It might have been the peak of stupidity, but there I was
again, listening to those horror stories.
I was 12 and had just discovered an endless supply of horror.
Every day followed the same routine, waking up listening to
people read these stories and then being unable to sleep at
night. Now that I'm older, I find it
humorous how I would regret it at night and then be filled with
excitement during the day. That's just who I was.
I had loved the idea of cryptids and skinwalkers roaming in the
thick woods and deep in mountain caves.
But as I grew older and my rational thinking overtook my
naivete, those thoughts became just that, thoughts.
It may come as a surprise, but I don't believe in the
supernatural. With the digitalization of the
world, how could there not be video evidence of the
supernatural? Sure there are videos out there,
some easier to debunk than others that claim to have
definitive proof of the supernatural.
I never found a video convincing and as I studied CGI and SFX,
well, a video could no longer cut it for me.
I had to experience it. I guess that's what pushed me
into solo camping in the 1st place.
Experiencing something first hand would change my entire life
and way of thinking. It'd go beyond my thought that
all we were here for is to be just as a leaf blows in the
wind. But let me reiterate, this story
I'm about to tell isn't about the supernatural.
No, it's about a horror that's scarier than any ghoul, ghost,
or Cryptid. It's about a horror that can
only be produced by one thing, another human.
At the tail end of my last year in college, I had finally
decided what I wanted to do with my life.
I moved to Lexington, KY while continuing my studies of CGI and
special effects. I'm from New York and found that
Lexington provided the perfect balance of city life and space
to keep me happy. On Friday nights I'd go out on
the town and on Saturday nights I'd choose to spend them out in
the wilderness. The Appalachian Mountains were
not accounting for the two hour drive practically in my
backyard. I was no stranger to the stories
and legends the Appalachian Trail held and the countless
warnings against solo camping. Still, many did it, and many
returned disappointed that their hopes of an unexplainable
occurrence were crushed. Nothing ever happened, but yet
the reputation of the trails grew darker.
Naturally. If I wanted first hand
experience of something otherworldly, this had to be the
place to go. The first time I went camping I
went with two of my Co workers who were quickly becoming my
best friends, Eric and Nate. So do you believe all the
stories? I asked.
We had just gotten out of the city and we're making our way
deeper into forested areas. Believe what?
Eric asked as he drove us along with Nate in the passenger's
seat. The skinwalkers and the urban
legends. You know the don't be out past
dark stuff. Eric and Nate looked at each
other and then began laughing. What's so funny?
I asked while cracking a smile. Ah, nothing.
Nate sighed. Just the longer you live here,
the more you'll get it. So you don't believe it?
Eric followed the curve of the road and up ahead I could see
trees becoming thicker. The seemingly ending fields had
turned into mountains and small rocky cliffs.
I don't believe in a lot of things, but I tell you what, you
will not see me out there alone, especially not at night.
Nate scoffed. There are only two things to be
scared of, and they ain't only from these woods.
Yeah, yeah, OK, if you're so certain, then what are they?
Eric asked. Just then I felt my ears pop.
Silence and darkness. If you've got those two things,
suddenly you're in a nightmare. Sit alone in the dark and in
your silent bedroom. You'll start thinking things
that aren't there. Nate pointed to his temple.
Your mind is the most terrifying place you can be.
We pulled into a visitor center deep in the Smoky Mountains and
began the hike to our campsite a couple of hours before noon.
When asked where I'd like to camp, I told them the most
reclusive and cut off place we could go.
Nate said he knew a spot, but that it would take a couple of
hours of hiking. I said that was fine.
Hiking can, for most people, be very fun.
But there's another side to hiking that isn't known until
you've actually experienced it. It's grueling.
There are bugs, sweat, hills, sun, and if you aren't wearing
the proper shoes like Eric, there are also blisters.
Nate and I had a better time. Sure, there were moments when I
felt each step, but when I looked up and around at where I
was, those steps seem to fade. And then, before I knew it, we
were at our campsite. To call it a campsite was a
massive understatement. It was more of an open field,
nothing more and nothing less. But it did offer one thing that
was unique. There was a shelter a little
over a mile away. After setting up our tent, we
ventured to the shelter before it would be too dark.
We were about halfway there, according to my estimation, when
a sign on a tree caught my attention.
Rusted and faded as can be it read believe on the Lord Jesus
Christ. Right underneath it were two
tall stones sticking out from the ground.
Gravestones. Eric said he must have seen me
staring. I looked at Eric.
For what? Eric began walking past me and
stopped. I don't know, but I've never
seen a hidden burial ground this hidden.
Then Eric continued walking. I hesitated for a moment, taking
one last glance. The tree broken light from the
setting sun bathed the sign and stones in an orange glow, and
suddenly I had second guesses about staying the night.
You coming? Eric yelled.
That feeling disappeared. Yeah, and I left the rusted sign
and stones behind the shelter was pretty underwhelming.
From what I've come to learn, shelters have a sort of negative
connotation to them. The amount of bugs, mice and
snakes aren't the only off putting aspects of a shelter for
hikers. Sometimes shelters can be filled
with campers and sleeping next to someone you don't know in a
secluded area is worse than any mouse or snake.
But there is one thing about shelters that I didn't know
about until that night. There are shelter logs.
For those who don't know, some shelters have a notebook for
hikers to write in. It's Nate's favorite part of
hiking along the Appalachian Mountains.
He pulled the black notebook out from a Ziploc bag.
You can find good stories in these things.
It's fun to see the changes from shelter to shelter.
I asked what it was and Nate explained it to me.
We began from the beginning. Everything from short dated logs
to drawings. That was until Nate flipped to
the last two pages. Holy crap, he said.
Eric, who was taking pictures, was now intrigued.
What is it? Nate dropped the notebook
showing us what was inside. There from top to bottom was the
same phrase. God help me.
