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10 Appalachian Trail Encounters That Should Never Be Explained | Horror Stories · Appalachian Horror | Horror Stories

• 0:00
  Speaker 1: Welcome back to Park Ranger Files. Before we dive into
• 0:03
  Speaker 1: tonight's collection of absolutely terrifying true stories from the Appalachian wilderness,
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• 0:25
  Speaker 1: Story one, my name is David Hernandez. I work as
• 0:29
  Speaker 1: a freelance photographer, specializing in nature and wildlife. Back in
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  Speaker 1: October of 2019, I was on assignment in the Monongahela
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  Speaker 1: National Forest in western Virginia, trying to capture some fall
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  Speaker 1: foliage shots for a calendar company. I'd been camping solo
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  Speaker 1: for about four days, moving from spot to spot to
• 0:48
  Speaker 1: get different perspectives of the autumn colors. On the fourth night,
• 0:51
  Speaker 1: I set up camp near a place the locals called
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  Speaker 1: Spruce Hollow. It was this beautiful little valley, with the
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  Speaker 1: creek running through it, surrounded by these massive old growth
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  Speaker 1: trees that were just perfect for what I needed. I
• 1:05
  Speaker 1: got there around 3 in the afternoon, set up my tent,
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  Speaker 1: and spent the remaining daylight hours getting some amazing shots
• 1:10
  Speaker 1: of the golden hour light filtering through the red and
• 1:13
  Speaker 1: orange leaves. As darkness fell, I made myself some dinner
• 1:17
  Speaker 1: on my camp stove. Nothing fancy. Just some freeze-dried stuff
• 1:20
  Speaker 1: and instant coffee. The temperature was dropping fast, which wasn't
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  Speaker 1: unusual for that time of year in those mountains. I'd
• 1:27
  Speaker 1: say it was probably in the low 40s by the
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  Speaker 1: time I finished eating around 8 p.m. I decided to
• 1:32
  Speaker 1: stay up for a while, editing some photos on my
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  Speaker 1: laptop and enjoying the sounds of the forest at night.
• 1:38
  Speaker 1: That's when I first heard it. At first I thought
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  Speaker 1: it was just the wind moving through the trees, creating
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  Speaker 1: that eerie whistling sound that happens sometimes in dense forest.
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  Speaker 1: But then I realized it wasn't wind at all. Someone
• 1:51
  Speaker 1: was singing. The voice was female, high and clear, and
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  Speaker 1: she was singing what sounded like an old hymn or
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  Speaker 1: folk song. I couldn't make out the words, but the
• 2:01
  Speaker 1: melody was haunting and beautiful. My first thought was that
• 2:04
  Speaker 1: there must be another camper nearby, maybe on the other
• 2:07
  Speaker 1: side of the creek. I called out a friendly hello,
• 2:10
  Speaker 1: but got no response. The singing just continued, never pausing,
• 2:14
  Speaker 1: never wavering. I'll admit it creeped me out a little,
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  Speaker 1: but I tried to rationalize it. Maybe whoever it was
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  Speaker 1: had headphones on and couldn't hear me. Maybe they were
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  Speaker 1: far enough away that my voice didn't carry I went
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  Speaker 1: back to my laptop, trying to ignore it, but the
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  Speaker 1: singing just kept going. Same melody, over and over, for
• 2:32
  Speaker 1: what must have been an hour straight. Around 9.30, I
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  Speaker 1: decided to investigate. I grabbed my flashlight and headed in
• 2:39
  Speaker 1: the direction the singing seemed to be coming from, which
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  Speaker 1: was downstream along the creek. The moon was nearly full
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  Speaker 1: that night, so even with the tree cover, I had
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  Speaker 1: decent visibility. I walked for maybe 10 minutes, following that voice,
• 2:53
  Speaker 1: but it never seemed to get any closer. If anything,
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  Speaker 1: it sounded like it was moving away from me, always
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  Speaker 1: just out of reach. Then it stopped. Complete silence. I
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  Speaker 1: stood there in the dark, my flashlight beam cutting through
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  Speaker 1: the mist that was starting to rise from the creek,
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  Speaker 1: and I felt this overwhelming sense of being watched. The
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  Speaker 1: hair on the back of my neck stood up, and
• 3:16
  Speaker 1: I had this primal urge to run. Instead, I called
• 3:19
  Speaker 1: out again, asking if anyone was there, if they needed help. Nothing.
• 3:24
  Speaker 1: just the sound of water moving over rocks in my
• 3:27
  Speaker 1: own breathing. I turned around and headed back to camp,
• 3:30
  Speaker 1: moving faster than I'd like to admit. When I got
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  Speaker 1: back to my tent, I checked my watch. It was 9.45.
• 3:35
  Speaker 1: I climbed into my sleeping bag and tried to convince
• 3:39
  Speaker 1: myself that I'd just heard another camper who'd gone to bed.
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  Speaker 1: No big deal. But then, at exactly 10 p.m., the
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  Speaker 1: singing started again. This time, it was closer. Much closer.
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  Speaker 1: It sounded like it was coming from just beyond my tent,
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  Speaker 1: maybe 20 feet away. The same melody, the same female voice,
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  Speaker 1: but now I could make out some of the words.
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  Speaker 1: She was singing about going home, about crossing over water,
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  Speaker 1: about meeting loved ones on the other side. It was
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  Speaker 1: a death song. I'm not ashamed to say I was terrified.
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  Speaker 1: I grabbed my knife and sat up in my sleeping bag,
• 4:14
  Speaker 1: staring at the thin nylon wall of my tent, half
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  Speaker 1: expecting to see a silhouette appear. The singing continued for
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  Speaker 1: another hour, circling my camp. Sometimes it would be to
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  Speaker 1: my left, then it would move to my right, then
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  Speaker 1: behind me. It was like whoever or whatever was out
• 4:28
  Speaker 1: there was walking in circles around my tent. At 11 p.m.,
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  Speaker 1: it stopped again. This time I heard footsteps. Not the cautious,
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  Speaker 1: careful footsteps of someone trying to sneak up on you.
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  Speaker 1: These were deliberate, heavy footsteps, like someone walking with purpose.
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  Speaker 1: They came right up to my tent and stopped. I
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  Speaker 1: could see the impression of someone standing there, the fabric
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  Speaker 1: of my tent pushed in slightly by their presence. Then
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  Speaker 1: a voice, the same voice that had been singing, spoke.
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  Speaker 1: Why are you in my hollow? I didn't know what
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  Speaker 1: to say. My mouth was dry. My heart was pounding
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  Speaker 1: so hard I thought it might burst. I managed to
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  Speaker 1: stammer out something about being a photographer, just camping for
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  Speaker 1: the night, that I'd leave first thing in the morning.
• 5:13
  Speaker 1: There was a long silence. Then the voice said, People
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  Speaker 1: don't leave my hollow. They stay. They sing with me.
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  Speaker 1: That's when I made my decision. I wasn't waiting until morning.
• 5:26
  Speaker 1: I grabbed my car keys, unzipped my tent, and ran.
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  Speaker 1: I didn't look back. Didn't try to see who or
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  Speaker 1: what was standing there. I just ran through the woods
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  Speaker 1: in the moonlight, following the trail I'd come in on.
