These are 3 Supernatural DEMONIC Horror StoriesLinktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepyStory Credits:►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/Timestamps:00:00 Intro00:00:18 Story 100:21:46 Story 200:40:15 Story 3Music 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 #demon #supernatural #deepwoods 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀
Chapter 1: What happens when the friends arrive at the cabin?
We'd been driving since dawn, and by the time the Ouachita Mountains began to swallow us, their jagged peaks and thick greenery felt like something from another world. I'd booked this trip, an isolated A-frame cabin tucked away in the heart of the Ouachita National Forest, mainly because the photos promised seclusion and a weekend free from distractions.
I wanted us to disconnect, laugh, maybe even scare ourselves a bit. Turns out, I'd get far more than I'd bargained for. I remember pulling into a dusty gas station near the Talimina Scenic Drive to fill up the tank and grab some snacks before heading deeper into the wilderness. The cashier, a grizzled local with wary eyes, gave a strange look when I told him where we were going.
He hesitated, then mumbled something about that old place, and shook his head, returning my change without another word. Tyler joked that we'd stumbled into a cheap horror movie set up. but Emily glanced at me uneasily. Maybe I should have noticed the worry etched on her face, but instead, I laughed it off.
By late afternoon, our tires crunched down a gravelly forestry road, curving sharply into shadows cast by towering trees. The cabin emerged abruptly around the last bend. It was quaint, simple, and yet eerily picturesque, perched like a forgotten dollhouse in a clearing surrounded by endless trees. We unpacked quickly, excited chatter filling the small, rustic space.
Nina was already poking around, inspecting everything with her careful historian's eye. Emily set about organizing our groceries, her thoughtful silence calming. Tyler cracked beers open, spilling foam on the worn hardwood floors and roaring with laughter as he teased us to lighten up. The first hours passed in comfort and laughter.
As dusk painted the sky violet, Tyler and I shoved aside a heavy oak dining table to clear space near the stone fireplace. That's when Tyler stumbled slightly, nearly falling as a floorboard gave beneath his weight. He knelt, tugging at the edge of a woven rug. Beneath, a strangely placed board creaked, loose and splintered at one end.
"'Check this out,' Tyler called excitedly, grinning at his find. Emily's eyes narrowed, apprehension evident in her expression." Maybe we should leave it alone, she murmured, wrapping her sweater tighter around her shoulders as if suddenly cold. Ignoring her caution, Tyler pulled harder, revealing a worn, rectangular trapdoor hidden beneath the floorboards.
A tarnished iron ring sat flush with the warped wood. Nina knelt beside him, examining it curiously. This wasn't listed anywhere in the rental agreement, Nina noted quietly, clearly intrigued. She traced the ring gently. This looks old, like, really old. Let's open it, Tyler suggested eagerly, grabbing the iron ring. Wait. Emily's voice was tight. She stepped forward nervously.
We don't even know what's down there. Maybe it's boarded up for a reason? Tyler scoffed, dismissing her fears with a wave. It's probably just an old wine cellar. Come on, where's your sense of adventure? I chuckled, shaking off my own lingering doubts. It'll be fine. What's the worst that could happen? With an exaggerated grunt, Tyler lifted the trapdoor, revealing a pitch-black hole below.
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Chapter 2: What do the strange symbols on the well mean?
Tyler's laughter, Martha's sobbing, then something guttural and inhuman, ancient and ravenous. Emily stepped forward, eyes suddenly calm and resolved. It should be me. No! I shouted desperately, staggering to my feet. Emily! But she'd already grabbed Joseph's knife, slicing open her palm decisively. Blood dripped heavily onto the cellar door.
