These are 2 Scary DEEP WOODS Stories to Listen to While OutsideLinktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepyStory Credits:►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/►https://www.reddit.com/user/CosmicOrphan2020/Timestamps:00:00 Intro00:00:18 Story 100:17:50 Story 2Music 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 #cryptids 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀
Chapter 1: What happens if you find a strange rock in the woods?
If you ever find a rock stacked neatly on your sleeping bag in the middle of the woods, just one, perfectly centered, with tiny, deliberate claw marks carved along its base, don't pick it up. Don't touch it. Don't kick it. Just leave your pack, your tent, your friends, and go. I didn't. I picked it up. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm Jake.
Chapter 2: What is the story behind the Ape Canyon hike?
And if you know me from my channel, The Unexplained Northwest, Then yeah, this was supposed to be my big breakout series. Ape Canyon, the truth, 100 years later. We were supposed to hike in, find the spot where the old miners said they were attacked in 1924, film some eerie b-roll, throw in a few creepy ambient noises, and rack up a couple hundred thousand views.
But what happened out there wasn't content. It was a trap. One we walked into willingly. We left the Marble Mountain Snow Park at 7.42 a.m., August 18th. Clear skies. Spirits were high. Molly, my girlfriend, had that look she always gets before a backpacking trip. Calm, laser-focused, ready for anything. Aaron had his drone kit and thermal camera strapped to his back.
Jess, his little sister, was dragging behind with an energy drink and a bag of trail mix she'd mostly spilled in the car. And David, well, David was along because we needed a fifth and he had a forerunner. The trail started normal, dusty switchbacks, old Douglas firs crowding in, patches of ash where the forest hadn't fully recovered from the last fire.
But even an hour in, I felt it, that off feeling, not fear, not yet, just too quiet, no birdsong, no wind, just the crunch of our boots and the occasional can't-quite-place-it echo that followed a little too long after we spoke. Jess joked that the forest felt judgy. David rolled his eyes. It's just a hike, guys. Bigfoot isn't real.
Chapter 3: What eerie events unfold during the camping trip?
And even if it was, the dude would be dead of Lyme disease by now. We laughed. I didn't tell them that the first time I came out here a year ago to scout, I found nails, rusty, square-cut ones, buried in the moss near an overgrown ridge. And next to them, a crossbeam, split in half, burnt on one side like lightning had struck it. I marked the location on my GPS and planned our return.
When we reached the ridge that afternoon, everything felt wrong, not dangerous, just too still, like the woods had decided to watch. "'This the spot?' Molly asked, brushing sweat off her neck. "'Yep,' I said, trying to sound casual. "'This is where Fred Beck and his crew built the cabin, or what's left of it.' We found the nails again, the charred beam.
Aaron scanned with the thermal but didn't catch anything unusual. Still, we all agreed the air felt thicker here, like walking into a room where someone had just been yelling. We set up camp on the flattest ground we could find. Trees surrounded us on all sides. Pine needles blanketed everything. Our fire pit crackled to life as the sun dipped low. Dinner was freeze-dried chili and cheap whiskey.
The mood was light at first. Aaron cracked jokes. Jess pulled out tarot cards. David wandered off for a smoke saying we were all nuts. But around 9.30 p.m. things shifted. The wind died. Not slowly. Not gradually. Just stopped. No breeze. No rustling leaves. Even the smoke from our fire started rising straight up like a pillar.
Chapter 4: What do the strange knocks in the night signify?
then came the tapping three knocks faint like someone tapping a rock against a tree trunk we all froze woodpecker david said too quickly jess shook her head not that rhythm that was deliberate we sat in silence listening ten minutes passed nothing then three more taps closer I turned on the parabolic mic and scanned the tree line. Nothing obvious, but there was a sound under the white noise.
A kind of slow, labored breathing. Guttural, low, like someone exhaling through a cavern. Then silence. At 11.04, Molly screamed. I ran to her tent, heart in my throat. She was sitting upright, drenched in sweat, eyes wide. They were inside, she whispered, watching me. I wasn't dreaming, Jake. I saw them. Not faces, just eyes. Silver eyes. So many. We didn't sleep.