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  Speaker 1: Branches whipping at my face, my lungs burning from the
• 5:39
  Speaker 1: cold air. When I got to my truck, I fumbled
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  Speaker 1: at the keys, dropped them twice before I got the
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  Speaker 1: door open. As I climbed in and started the engine,
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  Speaker 1: I looked back toward the trail. Standing at the edge
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  Speaker 1: of the clearing where I'd parked was a woman in
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  Speaker 1: a long white dress. Her hair was long and dark,
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  Speaker 1: hanging down past her waist and even from that distance
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  Speaker 1: I could see that her feet weren't touching the ground.
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  Speaker 1: She was floating. I put the truck in gear and
• 6:05
  Speaker 1: got the hell out of there. Drove straight through to
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  Speaker 1: the nearest town which was Elkins about 40 minutes away.
• 6:12
  Speaker 1: I checked into a motel and didn't sleep the rest
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  Speaker 1: of the night. The next morning I went to the
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  Speaker 1: local library and started researching Spruce Hollow. Turns out Back
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  Speaker 1: in 1897, a young woman named Sarah Elizabeth Whitmore disappeared
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  Speaker 1: in that area. She'd been on her way to a
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  Speaker 1: singing school, a popular thing back then where traveling teachers
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  Speaker 1: would go from community to community teaching people how to
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  Speaker 1: sing hymns. She never made it. Search parties looked for weeks,
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  Speaker 1: but never found any trace of her. According to the
• 6:41
  Speaker 1: old newspaper articles I found, she was known throughout the
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  Speaker 1: region for having the most beautiful singing voice anyone had
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  Speaker 1: ever heard. I never went back for my camping gear.
• 6:50
  Speaker 1: I didn't go back for my tent, my sleeping bag,
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  Speaker 1: my camp stove, nothing. It's still out there as far
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  Speaker 1: as I know. And sometimes, late at night when I'm
• 6:59
  Speaker 1: lying in bed, I can still hear that melody in
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  Speaker 1: my head. That same haunting tune over and over. I
• 7:06
  Speaker 1: still do nature photography, but I don't camp solo anymore.
• 7:09
  Speaker 1: And I sure as hell don't camp anywhere near Spruce Hollow.
• 7:13
  Speaker 1: Story two. My name is Jennifer Walsh, and I'm a
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  Speaker 1: high school chemistry teacher from Pittsburgh. In the summer of 2016,
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  Speaker 1: my husband Thomas and I decided to take a vacation
• 7:24
  Speaker 1: hiking through parts of the George Washington National Forest in Virginia.
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  Speaker 1: We're both experienced hikers, been doing it for years, and
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  Speaker 1: we thought it would be a nice way to celebrate
• 7:33
  Speaker 1: our 10th wedding anniversary. We'd planned a five-day trip, nothing
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  Speaker 1: too ambitious, just following some of the marked trails and
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  Speaker 1: camping at designated sites along the way. Everything was going
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  Speaker 1: great until the third day, when we decided to take
• 7:47
  Speaker 1: a detour. to check out an old fire lookout tower
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  Speaker 1: that was marked on our map. The tower was about
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  Speaker 1: two miles off the main trail, and according to the map,
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  Speaker 1: it had been decommissioned back in the 70s. We're both
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  Speaker 1: kind of history buffs, so we thought it would be
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  Speaker 1: cool to see it and maybe get some good photos
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  Speaker 1: from the top if it was still safe to climb.
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  Speaker 1: The hike to the tower was tougher than we expected.
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  Speaker 1: The trail was overgrown and barely visible in places, and
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  Speaker 1: we had to use our GPS to make sure we
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  Speaker 1: were still heading in the right direction. After about an
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  Speaker 1: hour of bushwhacking, we finally saw it rising above the trees.
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  Speaker 1: It was one of those old wooden towers, probably 60
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  Speaker 1: or 70 feet tall, with a small cabin at the
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  Speaker 1: top where the fire watcher would have lived during fire season.
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  Speaker 1: The whole structure looked like it was about ready to
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  Speaker 1: fall over. The wood was gray and weathered, and there
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  Speaker 1: were gaps in the stairs where boards had rotted away completely.
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  Speaker 1: Thomas wanted to climb it anyway. He said if we
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  Speaker 1: were careful and tested each step before putting our full
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  Speaker 1: weight on it, we'd be fine. I was hesitant, but
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  Speaker 1: he can be pretty persuasive when he wants to be,
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  Speaker 1: and I'll admit I was curious to see the view
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  Speaker 1: from up there. We started climbing, moving slowly, testing each step.
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  Speaker 1: About halfway up, I noticed something that made me stop.
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  Speaker 1: There were scratches on the wooden railing, deep gouges that
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  Speaker 1: looked fresh. Not like animal scratches, these were straight lines,
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  Speaker 1: parallel to each other, like someone had dragged something sharp
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  Speaker 1: down the wood. I pointed them out to Thomas, and
• 9:15
  Speaker 1: he said they were probably from bears. But I've seen
• 9:18
  Speaker 1: bear claw marks before, and these weren't the same. These
• 9:21
  Speaker 1: were too uniform, too deliberate. I told him I had
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  Speaker 1: a bad feeling and wanted to go back down, but
• 9:26
  Speaker 1: he was already almost to the top, and he called
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  Speaker 1: down that the view was incredible. Against my better judgment,
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  Speaker 1: I kept climbing. When I got to the top, Thomas
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  Speaker 1: was right. The view was spectacular. You could see for
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  Speaker 1: miles in every direction. Rolling mountains covered in dark green
• 9:43
  Speaker 1: forests stretching to the horizon. The cabin at the top
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  Speaker 1: was small, maybe eight by eight feet, with windows on
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  Speaker 1: all four sides. The door was hanging open, creaking slightly
• 9:53
  Speaker 1: in the breeze. Thomas went inside to look around, and
• 9:57
  Speaker 1: I heard him say, whoa, you need to see this.
• 10:01
  Speaker 1: I stepped through the doorway and immediately wished I hadn't.
• 10:04
  Speaker 1: The walls were covered in writing, not graffiti or random scribbles,
• 10:08
  Speaker 1: but thousands of names written in what looked like different hands.
• 10:12
  Speaker 1: Some were carved into the wood, some were written in
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  Speaker 1: what might have been charcoal or pencil. and some were
• 10:18
  Speaker 1: written in what looked disturbingly like dried blood. Thomas was
• 10:22
  Speaker 1: taking pictures with his phone, saying it was probably some
• 10:25
  Speaker 1: weird art project or something. But I was reading the names,
• 10:28
  Speaker 1: and I noticed something. Next to each name was a date,
• 10:32
  Speaker 1: and the dates were all in the future. I saw
• 10:34
  Speaker 1: Michael Patterson, October 14, 2016. That was five months away
• 10:39
  Speaker 1: at the time. Sarah Chen, January 3, 2017. David Rodriguez,
• 10:43
  Speaker 1: March 22, 2018. on and on, hundreds of names, but
• 10:49
  Speaker 1: all with dates that hadn't happened yet. Then I saw it,
• 10:53
  Speaker 1: written in the corner in what was definitely dried blood.
• 10:56
  Speaker 1: Jennifer Walsh, August 8th, 2016. That was two days away,
• 11:01
  Speaker 1: right below it. Thomas Walsh, August 8th, 2016. Same date.
• 11:07
  Speaker 1: I grabbed Thomas and showed him. The color drained from
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  Speaker 1: his face. He tried to rationalize it, saying, someone must
• 11:13
  Speaker 1: have looked us up somehow. Found out we were coming here,
• 11:15
  Speaker 1: but that didn't make any sense. We hadn't told anyone
• 11:18
  Speaker 1: about this detour. It wasn't in our itinerary. Hell, we'd
• 11:22
  Speaker 1: only decided to check out the tower a few hours earlier.
