
Just Creepy: Scary Stories
Terrifying Stories from the Smoky Mountains They Don’t Want You to Hear…
Fri, 04 Apr 2025
These are 3 Terrifying Stories from the Smoky Mountains They Don’t Want You to Hear…Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepyStory Credits:►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/►https://www.reddit.com/user/Horror_writer_1717/►https://linktr.ee/authormichaelkelsoTimestamps:00:00 Intro00:00:18 Story 100:30:21 Story 200:49:43 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 #smokymountains #deepwoods 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀
Chapter 1: What happens during the camping trip in the Smoky Mountains?
How much farther is it? Neil whined. I had to admit, I was getting a bit tired myself. When we first decided to go on a camping trip in the Great Smokies, I wasn't expecting it would be this far. According to the map, we're almost there, Gene said. You mean the map that covers the entire state, Sharon said. Almost there could be a hundred miles. Gene whipped around on her.
Do you think I'm that stupid? Of course it's not a map of the whole state. I picked it up at the ranger station. It only covers the Tennessee section of the Great Smokies. He turned back and began trudging. "'Well, pardon me, oh great mapmaster,' Sharon said under her breath. Jean paused for a moment, then kept going.
I knew he had heard her and wanted to chew her out, but with all that had happened—' My thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of struggling behind me. Turning, I found Mike wrestling with his backpack. It had gotten caught in between two small trees and had him stuck fast. "'Hold on there, bud,' I said, trying to get down to him without getting my pack caught."
grabbing trees as i went i worked my way down and got his pack unstuck thanks man he said sweat pouring off him as if this trip wasn't tough enough i hear you i said you need to take a break for a minute yeah he said dropping to the ground I chuckled, seeing the smallest of the group panting like a dog in the middle of summer. Hold on here, I'll be right back.
I struggled my way back up the hill only to find the rest of the group hadn't stopped when I did. I couldn't even see them. I ran for a little bit on what I thought was the trail, but didn't see any sign. Finally, in frustration, I stopped and let out a yell. Jean, Sharon, Neil, where are you?" I heard the words echo back to me, but that was it.
There was no answering call, no sound of brush being pushed aside as they came back to me. There was nothing. Even the animals didn't seem to be very talkative. It was quieter than it had been the entire trip. Part of that was surely the lack of Neil whining and Sharon and Gene being at each other's throats. I wish those two would just give up and go get a room.
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Chapter 2: Why does the group get lost in the forest?
Everybody knew they'd had it for each other bad. But they didn't seem to get it. Or maybe they did. And this is their idea of foreplay. Either way, I was a city boy lost in the middle of the forest. Gene had the map, and I had never been taught anything about direction or survival. I just came on this trip to hang out with my friends.
A motel room in Gatlinburg, five friends catching some shows, shopping in Pigeon Forge, that was what I was here for. It was Gene's brilliant idea to go on this stupid camping trip. Even though he said he got the map at the ranger station, I knew he didn't listen to anything they said about which trail to go on. Gene was always the leader.
He would have shooed them off and said he knew exactly where to go, even if he had no idea. Maybe I'm starting to see why Sharon hasn't hooked up with him yet. Maybe she's trying to knock him down a peg or two before he's ready to be civil. It had been five minutes since I had stopped and yelled, "'Jean! Sharon! Neil!' I called again, louder this time."
The only thing that got me was a louder echo coming back to me. I looked back at where I'd come from, only I wasn't sure of the exact direction. Gene had led us off the trail a while back, and I wasn't positive where I had left Mike. The dense canopy of trees left a little of the sun peeking through, still high in the sky. At least I'd have daylight for a while.
Turning back the way I thought I'd come, I started back toward Mike. At least if we were together, there'd be two of us to find instead of having to search for another. It was a long walk. It seemed like I got to where I was a lot faster than I got back. I suppose trying to catch up with the people who know where they're going will get your feet moving faster.
It wasn't long until I realized I'd been walking too far. I had somehow missed where Mike was. Mike, where are you? I called, once again hearing the echo and nothing else. Looking around, I was sure this was where I'd left him. The trees all looked familiar. But then again, I didn't know how many millions of trees there were in the Smoky Mountains.
There could be hundreds or even thousands of spots that looked exactly like this one. I began to question the wisdom, or lack thereof, of only one person having a map. A thought struck me. I whipped out my phone and tapped on the Maps app. Surely it could at least tell me where I am. Those hopes crashed and burned when I saw the no signal at the top of the screen.