It was written large and then small.
Sometimes the ink was dark and rips in the paper, other times
the ink was thin and almost faded.
This is new writing. Nate said.
Well, that's a bit unsettling. Eric nervously chuckled.
I grabbed the notebook for a closer look.
Man, I don't believe in God, but this is pretty creepy.
Nate took the notebook from my hands and put it back in the
Ziploc bag. A probably just some kids
messing with everyone. We need to get back anyway, it's
getting too dark. Nate was right.
By the time we got back to camp, the sun had completed its daily
rotation and plunged us Into Darkness, and after starting a
fire, the night went by without any complications.
We roasted hot dogs, burnt s'mores, told childhood stories,
and eventually tried our best to sleep.
I think I was the last one to fall asleep.
I remember thinking that night just how vulnerable sleep truly
is. All of our senses are briefly
shut down, and for those who are heavy sleepers, they're muted.
Senses don't return until the body allows them to.
I was a heavy sleeper and couldn't hear those nighttime
forest sounds. That night was normal and so
were the other couple of times I went camping with those two.
I had learned to appreciate the stiffness of the ground, the
dirt, the bugs, and most importantly, the quiet noises at
night. I don't know if it was the
overconfidence or me being naive, but today, almost two
months later, I returned, this time alone.
Nate gave me the address and the trail map.
This was all after I assured him that I wasn't going alone before
I left work that Friday afternoon.
He got real quiet. You have to be careful.
Of course I said no. He looked at me more seriously
than I'd ever seen him look. I mean really careful.
What do you mean? He sighed.
Last week I went camping just down the trail from where we all
went. Most hikers hike the same
direction, so logically I checked the log from the next
shelter in line. There was nothing.
Oh. I said all right.
You don't get it man. There was nothing like what we
saw. No God save us, no writing from
the top to bottom, not even a mention of God.
Wait, so bring your 9mm? He said while walking back
towards his desk. I know we told you not to bring
it last time, but this time I would.
And then Nate disappeared around the corner.
The next day, I arrived at the visitor center around noon.
With it being in the middle of summer, the sun would stay out
for just a bit longer, and without Eric's stops, I was in
no rush. I made it to my campsite within
five hours. It was exactly as I remembered
it, a small open field, hardly with enough room to fit more
than a tent and a campfire. The sun was still out, but it
was late afternoon and nothing came.
Quicker than nightfall I settled in and then I set out to find
that shelter. After what Nate told me, the
shelter log was the first thing on my mind.
I had no idea where exactly it was.
There were only two things I knew.
One, the general direction, and two, there would be a distinct
landmark. And so I set off.
If I could find that graveyard, then I knew I was on the right
track. I pushed through trees and
bushes and wasn't too concerned with stepping in the right spots
because the moment I stopped and looked up, I saw it.
That same rusted and faded sign, only this time the G in God was
faded almost completely off. I approached the tree and placed
a Lantern from my bag on one of the stones.
I would be back here once night hit.
As I imagined the shelter wasn't hard to get to after finding the
hidden grave site. It was in the same state of
underwhelmingness as before. I wouldn't imagine a hiker
staying in this. This time I noticed something
carved into one of the logs. It was tally marks, and after
counting, I determined there were 57 tallies.
And that's when I grabbed the shelter log.
This time though, the notebook was significantly lighter than
last time. In fact, there were only a
couple of sheets of paper in it. I opened it to see the same God
Save Us messages, and then I saw that all the other pages of logs
were ripped out. The next page was different,
only slightly. This time.
God Save Me was written from top to bottom.
I kept flipping the pages until I read what sent chills down my
spine. Your God can't save me.
For the previous pages, the handwriting was scribbled, hard
to read and ugly. This time the handwriting was
clean, like it had come from a typewriter or printer.
I flipped the page. Immerse your soul before your
God fails you yet again. I flipped to the last page.
He's awake. There was something very wrong.
These weren't preachings of religion.
And if the messages weren't enough, the ink on the last page
looked wet. The messages on the last page
had just been written. I suddenly felt as though
someone had been watching me. I threw the log down and looked
through the trees. It was all nothing but silence.
From what I could see, there was no one near me, no one watching
me. But I knew I had to get away
from that shelter. I hiked, hiked away from that
place and kept looking behind. My nerves didn't calm until I
had made it to the hidden grave site.
To do what I had planned, it needed to be night time.
I tied a string to a nearby tree and then made my way back to my
campsite. There I made dinner and when it
was too dark to see more than 20 feet in front of you, I grabbed
my 9mm and followed the string. With a flashlight you can hardly
see in the dark. Sure, it helps, but it only
illuminates the things nearest to you.
What a flashlight in the dark does more effectively is let
anything else see you. I was thinking about that at the
time. Before long I was back at the
gravesite. I kneeled before the stones and
opened my bag. There I took out an EMF reader.
I had read that this would help me communicate with spirits, and
where else would be a better spot than to ghost hunt by a
hidden gravesite at night, alone and in the middle of the woods?
I turned off my light, but before I could turn on the EMF
reader, I heard it. I see you.
It was a high pitched, playful voice, like a man trying to
intimidate a child. My heart dropped and beat out of
my chest all at once. Regret instantly filled my
blood. I had to be anywhere else but
here. I didn't respond and put my
hands over the flashlight. Then I turned the flashlight on.
With my hands letting out a small amount of light.
I grabbed onto the string and tiptoed through the leaves.
Every second I prayed I wouldn't hear another voice or more
leaves rustling other than my own.
Even when I saw my campfire, I didn't feel any relief.
I was a 5 hour hike away from my car and at night the hike would
take much longer. I had no other thing to do but
stay the night. There was nothing interesting
for me to stay awake. I poured water on the fire and
then climbed into my tent. I brought everything inside my
tent, including my 9mm. In the middle of the woods and
without the snoring of your camping buddies, every sound is
amplified and imagined into something that it's not.