• 11:26
  Speaker 1: Then we heard footsteps on the stairs. Someone was climbing
• 11:29
  Speaker 1: the tower. We could hear the old boards creaking under
• 11:33
  Speaker 1: their weight, hear them getting closer and closer. Thomas and
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  Speaker 1: I looked at each other, and I could see the
• 11:39
  Speaker 1: same terror in his eyes that I was feeling. There
• 11:42
  Speaker 1: was only one way down, and whoever was coming up
• 11:44
  Speaker 1: was blocking it. We moved to the far side of
• 11:47
  Speaker 1: the cabin, pressing ourselves against the wall next to the door,
• 11:51
  Speaker 1: out of sight from the entrance. The footsteps kept coming,
• 11:54
  Speaker 1: steady and unhurried. When they reached the platform just outside
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  Speaker 1: the cabin, they stopped. We waited. Seconds felt like hours.
• 12:04
  Speaker 1: My heart was pounding so loud, I was sure whoever
• 12:07
  Speaker 1: was out there could hear it. Thomas had his pocket
• 12:09
  Speaker 1: knife out. Not that it would do much good, but
• 12:12
  Speaker 1: it was better than nothing. Then a voice spoke. It
• 12:15
  Speaker 1: was a man's voice, deep and raspy, like someone who'd
• 12:18
  Speaker 1: smoked for years. I know you're in there, he said.
• 12:23
  Speaker 1: I saw your names on the wall. Two days from now,
• 12:25
  Speaker 1: you won't need to hide anymore. Thomas, being braver than me,
• 12:29
  Speaker 1: called out asking who he was and what he wanted.
• 12:33
  Speaker 1: The man laughed, this awful wet sound that made my
• 12:35
  Speaker 1: skin crawl. I'm the one who writes the names, he said.
• 12:39
  Speaker 1: I've been writing them for 40 years and never been
• 12:42
  Speaker 1: wrong yet. Everyone whose name goes on that wall dies
• 12:45
  Speaker 1: on the date I write. That's just how it works.
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  Speaker 1: I couldn't take it anymore. I looked at Thomas and
• 12:52
  Speaker 1: whispered that we needed to rush him, push past him,
• 12:55
  Speaker 1: and run down the stairs. It was risky, but staying
• 12:58
  Speaker 1: up there seemed worse. Thomas nodded. On the count of three,
• 13:02
  Speaker 1: we charged out of the cabin, but there was no
• 13:04
  Speaker 1: one there. The platform was empty. We looked over the
• 13:07
  Speaker 1: railing down the stairs and saw a figure in dark
• 13:09
  Speaker 1: clothing descending rapidly, already halfway down the tower. We didn't wait.
• 13:15
  Speaker 1: We practically jumped down those stairs, not caring if they'd hold,
• 13:18
  Speaker 1: just desperate to get away from that tower and whoever
• 13:21
  Speaker 1: that man was. By the time we reached the ground,
• 13:23
  Speaker 1: he was gone. We searched the area, but there was
• 13:26
  Speaker 1: no sign of him. It was like he'd just vanished
• 13:29
  Speaker 1: into the forest. We hiked back to the main trail
• 13:32
  Speaker 1: as fast as we could, and then kept going until
• 13:34
  Speaker 1: we reached the nearest ranger station. We told them everything
• 13:38
  Speaker 1: about the tower, the names on the wall, the man
• 13:41
  Speaker 1: who'd followed us up. They listened politely, but I could
• 13:44
  Speaker 1: tell they thought we were either crazy or making it up.
• 13:48
  Speaker 1: They said they'd send someone to check it out, but
• 13:50
  Speaker 1: I don't know if they ever did. Thomas and I
• 13:53
  Speaker 1: canceled the rest of our trip and drove home that
• 13:55
  Speaker 1: same day. We spent the next two days barely sleeping,
• 13:58
  Speaker 1: jumping at every sound, convinced that somehow what that man
• 14:02
  Speaker 1: said would come true. August 8th came and went. Nothing happened.
• 14:08
  Speaker 1: We didn't die. We're both still here. Still alive. But
• 14:13
  Speaker 1: here's the thing that still terrifies me. About six months
• 14:16
  Speaker 1: after our trip, I was reading the news online and
• 14:18
  Speaker 1: came across an obituary. Michael Patterson, the first name I'd
• 14:22
  Speaker 1: seen on that wall, had died on October 14, 2016,
• 14:25
  Speaker 1: the exact date that was written next to his name.
• 14:30
  Speaker 1: He'd been hiking alone in the George Washington National Forest
• 14:33
  Speaker 1: and apparently fell from a cliff. I started looking up
• 14:36
  Speaker 1: other names, other dates. I found 12 of them. Twelve
• 14:39
  Speaker 1: people who died on the exact dates that were written
• 14:42
  Speaker 1: on that tower wall. Different causes, different circumstances, but always
• 14:46
  Speaker 1: on the right date. I still don't understand how or
• 14:49
  Speaker 1: why Thomas and I escaped. Maybe it was because we
• 14:52
  Speaker 1: ran when we did, and maybe it was because we
• 14:54
  Speaker 1: told people about it. I don't know. What I do
• 14:59
  Speaker 1: know is that I'll never set foot in those woods again,
• 15:01
  Speaker 1: and I have nightmares about that tower at least once
• 15:04
  Speaker 1: a week. In my dreams, I'm back in that cabin,
• 15:07
  Speaker 1: and I'm writing my own name on the wall. and
• 15:09
  Speaker 1: the date next to it is always tomorrow. Hey everyone,
• 15:13
  Speaker 1: I hope you're enjoying these stories so far. If you are,
• 15:16
  Speaker 1: do me a huge favor right now. Hit that like button,
• 15:18
  Speaker 1: subscribe if you haven't already, and drop a comment letting
• 15:21
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• 15:24
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• 15:27
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• 15:30
  Speaker 1: to get there. Your support means everything to this channel.
• 15:33
  Speaker 1: Now let's get back to the terror with our next story.
• 15:36
  Speaker 1: Story 3. My name is Robert Chang. and I'm a
• 15:39
  Speaker 1: software engineer from Raleigh, North Carolina. In the fall of 2018,
• 15:44
  Speaker 1: my younger brother Kevin and I decided to do some
• 15:46
  Speaker 1: backpacking in the Nantahala National Forest as a way to
• 15:49
  Speaker 1: decompress from our high-stress jobs. Kevin works in emergency medicine,
• 15:54
  Speaker 1: and our schedules rarely align. So when we both got
• 15:57
  Speaker 1: the same week off, we jumped at the chance to
• 16:00
  Speaker 1: spend some quality time together. We planned a relatively easy
• 16:03
  Speaker 1: three-day loop trail that would take us through some beautiful
• 16:06
  Speaker 1: sections of the forest without being too challenging. We're both
• 16:10
  Speaker 1: in decent shape, but neither of us are hardcore backpackers,
• 16:13
  Speaker 1: so we wanted something manageable. The first day and a
• 16:16
  Speaker 1: half went perfectly. Great weather, beautiful scenery, no problems at all.
