Just Creepy: Scary Stories
Scary Appalachian Mountain Stories You've Never Heard Before | Skinwalker, Cryptid
31 Dec 2025
Chapter 1: What is discussed at the start of this section?
I'm going to tell this the way I've told it to two therapists, one deputy, and exactly one person who knew the cabin's owner well enough to make a call that got returned. I'm not going to dress it up, and I'm not going to pretend I understand everything that happened. I also want to say this up front because people love labels.
I'm going to use the phrase skinwalker-like the same way people say wolf-like when they mean, it moved like a wolf and made me think of a wolf. I'm not Navajo. I'm not going to borrow anyone's beliefs as a prop. The Appalachian Mountains have their own old stories. Boogers. Haints. Things you don't call by name after dark. And whatever we ran into out there fits better into that category anyway.
Something that steals familiarity, uses it like a tool, and leaves you arguing with yourself about whether your senses can be trusted. This happened on a week-long cabin trip in the Appalachians in mid-October, the kind of week where the leaves look like the whole mountain's been lit from underneath, but the shadows between the trunks are already winter dark.
There were four of us, me, my wife Nora, my closest friend from college Eric, and Eric's younger sister Maddie, who joined because she'd just gotten out of a messy relationship and wanted a reset. We booked a cabin that was advertised as remote, authentic, historic, which is realtor language for, you won't have cell service and nobody will hear you if you scream. We wanted that.
I'm self-employed and always on. Nora was coming off a brutal stretch at work. Eric and Maddie had both been living in apartments where you can hear your neighbors sneeze. We wanted to go somewhere you could sit on a porch and hear nothing but wind, and maybe a creek. We wanted to feel small in a good way. The listing was a little too perfect.
Hand-hewn logs, cast iron stove, original spring house, historic property once used as a way station for early settlers and later a logging family. Photos of a porch swing, a gravel driveway, mist hanging low over a ridge, a note in the rules, no pets, no exceptions. That stood out because most cabins in that area advertised dog-friendly, like it's a religious doctrine.
The owner's name was Cal, and all communication went through short messages that sounded friendly but controlled. If I asked a question, I got an answer that addressed exactly what I asked and nothing more. Like a man who'd learned the hard way what happens when you volunteer extra information.
We drove in two vehicles because we had a week's worth of groceries, hiking gear, and Eric's borderline ridiculous enthusiasm about bringing a small telescope. We left early to avoid weekend traffic, and the drive itself was normal. Highways into state routes, state routes into narrower roads, narrow roads into roads with names that sounded like warnings. The last half hour was gravel.
Not the nice, graded kind you see in subdivisions. The kind with deep ruts and fist-sized stones that ping the underside of your car and make you question your choices. The forest closed in, and the ridgelines kept stacking, one behind another, like you were driving into a layered photograph. The first odd thing happened before we even reached the cabin.
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Chapter 2: What happens during the cabin trip in the Appalachian Mountains?
Made a first night meal that was too heavy because we were hungry and excited and still operating on road trip energy. There was a binder on the coffee table labeled cabin notes in thick marker. Inside were directions, emergency numbers, instructions for the stove, and a page titled wildlife that read like it had been edited over time.
Black bears, common, coyotes, common, bobcats, rare, feral hogs, present in some areas. Then in a different handwriting, one line, do not go into the woods after dark. If you hear a person calling for help, do not answer, lock the doors. It would be easy to say that's where we should have left. But the human mind has a defense mechanism for things like that. We treat them like quirks.
We file them under local color. Eric said it was probably aimed at tourists who get lost. Nora said maybe there were hunters who didn't want people wandering around. Maddie didn't say anything. She just turned the page and pretended she hadn't read it twice. That first night, we sat on the porch with blankets and hot drinks because the air had that sharp edge that makes you feel awake.
The stars were bright in the gaps between tree branches. Eric set up his telescope like a ritual. We talked about nothing important. At around 10, the wind shifted and the chimes moved for the first time. They didn't tinkle like delicate chimes. They clanged, low and hollow, like pipes. It made all of us pause mid-sentence, the same way people pause when a dog growls.