Mike, I yelled louder, more to vent my frustration. I collapsed on the ground, feeling more exhausted and hopeless than I had in a long time. And then I heard it. A faint call carried on the wind. It sounded like it was miles away.
mike i yelled again i sat and listened which was easy since the animals weren't making any noise again i heard the return call i hopped up like a dog who'd heard its master's whistle taking a general guess at the direction i'd heard it i began to march determinedly It wasn't quite a run, but it was no stroll through the park either.
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Chapter 3: What terrifying creature does the narrator encounter?
once my backpack was repacked i sat down and leaned on it like a pillow with my back to the edge of the ditch and my phone's flashlight shining toward the trees my gun sat on my lap ready for some quick action it wasn't long till my eyes betrayed me slowly closing causing me to shake myself awake
Over and over this played out with me struggling harder to stay awake than when I was sitting in church. My phone told me it was after 4 in the morning. The sun would be coming up in a couple of hours. Then I could continue the search for my friends. My phone also told me it only had 23% battery left. I held a major debate in my head.
Keep the light on and lose the ability to use my phone if and when I get a signal. or turn the light off and save my battery, leaving me at the mercy of that creature. It was an impossible choice until I remembered the animals in the woods were making noises. They were silent when the creature was around. My only question was, do they shut up just for that creature or for all large predators?
For the life of me, I couldn't remember. I took one last look around before powering off my phone. Leaning against the pack, my fight to stay alert continued. Each time my eyes snapped open, the sky was a lighter shade of grey. Soon I could see vague outlines of trees looming over me, not frightening or disconcerting at all. At last I lost the battle and fell into a deep blissful sleep.
I woke to the feeling of sandpaper on my face. opening my eyes and seeing a deer licking my cheek made me nearly lose my mind i jumped back slipping off my pack and falling against the dirt in the ditch the deer lost its mind as well it jumped up and galloped away like a herd of hunters were hot on its heels Once my heart was beating at a regular rate, I looked around at the brightly lit forest.
It was late morning and I was still alive. The creature had not come back to kill me in my sleep. I took that as a good sign. Standing and stretching, I tried to figure out how I was getting out of there, let alone how I would find my friends. Shouting was out of the question now. I was sure that creature would see it as a sign of weakness and come running, like someone had rung the dinner bell.
But how would I find which way I was going before I fell into the ditch? As I stood there and looked back at the trail, I saw the branch sticking up that had caused this whole debacle. I drew an invisible line from where I was standing to the branch. I then followed the line through me and extended it past me towards where I was heading.
Looking up to the mountain looming above the trees, I tried to find a landmark to head towards. There was a huge rock that jutted out from the mountain with no trees around it. That was my focal point. I would use that as my compass. Speaking of compasses, I looked to the right and saw the sun rising into the late morning sky.
With the sun in the east, I turned back towards my rock and calculated that it was more or less to the north. Having figured out where I was going, I kicked my feet into gear and started getting there. It was a no-brainer that my friends would be worried sick. They were probably already back at the motel making all kinds of calls and organizing a search party. I chuckled at my joke.
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Chapter 4: How do the friends get captured by the creature?
No official notes, just a single phrase in shaky handwriting. No further patrol, closed indefinitely. None of us could handle staying there. We pushed on until we reached a side road that led to the main highway. It felt surreal when we finally heard a passing car. Civilization, something I'd taken for granted my entire life, seemed like a miracle at that point.
Since then, we've tried telling a few people the truth. The park officials gave us a stiff warning. They claimed we were trespassing in restricted wilderness, that we'd put ourselves at risk. They showed no interest in our proof, Lauren's pictures. that battered journal.
They brushed us off, said we were confused, disoriented, that everything we found was just leftover junk from an old logging site. I'm writing this here because I'm not about to let anyone bury what happened. Neil's still pretty shaken. He doesn't remember everything, but enough nightmares bubble up to suggest it's best if we never look back.
Lauren hardly goes camping anymore, says she can't sleep under the open sky without reliving those voices. Ben tries to push it down, act like it was just another mission gone sideways. But the Smokies are still there, ancient, half-forgotten corners that no one wants to talk about.
The next time you see a worn trail sign with a weird symbol burned into it, or come across footprints leading nowhere, maybe consider taking another route. There are places out in these mountains that are older than any story, hungry for those who wander. We escaped, but I can't help thinking we merely interrupted whatever was lurking there.
And if you ever hear chanting in the forest when you're miles off the official path, don't wait. Leave. Because whatever's left in those hollows, I doubt it cares how prepared you think you are. If you ignore the warnings, it'll only draw you deeper until you're just another lost voice in the gloom. At least we made it out. This time. I've never been one to shy away from the outdoors.