• 16:22
  Speaker 1: We camped the first night at a designated campsite near
• 16:24
  Speaker 1: a small stream, had a good dinner, swapped stories, and
• 16:28
  Speaker 1: slept well. The second day, we hiked about eight miles
• 16:31
  Speaker 1: to our next campsite, which was supposed to be near
• 16:34
  Speaker 1: an old abandoned homestead from the early 1900s. We got
• 16:38
  Speaker 1: there around 4 in the afternoon, which gave us plenty
• 16:41
  Speaker 1: of time to set up camp before dark. The homestead
• 16:44
  Speaker 1: was pretty much just a collapsed foundation and a few
• 16:47
  Speaker 1: scattered bricks. But you could see where the house had been,
• 16:50
  Speaker 1: and there was an old well that had been capped
• 16:52
  Speaker 1: with concrete, presumably for safety. Kevin thought it was cool
• 16:56
  Speaker 1: from a historical perspective, and we spent maybe half an
• 16:59
  Speaker 1: hour walking around, imagining what life must have been like
• 17:02
  Speaker 1: for the family who'd lived there. According to a trail marker,
• 17:06
  Speaker 1: The place had been abandoned in 1923 after the entire
• 17:10
  Speaker 1: family died in a typhoid outbreak. Pretty grim, but not
• 17:13
  Speaker 1: uncommon for that era. We set up our tents about
• 17:16
  Speaker 1: 50 yards from the old homestead in a nice flat
• 17:19
  Speaker 1: area with good drainage. As the sun started to set,
• 17:22
  Speaker 1: we made dinner and sat around our little campfire, enjoying
• 17:26
  Speaker 1: the peace and quiet of the forest. That's when we
• 17:28
  Speaker 1: heard the children laughing. It was faint at first, distant,
• 17:32
  Speaker 1: and we both assumed there must be other campers nearby,
• 17:35
  Speaker 1: maybe a family with kids. The laughter continued for a
• 17:37
  Speaker 1: few minutes, then stopped. We thought nothing of it and
• 17:40
  Speaker 1: went back to our conversation. About an hour later, as
• 17:43
  Speaker 1: it was getting dark, we heard it again. This time
• 17:46
  Speaker 1: it was closer, and it sounded like multiple children, maybe
• 17:49
  Speaker 1: three or four of them, playing and giggling. Kevin called
• 17:52
  Speaker 1: out a friendly hello, thinking maybe the family would come
• 17:55
  Speaker 1: over and introduce themselves, but no one responded. The laughter
• 17:59
  Speaker 1: just continued, moving around us in the darkness beyond our firelight.
• 18:04
  Speaker 1: We started to feel uneasy. It was weird that if
• 18:06
  Speaker 1: there was a family camping nearby, they'd let their kids
• 18:09
  Speaker 1: run around in the dark like that. And it was
• 18:12
  Speaker 1: weird that they wouldn't respond when we called out. Kevin
• 18:15
  Speaker 1: suggested we take a walk with our flashlights to see
• 18:17
  Speaker 1: if we could find their campsite, make sure everything was okay.
• 18:21
  Speaker 1: We walked for about 15 minutes in the direction the
• 18:23
  Speaker 1: laughter seemed to be coming from calling out, asking if
• 18:26
  Speaker 1: anyone needed help. We didn't find any other campsites. No tents,
• 18:30
  Speaker 1: no fire, nothing. And as soon as we'd walked far
• 18:33
  Speaker 1: enough from our own camp, The laughter stopped completely. We
• 18:37
  Speaker 1: headed back. Both of us pretty creeped out at this point.
• 18:41
  Speaker 1: When we got to our camp, the fire had gone
• 18:43
  Speaker 1: out completely, even though we'd left it burning. Not died down,
• 18:46
  Speaker 1: but out, like someone had doused it with water. The
• 18:49
  Speaker 1: logs were soaked. Kevin checked our water bottles. They were
• 18:53
  Speaker 1: all still full and sealed. Neither of us had poured
• 18:56
  Speaker 1: water on the fire, and it hadn't rained. We relit
• 19:00
  Speaker 1: the fire, both of us trying to come up with
• 19:01
  Speaker 1: logical explanations... Maybe there was a natural spring nearby that
• 19:05
  Speaker 1: we hadn't noticed, and water had seeped into our fire pit.
• 19:10
  Speaker 1: Maybe we'd accidentally camped in a low spot where dew collected.
• 19:13
  Speaker 1: We knew we were reaching, but admitting that something genuinely
• 19:16
  Speaker 1: strange was happening was too unsettling. Around 10 p.m., we
• 19:20
  Speaker 1: both decided to turn in. Kevin took one tent, I
• 19:24
  Speaker 1: took the other, and we agreed to keep our flashlights
• 19:26
  Speaker 1: handy just in case. I was exhausted from the day's hike,
• 19:30
  Speaker 1: and despite the weird occurrences, I fell asleep pretty quickly.
• 19:34
  Speaker 1: I woke up to the sound of Kevin yelling my name.
• 19:36
  Speaker 1: I scrambled out of my tent to find him standing
• 19:39
  Speaker 1: outside his, pale as a ghost, shaking. He pointed to
• 19:42
  Speaker 1: the old homestead foundation, about 50 yards away. In the moonlight,
• 19:46
  Speaker 1: I could see four small figures standing around the old well.
• 19:50
  Speaker 1: They were children, or at least they looked like children,
• 19:53
  Speaker 1: dressed in old-fashioned clothes. We stood there frozen watching them.
• 19:57
  Speaker 1: They seemed to be playing some kind of game, holding
• 20:00
  Speaker 1: hands and circling the well, singing a song I didn't recognize.
• 20:04
  Speaker 1: Their voices were clear and bright, cutting through the night air,
• 20:08
  Speaker 1: Then one of them stopped and looked directly at us.
• 20:12
  Speaker 1: I can't describe how wrong that felt. Even from that distance,
• 20:15
  Speaker 1: I could feel the weight of that gaze. The child
• 20:18
  Speaker 1: raised its hand and pointed at us. And the singing stopped.
• 20:22
  Speaker 1: The other three children turned to look at us as well.
• 20:25
  Speaker 1: Then they started walking toward us. Not running, not rushing.
• 20:29
  Speaker 1: Just walking with slow, deliberate steps. Kevin grabbed my arm
• 20:33
  Speaker 1: and said we needed to leave. Now, I agreed. We
• 20:37
  Speaker 1: didn't bother packing up our tents or gear. We grabbed
• 20:40
  Speaker 1: our packs with our valuables, turned on our headlamps, and
• 20:43
  Speaker 1: started hiking back down the trail in the dark. Behind us,
• 20:46
  Speaker 1: we could hear the children singing again, but now the
• 20:49
  Speaker 1: song sounded different. The words were clearer, and they were
• 20:52
  Speaker 1: singing about the well, about how they'd fallen in, about
• 20:55
  Speaker 1: how they were cold and wanted someone to play with them.
• 20:59
  Speaker 1: We hiked through the night, not stopping, barely speaking to
• 21:02
  Speaker 1: each other, except to make sure we were both okay.
• 21:05
  Speaker 1: Every time we'd stop to catch our breath, we'd hear
• 21:07
  Speaker 1: the singing behind us, always at the same distance, never
• 21:10
  Speaker 1: getting closer, but never fading away either. At dawn, we
• 21:14
  Speaker 1: reached a paved forest road and flagged down a ranger truck.
