had grown wider. Stop! I screamed, my voice hoarse. What do you want? He didn't stop. He didn't answer. He just kept running, his eyes locked on mine like I was the only thing that mattered in the world. I made it to the second lamppost and skidded to a stop, nearly dropping the lantern.
My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath, my head spinning. The light above me buzzed faintly, casting a sickly yellow glow over the trail. For a moment, I thought he'd stop at the edge of the light again, like he had before. But this time, he didn't hesitate. He stepped into the glow, his skin almost luminescent under the lamplight. He wasn't smiling anymore.
His face had gone slack, his eyes dark and empty. But the way he stared at me... It was like he was peeling me apart, layer by layer, and I couldn't move. He took a step forward and I stumbled back, tripping over my own feet. My lantern fell to the ground, its beam slicing across the trail. I scrambled to pick it up, my fingers fumbling in the dirt.
When I looked up again, he was crouched over me, just out of reach, his breath hot and rancid. "'Why?' I whispered, tears streaming down my face. He leaned closer, his head tilting again, like he was trying to understand me. And then, for the first time, he spoke. It wasn't a word, it was a sound, low, guttural, and inhuman.
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Chapter 5: What strange occurrences happen at Clara's house?
The first weird thing happened pretty early. We'd gone over to Clara's mom's section to grab snacks. Her mom wasn't in the room, but the bathroom door was closed, and we could hear her humming inside.
mom clara called out yeah i'm here her mom's voice answered muffled but clear i stepped toward the fridge but then i heard it a deep voice gruff and almost lazy muttered from outside the window yeah i froze What was that? I whispered, spinning around to look at Clara. Her face had gone pale. That, she stammered, that wasn't her. We both stared at the tiny window above the sink.
It was dark outside, nothing but shadows and the faint outline of trees. Nobody was there. Maybe it was… an echo? Clara said, her voice shaky. But she didn't sound like she believed it. Neither did I. We didn't talk about it after that. She grabbed the snacks, I grabbed my water bottle, and we bolted back to her room like it was no big deal. Except it was a big deal.
I couldn't stop thinking about how close that voice had sounded. Too close. By the time night fell, I was a wreck. Clara was trying to act normal, but I could tell she was on edge too. Let's watch something, she said, pulling out her ancient laptop. Something funny. Yeah, sure, I mumbled, pulling my knees up to my chest. The movie was supposed to help, but it didn't.
The whole time I couldn't stop glancing at the glass door. We'd locked it, thank God, but that didn't help much. It felt like we were in a fishbowl, with nothing but a thin pane of glass between us and the pitch black forest. Every now and then, I'd see my reflection move, and my stomach would twist like it was someone else. At some point I asked Clara about the divider.
Why does Mr. Carrick keep his stuff in here? Doesn't he have enough space in the big house? Clara shrugged. He's weird like that. Mom says he likes to keep an eye on everything. Even his junk. Great. Just great. Now it felt like he was watching us too. Clara must have seen the look on my face because she laughed. Relax, Naomi. It's fine. Seriously. There's nothing out there.
I wanted to believe her. I really did. But I couldn't shake the feeling that we weren't as alone as she thought. And then the footsteps started. The footsteps started out faint. At first, I told myself it was just the wind, or maybe some animal shuffling through the leaves outside. But then they got louder, more deliberate. Crunch, crunch, crunch.
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Chapter 6: What do the girls discover outside the glass door?
I muted the laptop mid-sentence, cutting off some corny romantic dialogue. Do you hear that? I whispered. Clara froze, her eyes darting to the glass door. It's probably just a possum or something, she said, but her voice cracked at the end. She didn't believe herself. Neither did I. The steps didn't sound like an animal.
they were too steady too human crunch crunch i couldn't move my chest felt tight like i couldn't get enough air clara i whispered gripping her arm it's right outside we both sat there frozen listening as the sound circled her room slow deliberate steps on the dry brittle leaves they were moving closer to the back of the building
i glanced at the divider that stupid tall shelf blocking the back section where the second door was the footsteps stopped for a second there was nothing but silence the kind of silence that makes your ears ring that feels like it's waiting for something to happen Then the doorknob rattled. It wasn't loud. In fact, it was the quiet, almost gentle way it jiggled that made it so much worse.