Then we laughed at ourselves, because it was wind chimes doing wind chime things. At around 11, when we were inside and the lights were out, I heard a voice outside. Not close, maybe 50 yards away, down near where the driveway met the trees. A woman's voice calling, It wasn't a scream. It wasn't frantic. It was the tone someone uses when they think they might be at the wrong house.
I sat up in bed. Nora stirred and asked what it was. I didn't answer right away because I was listening for a second call. The way you listen for a second clap of thunder to confirm the first wasn't something else. The voice came again, slightly closer, still calm. Hello? Is someone there? Nora sat up too. In the dark you can hear the shape of someone's fear in their breathing. She whispered.
Is that Maddy? I knew it wasn't. Maddy's voice has a rasp at the end of words. This voice was too clean, too even. But Nora's question planted the first seed of doubt. What if it was Maddie, and she'd stepped out and gotten turned around? We'd been drinking cider. People make dumb choices. I swung my feet to the floor, and the cabin floor creaked loudly, like it was announcing my movement.
The voice outside stopped. Then, after a pause long enough to feel like it had been timed, it said, It's cold. Can you help me? I got to the window and looked out through the gap in the curtains. The porch light was off, and the darkness outside was complete except for a faint wash of moonlight on the gravel. I saw no one, no flashlight, no movement, just the trees.
The voice came again and this time it was closer to the porch, right at the edge of the lightless space beyond the steps. Please, it said, I'm lost. Nora was behind me now, holding my arm like she could anchor me.
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Chapter 3: What eerie signs do the travelers encounter on their journey?
I remember something from the binder flickering through my mind. If you hear a person calling for help, do not answer. And I remember how stupid it felt, in that moment, to treat a line in a cabin binder like gospel. If a person is lost in the woods in October, you help them. That's the rule. That's what good people do. That's what we tell ourselves we'd do. Eric's door opened across the hall.
He whispered, The voice outside changed, just slightly, like a person adjusting to a new idea. "'Eric?' it called. "'Eric, is that you?' Every hair on my arms went up. There's a specific kind of cold that isn't temperature. It's recognition of something that should not be possible. We had not said Eric's name outside. Not loudly. Not recently.
The voice had guessed, and it had guessed correctly, and that should have been coincidence. But it didn't feel like it." It felt like a hand reaching for the right tool in a drawer. Eric whispered back before any of us could stop him. "'Who is this?' The voice answered immediately, too quickly, like it had been waiting for permission. "'Thank God,' it said.
"'I'm—' It paused, and in that pause I heard something that made my stomach tighten, the faintest click, like teeth touching." Then it said, I'm Maddie. From down the hall came Maddie's sleepy voice, muffled by her door. What? All of us froze. The voice outside didn't falter. It continued in the same calm tone, now with an edge of irritation, like someone being contradicted.
"'Eric, open the door. I can't feel my hands.' Eric took a step toward the front door. I grabbed his shoulder harder than I meant to. He jerked, startled, then turned to me in the dim hallway light like he was about to argue. Nora said very quietly, "'Maddie is in her room.'
There was a silence outside, and in that silence, I could hear the creak down somewhere below the cabin, steady and indifferent." Then the voice outside changed again, not to Maddy's real voice, but to something close enough that it made Maddy gasp behind her door. "'Please,' it said. "'Please, I'm right here.' I didn't think.
I crossed to the front door and slid the deadbolt and the older lock and the hook latch in one motion, like I was sealing something. I didn't open it. I didn't speak. I just locked it louder than necessary so whoever, or whatever, was outside would hear the finality." For a long moment, nothing happened. Then there was a sound on the porch steps.
Not footsteps, more like something shifting its weight. Then, very softly, as if someone leaned close to the door to speak through the wood, the voice said, Okay, that was it. No anger, no pleading, just acceptance. Then the porch steps creaked again, and the sound moved away into the trees. We stood there in the hall for a long time, listening. Eric's face looked pale even in the low light.
Maddie had cracked her door open and was peering out like a child. Nora's hand was still wrapped around my arm and I could feel her pulse through her fingers. Eventually Eric whispered, that was a prank. By who? Nora whispered back. Eric didn't have an answer, and that was the first time I saw him genuinely unsettled. He's the kind of person who narrates his fear as a way to manage it.