sizzling and evaporating instantly into black smoke joseph began chanting fiercely in his native tongue urging the cymbals awake nina wept quietly holding emily's other hand tightly the cellar screamed a horrific unbearable wail shaking the walls
a shadow erupted upward coalescing into jared no into something wearing my face a twisted mirror grinning cruelly eyes black and hollow you can't trap me again it hissed voice layered echoing hideously i'll wear each of you until the world falls quiet my vision spun stomach churning violently
emily stood firm unyielding her blood dripping steadily onto the ancient stone the cymbals glowed faintly pulsing with each syllable of joseph's chant the demon lunged forward reaching desperately for emily with all my strength i grabbed the impostor's form my own distorted flesh burning like acid under my grip it twisted violently shrieking fighting to escape seal it now i roared desperately
Emily closed her eyes, whispering one final prayer. Blood streamed freely, pooling around the cellar entrance. The symbols blazed fiercely, illuminating the entire cabin. A force surged upward, pulling violently downward, wrenching at the creature and myself. I clung desperately to a floorboard, fingers slipping, splintering wood digging into my flesh.
With a final savage pull, the cellar slammed shut, the air suddenly still. Silence rang out, deafeningly complete. Slowly, painfully, I raised myself upright, shaking violently. The cellar door was sealed, fused shut as if it never existed. Emily was gone, vanished completely. Nina knelt silently on the ground, tears streaming unchecked down her face.
Joseph stood quietly, hands clasped together, murmuring a quiet blessing. The authorities came days later, drawn by the smoke rising from a fire we started before leaving, burning the cabin to ashes, ensuring no one would ever unseal that nightmare again. Nina and I returned home separately, unable to face one another our friendship buried with Emily in that awful place.
In the quiet moments afterward, I tried to share our story, posting photos of those carvings, desperate for someone to believe me. But each time, my files corrupted, images dissolving into meaningless static. Eventually, I stopped trying. Tonight, sitting alone in my dark apartment, I'm exhausted, haunted by Emily's courage and Tyler's laughter, each echoing faintly behind my eyes.
Before drifting into sleep, I whisper Emily's name into a disconnected phone number, foolishly hoping she'll answer, forgive me somehow. But every night the dream returns, unending darkness, hungry limbs dragging me down. And each time Emily's voice softly warns from somewhere far below, don't dream, whatever you do, don't dream. I was 15 when we moved into that place.
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Chapter 3: What is the Throat of Fire and its significance?
I turned the volume down but the noise stayed the same. Eventually, I unplugged the system. The sound kept going for almost 10 seconds before it finally died. And that's when I realized, we weren't alone in that house. We never had been. After the stereo incident, I stopped pretending everything was normal. I didn't tell mom, not yet. But something had shifted in me.
Like a blindfold had been ripped off. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't focus. Every corner of the house felt like it was hiding something. And Toby? He wasn't just scared anymore. He was deteriorating. He barely ate. He drank only when I brought the bowl to him. I don't think he left the living room for more than a few minutes a day.
If I tried to drag him down the hallway toward the bedrooms, he'd plant his feet and whimper like I was taking him toward a firing squad. That's when I started digging. The place we lived in wasn't exactly listed on Google Maps. The airstrip didn't have a name anymore, just private property, no trespassing signs, half buried in weeds.
But I found the original parcel info through the county assessor's website. The property was registered to a man named Elliot Warren, a retired pilot. Apparently, he'd built the strip in the late 70s and ran a hobbyist aviation club until the early 2000s, when it shut down under unclear circumstances. But it was his son, Daniel Warren, who kept showing up in articles. Not many.
Just enough to give me that sick feeling in my gut. Three overdose deaths. All unsolved. All within a five-year window. Two in Prescott. One here, on this very property. Official cause in every case. Accidental overdose. But there were no records of prior drug use for any of the men. No rehab. No known addictions.
Just three guys in their early twenties who suddenly stopped breathing in their sleep. Quiet deaths. Neat ones. But it wasn't until I started searching old forums and message boards that things got worse. I found a post from over a decade ago. Buried on a dead aviation site. Someone had written, Warren's kid had a thing for putting stuff in people's drinks. Stay out of the hangar.
