Just Creepy: Scary Stories
5 Scary DEEP WOODS Stories to Listen to While Outdoors | FT. Booze and Boos
Fri, 16 May 2025
These are 5 Scary DEEP WOODS Stories to Listen to While Outdoors | FT. Booze and BoosCheck out Booze and Boos: SpotifyYouTubeLinktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepyStory Credits:►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/Timestamps:00:00 Intro00:00:18 Story 100:13:16 Story 200:33:59 Story 300:41:39 Story 400:51:34 Story 5Music 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 #deepwoods #scarystoriesintherain #cryptids 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀
Chapter 1: What makes deep woods stories so captivating?
Before we begin, I just wanted to mention that today's video is something special. The first story is narrated by the one and only Booze and Booze. If you haven't heard his work yet, you're in for a dark, eerie ride. His voice brings these stories to life in the creepiest way possible. Check out his show tagged below and give him a follow. Now let's get into the stories.
Chapter 2: What happens when you take a trail less traveled?
I've always been a guy who needs to get outside to break away from the concrete and the noise and just let the woods remind me what quiet really feels like. I'm not really the type who does it for Instagram or tell people that I escaped to nature on the weekends. I need it like I need sleep.
That's probably why I was all ears when my buddy Tyler told me about a creek on the backside of a ridge around two hours from where I live. According to him, no one went back there anymore. That old trail was basically erased when a service road was built a few years back, and people just forgot about it, which to me sounded like a gift from God.
Chapter 3: What eerie experiences can you encounter in the forest?
So, Tyler is the kind of guy who's always brimming with half-baked plans and back pocket shortcuts, so I had him lay it all out for me. He promised if I followed his directions exactly, I'd end up at the kind of fishing hole people would daydream about. Deep pools, overhanging willows, shaded banks. No tourists, no hikers, no boot prints in the mud.
It would be me, the water, and that kind of quiet you only get in a place where the world's overlooked. So I spent Friday night packing up my gear, fishing rod, small tackle box, a couple of sandwiches, a water, and a .45 that I carry when I'm inside remote areas, and the rest of the standard odds and ends you would need.
I'm not a prepper or anything, but I've done enough solo hikes to know you don't really mess around with this kind of stuff. You gotta plan for a good time, but prepare for a bad one. Saturday morning came. The sky was a kind of clear blue that practically begs you to hit the road. The drive out there was pretty uneventful, though.
Just me rolling through backcountry highways, an old barn sliding past me, the occasional deer crossing sign, of course, and just that gnawing excitement that comes before a new adventure. I hit that last turnoff that Tyler had mentioned to me, a gravel pullout near the edge of a tree line. Sure enough, there was this old slope leading down.
No signs, no markers, just the faint depression of a trail that had been there long before that road had. I parked and did a quick check on my gear and started down it. The sun was filtering through the pines and long fingers, that kind of dance on your skin and make you forget for a second that you're heading inside a place that doesn't really care if you come back from.
There was also this certain thrill to it. Sure, being out there where people don't go anymore, where cell phone signal dies and the only sounds you hear are the wind and the birds. But that's the point, isn't it? No one to bother me, no one to bother with me either. The trail actually looked better than I expected it to.
It was narrow, sure, but packed dirt and a few old switchbacks, and a constant downhill grade that lets you know you're leaving the familiar behind you. I moved at a steady pace, a heart light, a sharp. Somewhere below that creek waited for me like a secret. I'd been on the trail for maybe 45 minutes when I hit the first switchback. The descent was steady, but nothing too punishing.
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Chapter 4: How does silence in the woods create tension?
No need for trekking poles or careful footwork. Pines flanked on both sides, their needles softening the ground, the air nice and cool and clean. Birds chattered overhead and for a while, I let myself sink back into that rhythm, one bootfall after another, red tube gently knocking against my pack. Now, around two miles in, things changed.
The trail curved left, hugging the side of the ridge when I came to a fork that I hadn't been warned about. Tyler's directions were usually pretty thorough, obsessive even. He'd mention no fork, no deviation, just follow that trail all the way down. But here it was, two narrow paths splitting at a patch of brush. One angled to the left, toward a strand of sycamores.
The other veered to the right, steeper, rougher, cutting deeper into the canyon. I stood there for a moment, chewing on the inside of my cheek, scanning the treetops as if the right answer might be hanging there in front of me. The left trail looked like it just wrapped around the ridge, maybe skirted the canyon, but the right?
The right hand dropped hard, where the water should inevitably be, right? So, I took the right. And at first, it didn't feel like the right call. The trail narrowed but stayed visible, flanked by a rock outcropping and a cluster of oaks. But half a mile in, it began choking down. Shrubs and young saplings pressed in on me, branches clawing at my sleeves.
I had to duck under deadfall twice, and the ground was getting wetter. Mud slick under my boots. I pushed on still, though, figuring it had to open up. And this is where I noticed the silence around me. At first, it was very subtle, just the fading of a bird song, the way my boots sounded sharp against the ground. But soon, it was like the woods had swallowed their own voice.