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Chapter 4: How does the story of the cabin unfold at night?
It looked like a rag until I got close enough to see the stitching. It was from my shirt. Not similar. Mine. The hem had a small tear from an old accident with a door hinge. I'd worn that shirt the day before. I'd taken it off in the cabin and tossed it in my duffel. I hadn't taken it outside. The cloth strip was tied to the branch like a marker. My mouth went dry.
Maddie whispered, How? Eric's face went hard, which is what happens when his brain can't fit the facts into a story. He needs a story to function. He said, Someone's messing with us.
''Yes,'' Nora said, and there was no comfort in the word. ''But how did they get inside?'' ''We didn't have an answer. The cabin had been locked. We'd been awake. There had been no forced entry. And yet someone had accessed our belongings, taken a piece of my clothing, brought it up the ridge and tied it like a message. We kept climbing because standing still felt like waiting to be found.''
Near the top, we got one bar of service for about 30 seconds. Eric's phone lit up with a delayed flood of notifications, then went back to nothing. In those 30 seconds, Nora managed to dial 911 and the call didn't connect. Maddie tried to text her best friend and got message failed. I tried to call the cabin owner and got voicemail immediately, like the phone number was disconnected.
Then the service vanished as if it had never existed. On the way down, we heard an engine. A real one, not imagined. An ATV, coming up the gravel road toward the cabin. We all stopped and looked at each other because that sound, in that place, meant either rescue or another variable we couldn't control.
A man on an old four-wheeler rolled into view, wearing a faded cap and a jacket that looked older than me. He was thin, weathered, the kind of person who looks carved by sun and wind. He saw us, and slowed without surprise, like he'd expected to find people outside that cabin. His eyes flicked to our faces, then to the cabin behind us, then to the trees as if checking something.
"'You folks the renters?' he said. "'Not a question.' Eric stepped forward and said, yeah, our car. Someone cut the battery cables, and we heard someone outside at night. The man's expression didn't change much, but something tightened around his mouth. He nodded once, slowly. Cal's place, he said, again, not a question. You know him? I asked. The man looked at me for a long beat.
Then he said, I know the land. That answer felt like a warning. He killed the ATV engine and in the sudden quiet I heard the creek again, far off, steady. The man said, you hear voices out here at night you don't answer. You don't go looking. That's how folks end up a story. Maddie said, what is it? The man's eyes went past us, toward the tree line. He said, Some call it a booger.
Some call it a thing. Some call it the borrowed man. Don't matter what you call it. It don't like lights. It don't like iron. It likes people who think they're helping. Nora's voice was tight. Are you saying it's an animal? The man shook his head just once. I'm saying, I've seen tracks that ain't right, and I've heard my own mama's voice calling my name from a place she's never been.
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Chapter 5: What realization does the group come to about the creature watching them?
"'Get the packs.' Luke finally snapped out of his trance." We're leaving, he said, trying to sound firm. Glenn's rifle lowered a fraction. Where you gonna go, he asked, still smiling. Trail's a long way. The younger man's gaze slid to Luke's satellite messenger again. You got a little button you can press, he murmured. That cute. Luke's hand went to the messenger instinctively.
The younger man's smile showed teeth. Wouldn't, he said. And then, this is the part I have trouble writing because it feels like my brain keeps trying to soften it. The creature across the creek mimicked. It made a sound like a human laugh. Not perfect, but close enough that my stomach flipped. A rough, breathy chuckle that rose and fell in the same shape as Glenn's. Glenn's smile vanished.
The younger man stiffened. Tessa whispered almost to herself, oh hell. For the first time, the men looked genuinely unsettled, like the thing they'd been hunting had just reminded them it wasn't a dumb animal. And that was the moment we should have run. Instead, we hesitated. Because humans hesitate when they're trying to understand, and predators don't.
The creature on the far bank stepped out fully. It was taller than any man I've ever seen. Not just tall, thick. Its arms hung long, hands large enough to wrap around a trunk. Its hair was patchy in places, matted in others, and its skin showed through in grayish areas like old scars or mange. Its face was heavy and dark, eyes deep-set.
when it moved it didn't sway like a bear it moved with a grim deliberate balance that looked almost human it looked at us then looked at glenn's rifle then looked at tessa and it made a sound that i can only describe as a warning a low rising bellow that made the creek water vibrate Glenn, despite everything, lifted his rifle again. Tessa lunged. She didn't try to wrestle him.