That's where he took them when they passed out. That one sentence kept repeating in my head. Stay out of the hangar. And it made sense, in a way I wish it hadn't. That hangar always felt off. I'd never stepped foot inside it. Even walking past it made the hair rise on my arms. I always felt watched. Not just the eerie kind of watched, but targeted. Like whatever was in there knew me by name.
As the days passed, the house's energy shifted from creepy to hostile. It started with the spiders. At first it was just one black widow, curled in the upper corner of the kitchen cabinet. Then I found another in my shoes, a brown recluse under my pillow. My mom stepped into the shower one morning and screamed. There were three of them crawling along the drain.
She tried to laugh it off, but she couldn't hide the look in her eyes, that raw, quiet fear. Two days later she was bit. She thought it was just a rash at first, but her leg swelled up like a balloon. Red, hot, and weeping. I drove her to urgent care, and the nurse said the venom had started breaking down her skin tissue. You got lucky, she told my mom.
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Chapter 4: What terrifying events unfold after the seal is broken?
A limp figure in worn jeans and a faded flannel shirt hung loosely from one arm, feet dangling like a forgotten puppet. I felt sick, heart racing as I adjusted the scope. Had someone gotten hurt climbing? Had a hunter fallen from a stand? Just as I convinced myself the poor bastard was long dead, the figure slowly, impossibly slowly, lifted its head and turned it toward me. My mouth went dry.
My body refused to move, frozen with disbelief and horror. Then it smiled. It wasn't a normal smile, not a friendly grin, not even a grimace of pain. It was an unnatural stretching of the mouth. A grotesque widening that revealed too many teeth. Too sharp. Too white. Wet. It stared straight through the scope into my eyes, as if it knew exactly where I stood.
I dropped the scope in panic, stumbling backward against a fallen log. My breath came in shallow bursts, fogging in front of my face. When I managed to look up again, the figure was gone. The tree branches swayed gently, empty and mocking. Adrenaline took over. I had to get down from that ridge, put distance between me and whatever I'd just seen. I moved quickly down the trail, rifle grip tight.
Every shadow now held menace, every creaking tree a hidden threat. That night, I set up camp near Deep Creek. Darkness closed around me like a physical weight. I huddled in my tent, rifle by my side, trying to rationalize the encounter. Maybe exhaustion had gotten to me. Maybe it was just shadows playing tricks. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't forget that hideous smile.
Sleep came slowly, troubled by anxious dreams. Then I woke sharply sometime after midnight. A noise, quiet yet distinct, echoed above my tent. dragging like something heavy being slowly pulled along the branches overhead i lay perfectly still straining to listen the dragging continued no footsteps no cracking branches just that endless scraping across the bark
pine needles pattered softly onto the tent fabric above my head my pulse hammered in my ears i grabbed my flashlight and unzipped the tent cold air rushed in as i stepped out rifle pointed upward sweeping the beam through the black canopy nothing the beam caught only tangled branches and shadows that danced with the wind but there was no wind.
The dragging paused, silence pressed against my ears until it hurt. Hello? My voice was thin, swallowed immediately by the wilderness. Nothing responded. I forced myself to breathe, lowered my rifle slightly, trying to calm my shaking hands. Then, directly above me, something shifted with deliberate slowness. I looked straight up, heart pounding, flashlight trembling in my grip.
There, hanging silently from the branches just out of clear sight, was a hint of pale, sickly skin, long fingers curled around pine bark, and those same worn jeans and faded flannel sleeves. It swung ever so slightly, mockingly gentle.
the flashlight beam was shaking so badly i couldn't get a clear view but i didn't need to i knew it was watching me and just beyond the beam's reach hidden in shadow i saw the glint of too many teeth stretching into that monstrous grin at dawn the forest felt hollow stripped of life and color Every tree seemed taller, closer, leaning over me in silent mockery.
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