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Chapter 5: What are the signs that something is watching you?
I paused, hands on my hips, catching my breath. Something about that stillness just made the hairs on my neck rise up. I turned back to look up at the trail, and there I saw a figure, just barely peeking from behind a tree maybe 50 yards up. It was a blink, a flicker of movement there and gone. Dark hair, pale skin, maybe a woman. I froze. My heart began to hammer.
Logic now kicked in, telling me, OK, it's just another hiker or maybe a local who knows the area better than you do. But that trail was a complete mess. Nobody in their right mind would come down this way unless they were as stubborn or dumb as I was. So I called out to them. Hey, are you are you all right back there? Of course, I got nothing in response, no reply, no sound of any footsteps.
So I waited, counting in my head. One, two, three. But the woods in front of me remained dead quiet. My skin began to crawl at the thoughts. I shifted my pack and gave those woods another hard look and then turned back down trail. The trees began to thicken, crowding the path until the trail just straight up vanished. Ahead it was nothing but undergrowth and scattered boulders.
Across this narrow ravine, I almost missed it, sat what looked like some kind of makeshift camp. A tarp hung low between two trees, a pile of firewood stacked under an oak, an old Coleman cooler tilted on its side. Someone was or had been living out here. My stomach turned to the thought, maybe I hadn't imagined that figure after all.
Then, that's when I did hear footsteps, soft, almost thoughtfully, moving through the brush to my left. I froze, ears straining, feeling my throat go dry. Suddenly, I slid my phone from my pocket, not to call anybody, there wasn't any bars out here, but to use the screen like a mirror. I angled it over my shoulder, and there between the trees, maybe 30 feet back, was indeed a woman.
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Chapter 6: How does fear manifest in solitary wilderness?
Thin, tangled hair, clothes dark and baggy. She wasn't walking toward me, at least not directly, but weaving through the trees, keeping pace, eyes flicking between the ground and where I stood. I didn't want to wait anymore. I turned and started back uphill, keeping my pace steady, pretending not to notice her. I didn't sprint, not yet, just moved fast enough to show that I was leaving the area.
My hands were itching for that .45 on my hand, but drawing it now felt like this kind of escalation that I wasn't quite ready for. The trail then narrowed, pinched by this fallen tree, and I jumped it, gasping and tasting copper on my tongue. My mind spat half-formed plans out. Loser at the fork. Call out if I saw anybody. Fire a warning shot if I had to.
The sounds behind me grew sharper, more desperate. Sticks snapping, breathless hitches. The slap of souls against dirt. Enough. I yanked that .45 from the holster and fired two shots into the air. The echo cracked through the trees like a whip, and for a heartbeat the woods froze as well. And then, through the hush, the unmistakable sound of retreat, footsteps pounding back the way they come.
I spun around and caught a quick glimpse of her, the woman hair flying, arms pumping, bolting back down the trail like something feral, something that had been burned by the sound of that gun. I holstered the pistol, wiped sweat from my brow, and kept climbing. No stopping now. No stopping until I saw my truck. The climb out of that canyon felt twice as long on the way back.
My legs were burning, lungs straining, every muscle wired tightly, waiting for the slap of feet to return behind me. But the woods had gone still again, almost too still, like they were watching, holding their own breath. I kept my head down and pushed up the trail, counting every bend and switchback, feeling sweat bead down my spine.
I told myself over and over, do not look back, do not give her that satisfaction, do not show her that you're scared. But every now and again, I couldn't help it. I'd glance over my shoulder, eyes darting through the trees. Nothing, just shadows, just the wind teasing the undergrowth. When I hit that fork again, I barely slowed. I could see now how I'd been led wrong.
The overgrown path that I had taken was just subtle enough to pull somebody in without really thinking. Tyler's directions had been clear. No forks, no turns. Which meant the path shouldn't have existed. And my gut twisted at that thought. The last mile was a complete blur. The sky was starting to dim and the sun was dipping behind the ridge.
The woods were slipping into that blue-gray half-light that makes everything look wrong. Every sound around me was amplified. The snap of twigs, the hush of the wind, my own ragged breathing. I kept my hand near that gun, listening for anything and everything. By the time I saw the edge of the trees and the shape of my truck parked in that gravel turnout, it almost felt like a hallucination.
I half stumbled up that last stretch, boots slipping and heart hammering like it wanted out of my chest. I threw my gear in the back seat without any kind of ceremony, climbed into the cab and locked the doors. I sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, forehead resting against the rim, letting the tremors roll throughout me. My mouth was dry, tongue sticking to the roof.
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Chapter 7: What happens when you confront the unknown?
I walked inside, sat on the couch, and rang Tyler. He picked up on the second ring, voice easy and relaxed. Yo, how was it? Catch anything good? I swallowed. My throat was raw. Hey, quick question. Are you really sure about that trail? You said no forks, right? Yeah, man, dead straight. It's been a couple of years since I was down there, though, but it's a simple run. paused. Why?