• 21:18
  Speaker 1: The ranger could tell something was wrong and offered to
• 21:20
  Speaker 1: drive us back to the trailhead where we'd parked. We
• 21:23
  Speaker 1: told him we'd had a scary encounter with some people
• 21:26
  Speaker 1: at the campsite and decided to abandon our gear and
• 21:28
  Speaker 1: hike out. We didn't mention the children. Who would believe us?
• 21:33
  Speaker 1: The ranger was understanding and drove us back. As we
• 21:36
  Speaker 1: were driving past the turnoff for the trail to that homestead,
• 21:39
  Speaker 1: I looked down the path and saw someone standing there.
• 21:43
  Speaker 1: It was a small figure in old-fashioned clothes, watching our
• 21:46
  Speaker 1: vehicle pass. I didn't say anything to Kevin or the ranger.
• 21:50
  Speaker 1: I just looked straight ahead and tried not to think
• 21:52
  Speaker 1: about it. We never went back for our gear. We
• 21:55
  Speaker 1: filed a report about abandoning it, paid the fine, and
• 21:58
  Speaker 1: that was that. Kevin and I have gone hiking together
• 22:01
  Speaker 1: since then, but never in the Nantahala, We don't talk
• 22:04
  Speaker 1: about what happened that night, but I know he thinks
• 22:06
  Speaker 1: about it as much as I do. I did some
• 22:08
  Speaker 1: research later and found historical records of the homestead. The
• 22:12
  Speaker 1: typhoid outbreak in 1923 killed the parents and all four
• 22:16
  Speaker 1: of their children. The children ranged in age from 4
• 22:18
  Speaker 1: to 10. According to one account I found in a
• 22:21
  Speaker 1: local historical society's archives, three of the children died in
• 22:25
  Speaker 1: the house, but one of them, the youngest, fell into
• 22:28
  Speaker 1: the well while sick and drowned before anyone could get
• 22:30
  Speaker 1: to her. That was the well we camped next to,
• 22:34
  Speaker 1: the well those children were circling when we saw them.
• 22:37
  Speaker 1: Sometimes late at night, when my apartment is quiet, I
• 22:40
  Speaker 1: swear I can hear that singing, that same melody, those
• 22:44
  Speaker 1: same words, about being cold and wanting someone to play
• 22:47
  Speaker 1: with them. I tell myself, it's just my imagination, just
• 22:51
  Speaker 1: my mind playing tricks on me, but I don't really
• 22:54
  Speaker 1: believe that. Story four, my name is Lisa Morrison, and
• 22:59
  Speaker 1: I'm a veterinary assistant from Asheville, North Carolina. What happened
• 23:03
  Speaker 1: to me in the mountains back in 2017 is something
• 23:06
  Speaker 1: I've only told a handful of people. And most of
• 23:09
  Speaker 1: them thought I was either lying or having some kind
• 23:11
  Speaker 1: of mental health crisis. But it was real. As real
• 23:15
  Speaker 1: as anything I've ever experienced. And I still have the
• 23:18
  Speaker 1: scars to prove it. It was late September and I'd
• 23:22
  Speaker 1: taken a weekend to myself to go solo camping in
• 23:25
  Speaker 1: the Pisgah National Forest. I'd been going through a rough
• 23:28
  Speaker 1: divorce and I just needed some time away. from everything
• 23:31
  Speaker 1: and everyone to clear my head. I'm an experienced camper
• 23:35
  Speaker 1: and hiker. Grew up in these mountains, so I wasn't
• 23:38
  Speaker 1: worried about going alone. I found a nice spot off
• 23:41
  Speaker 1: trail near a small creek and set up my tent
• 23:44
  Speaker 1: on the second day of my trip. The plan was
• 23:46
  Speaker 1: to stay there for two nights, then hike back out.
• 23:49
  Speaker 1: The first night was uneventful, peaceful even. I sat by
• 23:52
  Speaker 1: my fire, read a book, and went to bed early.
• 23:55
  Speaker 1: The second night started out the same. I made dinner,
• 23:59
  Speaker 1: sat by the fire, Watch the stars come out. Around
• 24:03
  Speaker 1: 9 p.m., I heard something moving in the woods nearby.
• 24:06
  Speaker 1: Not particularly close, maybe 30 or 40 yards away, but
• 24:09
  Speaker 1: definitely something large. My first thought was bear, so I
• 24:12
  Speaker 1: secured my food in the bear bag I'd hung earlier
• 24:14
  Speaker 1: and made sure my bear spray was handy. The movement stopped,
• 24:18
  Speaker 1: and I didn't think much more of it. I was
• 24:20
  Speaker 1: getting ready to turn in when I heard a voice
• 24:22
  Speaker 1: call out from the darkness. Hello, the camp, the voice said.
• 24:27
  Speaker 1: It was a man's voice, older, with a thick Appalachian accent.
• 24:30
  Speaker 1: I responded cautiously, asking who was there. A man stepped
• 24:34
  Speaker 1: into the edge of my firelight, and I got my
• 24:35
  Speaker 1: first look at him. He was elderly, probably in his
• 24:38
  Speaker 1: 70s or 80s, with a long white beard and wearing
• 24:41
  Speaker 1: clothes that looked like they were from another era. Heavy
• 24:44
  Speaker 1: wool pants, a faded flannel shirt, and a wide-brimmed hat.
• 24:48
  Speaker 1: He carried a walking stick and had what looked like
• 24:50
  Speaker 1: an old leather pack slung over his shoulder. He apologized
• 24:54
  Speaker 1: for startling me and asked if he could sit by
• 24:56
  Speaker 1: my fire for a spell. He said he'd been walking
• 24:58
  Speaker 1: for a long time and could use a rest. Something
• 25:01
  Speaker 1: about him made me uneasy, but he was an old man,
• 25:04
  Speaker 1: and I was brought up to be hospitable. I told
• 25:06
  Speaker 1: him he was welcome to sit, but I kept my
• 25:09
  Speaker 1: bear spray close. He sat down across the fire from
• 25:12
  Speaker 1: me and thanked me kindly. We talked for a bit,
• 25:14
  Speaker 1: small talk mostly. He asked where I was from, what
• 25:17
  Speaker 1: I did for work, that sort of thing. I asked
• 25:20
  Speaker 1: him the same questions, but his answers were vague. He
• 25:22
  Speaker 1: said he lived in the mountains, had for his whole life,
• 25:25
  Speaker 1: and that he walked these woods more than most folks
• 25:28
  Speaker 1: walk their own property. After a while, the conversation took
• 25:31
  Speaker 1: a strange turn. He started talking about trades, about how
• 25:35
  Speaker 1: everything in life is a trade of one thing for another.
• 25:38
  Speaker 1: Time for money, effort for reward, that kind of thing.
• 25:42
  Speaker 1: I nodded along, not really sure where he was going
• 25:44
  Speaker 1: with this. Then he looked me straight in the eyes
• 25:47
  Speaker 1: and said, what would you trade to make your troubles disappear?
• 25:51
  Speaker 1: I laughed it off, said I wished it was that simple.
• 25:54
  Speaker 1: But he didn't laugh. He just kept staring at me
• 25:57
  Speaker 1: with these intense, pale blue eyes. I can make you
• 26:01
  Speaker 1: a trade, he said. You're troubles for something you won't miss.
• 26:05
  Speaker 1: I asked what he meant, and he explained that he
• 26:08
  Speaker 1: could take away my pain, my divorce, my financial stress,
• 26:11
  Speaker 1: all of it. In exchange, all he needed was a
• 26:14
  Speaker 1: small piece of me, a memory I wouldn't miss, he said.