At some point, Jess threw up behind a log. Aaron sat up with the drone tablet in his lap, scanning thermal feeds, muttering, Something moved. I swear it moved. At 3.27 AM, the first rock hit. It smashed into our solar panel with a sharp crack. Everyone jumped. I unzipped my tent and scanned the darkness with my headlamp. Nothing. Then another rock landed near Jess's tent.
Chapter 5: How does the group react to the unsettling experiences?
Then another, and another. The pattern wasn't random. Three, pause, four, pause, three again. Aaron activated the drone, and for a split second, we saw something. Tall, upright, just at the edge of the tree line, then static. The drone dropped like a stone, like it had been swatted out of the sky. Dawn couldn't come fast enough. When the sun finally rose, the woods looked unchanged.
But the feeling, that pressure in the air, it hadn't left. Jess stepped out of her tent and screamed. At the foot of her sleeping bag was a single stone, small and smooth, with three tiny claw marks etched into its side. And that was the last time any of us felt safe. By the time the sun came up, none of us really believed we were in control anymore. We packed fast, barely speaking.
Aaron had that wired, half-manic look he gets when something rattles him, eyes darting, jaw clenched like he was chewing on glass. Jess wouldn't go near the stone that was left beside her tent. She just stood there shaking, arms crossed, whispering over and over. That wasn't here last night. It wasn't. Molly looked like she hadn't slept at all.
Her eyes were bloodshot, and she kept flinching whenever a twig snapped. She'd barely touched her breakfast. None of us had. We were ready to leave. But the trail was gone. I don't mean we missed a turn or wandered a few hundred feet off path. I mean it wasn't there anymore. The switchback we'd taken down to the ridge. The dead tree with the hollow trunk we passed on the way in. Gone.
Not just moved. Erased. Everything looked the same in every direction. Perfect symmetry. Pines spaced just far enough apart to keep you second-guessing. Same moss. Same lichen. No footprints. No trash. No sign we'd ever arrived. At first I thought I'd made a GPS error. Maybe the fire pit had just disoriented us. But Aaron's topo map glitched too, coordinates shifting in real time.
He pulled up the last drone footage and started swiping through the thermal captures. That's when he stopped talking. "'What is that?' he asked, pointing to a blurry corner frame. We all leaned in. On the edge of the thermal display was a silhouette. Tall. Upright. Longer limbs than a person should have. Its heat signature barely registered. Just cold enough to be real.
Just warm enough to not be dead. It was standing still. Too still. We watched in silence as Aaron cycled through the footage. The shape was in frame in three different clips, always from a new angle. It had been circling us. We should have left everything and bolted right then. But we didn't. Because something bigger than fear kept us there. It wasn't curiosity anymore.
It was this pull, like the woods were reeling us in. We tried moving west, hoping to reconnect with a logging road or a ranger marker. But after 30 minutes of hiking, we found ourselves back at the ridge. Back at camp. Only now, it was different. The fire pit was gone, covered in a thick, unnatural carpet of moss that hadn't been there five minutes earlier. Our footprints were gone too.
In their place were five sets of much larger prints. Barefoot, human-like but impossibly wide. Toes long and splayed like claws. That's when Jess started crying. I saw it, she said, last night. I thought it was a nightmare, but it leaned over my tent. I saw its hand. It had fingers, but they bent backward. We didn't know what to say. Molly hugged her, but it didn't help. Nothing was helping.
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Chapter 6: What does the notebook reveal about the forest's secrets?
That's when I realized we weren't walking through the woods anymore. We were walking through a graveyard. Molly walked ahead like she was being guided, like she knew where to go. I tried to grab her arm, but she pulled away and whispered, ''He's underneath us.'' He who? I snapped, finally cracking. Who the hell are you talking about?
She looked at me then, just briefly, and in that second I knew she wasn't coming back. The mouth. We reached a wall of stone. She stopped, laid her hand against it, and just like that, a section of rock shifted. Not crumbled, not cracked. Shifted, like a door. Behind it was a narrow slit, just wide enough for a person. Beyond it, pitch black.
A stench hit me then, like rot, like centuries of decay sealed in stone. My stomach turned. I tried to pull her away, but she stepped inside, and vanished, like the dark had swallowed her. I screamed her name, over and over, nothing. Jess collapsed behind me, sobbing. I turned and froze. They were everywhere.
not moving not breathing just standing all around us dozens of them tall thin black as ash their faces hidden beneath thick matted hair their arms hung down to their knees their chests rose and fell with slow quiet precision their eyes glowed silver not like headlights More like wet stone in moonlight. One stepped forward. It didn't make a sound. It knelt beside me and reached out. Not to strike.
