These are 6 True Scary Appalachian Mountain Horror StoriesLinktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepyStory Credits:►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/Timestamps:00:00 Intro00:00:18 Story 100:12:58 Story 200:25:22 Story 300:34:46 Story 400:46:47 Story 500:57:34 Story 6Music by:► Myuu's channelhttp://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Musichttp://bit.ly/2f9WQpeBusiness inquiries: ►[email protected]#scarystories #horrorstories #appalachiantrail 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀
Chapter 1: What unsettling experience occurred in the Appalachian Mountains?
jacks my retriever was curled up by the fireplace like he always is he's the most relaxed dog on the planet rarely even barks unless the mailman shows up that's why i nearly dropped my coffee when i heard this growl coming from him deep and raw unlike anything i'd heard before i glanced at him and saw he was standing rigid hackles raised eyes fixed on the window
i couldn't see anything but my own reflection in the glass and i tried to shrug it off mumbling something like easy buddy but inside i was rattled i've never seen jacks look that tense tail stiff nose practically glued to the window it was enough to get my heart pounding Soon, I realized I still had to lock up my workshop down the slope behind the house.
Normally this isn't a big deal, just a quick trip in the dark with a flashlight, but the way Jax was acting? Let's just say I was on edge. Still, I convinced myself it was no big deal. I grabbed my coat, clicked on the flashlight, and headed out. Jax insisted on coming, practically pressing against my leg with every step. Outside, the air felt strange. I couldn't place why. Maybe it was too still.
No crickets. No wind through the branches. Just a heavy quiet. Halfway to the workshop, Jax let out another warning growl that made my stomach tighten. Before I could turn on my heel, I noticed the workshop door was slightly open, even though I was sure I'd closed it earlier. My chest felt tight, but I forced myself to keep going.
Chapter 2: What did the narrator encounter while locking up the workshop?
I tugged the door shut and locked it, and that's when this insane commotion erupted in the woods behind me. I can't fully do the sound justice, but it was like a sudden surge of noise tearing through the undergrowth. Branches snapping, leaves crunching, almost like a crowd sprinting among the trees. I froze, and Jax just pressed against me, teeth bared.
Whatever caused that ruckus had to be larger than a raccoon or fox. It sounded massive. My hands were shaking so badly that I fumbled with the flashlight, nearly dropping it. I backed up toward the house, trying not to break into a sprint, though my legs were begging me to run. The closer we got to the porch, the more frantic everything felt.
I got inside, practically shoved the door shut, and slid the deadbolt into place. My brain was racing, trying to explain what I'd just heard. A bunch of deer. A bear with cubs. But it was so loud, so widespread, like multiple creatures.
i stood in the hallway breath hitching jacks at my feet staring at the door i realized i'd left my pistol upstairs adrenaline was making my hands tremble my pulse hammered as i rushed to my bedroom grabbed the gun and made sure it was loaded
i've never felt so desperate to be armed in my own home just as i debated whether to investigate or hide jacks let out a bark that bark he only does that when something's seriously wrong so against every instinct i headed back out onto the porch with my flashlight and pistol My chest was tight, my breathing uneven, but I needed to know if there was an intruder or some animal messing around.
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Chapter 3: What was the source of the mysterious murmurs outside?
I scanned the tree line with the beam. Nothing moved. Silence reigned, almost unnaturally, as though nature itself took a step back, waiting to see what I'd do next. Then, just as I was about to turn and go inside, I heard this low murmur, more like a swarm of hushed voices than a single sound. It came from the very edge of my property, out near where the trees thickened. My stomach dropped.
It didn't sound like English, but it was disturbingly close to speech. Jax whimpered, tail tucked, as if he wanted to drag me inside. I couldn't see anything, but it felt like eyes were on me, a presence both everywhere and nowhere. The murmurs seemed to shift direction, echoing out from multiple spots at once.
My light swept across the yard, revealing not one silhouette, not one flicker of movement. Yet the voices, if that's what they were, didn't stop. A wave of nausea hit me so hard I thought I might collapse right there on the porch. I forced myself to breathe through it, whispering Jax's name for a shred of comfort. After what felt like ages, I managed to pull myself back inside.
That door had never felt so flimsy. I latched it and checked the windows, too spooked to turn on any indoor lights, hoping that darkness would hide me. The night wasn't over though. I had a terrible feeling this was only the beginning. Like whatever was out there wasn't done with me. That was the moment I realized I wasn't just dealing with some random animal.