The small breeze of a wind can cause sticks to fall, sounding
like heavy footsteps. The nightly routine of a raccoon
can sound like a person walking up to your tent.
The howling of a coyote can sound like demented screams of a
lost hiker. Owl screeches, crickets
chirping, cicadas buzzing. All of these can play tricks on
your mind. Nate was right.
Your mind can turn nothing into something horrid.
This would already be true, but with the pressing concern that I
was not alone out here. It wasn't the noises that got to
me, it was the anticipation of a noise.
Sitting in silence, hoping that you don't hear something is
almost worse than actually hearing it.
And that's the state I laid in for an hour, holding my 9mm and
paranoid. I rested my head against my
pillow, praying that I'd make it through.
My eyes became heavy, my breathing slowed.
My senses started going out, starting with my smell, and
thankfully my hearing was last to go out because just then I
heard the faintest laugh. My eyes shot open and adrenaline
took the place of melatonin. I gripped the 9mm and felt my
heartbeat through my fingers. Help me.
This time the voice was much louder and closer, but once
again sounded high pitched. I didn't get a chance to think
or respond because just then I heard someone running straight
towards me. Leaves and branches flew through
the forest as this man flew towards me.
Get the hell back, I have a gun. I yelled while raising the gun
to the tent door. The man stopped running.
For a moment there was a pained silence while I began to feel
tears fall down my eyes. I want to see you again.
Then I shot my gun. I hadn't actually shot my gun
without ear protection on. I always heard that gunshots
were loud and I was prepared for it.
Or at least I thought I was. A gunshot is louder than you'd
imagine. My ears started ringing and I
couldn't tell whether the man left or stayed.
I couldn't move. I laid there pointing the gun at
the zipper until my body gave out.
Eventually I fell asleep and woke at sunrise.
I don't imagine I need to oversell how relieved I was once
I had woken up, but I can't begin to describe the despair I
felt when I slid open the zipper to the tent.
There, on the ground in front of me was the head of a Bunny.
Nothing else but the head. I screamed then in horror.
Being a heavy sleeper didn't just mean I tuned out Eric and
Nate snoring it tuned out everything.
After grabbing my backpack and leaving my tent behind, I made
the hike back, only putting away my 9mm halfway down the
mountain. I got home early in the
afternoon. I began to unpack my bag, but
there was something in it that wasn't mine.
It was the shelter log. That man was in my tent.
He saw me sleeping. Besides my cards in my wallet
being out of order, there was nothing else gone or added.
It's hard to remember the exact way your wallet is, but I always
keep my debit first. Now it was in the middle.
With the knowledge of what it contained, I stared at the
shelter log for what seemed like forever.
Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore.
I had to open it. The first couple of pages were
the same religious scripture. What terror.
The first pages had had nothing compared to the next.
There was only one sentence on the next page.
I will see you again. Caleb And I started crying.
I don't know how he knew my name.
Then it clicked. My cards in my wallet were out
of order. He hadn't just been inside my
tent, he was also in my backpack, but that was hardly
the worst of it, because if he had seen my ID, my name wasn't
the only thing on there. My address was too.
I've never been much for rules, not like some folks seem to be.
You know the type with their meticulous habits and
self-righteous talk about leaving the woods better than
they found them. My old man wasn't cut from that
cloth, and neither am I. When we camped, it was about
freedom, the kind that doesn't sweat a trail of empty beer cans
or a crushed Styrofoam cooler left behind.
The woods are old. They'd survive us.
That Friday, I loaded up the back of my pickup a few crates
of beer, a pack of hot dogs and my trusty old hammock.
My buddy from work had been running his mouth about some
overlook an hour outside the city, near the Santa Lucia
mountain range. Perfect spot to unwind, he'd
said. Maybe he was right.
I needed the kind of weekend where the world shrunk down to a
fire pit and a piece of sky. The drive out there was typical
California scenery, rolling hills giving way to rugged
mountain vistas. By the time I turned off the
main road, the city noise had faded, replaced by the sound of
my tires crunching on gravel and dirt.
I found the overlook around noon, just as the day was
heating up. It was more beautiful than I'd
expected, a sweeping view of the valley below, thick with
greenery and silent as a promise.
I set up camp with practiced ease, slinging my hammock
between two sturdy Pines and setting out my fire logs.
I wasn't planning on much, maybe read a bit, or just watch the
clouds roll by while I let the calm of the place seep into my
bones. 1st order of business, though, was lunch.
I made a sandwich, popped open a beer, and rolled a joint to take
the edge off the week. It was as I settled into my
hammock, the buzz of the high mingling with the drowsy
afternoon heat, that I first noticed them.
Just silhouettes at first, against the bright sky on the
Ridge across from me. My heart kicked up a notch.
Rangers, cops, I couldn't be sure.
They just stood there, wide brimmed hats like something out
of an old cereal box cartoon. Not moving, not speaking.
I watched them and they watched me.
My fire was small, but it would be visible from up there.
A chill ran down my spine despite the warmth of the day.
Why were they just standing there?
Did they expect me to pack up and leave, or come down and slap
a fine in my hand? But as the sun dipped lower,
they vanished as quietly as they had appeared.
I told myself I was being paranoid.
City nerves that didn't know how to handle the deep quiet of the
wilderness. The rest of the evening passed
in a haze of smoke and the crackle of fire.
I roasted my hot dogs as the sunset, painting the sky with
strokes of orange and purple. By the time I crawled into my
hammock, the only sounds were the distant calls of night birds
and the whisper of the wind through the trees.
But sleep didn't come easy. I twisted and turned the image
of those figures burned into the backs of my eyelids.