• 26:18
  Speaker 1: Something from my childhood that didn't matter anymore. I told
• 26:21
  Speaker 1: him that was crazy, that he couldn't just take away
• 26:24
  Speaker 1: someone's problems like that. He smiled and said he'd been
• 26:27
  Speaker 1: doing it for longer than I'd been alive. All I
• 26:30
  Speaker 1: had to do was agree to the trade. And when
• 26:32
  Speaker 1: I woke up in the morning, everything would be different.
• 26:35
  Speaker 1: I should have told him to leave. I should have
• 26:38
  Speaker 1: kicked him out of my camp and not slept until
• 26:40
  Speaker 1: he was gone. But I was tired, so tired of
• 26:43
  Speaker 1: fighting my ex-husband in court, of struggling to pay bills,
• 26:47
  Speaker 1: of crying myself to sleep every night. Part of me
• 26:50
  Speaker 1: wanted to believe him, wanted to believe there was some
• 26:53
  Speaker 1: magical solution to all my problems. So I said yes.
• 26:57
  Speaker 1: He reached into his pack and pulled out what looked
• 26:59
  Speaker 1: like an old glass jar. He told me to think
• 27:01
  Speaker 1: of a memory I didn't need anymore, something from my
• 27:04
  Speaker 1: childhood that I wouldn't miss. The first thing that came
• 27:07
  Speaker 1: to mind was this time when I was seven and
• 27:09
  Speaker 1: fell off my bike and scraped my knee. Totally insignificant memory, right?
• 27:15
  Speaker 1: I told him about it and he nodded. He held
• 27:17
  Speaker 1: the jar out toward me and told me to speak
• 27:19
  Speaker 1: the memory into it, to give it up willingly. I
• 27:22
  Speaker 1: felt stupid, but I did it. I described the memory
• 27:25
  Speaker 1: out loud, every detail I could remember. And as I spoke,
• 27:29
  Speaker 1: I started to feel strange, dizzy. The firelight seemed to
• 27:33
  Speaker 1: get brighter, then dimmer, then brighter again. When I finished,
• 27:38
  Speaker 1: the old man sealed the jar and put it back
• 27:40
  Speaker 1: in his pack. He stood up, thanked me for the trade,
• 27:43
  Speaker 1: and walked off into the darkness. I tried to call
• 27:46
  Speaker 1: after him, to ask him what was supposed to happen now,
• 27:49
  Speaker 1: but he was gone. I went to bed confused and
• 27:52
  Speaker 1: honestly thinking I'd just had a really weird conversation with
• 27:55
  Speaker 1: a slightly senile old mountain man. But when I woke
• 27:59
  Speaker 1: up the next morning, everything was different. My phone had signal,
• 28:03
  Speaker 1: which was weird because I hadn't had any signal at
• 28:05
  Speaker 1: that campsite the entire time I'd been there. I had
• 28:09
  Speaker 1: 17 missed calls and a bunch of text messages, all
• 28:12
  Speaker 1: from my ex-husband's lawyer, all saying that my ex had
• 28:16
  Speaker 1: dropped the divorce proceedings. that he was giving me everything
• 28:19
  Speaker 1: I'd asked for, no contest. I couldn't believe it. I
• 28:23
  Speaker 1: called the lawyer back, and she confirmed it. Something had
• 28:26
  Speaker 1: happened with my ex, some kind of change of heart, apparently.
• 28:31
  Speaker 1: He wanted to settle quickly and fairly. She said it
• 28:34
  Speaker 1: was the strangest thing she'd ever seen in 30 years
• 28:36
  Speaker 1: of practicing law. I should have been happy, relieved, but
• 28:40
  Speaker 1: I felt wrong, like something was missing. I couldn't put
• 28:44
  Speaker 1: my finger on it, but There was this nagging sense
• 28:46
  Speaker 1: that I'd lost something important. It wasn't until I got
• 28:50
  Speaker 1: home and was going through old photo albums that I
• 28:52
  Speaker 1: realized what it was. There was a picture of me
• 28:54
  Speaker 1: as a seven-year-old with a bandage on my knee. I
• 28:57
  Speaker 1: was smiling, holding a blue bicycle. But I had no
• 29:00
  Speaker 1: memory of that moment. None at all. I couldn't remember
• 29:03
  Speaker 1: learning to ride a bike. I couldn't remember falling off it.
• 29:06
  Speaker 1: I asked my mom about it, and she told me
• 29:08
  Speaker 1: I'd been so proud that day that I'd practiced for
• 29:11
  Speaker 1: weeks and finally got the hang of it. She said
• 29:14
  Speaker 1: I'd been devastated when I fell and hurt myself because
• 29:17
  Speaker 1: I thought it meant I'd never be able to ride
• 29:19
  Speaker 1: without training wheels. But I proved myself wrong, got right
• 29:23
  Speaker 1: back on the bike, and kept going. According to my mom,
• 29:27
  Speaker 1: that was a formative moment for me, a time when
• 29:29
  Speaker 1: I learned that falling down didn't mean failure. It taught
• 29:32
  Speaker 1: me persistence. And now it was gone. Not just the memory,
• 29:36
  Speaker 1: but whatever that memory had given me. In the weeks
• 29:38
  Speaker 1: that followed, I started to notice other changes. Things that
• 29:42
  Speaker 1: used to scare me didn't anymore. Not in a good way.
• 29:45
  Speaker 1: In a concerning way. I'd put my hand on a
• 29:48
  Speaker 1: hot stove and not pull it back right away. I'd
• 29:51
  Speaker 1: cross streets without looking. I started taking risks that I
• 29:54
  Speaker 1: never would have taken before. It wasn't until I almost
• 29:57
  Speaker 1: died in a car accident that I realized what I'd lost.
• 30:01
  Speaker 1: That childhood memory of falling off my bike hadn't just
• 30:04
  Speaker 1: been a memory. It had been where I learned to
• 30:07
  Speaker 1: be cautious, to understand that actions have consequences, that pain
• 30:12
  Speaker 1: is real and should be avoided. The old man hadn't
• 30:15
  Speaker 1: taken a useless memory. He'd taken part of my survival instinct.
• 30:20
  Speaker 1: I tried to find him, spent months hiking those woods
• 30:23
  Speaker 1: looking for any sign of him. I asked locals if
• 30:26
  Speaker 1: they knew about an old man who lived in the forest.
• 30:29
  Speaker 1: made trades with people. A few of them got real
• 30:32
  Speaker 1: quiet when I described him. One old woman at a
• 30:35
  Speaker 1: diner told me to stop looking, that if I'd made
• 30:37
  Speaker 1: a deal with him, the only way to undo it
• 30:40
  Speaker 1: was to find someone else to make a deal in
• 30:42
  Speaker 1: my place. I couldn't do that. I couldn't curse someone
• 30:46
  Speaker 1: else the way I'd been cursed. So I've had to
• 30:49
  Speaker 1: learn to live with it. I've had to consciously remind
• 30:52
  Speaker 1: myself of danger, train myself to be cautious in ways
• 30:56
  Speaker 1: that used to come naturally, I still have the scars
• 30:59
  Speaker 1: from the car accident. My left arm was broken in
• 31:02
  Speaker 1: three places, and I had to get a metal rod
• 31:04
  Speaker 1: put in. Every time I look at those scars, I
• 31:08
  Speaker 1: think about that trade. About how what seemed like a
• 31:11
  Speaker 1: blessing turned out to be a curse. If you're ever
• 31:14
  Speaker 1: in those mountains, and an old man offers you a trade,
• 31:17
  Speaker 1: don't take it. No matter how good it sounds. No
• 31:21
  Speaker 1: matter how desperate you are. Nothing is ever free, and
• 31:25
  Speaker 1: sometimes the price is higher than you can imagine. Story 5.