This felt orchestrated, purposeful, and it was tightening around me, step by step. I didn't have a clue what was causing it, but I knew one thing for sure. My home, my safe space, was no longer secure. Jax's instincts had been right from the start, and I dreaded what might be next. I had barely closed my eyes for a second, couldn't rest even if I tried, with every nerve in my body on high alert.
Jax was tense, pacing the living room and refusing to leave the front door. I kept the lights off, thinking somehow it would make me less of a target. My phone sat on the table, but out here in the middle of nowhere, good luck trying to call for help. Even if I did get a signal, what could I possibly say to emergency services?
Hello, yes, there are voices surrounding my house, and I don't see anyone but my dog is freaking out. That weird muttering from outside seemed to vibrate through the walls, like a low chorus of whispers just behind the wooden panels. It was maddening because I couldn't single out a phrase or identify if it was even human speech.
It rose and fell in waves, and every so often, it almost sounded like... Chanting, I guess. I was too rattled to be sure. All I knew was that my gut told me there were multiple presences out there. More than one set of footsteps had circled the house after I first came inside. After another minute of pacing, I finally thought, screw it, I need to see what's happening.
i edged over to the window beside my front door careful not to rustle the curtains the instant i leaned forward the noise outside cut off like someone hit a switch in its place was the deepest most all-consuming silence not a single insect chirping no rustle of leaves just my own ragged breathing
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Chapter 4: What happened when the narrator investigated the noises?
When I shifted the curtain a millimeter, the mumbles faded out again. Something was definitely keyed into every movement I made, and that realization caused my stomach to churn. Time dragged on. I checked my phone. 1.47 AM. It had only been an hour since I'd first heard that thunderous crashing in the woods, but it felt like half the night had passed.
I decided to kill the darkness with a chance at visibility, so I clicked on the porch light. Nothing in the yard, no bodies, no shapes, not even a stray raccoon. My flashlight remained on the table, but I felt no urge to go out there again. A part of me sensed if I opened that door, I'd be swallowed whole. Jax's eyes stayed locked on the windows.
Now and then, a single footstep crunched the gravel outside, slow and deliberate. One step, pause. Another step, pause. it was unbearable not to open a window and yell but i couldn't bring myself to be that reckless my mind kept thinking back on old stories from my grandparents about things in the hills that weren't exactly animal and not quite human either
Tales I'd once dismissed as pure folklore. But here I was, feeling cornered by something I couldn't see. To keep myself sane, I jotted notes on a pad. What times I heard the footsteps, what they sounded like, how the whispering seemed to move around the property in a clockwise pattern.
Once or twice, I considered switching on music or the TV just to drown it out, but a voice in my head told me to stay alert, not to mask the sounds. After all, if something crashed through the door, I needed to know instantly. Hours crawled by this way. My nerves were shot, my hands clammy, and every muscle ached with tension.
I found myself drifting off only to jolt awake seconds later whenever jacks twitched. It was like living on a fault line, expecting the earth to quake at any moment. Meanwhile, the murmurs persisted outside, underscored by that dead silent hush whenever I tried to move. It was a twisted game. They made sure I knew they were there, but not once did I see a face or a form.
Sometime around 4.30, or maybe closer to 5 a.m., the tone of the murmuring changed. Hard to explain, but the pitch went lower, almost guttural. Then, slowly, the sound started drifting away, deeper into the woods. I caught faint rustling through the thick brush, then a final few snaps of branches. In their wake, frogs croaked and a couple of birds called.
It was as if the natural world had been stifled all night and finally breathed again. Relief washed over me, but it wasn't that comforting. I still felt like I might vomit from the stress. I checked each window for any sign of movement. Nothing. The gravel driveway looked untouched, aside from my own footprints.
Jax gradually relaxed, though he wouldn't lie down until the first pale light of dawn crept across the horizon. once i was fairly certain the immediate threat had disappeared i stepped outside on to the porch for a breath of air pistol clutched tight in my hand the yard was a mess of broken branches and the lingering smell of disturbed soil clung to the morning breeze
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Chapter 5: What did the narrator find in the old graveyard?
Occasionally we'd catch snatches of movement in our peripheral vision, maybe squirrels, but the scuttling always stopped the moment we tried to look closer. My friend commented that it seemed like the place was sizing us up, and nobody argued. We pressed on, climbing steadily. Eventually, we left the official trail in search of that old graveyard.
The path we followed was more of a half-remembered rumor than a marked route. A fallen tree forced us to detour through thick brush, and my arms got scratched up enough that I started wishing we'd picked an easier day hike. Still, I couldn't help feeling compelled to keep going. There was a raw, ancient feel to the land that I couldn't let go of. A couple hours in, the terrain turned steep.
