Just Creepy: Scary Stories
Wendigo & Cryptid HORROR STORIES That Will Give You The Heebie Jeebies
Mon, 03 Mar 2025
These are 6 Wendigo & Cryptid HORROR STORIES That Will Give You The Heebie JeebiesLinktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepyStoryCredits:►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/►Jackson BTimestamps:00:00 Intro00:00:18 Story 100:10:17 Story 200:22:46 Story 300:35:21 Story 400:48:54 Story 501:02:21 Story 6Musicby:► Myuu's channelhttp://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Musichttp://bit.ly/2f9WQpeBusinessinquiries: ►[email protected]#scarystoriespodcast#horrorstories#scarystories#skinwalker#cryptids 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀
Chapter 1: What are Wendigo and Cryptid horror stories?
I always used to roll my eyes at ghost stories and all those things that go bump in the night. Growing up in a small Utah town, though, you start to realize that the landscape can play tricks on you. My house sat right where the building stopped and the wilderness began. Beyond our backyard fence was just this enormous field, stretching on forever until the desert touched distant mountains.
Chapter 2: How did a small town shape the narrator's fears?
On some days, you could see dust devils spinning across the flat earth like they had a mind of their own. Living there felt like living at the boundary between normal life and the unknown. My best friend lived next door, though next door was really just across a patch of wild grass. Our homes formed the last two spots of civilization on this lonely street, which ended in an empty cul-de-sac.
As far as anyone could tell, the town had planned to expand at some point, but they never got around to it, so the cul-de-sac sat forgotten, half carved into the dirt. It was high school, and I spent more time at my friend's place than my own. His basement was our hideout.
a tattered old couch a tv that barely worked and a mini fridge usually stocked with soda and leftovers the window well in that basement was the only view outside but it was a comfort until nights fell and it turned into a black void that made us both feel uneasy Every so often, we'd be in the middle of a late-night gaming marathon when a noise drifted through that window.
A slow, scraping shuffle, mixed with something like a gargling cough. The first time it happened, we paused the game, stared at each other, and thought maybe it was just the wind blowing trash around. Then it happened again, another night, and it started to feel too deliberate to be the wind.
Neither of us had the nerve to walk upstairs and fling open the back door, so we just sat there, telling each other it had to be animals, or who knows what. But there was a tension growing between us. Neither of us believed the excuses. We tried shining flashlights through the glass once.
Nothing jumped out, but the beam caught hints of movement, the kind that makes you question if your eyes are messing with you. The next morning, we looked for tracks in the mud, convinced we'd find some stray dog's footprints, or maybe raccoon tracks, something normal. But the ground was smooth, disturbed only by random patches of weeds. That was when the question lodged itself in my brain.
If there was nothing back there, what made the noise? Time wore on, and the weird occurrences became part of our routine. Like how you eventually stop reacting to a house settling in the middle of the night. We kept living our lives, shrugging it off as coincidence.
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Chapter 3: What strange occurrences happened in the basement?
But each time I headed home through that empty field, the air felt heavy, as if the dusty ground was concealing a secret just out of sight. When the wind blew across those low bushes, it sounded more like hushed whispers than just leaves rustling. My friend was getting ready to move soon. His parents were taking him to another part of the state.
We spent our last few weeks of freedom soaking up every bit of fun we could. A nagging voice in my head told me something was looming, like the field itself was waiting for the perfect moment to prove us right about our fears. The final days felt electric.
as if the nights had gotten darker and the quiet had grown a little too thick we were both on edge though we hardly admitted it one evening i stepped out onto his back porch to grab something from the truck and the sight of the empty cul-de-sac struck me in a way it never had before the street lamp at the end of the road was broken leaving that corner in pitch-black darkness there was a feeling almost like the darkness was crawling closer pressing on the edges of our property
i hurried back inside acting like i was just cold but really i couldn't stand being out there any longer than i had to little did i know that creeping sense of dread was only the beginning there were still more odd happenings to come nights of uneasy sleep and half-imagined shapes at the window I tried to laugh it off, but that place had a hold on me.
It was like an ancient desert creature, biding its time, letting the moonless nights build an atmosphere of tension that no amount of logical thinking could dismantle. And if I'd known what was waiting for us on the other side of that pitch-black field, I might have never left that basement at all.