When I finally drifted off, it wasn't to rest, but to dream.
They were there in my dreams too, those watchers on the
Ridge, close enough now that I could almost touch them.
They stood silent and judging their outlines, sharp against
the firelight and me. I could only lie there, caught
between sleep and waking, wondering what they wanted from
me. The morning light crept through
the Pines like a slow apology, but it did nothing to ease the
weight of my dreams. I woke with a start, half
expecting to find those silhouetted watchers still
standing around my hammock, but there was only the empty forest
and the remains of last night's fire.
Maybe it had all been just a whiskey dream, stirred up by too
much solitude and the eerie quiet of the mountains.
Still, as I fired up the stove for breakfast, the eggs sizzling
in the pan couldn't drown out the whispers of unease that
buzzed at the back of my mind. I scanned the Ridge repeatedly,
half expecting to see the watchers return with the morning
mist. But the Ridge remained empty,
and I felt foolish for the fear that nagged at me.
I washed down breakfast with a cold beer and decided a long
hike might clear my head. I packed up some beers in my
backpack, slinging it over a shoulder as I set off deeper
into the woods. The forest was dense here, the
sunlight dappling through the thick canopy overhead, and every
snap of a twig under foot echoed like a gunshot.
I tossed empty cans into the underbrush, a breadcrumb trail
of aluminum and disregard telling myself it was no big
deal. But the deeper I wandered, the
more I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't alone.
It wasn't just the usual rustle of wildlife or the whisper of
the trees. It was like something was
watching me, a presence I felt in the pit of my stomach.
The shadows seemed to stretch and twist, forming shapes that
were almost human, almost too real.
I tried to laugh it off, blame it on the beer and the
isolation, but laughter died in my throat as quick as it came.
When I stumbled upon a stream, its water clear and cold, I
plunged my face into it, trying to wash away the cobwebs of
fear. My father's words echoed in my
mind. Running water is fine as I drank
deeply. But then a branch snapped
nearby, sharp and close, and I jerked upright, water dripping
from my chin, every sense suddenly alert.
I scanned the trees, heart hammering in my chest.
Nothing moved, but the feeling of being watched grew heavier,
more oppressive. I felt it then, a primal urge to
flee the instinct of a prey animal when it knows a predator
is near. I didn't wait.
I ran, crashing through the underbrush, driven by a fear I
couldn't name. The forest blurred past a smear
of green and brown until I tripped over a root and went
sprawling. I lay there, chest heaving,
waiting for the end I was sure was coming.
But nothing happened, only the forest, watching and waiting.
When I finally stood, it was with a grim determination.
I couldn't spend another night here, not with the shadows and
the watchers and the whispers. The walk back to camp was
torturous, every rustle a threat, every shadow a watcher.
By the time I got back, the sun was low and the fear had settled
deep in my bones. I couldn't bear to look at the
Ridge, but I couldn't keep my eyes off it either.
And there they were again, just as before, silhouettes against
the dying light. Dinner was a hasty affair.
I burnt the hot dogs, my hands shaking as I turned them over
the fire. The watchers didn't move, didn't
speak, but their silence was louder than any threat.
As darkness fell, I crawled into my hammock, every muscle tensed
for flight. That night, the forest seemed to
hold its breath, and as I lay there, the watchers whispered
their judgement, and I finally understood.
I was the intruder here, and it was time to make things right.
The final night in the mountains arrived like a verdict.
Despite my attempts to rationalize the day's eerie
happenings, a cold dread had settled deep within me, one I
could no longer ignore. My hammock swayed gently as the
shadows lengthened and the sun dipped behind the Ridge, casting
the forest into an early gloom. I lay there, too frightened to
close my eyes, watching the Ridge where the watchers had
stood. As twilight deepened into night,
I couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to
change, something final and terrifying.
The air grew thick, the usual sounds of the forest muted, as
if nature itself held its breath in anticipation.
I strained my ears, hoping for any sound that would break the
silence, but there was nothing, only the oppressive, thick quiet
of a forest, too. Still, the Ridge was a dark
outline against the starless sky, but I knew they were there.
The Watchers. I could feel their eyes on me,
their silent judgement heavier than the darkness itself.
The fire I had kept small and controlled flickered as if it
too felt the weight of their gaze, it's light stammering like
a failing heartbeat. Then, as the last light of my
fire died down to glowing embers, they appeared.
Not on the Ridge this time, but all around my campsite.
Shadows within, shadows darker than the night, their forms more
distinct now, more threatening. They were no longer merely
watching. This time they approached a slow
and deliberate procession that surrounded me.
There was no escape. I tried to stand, to flee into
the protective embrace of the forest, but my legs wouldn't
obey. Paralyzed not by the cold, but
by an unearthly fear, I could only watch as they drew closer.
Each step seemed to drain the warmth from the air, a creeping
chill that whispered of forgotten things, ancient and
vengeful. The leader, taller and more
imposing than the others, stepped forward.
His silhouette was blurred like a smudge of darkness, but his
presence was commanding, almost royal in its disdain.
He carried a staff, or perhaps it was a branch, twisted and
gnarled like the trees themselves.
He stopped just at the edge of the firelight, the embers
casting eerie shadows across his formless face.
You have been warned. His voice was the rustle of dead
leaves, the crack of breaking branches.
You have seen the signs, yet you persist in your ignorance.
I tried to speak, to plead for understanding, to explain that I
had learned my lesson, that I would change.
But my voice was gone, stolen by the wind that now rose around
us, carrying with it the cold of the deep woods.
Too late, he whispered, and the forest echoed his verdict.
The womb of Creation does not suffer fools.
With a sweeping motion, he brought the branch down,
striking the ground with a force that seemed to shake the earth
itself. The world spun, the ground
beneath me opening up, swallowing the light, the
warmth, the very air. I breathed, and then there was
nothing but darkness, a suffocating, all-encompassing
black that filled my senses. I could no longer see the
forest, the watchers, or the sky above.