Did you get turned around or something? There was a fork, though. About two miles in, took me off the main trail and down toward a ravine. I pinched the bridge of my nose. Tyler, are you sure you're remembering right? There was a pause on the line, just enough to raise every hair on my arm. Then his voice came back a little quieter. Dude, no, there's no fork. There's never been one.
I closed my eyes and my skin felt cold all over, like the sweat I'd worked up on the climb had now frozen in place. I told him I'd fill him in later, hung up and just sat there in the dark, listening to my house settle, every creak and pop sounding a little too sharp for my own comfort. My mind would not let it go, the fork, the woman, the camp tucked away like an old scar in the landscape. Sleep.
Sleep. Didn't come easy that night. And, I'm sure you can guess, I never went back to that canyon. Not once. Not even to check if the fork was actually still there. Tyler tried to talk me into another trip months later, but I turned him down straight up. Whatever's down there, or whoever's down there, can keep it.
I needed to get away, badly. The city had been chewing me up, bit by bit, day after relentless day. Emails, deadlines, traffic that never moved. All of it blended into a toxic cocktail I could feel eroding me from the inside out. A couple of nights in the woods, away from everything and everyone, seemed like exactly the kind of detox I needed.
I picked a place near Navajo country, tucked away deep in northern Arizona. The trailhead was barely a trailhead at all, just a rusted sign, half hidden in weeds, marking a path so faint it could have been mistaken for a deer track. That suited me perfectly. If it wasn't popular, I'd have real solitude, genuine peace.
I parked my old Subaru off to the side and grabbed my backpack from the back seat. It was quiet, just the faint whispering of pines in the gentle morning breeze, and for the first time in months, my shoulders felt lighter. I checked my phone out of habit. Zero bars. No surprise there, but even my GPS app flickered erratically, glitching between coordinates.
I shook my head, switched off the device completely, and slid it into a pocket. I wouldn't be needing it anyway. The hike started easy enough. The trees, tall ponderosa pines, and dense green junipers created a welcome shade against the early sun. The air was crisp, sharp with the scent of resin and earth.
For the first half hour, my tension unwound steadily with each step, my mind clearing of the urban clutter I'd carried with me. But as I walked deeper, something subtle shifted in the air. The sounds, the birds, insects, even the wind, dropped away like someone had dialed down the volume. Silence took over, so dense it felt oppressive.
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Chapter 8: How do you escape a terrifying encounter in the wild?
At first, I thought maybe it was an animal, something curious yet cautious, watching from a safe distance. But animals didn't produce a silence like this, a total absence of life. The further I went, the stranger things became. Twigs were scattered oddly along the sides of the trail, arranged in crude triangles, purposeful shapes that set my teeth on edge.
Further along, the bark of a few large trees was shredded, scored deep with long, parallel gouges. They looked too deliberate. too high off the ground for any animal I knew. I brushed my fingers across the wounds in the wood and felt a shiver ripple down my spine. I reached what should have been my campsite by mid-afternoon, according to the map I'd printed.
But when I got there, the clearing wasn't a clearing at all. It was dense, wild brush, a twisted tangle of roots and branches that seemed intent on denying me entry. I checked my map again, confused. The coordinates lined up perfectly, yet nothing matched what I was seeing. I sighed and decided to backtrack slightly, figuring I'd made a simple mistake.
But when I turned around, the path behind me had shifted somehow. The pines I'd just passed through had closed in tighter, forming a different route than I remembered. My pulse quickened. I could have sworn I'd come straight through those two large trees, but now, there were three, clustered too close to have allowed my passage.
You're just tired, I whispered, the words barely audible in the thick silence. You're seeing things. I made camp anyway, clearing space among the roots and fallen pine needles. Darkness crept in quickly, far faster than I'd anticipated. The forest grew even quieter, the oppressive stillness deepening until it felt like a tangible presence around me.
I built a small fire, the flames crackling reassuringly, casting flickering shadows on the trees around me. Eventually, fatigue won out over paranoia. i crawled into my tent and zipped myself inside sleep came uneasily in fits and starts fractured by dreams filled with long-limbed shadows creeping along my tent walls then sometime after midnight i woke abruptly
My eyes shot open, ears straining into the darkness. Footsteps circled outside my tent, slow, deliberate, barefoot on dry pine needles. My heart hammered painfully, adrenaline sharpening my senses to an unbearable edge. I lay motionless, barely daring to breathe. The footsteps stopped right outside the thin nylon barrier. A low sound reached me, breathing, slow and deliberate.
A soft exhale brushed the fabric of my tent, as if something on the other side were sniffing, taking in my scent. Fear coiled in my stomach, heavy and sharp. Gathering every ounce of courage, I unzipped the tent flap just enough to peer into the darkness. Shining my flashlight in a sudden burst of defiance, the beam swept over empty space. The breathing ceased instantly.
Heart-pounding, I leaned forward slightly, angling the flashlight down toward the ground. Fresh footprints stood stark against the dry soil. Elongated toes, narrow arches. Not quite human, but not entirely animal either. I jerked the flashlight beam around the clearing, sweeping it between tree trunks, but saw nothing but shadows dancing mockingly on the bark.
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