I had no idea how quickly things could escalate until the night my friend and I decided to go for one last drive through that dusty cul-de-sac.
he was days away from moving and we were both restless the thought of staying in that basement had started making my stomach churn so we figured a bit of fresh air might calm our nerves or at least distract us we climbed into his old truck around midnight cranking the engine in the kind of silence only broken by our jittery breathing
When we pulled out of the driveway, we flicked on the high beams, and I spotted a rabbit darting off into the field. That tiny movement reminded me how alive the darkness could be. We turned the wheel toward the empty roundabout, thinking we'd make a quick loop back onto the main street. That stretch of pavement was practically abandoned.
No lights, no houses, just a half-circle of asphalt leading into a wall of brush and sage. As soon as the headlights cut across the dirt, we both locked onto something hunched low in the beam. At first, my eyes struggled to make sense of the shape. It looked vaguely human, but not quite.
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Chapter 4: What did the narrator and his friend encounter in the cul-de-sac?
i remember paddling on to the shore of little triscuit as dusk settled in feeling more worn out than usual the day had been relentless miles of open water the sun beating down without mercy still guiding trips at lake of the woods always brought a strange mix of excitement and wariness
Maybe it was the way the endless trees crowded the shoreline, or how legends around this place never stopped swirling among those who'd been here long enough. Whatever it was, I carried an edge of nervous energy with me as I helped unload the canoes. My co-guide Jordan and I had seven campers with us, ranging from twelve to seventeen.
One of them, let's call him Mark, rarely spoke in full sentences. When he did, the words sometimes tumbled out like he'd been bottling them up for days. I admired his determination to keep pace with everyone, but there was a look on his face that evening, almost like he wanted to tell me something and couldn't quite get it out.
While the others set up the tents and tried to scrape mud off their boots, I walked the perimeter of the campsite, taking note of the thick undergrowth beyond the fire pit. My gut told me to keep an eye on that shadowy border. Sunlight was fading fast, and the forest seemed to fold in around us.
The moment I turned back to the main site, I spotted Mark standing at the edge of the trees, squinting into the dimness. "'Who is that man?' he asked, voice flat. I stopped in my tracks and looked where he was pointing. No one was there except Jordan, busy tying down a canoe. I called out, "'Mark, it's just us, buddy,' and glanced around for any shape or movement. Nothing.
We counted everyone, still seven campers present. Mark just kept staring, though, like he expected something to step out from behind a trunk at any second.' Jordan caught sight of our uneasy conversation and ambled over. I filled him in quickly, and we both assured Mark that maybe he was seeing a trick of the light. Mark didn't argue, but he didn't look convinced either.
With everyone's stomachs growling, we decided to shift focus to dinner. we gathered around the campfire the warmth of the flames cutting through the cool air a few of the boys tried to lighten the mood by laughing at their own unfunny jokes while our lone girl becca stayed quietly by her tent i felt a slight tension whenever someone glanced toward the tree line especially mark
It wasn't as if we'd actually seen anything, but the atmosphere felt heavy, like the forest was listening to every word. By the time we finished eating, darkness had swallowed the last traces of twilight. The lake glimmered under the moonlight, but the woods behind us looked like a solid wall. The group was spent. One by one, the kids peeled off to their tents.
Jordan and I settled into ours, mentally ticking off safety measures before trying to rest. Hours later, or maybe it was just a long half hour, my eyes snapped open at the sound of Becca's voice. Stop, she called, sounding annoyed. It came from a few yards away, where her tent was pitched. My pulse hammered as I scrambled for a flashlight.
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Chapter 5: What happened when they camped at Little Triscuit?
Still, an uneasy knot remained in my gut, the sense that something in those woods keeps its own watch, follows its own rules, and isn't keen on giving up its secrets, and I couldn't decide if I was more afraid of running into it again, or never knowing what was truly there in the first place. I swear I could feel the tension in the air the moment we hauled that gear onto the boat.
The sun was just barely waking up, painting the sky in soft streaks of orange and pink as my dad and my brother wordlessly slid the boat into the water. Normally I would have been brimming with excitement for a trip like this, deep in northern Canada, searching for moose in a place that barely knew a human footprint. But something about that morning put me on edge. It was too quiet, too still.
We spent hours gliding through winding rivers that twisted around thick walls of forest. Every so often, we'd have to stop at a cluster of rapids, lug our boat and supplies over slick rocks, then push forward again. My brother would occasionally crack a half-joke about my scrawny arms not being up to the task, but there was an uneasy note to his voice.