• 31:30
  Speaker 1: My name is Marcus Wilson, and I work as an
• 31:32
  Speaker 1: insurance adjuster in Knoxville, Tennessee. I never believed in anything
• 31:37
  Speaker 1: supernatural until what happened to me in the Cherokee National
• 31:40
  Speaker 1: Forest in March of 2020. I'd gone on what was
• 31:44
  Speaker 1: supposed to be a simple day hike, one I'd done
• 31:47
  Speaker 1: a dozen times before on a trail called the Bald
• 31:49
  Speaker 1: River Falls Trail. It's about two miles round trip, not
• 31:53
  Speaker 1: challenging at all, and ends at a beautiful waterfall. I'd
• 31:57
  Speaker 1: started the hike around noon on a weekday, so the
• 31:59
  Speaker 1: trail was pretty empty. I passed maybe three or four
• 32:02
  Speaker 1: other hikers on my way to the falls, exchanged the
• 32:04
  Speaker 1: usual pleasantries, and that was it. I spent about 20
• 32:08
  Speaker 1: minutes at the waterfall, taking pictures and enjoying the view,
• 32:11
  Speaker 1: before starting the hike back. About halfway back to the trailhead,
• 32:15
  Speaker 1: I started to get this weird feeling, like someone was
• 32:17
  Speaker 1: watching me. I'd stop and look around, but there was
• 32:20
  Speaker 1: never anyone there. I chalked it up to just being
• 32:23
  Speaker 1: alone in the woods and kept going. Then I heard
• 32:26
  Speaker 1: footsteps behind me. I turned around, expecting to see another hiker,
• 32:30
  Speaker 1: but the trail behind me was empty. I stood there
• 32:33
  Speaker 1: for a minute, listening. Nothing. I started walking again, and
• 32:37
  Speaker 1: immediately the footsteps started again, son. Same pace as me,
• 32:41
  Speaker 1: same rhythm. Every time my foot hit the ground, I
• 32:43
  Speaker 1: heard a corresponding footstep behind me. I stopped. The footsteps
• 32:47
  Speaker 1: continued for two more steps, then stopped. I called out,
• 32:51
  Speaker 1: asked if anyone was there. No response. I started jogging.
• 32:54
  Speaker 1: The footsteps jogged. I ran. The footsteps ran. Always right
• 32:58
  Speaker 1: behind me. Always the same distance away. Never getting closer,
• 33:01
  Speaker 1: but never falling back either. I made it back to
• 33:04
  Speaker 1: the parking lot in record time, my heart pounding, sweat
• 33:08
  Speaker 1: pouring down my face even though it was a cool day.
• 33:10
  Speaker 1: I got to my car, looked back at the trailhead,
• 33:13
  Speaker 1: and saw nothing. No one coming out of the woods.
• 33:17
  Speaker 1: No explanation for the footsteps I'd heard for over a mile.
• 33:20
  Speaker 1: I sat in my car for probably 20 minutes, trying
• 33:23
  Speaker 1: to calm down, telling myself it was just my imagination
• 33:26
  Speaker 1: or maybe an echo or something. Finally, I started the
• 33:29
  Speaker 1: car and headed home. But the footsteps didn't stop. I
• 33:34
  Speaker 1: could hear them when I walked from my car to
• 33:36
  Speaker 1: my apartment. I could hear them in my apartment, pacing
• 33:40
  Speaker 1: back and forth when I stood still. I could hear
• 33:43
  Speaker 1: them at work, following me down hallways, always the same pattern,
• 33:48
  Speaker 1: always matching my pace. I thought I was losing my mind.
• 33:53
  Speaker 1: I went to a doctor thinking maybe I had some
• 33:55
  Speaker 1: kind of auditory hallucination thing going on. They ran tests.
• 34:00
  Speaker 1: Everything came back normal. I saw a therapist thinking maybe
• 34:03
  Speaker 1: it was stress-related. She prescribed anxiety medication. It didn't help.
• 34:08
  Speaker 1: The footsteps continued for three months. Every day. Every night.
• 34:14
  Speaker 1: I couldn't sleep because when I'd lie still, I'd hear
• 34:16
  Speaker 1: them walking around my bed. I started sleeping with headphones in,
• 34:20
  Speaker 1: playing white noise, but I swear I could still hear
• 34:23
  Speaker 1: them underneath the static. Then one night in June, they stopped,
• 34:28
  Speaker 1: just like that. I woke up, and for the first
• 34:31
  Speaker 1: time in months, there was silence. Real silence. I was
• 34:35
  Speaker 1: so relieved I almost cried. But that relief didn't last long.
• 34:40
  Speaker 1: The next morning, I was getting ready for work and
• 34:43
  Speaker 1: noticed something on my bathroom mirror. Written in the fog
• 34:46
  Speaker 1: from my shower were two words. My turn. I live alone.
• 34:51
  Speaker 1: My doors were locked. No one had been in my apartment.
• 34:54
  Speaker 1: I haven't heard the footsteps since that day, but I've
• 34:57
  Speaker 1: started noticing other things. My things get moved around. I'll
• 35:00
  Speaker 1: put my keys in one place and find them somewhere else.
• 35:03
  Speaker 1: I'll set my coffee cup down and it'll be gone
• 35:05
  Speaker 1: when I turn back around. Photos on my phone that
• 35:08
  Speaker 1: I know I didn't take. Pictures of me sleeping, me
• 35:11
  Speaker 1: sitting at my desk at work, me in my car.
• 35:15
  Speaker 1: Whatever was following me. Whatever made those footsteps. It's not
• 35:19
  Speaker 1: following anymore. It's here. It's in my life. in my space,
• 35:25
  Speaker 1: and I don't know how to make it leave. I've
• 35:28
  Speaker 1: tried going back to that trail, thinking maybe I could
• 35:30
  Speaker 1: undo whatever I did by being there again, but every
• 35:34
  Speaker 1: time I get close to the trailhead, my car won't start,
• 35:37
  Speaker 1: or I'll get a sudden overwhelming sense of dread that
• 35:39
  Speaker 1: makes me turn around. I don't know what I encountered
• 35:42
  Speaker 1: in those woods. I don't know what attached itself to me.
• 35:46
  Speaker 1: All I know is that it's still here, and I'm
• 35:49
  Speaker 1: starting to think it always will be. We're halfway through
• 35:52
  Speaker 1: these terrifying stories, and I want to take a moment
• 35:55
  Speaker 1: to ask you something. If you're getting chills from these accounts,
• 35:58
  Speaker 1: if you're checking over your shoulder right now, then please
• 36:01
  Speaker 1: help me out. Subscribe to Park Ranger Files if you
• 36:03
  Speaker 1: haven't already. We're pushing hard to hit 1,000 subscribers before
• 36:07
  Speaker 1: my birthday, and we're so close. Every subscription, every comment helps.