She did something smarter. She shoved the barrel up at the last second. The rifle fired. The shot cracked through the hollow like lightning.
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Chapter 6: How does Tessa intervene in Glenn's decision to shoot?
The bullet hit a tree above the creature, exploding bark. The creature reacted instantly, not flinching like prey, but charging sideways into the trees, disappearing with shocking speed for something so big. Branches snapped, leaves shook, and then it was gone, swallowed. Silence slammed down after the shot. Even the creak seemed louder. Glenn stared at Tessa like she'd slapped him.
You stupid, he started. Tessa's voice went raw. You following us, she spat. You bringing that here. You... The younger man stepped closer, rifle still down but his posture tight. You just made him mad, he said softly. Now he knows. Luke's voice shook. What is wrong with you people? Glenn's eyes hardened. Pack up, he said, the smile gone. Y'all ain't camping here. Luke bristled.
You can't tell us where to... Glenn's gaze snapped to Luke's face. We can, he said simply. Tonight, we can. Tessa's shoulders sagged a fraction, like she'd lost a fight she'd been trying not to start. She turned to us. Get your stuff, she said quietly. Now, we packed like our hands were on fire. No careful folding, no neat straps, just shove, cinch, lift.
The whole time I kept glancing at the trees across the creek, expecting that huge shape to reappear. It didn't, but I felt watched. Not like a spooky feeling, like a physical pressure, like eyes on the back of my neck. When our packs were on, Glenn stepped aside, gesturing up trail. "'Go,' he said. Luke started to speak. Tessa grabbed his sleeve and pulled him forward.
We walked away from that creek, away from the place where we'd seen something we couldn't explain, and met men who acted like they owned it." We walked until the light started to fade and our legs burned. Behind us, once, faintly, far off, a whoop echoed. And from somewhere closer on our side of the ridge, a whistle answered. Tessa didn't slow. Don't you turn around, she said. I didn't.
Day four, the hollow that isn't on the map. That night we camped in a miserable spot because we didn't have a choice. Rocky ground, little cover, no water nearby. We ate cold food to avoid smoke. We barely spoke. Luke was angry in that simmering way that people get when they feel powerless. We should report them, he whispered, like the woods couldn't hear. Tessa stared into the darkness.
report who she said two men with rifles in the woods they'll say you got spooked luke's jaw clenched they threatened us tessa's voice went flat they didn't yet she said and i hated the implication in that Yet. I slept with my shoes on. I slept with my bear spray in my hand. Finger looped through the strap. I slept in short bursts, waking at every snap.
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Chapter 7: What happens when the group encounters the creature in the hollow?
Just before dawn I heard the knocking again. Not close this time. Far off, traveling ridge to ridge. Three knocks, a pause, two knocks, a pause, one. Luke whispered. It's like, like a pattern. Tessa didn't answer. She just lay still, eyes open, listening like she was reading a language. In the morning, she made a decision without asking us. "'We're cut in this trip,' she said while we packed.
"'We're leaving today.' Luke's pride flared. "'We're four days in,' he said. "'We can just stay high and finish the loop. We don't have to.' Tessa looked at him, and there was something in her expression that shut him up. Fear, yes, but also guilt." "'You brought him here,' she said quietly. Luke blinked. "'What?' Tessa swallowed. "'Not you,' she said. "'Not like that. I mean, us being here.
We're drawing eyes.' Luke's face tightened. "'Why? Why would we draw eyes?' Tessa hesitated. Then she said, "'Because you ain't from here, and because you got that.' And she nodded at the satellite messenger." And because Glenn thinks you're stupid enough to wander where he wants you, Luke's voice rose frustrated. Why would he want that? What do they want? Tessa's gaze dropped to the ground.
Sometimes, she said, men get bored. We started hiking out, but the problem with loops is that out is relative. To leave early, we had to take a connector trail that dropped off the ridge toward a road where Tessa said she could reach her car by following an old access route. It wasn't on Luke's map the way the main trails were.