Growing up, I spent weekends tramping through wooded trails, finding peace in the hush between towering oaks. So when my friend Marcus convinced me to spend a few nights in the Great Smokies, it felt like the easiest choice in the world. I should have known something wasn't quite right as soon as we stepped out of the car that morning.
The trailhead, usually buzzing with the sounds of birds and chirping insects, was almost silent. We exchanged a puzzled look, but neither of us voiced our concerns. After all, we'd traveled a long way for this. We started hiking around sunrise, weaving through damp undergrowth and skirting around sprawling roots.
I remember the damp scent of decaying leaves and how the forest canopy seemed denser than usual. Marcus tried cracking a joke about local legends, recounting tales of reclusive hikers who wandered off trail only to vanish forever. I let out a half-hearted chuckle, but deep down, I felt uneasy. The hush in the air was more noticeable than I cared to admit.
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Chapter 5: What is the fate of the friends in the cave?
Could have been a nagging sense that we weren't alone, but I tried dismissing that possibility. We'd seen no other hikers, no wildlife, not even a single deer darting through the brush, and maybe that was the problem. The absence of the usual forest life felt unnatural.
somewhere around midday we stopped for a quick lunch on a patch of flattened grass the silence was so absolute it made my ears ring every snap of a twig felt magnified sending jitters through me despite my best effort to stay composed Marcus asked if I heard anything, but all I could detect was the distant splashing of a creek.
He admitted he couldn't pinpoint it either, just a creeping sense of being watched. We tried to ignore it, gulping down energy bars and lukewarm water before hoisting our packs again. By late afternoon, we found a semi-open clearing bordered by a narrow stream. The setting sun tinted the sky with a wan glow, turning the edges of the forest into a wall of looming shapes.
We both agreed this was where we'd set up camp, even though every instinct in me wanted to keep moving. The place seemed off somehow, but we didn't have the luxury of time to find a better spot. Setting up didn't take long. I hammered in tent stakes while Marcus gathered firewood. He dropped an armful of sticks and stood there, listening intently.
When I asked him what was wrong, he claimed he heard something rustling deeper in the woods, like the tread of deliberate steps, too heavy to be a rabbit or fox. My stomach churned, but I forced a laugh, suggesting maybe a deer had wandered close. Marcus shrugged, but he couldn't hide the tension in his eyes.
we cooked a small dinner over a makeshift fire as dusk settled the flame sending dancing shadows up the trunks of old trees the moment we stopped talking the clearing felt oppressive i poked the fire absently trying to force normalcy into the routine Marcus sat rigid on a rock, scanning the perimeter for any sign of movement.
Eventually, we both turned in for the night, unwilling to linger around the flickering glow. I woke up at some point, jostled from shallow sleep by Marcus whispering my name. The rain outside had started in earnest, drumming on the thin tent fabric. He sounded scared, and Marcus was never one to scare easily. His flashlight beam swayed across my tent walls, throwing strange, shifting patterns.
I fumbled with the zipper, stepping into the misty darkness. The fire had gone out, and the air was cold enough to sting my face. Marcus stood near the tree line, saying something about hearing footsteps. A crunch of wet leaves circling around us. His voice was unsteady as he gestured toward the shadows. I gripped my own flashlight, scanning the area.
The flicker of light revealed nothing but gleaming raindrops on foliage. No footprints. No animals. No person. Yet, the sense that we weren't alone grew stronger. Each time I swung the beam in a new direction, I expected to find someone standing there. We lingered for what felt like hours, searching with our lights. Thunder rumbled somewhere off in the distance.
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Chapter 6: How do the narrator and Sharon escape the creatures?
We'd either unravel the mystery of what roamed these woods, or we'd become just another story scribbled in a waterlog notebook, left behind for some future hiker to discover. Neither of us had the luxury of a decent rest by the time morning came. We watched daybreak turn the sky from murky gray to a dull, colorless wash.
And though the sun tried to break through, the forest floor remained gloomier than any place I'd ever camped. Despite our throbbing fatigue, we agreed. We'd push for the trailhead. Sticking around meant flirting with something we couldn't explain. We packed in a hurry, our soaked gear dragged at our shoulders, each strap chafing and biting into skin.
Marcus's face was ashen, eyes darting with anxiety. Even so, he took the lead, swearing he'd mapped out a more direct route back. I followed, stepping around snaking roots and churned up mud. We mostly kept quiet, words felt useless. Every twig snap or distant creek of branches made us flinch. We moved fast, sloshing through patches of waterlogged ground and over thick clusters of vines.