I just forced a laugh, pretending everything was fine. By late afternoon, it felt like the wind itself had abandoned us. We found a patch of muddy riverbank to set up camp. I remember letting out a relieved sigh as we anchored the boat and offloaded our gear.
the forest around us loomed with silhouettes that almost looked like watchful figures like the trees themselves were sizing us up my dad shrugged it off when i tried to mention it he just muttered about how we had to finish pitching the tent before we lost the last bit of daylight When we finally settled by our modest campfire, my brother's usual chatter fell oddly flat.
I tried asking him if he'd noticed anything strange while we were on the water, but he just shook his head and poked at the embers with a stick. Maybe he wanted to ignore it. Maybe I was being dramatic. But every now and then, I caught him glancing over his shoulder, checking the dark edges of the camp, as if expecting something to be there.
Eventually, both my dad and brother decided to turn in for the night. I felt too restless, too uneasy to sleep. I told myself I'd collect more firewood, maybe shake off the day's weird energy. The campfire's glow only stretched so far, and as I moved beyond it, the air seemed to thicken. There was an odor, faint, but nauseating, like expired food.
My head felt light, like I couldn't quite keep my balance on the uneven ground. I crouched to pick up a stray branch, and that's when I caught a flicker of movement along the tree line. Something rustled. My heart hammered in my ears, a deep thrumming that drowned out every other sound around me. The moon was faint, just enough to tease shapes out of the darkness.
i squinted trying to see past a cluster of branches it looked like they were bending almost shifting in a way that resembled a face my mind churned with explanations maybe a trick of shadows maybe a deer turning its head but as i watched that shape began to look disturbingly human A voice drifted out from the dimness, startling me.
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Chapter 6: What nightmare did the narrator experience in the woods?
I took off my glasses, rubbed my eyes, and looked again, but they were gone. My brain scrambled to come up with a rational explanation. Maybe fireflies caught in a gust of wind, or a reflection of the moon on broken glass. Still, I made certain to lock every door and window before heading upstairs, heart thrumming a little harder than I'd care to admit. I didn't sleep well.
Dawn arrived too fast, and I was already dragging myself out of bed to tend the animals. I hopped into my boots, stepped outside, and got hit with a stale, humid smell floating on the morning breeze. It felt wrong somehow but I shoved that aside and focused on chores. My first stop was the barn. The horses were fine, just a bit restless. The real shock came when I checked on the cows.
There were fewer than yesterday. I counted at least twice but it didn't add up. maybe i miscounted before or maybe some had wandered off that's when i noticed the fence what used to be a sturdy section was torn and sagging like something big and strong had barreled right through it splintered wood jutted at weird angles
i leaned in for a closer look and saw footprints in the dirt they were strange almost a hybrid shape part hoof part something else entirely my families taught me all about local wildlife yet these tracks didn't match anything i'd seen or heard about The uneasy feeling I'd had the night before started creeping back.
I checked the rest of the property, finding no other clues, so I tried to move on, patching the fence as best I could until I had help. As the day dragged on, I found it tough to focus. My phone lit up with a text from my girlfriend, and the conversation blew up into a full-on fight. It left me tense and itching to clear my head.
So after dusk, I grabbed my phone and headphones, heading off toward the forest. I've hiked it a thousand times, but this was different. Something about the night air felt oppressive, like it was charged. I cranked up my music to overpower my thoughts and wandered deeper than I intended. Before I knew it, darkness was everywhere.
Flipped on my phone's flashlight sweeping it around I caught the reflection of something that looked like eyes in the beam high behind a tree as Soon as I angled my phone that way the reflection vanished leaving me reeling from a rush of panic I Maybe it was a trick of the light again, or maybe not. A growl rippled through the trees, low and ragged, unlike anything I'd heard in these woods.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I realized I had no clue where the path went. I started to backtrack, stumbling over roots and tangling my boots in undergrowth. My flashlight shook with each step. Then a sharp snap, like a branch being crushed underfoot, sounded close. Too close. Fear surged in my chest. I had to get out.
My jog turned into a full-on sprint, branches slapping my face and arms. When I finally saw the farmhouse lights in the distance, I breathed a silent prayer of relief. I hopped the broken fence, nearly face-planting on the other side.
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