It was more like a thin line, a suggestion, one of those unmaintained paths that exists because people keep walking it. We found the turn. The trail dropped quickly, tight switchbacks through dense laurel. The air got damp. The light dimmed. Within an hour, I felt like we'd stepped into a different world. The ridge wind vanished. The forest closed. Everything smelled like wet leaves and earth.
Luke kept looking back like he expected to see Glenn stepping quietly behind us. Tessa moved faster, almost frantic now, pushing through branches. We crossed a creek, then another. The sound of water echoed in the narrow space, making it hard to tell direction. The ground got softer, muddier. We started seeing old cut stumps, evidence of logging decades ago, and then fresher signs.
A length of orange survey tape tied to a branch, bright against green, like a warning. Luke pointed. That's recent. Tessa's face went tight. Yeah. We kept going. Then we hit a place where the trail seemed to stop, not end at a road, not fade gently. It just disappeared into a wall of rhododendron so thick it looked like a living fence. No blazes, no clear path, just green and shadow. Luke stared.
This can't be right. Tessa's hands trembled slightly on her trekking poles. It is, she said. Luke pulled out the map, turning it like it would reveal something new. The trail should keep dropping. It should meet.
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Chapter 8: What is the significance of the final whistle and the call of the creature?
Tessa stepped closer to the rhododendron wall and parted branches carefully. Beyond, there was a narrow opening, like a tunnel, dark, pressed down. It looked like something had been moving through it enough to keep it open. Luke's voice lowered. "'We go through?' Tessa hesitated. Then very quietly she said, "'We shouldn't be here.' Luke's frustration snapped. "'Then where are we?'
Tessa's eyes flicked around, scanning Trunks' ground as if looking for a landmark she'd lost. "'This ain't—this ain't the connector,' she said, and for the first time since the trip started she sounded uncertain." This is… this is the old way. Luke stared. Old way to what? Tessa didn't answer. She stepped into the tunnel.
We followed because what else do you do when the forest closes behind you? The tunnel was claustrophobic. Branches scraped our packs. Leaves brushed our faces. The ground was uneven, roots and mud. The air was cooler, still. After maybe ten minutes, it opened into a hollow. And I swear to you… It was like stepping into a place that shouldn't exist. The trees here were older, thicker.
The light was dim even though it was midday. The hollow was shaped like a bowl, steep sides, with a creek running through the middle. And there were signs of people, Old signs and new. A rotting cabin, half-collapsed, leaning like a drunk. Rusted metal sheets. An old truck frame sunk into the mud. And more unsettling, fresh things. A stack of cut firewood under a tarp.
A line of snares hanging from a branch. A faint smell of smoke that was too recent to ignore. Luke whispered, "'What is this?' Tessa's face had gone pale. "'This is where folks used to live,' she said, voice tight." Back before the park lines and the trails and all that, some of them didn't leave. Luke looked around, uneasy now. So people live here, now?
Tessa's eyes tracked to the cabin, to the tarps, to the snares. Somebody does, she said. And then, from somewhere in the trees above us, a whistle sounded. Two notes. Tessa's head snapped up. Luke's hand went instinctively to the messenger. I felt the hair on my arms lift, and in that hollow, with the steep sides and the sound bouncing, I realized something that made my stomach drop.
We hadn't found this place. We'd been guided into it. The whistle came again, closer, and then, from behind the cabin, a voice called out, cheerful as Sunday, Hello? Hello? It sounded like the same voice from night one. It sounded like Glenn. Tessa's mouth opened but no sound came out. Luke whispered, we have to go. The whistle answered.
And somewhere deeper in the hollow, from a place we couldn't see, something huge moved through brush with a slow, heavy crackle. We were between them. People above, something not human below. That was the moment I understood the real shape of the trap. The first thing I did in that hollow was the dumbest thing you can do when you're cornered. I tried to make the scene make sense.
I stood there with my pack straps biting into my shoulders, staring at a rotting cabin that looked like it had been built before anyone cared about permits or property lines. And my brain kept reaching for ordinary explanations. Old homestead. Squatters. Hunters. A weird coincidence that Glenn and his friend happened to be nearby and were messing with us for sport.
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