I was alone, utterly alone in a darkness that would never end.
As I lay there, consumed by the void, the last thing I heard was
the fading whisper of the forest, a mournful sound that
might have been the wind, or perhaps a final, chilling
farewell. You will never desecrate these
woods again. You will remain forgotten as a
warning to all. The darkness was complete and I
knew no more. I never thought a small town
like Millbrook could feel so eerie.
As soon as I stepped off the bus, I could tell this place was
different. The air felt heavy and even the
way people glanced at me made me shiver a little.
I pulled my jacket tighter around me, clutching my bag,
which held my camera, notebook, and recorder, tools of my trade
as a freelance journalist who chases stories about unknown
creatures and spooky legends, I made my way through the narrow
streets of the town to the only in around called the Sleeping
Bear. It looked quaint and cozy from
the outside, with its flower boxes and warm light glowing
from the windows. But the second I mentioned why I
was there, the mood shifted. The innkeeper, a burly man named
Tom, frowned deeply. You're here about the Whisperer,
aren't you? Tom's voice was rough, like
gravel, and it made me more nervous than I wanted to admit.
I nodded, trying to seem braver than I felt.
Yes, I've heard stories. I want to find out more about
it. Tom glanced around nervously,
then leaned closer. Listen, miss, it's best if you
forget all about those tales and head back where you came from.
Nothing good comes from stirring up old stories, especially not
here. But I wasn't about to leave, not
when I was this close to discovering something big.
Over the next couple of days, I talked to as many locals as I
could. They were reluctant at first,
but my curiosity seemed to win them over.
I learned that the Whisperer was a creature of the shadows, as
old as the forest itself. Some said it was a beast with
glowing eyes and sharp claws, while others whispered that it
could look just like a person to trick you into following it.
Each story added to the chilling picture of what might be lurking
in Blackwood Forest. Despite the warnings, I knew I
had to go see for myself. I plan to take a short trip into
the forest to gather some photos and maybe record any strange
sounds. I couldn't shake off the feeling
that this might be my biggest story yet.
On the morning of my hike, the air was cool and misty.
I packed my backpack with everything I might need, extra
batteries, a flashlight, some snacks and plenty of water.
Just as I was about to head out, Tom stopped me at the door of
the inn. Please.
He said, his eyes filled with genuine fear.
Don't go into that forest, my daughter.
She went in and and he couldn't finish, but he didn't have to.
I could see the pain in his eyes and it made my heart sink.
I'm really sorry about your daughter, Tom.
I said softly. I'll be careful, I promise.
With that, I stepped outside, feeling the weight of his gaze
on my back. The forest loomed in the
distance, tall and foreboding, the trees like dark Sentinels
guarding their secrets. I took a deep breath and walked
towards it, my boots crunching on the gravel Rd.
The moment I crossed into the shadow of the trees, the world
seemed to change. The sounds of the town faded
away, and a deep silence enveloped me.
It was like stepping into another world, one waiting just
for me. I turned on my voice recorder
and whispered into the microphone.
Here goes nothing. As I ventured deeper, the light
dimmed and the air grew colder. I couldn't shake the feeling
that something was watching me, waiting.
But I pushed forward, determined to uncover the truth hidden in
the shadows of Blackwood Forest. The deeper I walked into
Blackwood Forest, the Stranger Things felt.
The trees grew so close together, their branches tangled
up like they were holding hands, blocking out most of the
sunlight. It was like walking into
twilight, even though it was only midday.
The air was cool and damp, and everything was so quiet, Too
quiet. I kept expecting to hear birds
or see squirrels, but there was nothing.
Just silence. I kept my camera ready and my
ears open, hoping to catch any sign of the Whisperer.
With each step. I told myself I was just here to
take some photos and record sounds, nothing more.
But a part of me was both scared and excited at the chance of
actually seeing something. As evening approached, I decided
to set up camp. I found a small clearing and
pitched my tent. Then I gathered some sticks and
lit a small fire to keep warm and maybe roast some
marshmallows I brought along. Sitting there with the fire
crackling the forest around me felt less scary.
I pulled out my notebook and began writing down everything I
had seen and heard so far, which wasn't much.
That's when it started. At first I thought I was
imagining it, the faintest whisper, like someone saying
come closer. I froze, my heart thumping hard.
I grabbed my voice recorder and held it out, hoping to catch the
whispers again. Hello.
I called out, trying to sound braver than I felt.
Is someone there? The whisper came again, a bit
louder this time. Closer, come closer.
It felt like the voice was coming from all around me,
swirling in the wind. I shivered, not just from the
cold. I grabbed my flashlight and
shined it around the clearing, but there was only the forest,
dark and silent beyond the firelight.
Suddenly, a twig snapped behind me.
I spun around, my flashlight cutting through the darkness.
For a split second, I saw two glowing eyes high off the
ground, watching me. Then they disappeared.
My heart raced, and I could barely breathe.
Was that the whisperer? I didn't sleep much that night.
I kept hearing whispers, and every little noise made me jump.
By the time dawn broke, I was a bundle of nerves.
I quickly packed up my camp, eager to get back to the inn,
but as I tried to find my way back, nothing looked familiar.
The trail I had followed into the forest seemed to have
vanished. I walked and walked but
everything just looked the same. Trees, mist, and more trees.
It was like the forest had changed overnight.
Panic started to set in, the mist grew thicker making it hard
to see very far. I kept hearing those whispers
now, saying things like lost, so lost and stay with us.
Then, when I thought things couldn't get worse, I stumbled
upon a creepy old cabin in the middle of nowhere.