Loose stones threatened to send us sliding if we weren't careful, and we had to cling to exposed roots for stability. We nearly missed the cemetery altogether, spotting it only because of a warped iron gate that caught the corner of my friend's eye. A row of leaning tombstones stood beyond, the lettering on them faded and chipped.
If I didn't know any better, I'd say they'd been here for centuries. Up close, the graveyard gave off an atmosphere that bordered on oppressive. The headstones bore names we could barely read, and the ground was covered in tangled weeds. The three of us wandered, taking pictures and gingerly brushing aside overgrown vines.
every so often a subtle breeze would move past us bringing with it a musty odor that reminded me of damp soil and decaying leaves my pulse was hammering in my ears for reasons i couldn't explain but i tried to play it cool we stayed longer than we intended mostly because we were fascinated and maybe a little horrified
by the idea that entire families could be buried out here forgotten by time each time the wind picked up we paused half expecting something or someone to step out from behind those looming trees it was all in my head i told myself probably just a side effect of being in a graveyard at sunset
By the time we left, the sun had started sliding down the sky, painting the ridge in murky oranges and purples. We hadn't planned on night hiking, but it was creeping up on us fast. The idea of navigating a dark forest trail made our nerves spike, so we decided the park's main road would be safer, even if it was a bit out of the way.
We figured it couldn't be more than a few miles to loop around and reach the campground parking lot. Leaving that cemetery felt like stepping away from a forgotten realm. Once we hit a semblance of a trail again, a fragile sense of relief settled over us. But it was short-lived. The path to the road was riddled with roots, slippery patches, and random branches that snagged at our clothes.
little cracks and snaps echoed in the brush just enough to keep us on edge we hurried along willing ourselves not to think about the dark shapes dancing in our peripherals finally we broke free of the tree line and spotted the asphalt up ahead the sense of relief was almost overwhelming like stumbling onto a lifeline in the middle of nowhere
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Chapter 6: What eerie figures did the narrator and friends see on the road?
I tried shaking it off, chalking it up to hiker paranoia or lingering trauma from that other shelter.
yet as the sun dipped below the pines the atmosphere felt suffocating every rustle outside set my nerves on edge that's when i started to wonder if it was me if i was carrying this darkness from shelter to shelter replaying it in every unfamiliar corner of the trail the thought alone was enough to keep me wide awake scanning for silhouettes in the dark
Eventually exhaustion won, and I drifted off, but not peacefully. In the morning, the chill still clung to me. I realized it's not as simple as a single terrible event in one place, or some new construction replacing old bones. The trail might be full of kind souls and breathtaking sights, but it can also trap echoes of the worst moments experienced by those who walked it.
The deeper truth is that no matter how many signs we put up or improvements we make, history has a nasty habit of haunting whatever ground it clings to. I left Pierce Pond Shelter feeling a little more shaken, a little more aware of how quickly these woods can go from comforting to unnerving. And as I hiked on, the thought kept circling in my head.
The real danger out here isn't always the wildlife or the elements. Sometimes it's the people you cross paths with and the echoes they leave behind long after they're gone. Be careful out there. I'd planned on taking it easy that evening, maybe practice a few fishing knots, or help Grandpa Morley tidy up the workshop.
Instead, a couple of friends, Ray and Kelsey, coaxed me into one last round of our favorite hide-and-seek style game. It was something we'd concocted years ago, chasing each other through every nook and cranny of the Appalachians behind Grandpa's homestead. Funny how you can grow up around these hills and still feel like you've barely scratched the surface of what's out there.
The house sits at the base of a ridge that rises into dense hardwood forests. Grandpa always said the land has its own memory, that every gust of wind and snap of twigs might be a signal if you listen closely enough. I laughed it off whenever he got too mystical, but tonight I was starting to see where he might have been coming from."
The three of us were in the yard, the western sky burning orange where the sun dropped behind the ridgeline. Kelsey decided she'd be it this time, so Ray and I scampered toward the slope. We both had camouflage jackets, more fashion statement than functional gear, but I like to think it helped us blend in. The plan was to outsmart Kelsey by moving uphill.
She'd never guess we'd take the steeper path. Or so we thought. We crested that slope, and the first thing I noticed was how quiet the forest had become. Usually this time of evening, you can hear crickets winding up for their nighttime chorus, maybe an owl calling in the distance. That night, it felt like everything paused, waiting.
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