The weather eased up, but the silence weighed heavier with every mile. Usually by now, we'd hear bird calls or the rustling of small creatures. Instead, there was only the soft thump of our boots and the hush of trees looming overhead. Every so often, the path faded, forcing us to rely on a beat-up compass and soggy pages of the map.
Eventually, we reached a section of trail that widened into a small clearing. A few fallen logs crisscrossed one another, and for a split second, it seemed like a good chance to rest. Marcus and I barely had time to exchange glances before something stirred on the far side, something that snapped a branch and froze our breath.
my flashlight swept over the area picking up a flicker of movement a shape possibly a person hovered behind the logs it didn't advance but it shifted in a way that felt unnatural like it was trying to hide yet remain close enough to watch us
marcus shouted demanding whoever was there to come out silence answered we could sense an uncanny awareness from that patch of forest as if it was biding its time instinct told me to run but my legs felt welded to the ground suddenly the shape moved again this time vanishing behind a crooked stump
a jolt of adrenaline tore through me and i barked at marcus urging him forward we bolted what followed was a rush of crashing footsteps and frantic heartbeats roots and brambles reached out snagging our ankles sending us stumbling in the direction we hoped led to the road
every so often i caught glimpses of something weaving through the trees parallel to us never falling behind never drawing too close my pulse pounded so hard i could taste iron on my tongue but fear propelled me onward Then the terrain shifted, turning steeper as we skirted a hillside. The undergrowth thickened, branches scraping our arms.
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Chapter 7: What warnings are there about the Smoky Mountains?
whatever lurked behind us stayed hidden yet ever present keeping pace with no sign of fatigue we broke through a dense section of shrubs that snagged our sleeves and packs emerging onto a narrow dirt road the abrupt openness felt jarring like waking up too fast from a nightmare For a moment we couldn't speak, our lungs clawing for air.
Marcus spun around, flashlight arcing wildly at the place we'd just come from. The foliage swayed, but nothing emerged to chase us onto the road. Somehow, that made it scarier, like it was content to stay within its domain, confident we'd never dare return. A battered Park Ranger's pickup was parked a hundred yards to our left, almost swallowed by a bend in the road.
Relief surged through me at the sight. We sprinted over, dropping our packs at the Ranger's feet. He looked alarmed by our disheveled state. Marcus rambled about the noises, the footprints, and the abandoned campsite, words tumbling out in a jumbled rush. The ranger's eyes hardened with concern, and he grabbed his radio, speaking low and quick about checking nearby areas for missing hikers.
Neither Marcus nor I could muster more than half-coherent explanations. We just wanted off that mountain, away from whatever presence nested in those woods. The ranger gave us water and guided us into the truck. The engine's rumble felt like the sweetest sound in the world, carrying us toward safety.
I glanced back through the rear window at the receding tree line, half expecting to see a silhouette peering out. If it was there, it kept out of sight. It took a while to reach the nearest ranger station. We filled out incident reports trying to detail what we experienced. They listened carefully but offered cautious reassurance. Maybe a rogue bear. Maybe even a person living off-grid.
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Chapter 8: What lessons are learned from this terrifying experience?
Yet as we stammered through each unsettling occurrence, it was clear something else was at play. The authorities planned a thorough sweep, though I wondered if they'd find anything or just end up with more disturbing questions. That evening, back in the dim comfort of a borrowed bunk at the station, I couldn't rest. Everything felt unreal. Across from me, Marcus stared at the ceiling, silent.
Neither of us bothered turning off the small lamp by the door. We just lay there, each lost in thoughts about the creature or being or whatever prowled those trails. Eventually exhaustion set in, granting us a fractured peace. In the weeks that followed, we learned some gear had been found in remote sections of the forest. Scattered bags, old tents, personal items.
But no definitive answers emerged. Marcus, stop talking about returning to the Great Smokies, and I haven't set foot there since. Maybe it's best if we leave those hidden pockets of land to whatever rules them. Some places, no matter how many times you explore, maintain secrets you're better off not uncovering. And yet, part of me can't fully dismiss the pull of those ancient trails.
I still recall the surge of awe and excitement I felt when I was younger, forging my way through the undergrowth with a sense of wonder. But now, there's a difference. I've witnessed that the forest can harbor more than simple wildlife. Whenever folks on the internet ask about hidden corners of the Smokies, I offer the same warning.
Respect them, or you might come across something that doesn't want you there and might not let you leave so easily.
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