The door creaked open as I approached, like it was inviting
me in. Inside, the cabin was dark and
musty. Drawings and writings covered
the walls, all of them about the whisperer.
I barely had time to look around when I heard a loud shriek
outside. Something slammed against the
cabin, shaking the walls. I dropped to the floor, covering
my head as the whole place trembled.
The last thing I remember before everything went quiet was
thinking I should have listened to Tom.
When I dared to look up, the cabin was still.
I was too scared to move, but I knew I couldn't stay there.
I had to get out and find my way back.
But as I peeked outside, the forest seemed even denser, the
trees closing in around the cabin.
And on the nearest tree, carved deep into the bark, were the
words, We'll be waiting. I knew then that the forest and
the Whisperer weren't going to let me go easily.
But I also knew I couldn't give up.
I had to get back to Millbrook and warn everyone about the
Whisperer before it was too late.
My name is Alex and I was super excited to go camping at Point
Lookout State Park with my boyfriend Dan and another couple
who were our friends. We were all looking forward to
getting away for a weekend in May 2016, hoping to relax and
have some fun. When we got there.
The park was beautiful, sitting right at the southernmost tip of
Maryland, surrounded by the Chesapeake Bay.
As soon as we arrived, we picked the best spot to set up our
camp. It was right on the water, but
hidden from the main road by a tall curtain of grass.
It felt like our little private hideaway where we could hang out
without anyone bothering us. This was perfect because we had
brought along some snacks and stuff to chill out with.
Dan and I weren't really experts at camping.
In fact, this was my first time and I was just thrilled to be
out there even though our tent setup was pretty pathetic.
It was loose and wobbly, but we didn't mind since we plan to
spend most of our time outside exploring anyway.
After setting up the tent, we all decided to walk around and
check out the area. The park was huge with different
camping loops. Two of the loops were tucked
away in wooded areas, but we chose the one by the water
because it felt special and had fewer people around.
There was also this old lighthouse not too far from our
loop. We made a mental note to visit
it the next day since it looked really neat and mysterious.
As we walked, I felt a mix of excitement and a weird kind of
feeling I couldn't quite place. The place was stunning.
With wide open spaces and a quiet that was different from
the city noise I was used to, it was peaceful.
Yet there was something about it that felt heavy, like when
you're happy but you can't shake off a slight worry at the back
of your mind. While we were exploring, I
needed to take a quick break, so I headed to the bathroom by
myself. On my way, something really
strange happened. I saw a huge tortoise crossing
the path right in front of me. It was massive, way bigger than
any tortoise should be, and it looked straight at me as it
passed. It didn't seem scared or in a
hurry, it just walked slowly, watching me as I watched it.
By the time I came out of the bathroom, the tortoise was gone.
It had been moving so slowly but there was no sign of it
anywhere. I looked around thinking it
couldn't have gone far, but it was like it vanished into thin
air. That really spooked me, but I
shrugged it off and went back to find my friends.
The first night was the toughest.
Our campsite, although perfect during the day, felt different.
As the night rolled in, the wind picked up and since our tent
wasn't pitched properly, it flapped and rustled all night
long. It felt like it would just lift
off the ground and fly away with us inside.
I barely slept listening to the sounds of the tent and the wind
howling around us. It was an adventurous start to
our camping trip, but little did I know the real adventure hadn't
even started yet. The next morning, after a night
of barely sleeping thanks to the noisy flapping tent, we all woke
up a bit grumpy but excited for the day ahead.
We had planned to visit the old lighthouse we had seen the day
before. It was just a short drive from
our campsite and I couldn't wait to check it out.
I've always loved lighthouses. There's something magical about
them, like they're from another time.
After a quick breakfast of cereal and fruit, we headed over
to the lighthouse. The weather was perfect, sunny
and clear, not too hot, just right for exploring.
When we got there, we joined a small group of tourists for a
guided tour. The tour guide was an older man
who knew lots of stories about the lighthouse and the area
around it. As we climbed the narrow stairs
inside the lighthouse, the guide told us about the people who had
lived there long ago. He mentioned something that
stuck with me. The man who built the lighthouse
and the next two owners all died not long after moving in.
He said it so casually, but it sent chills down my spine.
It made me wonder if there was something mysterious or even
haunted about the lighthouse. The view from the top was
breathtaking. We could see the entire park and
the sparkling water of the Chesapeake Bay.
It was beautiful, but standing there looking out I couldn't
shake off the eerie feeling the guide stories had left in me.
Later that day we went back to our campsite and spent the
afternoon hiking around the park.
We found a little secluded spot by the shore and hung out there
skipping stones and laughing a lot.
It was fun, and for a while I forgot about my uneasy feelings.
But as night fell, everything changed.
The wind that had howled the previous night was gone.
Instead, there was a deep, unsettling silence that settled
over the campground. It was so quiet you could hear a
pin drop. That silence was creepy and I
felt exposed and vulnerable out there in the open.
We had a campfire going and we roasted marshmallows and told
silly stories to try and lighten the mood, but I couldn't fully
relax. I kept looking over my shoulder,
half expecting to see something or someone lurking in the
shadows. We eventually put out the fire
and crawled into our tents. I was exhausted and hoped I'd
sleep better than the night before.
Just as I was drifting off, Dan shook me awake.
His face was pale and his eyes were wide with fear.
Babe, did you hear that? He whispered.
Hear what? I was almost asleep.
I whispered back, my heart starting to race.
I heard someone yell. Hey, outside our tent.
He said, his voice tense. I think there's someone out
there. At first I thought he was just
trying to scare me, but then we both heard it.
Footsteps. They were slow and heavy,
crunching on the gravel around our tent.
It sounded like someone wearing big, heavy boots was walking
around our campsite. The footsteps went around and
around the tent, and then they stopped.