Like whoever was out there wasn't in a hurry. Like they had all the time in the world. Is that door locked? I whispered. My voice barely audible over the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Clara's face was pale. It's stuck. It doesn't open all the way, I think. She thinks. Great. The rattling continued, slow and deliberate.
I could hear the soft scrape of metal like they were testing the lock.
my throat was dry and every instinct in me was screaming to get up and check if the door was actually secure but i couldn't move my legs felt like lead and i was terrified that if i made even the slightest sound it would draw whoever was out there right to us then the rattling stopped we both stared at the divider our breath shallow for a second i thought maybe they'd given up maybe they'd left but then i heard it breathing
Heavy, slow, deliberate breathing just on the other side of that door, Clara clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with panic. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, but I didn't dare let them fall. All I could think was that this person, whoever they were, wasn't just trying to scare us. They were waiting. Testing.
The breathing stopped, and after a long, agonizing pause, the footsteps started again. This time, they were moving away from the back door, circling back toward the front of the room. Toward the glass door. "'We need to call someone,' I whispered, fumbling for my phone. My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped it. Clara nodded frantically, her face wet with silent tears."
i managed to dial zero zero zero the emergency number here and pressed the phone to my ear trying to keep my voice steady as the operator picked up emergency services what's your location we my voice cracked and i tried again whispering as quietly as i could We're at a property off Millwood Road. There's someone outside. They're trying to get in.
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Chapter 7: How does the story conclude for the girls?
clara's mom met us outside looking tired and annoyed i hope you two are feeling better she said barely looking at us last night was a lot of fuss over nothing clara and i exchanged a look but didn't respond what was the point then her mom said something that made my stomach drop Oh, and the wind knocked over the light pole last night. What? Clara asked.
The pole with the fairy lights and beads, her mom explained, pointing to the side of her building. It must have been the storm or something. It's on the ground now. Clara and I walked over to the spot. But the moment I saw the pole, I knew it wasn't the wind. The pole was thick and heavy, bolted into the concrete. It had been yanked out of the ground entirely.
The bolts twisted and broken like they'd been pulled with brute force. The zip ties holding it in place were shredded, dangling uselessly. This wasn't the wind. I whispered, staring at the splintered concrete. Clara didn't say anything, but her face had gone pale. On the drive back, I couldn't stop thinking about it. About the handprint, the breathing, the footsteps. "'What if it was Mr. Carrick?'
Clara muttered, breaking the silence. I shook my head. "'I don't know. He's creepy, but—' I trailed off, remembering the voice we'd heard the first time we went to her mom's flat.' It wasn't Mr. Carrick's voice. It was deeper, rougher. What if it was your mom's ex, I asked, the thought suddenly hitting me. The one you said was, you know, weird. Clara shrugged, but her hands were trembling. Maybe.
But how would he know where we were, or even how to get here? i didn't have an answer i didn't have answers for any of it that night back at my house i lay awake replaying every moment in my head i kept thinking about the footprints outside the glass door the voice by the window the way the doorknob rattled so slowly so deliberately Whoever it was, they knew exactly what they were doing.
They weren't just trying to scare us. They were testing us. Testing the locks. Testing our nerves. And the worst part? I don't think they were done. I don't know if it was Mr. Carrick or Clara's mom's ex or some random stranger who stumbled onto the property. But I do know one thing. Whoever it was, they weren't just watching us. They were waiting.
And if we hadn't left when we did, I don't think we'd be here to tell the story. It always felt colder in Gutter's Hollow. Even in the middle of fall, when the days were brisk but manageable, something about that place dug under your skin. Maybe it was the way the trees grew so close together, their branches knotted like old hands blocking out every sliver of moonlight.
Or maybe it was just the stories, the whispers about people seeing things in the trees, about the forest swallowing sounds like it was hungry. Lucas and I knew better than to admit we were scared. We were 19, invincible in the way that only teenage idiots can be.
That night, as we rolled our bikes out of our buddy's basement after hours of gaming and bad jokes, Lucas grinned and slapped my shoulder. You good for the shortcut? He asked. He already knew the answer. I looked down the road toward the hollow, completely unlit and stretched out like an open mouth. The forest on either side was just there, waiting, silent.
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