Not to grab. To touch. Its hand pressed against my chest and I swear to you. Everything went silent. Not just sound. My heartbeat. My breath. My thoughts. Gone. In that moment, I didn't see memories. I didn't see light. I saw roots. Miles of them. Thick black. pulsing with a slow, oily rhythm, wrapping around bones, skulls, ribcages, femurs, all buried beneath us.
And deeper still, I saw something else. A mouth, not a face, not a head, just a mouth, wider than a cave, ringed with teeth carved from stone and bone and something still moving. It was asleep, but it was dreaming. And in that dream, it had already swallowed us whole. I don't remember what happened after that. I woke up three weeks later on the side of a rural road near Cougar, Washington.
Covered in mud, half naked, 30 pounds lighter, no gear, no camera, just Fred Beck's notebook stuffed in my jacket pocket. I don't talk about what happened to authorities. What could I say? They never found Molly. Or Jess. Or David. Or Aaron. They found no trace. My YouTube channel. Wiped. Every file gone. Every backup corrupted. But the worst part?
Sometimes, late at night, when everything's quiet, I hear three knocks on my bedroom window. Always three. Never four. And sometimes when I'm dreaming, I'm back in that canyon. I see Molly, standing in front of the stone slit. She turns, smiles, and says, We never needed the sun. My name is Sarah Branch.
A few years ago, when I was 24 years old, I had left my home state of Utah and moved abroad to work as an English language teacher in Vietnam. Having just graduated from BYU and earned my degree in teaching, I suddenly realized I needed so much more from my life. I always wanted to travel, embrace other cultures, and most of all, have memorable and life-changing experiences.
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Chapter 7: What is the chilling conclusion of the camping trip?
Feeling trapped in my normal, everyday life outside of Salt Lake City, where winters are cold and summers always far away, I decided I was no longer going to live the life that others had chosen for me. and instead choose my own path in life, a life of fulfillment and few regrets.
Already attaining my degree in teaching, I realized that if I gained a further ESL certification, teaching English as a second language, I could finally achieve my lifelong dream of traveling the world to far away and exotic places, all the while working for a reasonable income. There were so many places I dreamed of going, maybe somewhere in South America or Far East Asia.
As long as the weather was warm and there were beautiful beaches for me to soak up the sun, I honestly did not mind. Scanning my finger over a map of the world, rotating from one hemisphere to the other, I eventually put my finger down on a narrow, little country called Vietnam. This was by no means a random choice.
I had always wanted to travel to Vietnam because... I'm actually one-quarter Vietnamese. Not that you can tell or anything. My hair is brown and my skin is rather fair. But I figured, if I wanted to go where the sun was always shining, and there was an endless supply of tropical beaches, Vietnam would be the perfect destination. Furthermore, I'd finally get the chance to explore my heritage.
Fortunately enough for me, it turned out Vietnam had a huge demand for English language teachers. They did prefer it if you were teaching in the country already. But after a few online interviews and some visa complications later, I packed up my things in Utah and moved across the world to the land of the blue dragon.
I was relocated to a beautiful beach town in central Vietnam, right along the coast of the South China Sea. English teachers don't really get to choose where in the country they end up, but if I did have that option, I could not have picked a more perfect place.
Because of the horrific turn this story will take, I can't say where exactly it was in central Vietnam I lived, or even the name of the beach town I resided in, just because I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea. This part of Vietnam is a truly beautiful place, and I don't want to discourage anyone from going there.
so for the continuation of this story i am just going to refer to where i was as central vietnam and as for the beach town where i made my living i am going to give it the pseudonym bien hoa hen which in vietnamese roughly but rather fittingly translates to sea of promise sea of promise truly was the perfect destination
It was a modest-sized coastal town nestled inside of a tropical bay, with the whitest sands and clearest blue waters you could possibly dream of. The town itself is also spectacular. Most of the houses and buildings are painted a vibrant sunny yellow, not only to look more inviting to tourists, but also to reflect the sun during the hottest months.
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