Dan and I lay there, hardly breathing, listening to the
silence that followed. I was terrified, and from the
look on Dan's face, he was too. We didn't know what to do, just
hoping whoever it was would go away.
But the night was far from over and the real fright had just
begun. The sun was just peeking over
the horizon when Dan and I decided we couldn't stay another
minute at that creepy campground.
We woke up our friends who were surprised to see us packing up
so early. They had slept through
everything and didn't understand why we were in such a hurry to
leave. As we packed, I told them about
the strange noises and the footsteps we heard circling our
tent. They looked at each other, half
in disbelief, but they knew we were genuinely scared.
So without much discussion, everyone agreed it was best to
head home. The drive back was quiet.
Dan and I kept replaying the sounds we heard, trying to make
sense of it all. The eerie silence, the heavy
footsteps, it was all too much. When we finally got home, I was
relieved but still felt uneasy. I needed answers.
I spent the rest of the day online, searching for anything
that could explain what happened.
That's when I stumbled upon the history of Point Lookout State
Park. My heart raced as I read about
its past. During the Civil War, the park
had been a prison camp where many Confederate soldiers were
kept in brutal conditions. It was notorious for its
overcrowding and the harsh treatment of prisoners.
Many had died there and it was said that their spirits still
haunted the park. I read stories from other
visitors who had experienced strange occurrences just like
us. Some heard voices, others saw
ghostly figures walking through the park at night.
There was even a tale about a woman who roamed the beach
asking people to help her find her missing headstone.
I called Dan over and we read the stories together.
It was chilling to think we might have encountered the
ghosts of Point Lookout. Knowing the parks haunted
history made our experience feel even more real.
It wasn't just our imaginations, others had felt the presence of
the past there too. The more I learned, the more I
felt a strange pull to go back. I wanted to see if we could
experience these things again now that we knew what to look
out for. I shared my thoughts with Dan
and surprisingly, he agreed. Maybe next time we'd be more
prepared to face the ghosts of Point Lookout.
I decided to write about our experience and share it on a
blog for people who were interested in haunted places.
I asked readers to share their stories if they had been to
Point Lookout. The responses poured in, with
many recounting their eerie experiences.
Each story was different, but they all had a similar feeling
of an unseen presence. As the days passed, my fear
turned into fascination. I read every book I could find
on the paranormal and started planning our next trip to Point
Lookout. This time, we would go with more
friends, better equipment, and maybe even a professional ghost
hunter. The thought of returning to the
park was both terrifying and exciting.
But no matter what, I knew one thing for sure.
Point Lookout had left a mark on me, and I couldn't wait to
uncover more of its mysterious past.
Maybe, just maybe, we'd come face to face with the ghost that
still wandered its grounds. In the fall of 2017, a friend
and I decided to go hiking late in the afternoon in a densely
wooded wilderness area of a State Park in the mountains near
Fayetteville, AR. My friend Ron, close to 60 at
the time and recovering from a triple bypass he had undergone
around 16 months earlier, had been hiking this and other
trails for about a year to strengthen his cardiovascular
health. On that day, a weekday, I hiked
with a bottle of water, my wallet, and my keys, but nothing
else, nothing to protect myself. The trail we picked was popular
and usually had a lot of people hiking on the weekend.
We had hiked this spot dozens of times before.
We were both comfortable with the hike and had never had any
problems on the path or any other for that matter.
While Ron is older and at the time a little feebler after his
health problems. I was in my mid 40s, well over
six feet tall and in fairly good shape, so I was not very worried
about our safety. The trail we were on is in a
State Park adjacent to federal Parkland.
It is an outdoor enthusiast dream.
Most of our track that day was completely uneventful.
We just enjoyed the autumn leaves and chatted casually as
the sun dropped lower in the evening sky.
We had seen nobody else that day, which was probably to be
expected given that we chose to hike late afternoon on a
weekday. We had completed about four
miles of the Six Mile loop, and up to that point it was as
uneventful as any other. On our way back to the car and
about two miles away from the parking area, we spotted someone
through an opening in the trees. I saw a young woman, probably a
college student, on the trail ahead of us moving in our
direction. At first I paid her
extraordinarily little attention.
As the distance between us narrowed, that changed.
I did not know her, so I could have been mistaken, but there
was something about her posture and expression that just seemed
off. As she got closer it struck me
that she had a semi panicked look on her face as she was
moving quite quickly. She was in athletic gear, so
maybe she was just booking it for some cardio.
However, she occasionally turned her head and stared over her
shoulder. I followed her eyes and
eventually noted another human about 50 yards behind her
walking up the path through the trees.
This second woman was not wearing any hiking gear.
In fact, her clothing struck me as totally inappropriate.
It was a warm afternoon and we were well inside a wooded State
Park a couple of miles from many homes, but she was wearing semi
formal office casual attire in a light jacket.
I thought the clothes must have been second hand because they
were tattered I'll fitting and did not look washed at all.
She was fit and athletic looking who could not have been more
than 25 or 30 years of age. It was so bizarre.
The clothes were wrong for the trail and wrong for someone her
age. Everything was off about her.
Her shoes struck me as odd, being even more peculiar.
When she got closer, I noticed she was wearing scuffed leather
flats casual shoes with no ankle support.
I found it completely odd because you do not just see
people on trails dressed as she was and you never see them
wearing shoes like that. My hiking partner Ron had not
noticed anything apparently as he was completely involved in
the conversation and just kept on talking.
The second woman briefly glanced up and made eye contact.
As she neared us. Alarm bells went off in my head
like no other. There was something in her eyes
that made me feel uncomfortable. I do not know what she was
thinking if I am being honest, but I swear she had contempt in
her face. Part of me wondered if I had
offended her by staring, so I diverted my eyes and kept
walking. I tried to tell myself that
maybe she was homeless, maybe she was just wearing the only
thing she had and I was just being rude.
But the warning bells were still going off in my head like
sirens. I am not a paranoid person at
all, so having a sixth sense go off in my head left me very
unsettled. I have fantastic peripheral
vision, so I turned my face toward Ron and acted like I was
listening to him, but I was watching the creepy woman out of
the corner of my eye. The moment we passed, she spun
her head around to study us. She slowed her pace a bit.
My internal alarms grew louder. Out of the corner of my eye I
saw her come to a stop and drop her face toward the ground, her
body half turned on the trail. It was very odd behavior.
Ron and I kept walking for about 50 yards further.
We made it around a bend in the path and I looked back at the
woman before the trees obscured her from view.
She was just standing there. Her face was down, but she was
staring a hole through us in the corner of her eyes.
That was the first time I realized that I could not see
her hands. One was inside her jacket pocket
and the other was hidden from my view on the other side of her
body. It creeped me the hell out.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up for half a mile.
I did not see her again and had begun to wonder whether the
first woman, the Co Ed, had felt danger as well.
Clearly she had, I thought, and that is why she practically was
running through the woods at dusk.
It also struck me that the creepy woman had stopped and
studied Ron and me like she was deciding whom to follow.
We were not moving as fast, we were walking as quickly as Ron
could manage and he was clearly feebler than the Co Ed.
Those thoughts amped up my senses and I still felt uneasy,
so I periodically checked behind us.
At certain points through the woods I could see more than 100
yards and I never saw anything. I began to worry about the Coed.
My hair stood it for a second time as I felt the strangest
sensation of being watched again.
Thinking I was paranoid and half mocking myself for being afraid
of the creepy woman, I turned my head around to assure myself she
was not there. I was wrong.
She was there, following with her head down and moving briskly
about 100 yards behind us, but with her hands hidden.
I turned my head back to the trail in front of us and we kept
walking, still trying to convince myself that there was
nothing out of the ordinary happening, that I was just being
rude because she was dressed like a homeless woman.
About 200 yards further along the path, I turned my head back
to Ron and my heart raced a bit. She closed the distance by half
or more each time we would walk around the bend in the woods.
Her location would be obscured, but she would emerge much closer
to us on the next opening. I told myself that I was just
being paranoid, but nevertheless I was trying to get Ron to pick
up his speed just a little bit. By this time he was clearly
aware that we were being followed and he was
uncomfortable as well, though to his credit he did keep talking.
With a half mile to go before we reach the parking area, I turned
my head once again and she was just 10 feet behind us.
I had not seen or heard her get that close and it freaked me
out. I literally jumped out of my
skin. One of her hands was in her
pocket and the other was behind her back.
I got the distinct feeling that she had a weapon of some kind
and that she had No Fear of me, even though I was considerably
taller. I'll be it several years older.
There was no mistaking her demeanor.
She meant to do us harm, or at the very least to intimidate us.
I weaved my car keys between my knuckles in my right hand,
handed my water bottle to Ron and made an obvious fist with my
hand. With a half mile left in our
hike, I thought to myself, if this is nothing, she'll pass us
and move on as clearly she was moving a lot faster than we
were. I was accustomed to people
overtaking us when I walked with Ron, but she did not pass and
never acted like she knew we were there, which was the
creepiest part. I kept my head turned toward her
as I walked and tried to get her to make eye contact, but she did
not look me in the eyes at first.
She kept acting like neither Ron nor I were there on the path
just a few feet ahead of her. She had slowed to follow closely
behind. I was completely unnerved, and
that made me angry. I wanted her to see how upset I
was and to convey with a look that messing with me was a
mistake. When she finally did make eye
contact with me, I glared with a clenched fist.
There was an instant where I could not read her expression.
She was simply blank, but as she studied my face, she appeared to
be simultaneously agitated and a little less confident.
I was conveying one thing with the look on my face back the
hell off, and at this point I did not care if it appeared
rude. She apparently thought better of
whatever she was doing and slowed her pace so that the
distance between us began to grow to about 20 feet.
But she was tense and kept whatever she had in her hand
very closely hidden behind her back.
I never saw her hands this entire time.
I know she had to have some kind of weapon, and I believe that
she meant to do us harm. But I also know she recognized
that I was ready to fight. I was mentally preparing to
charge at her if I saw a gun or a knife.
As I knew Ron could not outrun her.
I thought to myself, I might just surprise her.
I also realized that I needed to have her in front of us a few
100 feet further, about 1/4 mile away from where we were parked.
She was still stalking us and I had had enough.
I was in equal measures afraid and furious.
I told Ron that we were going to stop and let her pass loud
enough for her to hear. Just as I was getting ready to
stop on the trail and make her walk in front of us, she veered
into a small clearing, plowing through the waist high brush,
crossed a ditch and scurried through a tree line of trees to
a road that ran through the woods in between the main road
and the parking area. I kept my eyes on her the whole
time she had a car. It was parked alongside this
little service Rd. partially hidden by shrubs, not in the
parking lot. The last time we made eye
contact, just before she climbed into her car, it was clear from
the expression on her face that she was incredibly angry.
I glared at her, expressing my own anger, but kept walking.
When her car started and she drove away, Ron got quiet before
asking me what in the hell she was doing.
Did she have a gun? I told him I did not know.
I never saw a weapon. We walked back to our car
without saying another word. Once the engine was on and the
doors were shut, we chatted a bit more about this weird
situation and decided to call the authorities and report the
incident just to make sure that they have it on record and to
maybe have them check on the poor Co Ed who had passed us
first. To this day I have no idea what
that creepy woman was doing and what she was planning on doing
to us. Maybe she was going to rob us,
harm us, scare us, I have no idea.
I am just thankful she decided better of it.
I have hiked that trail more than 50 times since then and
have never seen her again.