• 36:12
  Speaker 1: Tell me in the comments, which story has freaked you
• 36:15
  Speaker 1: out the most so far? Your engagement means everything. Okay,
• 36:18
  Speaker 1: let's continue with more terrifying true stories from Appalachia. Story six,
• 36:23
  Speaker 1: the woman in the photograph. My name is Daniel Torres,
• 36:26
  Speaker 1: and I'm a landscape photographer based out of Charlotte, North Carolina.
• 36:30
  Speaker 1: In November of 2015, I was on a photography expedition
• 36:33
  Speaker 1: in the Blue Ridge Mountains, specifically around the Linville Gorge area.
• 36:38
  Speaker 1: I was working on a series about forgotten places, focusing
• 36:41
  Speaker 1: on old abandoned structures and remote locations. I'd been given
• 36:45
  Speaker 1: a tip about an old church that had been abandoned
• 36:47
  Speaker 1: sometime in the 1950s, supposedly still standing in a pretty
• 36:51
  Speaker 1: isolated area off the main trails. I like a good hike,
• 36:54
  Speaker 1: and the idea of photographing an old church in its
• 36:56
  Speaker 1: natural decay was perfect for my series. So I set
• 37:00
  Speaker 1: out early one morning to find it. The hike took
• 37:03
  Speaker 1: about three hours, following some barely there trails and relying
• 37:07
  Speaker 1: pretty heavily on my GPS. When I finally found the church,
• 37:10
  Speaker 1: it was even better than I'd hoped. The building was
• 37:13
  Speaker 1: still mostly intact, though the roof had partially collapsed, and
• 37:16
  Speaker 1: vegetation was growing through the floorboards. The wooden pews were
• 37:20
  Speaker 1: still there, rotting and covered in moss. And there was
• 37:23
  Speaker 1: even an old piano against one wall, keys yellowed and
• 37:26
  Speaker 1: several missing. I spent about two hours photographing every angle,
• 37:31
  Speaker 1: every detail. The light coming through the holes in the
• 37:34
  Speaker 1: roof was perfect, creating these dramatic rays that cut through
• 37:38
  Speaker 1: the dusty air. I was in photographer heaven. As I
• 37:42
  Speaker 1: was packing up my gear, I decided to take one
• 37:45
  Speaker 1: last shot of the altar area. I set up my tripod,
• 37:48
  Speaker 1: framed the shot, and was looking through my viewfinder when
• 37:51
  Speaker 1: I saw something that made me freeze. There was a
• 37:54
  Speaker 1: woman standing behind the altar. I hadn't seen her come in,
• 37:57
  Speaker 1: hadn't heard anything. She was just there, wearing what looked
• 38:01
  Speaker 1: like an old-fashioned white dress. She was staring directly at
• 38:05
  Speaker 1: my camera, not moving, not speaking. I stepped back from
• 38:08
  Speaker 1: my camera and called out hello, but she didn't respond.
• 38:11
  Speaker 1: She just kept staring. I asked if she was okay,
• 38:14
  Speaker 1: if she needed help. Nothing. Then she smiled. It wasn't
• 38:19
  Speaker 1: a friendly smile. It was wrong somehow. Too wide, showing
• 38:22
  Speaker 1: too many teeth. I grabbed my camera and started backing
• 38:25
  Speaker 1: toward the door. She didn't move, didn't follow, and she
• 38:28
  Speaker 1: just stood there with that horrible smile, watching me leave.
• 38:33
  Speaker 1: I practically ran back to my car, hiking those three
• 38:36
  Speaker 1: hours and half the time, adrenaline overriding my exhaustion. When
• 38:40
  Speaker 1: I got home, I downloaded my photos, and that's when
• 38:42
  Speaker 1: things got really weird. The last photo I'd taken, the
• 38:46
  Speaker 1: one of the altar, showed the woman. But she wasn't
• 38:49
  Speaker 1: behind the altar anymore. She was in the foreground, maybe
• 38:52
  Speaker 1: three feet from where my camera had been, right where
• 38:54
  Speaker 1: I'd been standing. Her face was clearer in the photo
• 38:57
  Speaker 1: than it had been in person. Her skin was gray,
• 39:00
  Speaker 1: almost translucent, and her eyes were completely black. That smile
• 39:05
  Speaker 1: was even worse in the photograph, stretching from ear to
• 39:07
  Speaker 1: ear in a way that wasn't anatomically possible. I deleted
• 39:11
  Speaker 1: the photo immediately. Then I emptied my trash. Then I
• 39:15
  Speaker 1: ran a program to make sure it was completely gone
• 39:17
  Speaker 1: from my hard drive. I know that sounds extreme, but
• 39:20
  Speaker 1: looking at that image made me feel physically ill. I
• 39:23
  Speaker 1: thought that was the end of it. I was wrong.
• 39:27
  Speaker 1: A few days later, I was going through some older
• 39:29
  Speaker 1: photos from a different shoot, and there she was. In
• 39:32
  Speaker 1: the background of a photo I'd taken in the Smoky
• 39:33
  Speaker 1: Mountains three months earlier. Just standing among the trees, barely visible,
• 39:38
  Speaker 1: but definitely there. Same white dress, same impossible smile. I
• 39:44
  Speaker 1: went through my entire catalog. Every photo I'd taken in
• 39:48
  Speaker 1: the mountains over the past year She was in 17
• 39:51
  Speaker 1: of them, always in the background, always watching, always with
• 39:54
  Speaker 1: that smile. And the dates of the photos showed a pattern.
• 39:58
  Speaker 1: She was getting closer to the camera in each one.
• 40:01
  Speaker 1: The first photo was from almost a year before I'd
• 40:04
  Speaker 1: seen her in the church. She was so far in
• 40:07
  Speaker 1: the background, she was barely a white smudge. With each
• 40:10
  Speaker 1: subsequent photo, she was closer. By the time I got
• 40:14
  Speaker 1: to the church photo, she was right next to me.
• 40:17
  Speaker 1: I haven't taken any photographs in the mountains since then.
• 40:20
  Speaker 1: I haven't even gone hiking. I sold all my camera
• 40:23
  Speaker 1: equipment and switched to doing studio work and urban photography.
• 40:28
  Speaker 1: But sometimes when I'm developing photos from a client shoot,
• 40:31
  Speaker 1: I'll see her, just for a second, in the corner
• 40:33
  Speaker 1: of an image. A flash of white, a too-wide smile.
• 40:38
  Speaker 1: Then when I look again, she's gone. I don't know
• 40:40
  Speaker 1: what she is or what she wants. I don't know
• 40:43
  Speaker 1: if she's still following me or if those brief appearances
• 40:46
  Speaker 1: are just my imagination. Trauma from that encounter in the church.
• 40:51
  Speaker 1: What I do know is that I'll never go back
• 40:52
  Speaker 1: to those mountains. And I'll never stop looking over my shoulder,
• 40:56
  Speaker 1: wondering if the next photo I take will be the
• 40:59
  Speaker 1: one where she's finally close enough to touch. Story seven.
• 41:04
  Speaker 1: My name is Patricia Henderson, and I'm a real estate
• 41:06
  Speaker 1: agent from Johnson City, Tennessee. My husband James and I
• 41:10
  Speaker 1: rented a cabin in the North Carolina mountains for our
• 41:13
  Speaker 1: 20th anniversary in October of 2021. We'd found it on
• 41:16
  Speaker 1: one of those vacation rental websites, and it looked perfect. Secluded,
• 41:21
  Speaker 1: beautiful views, hot tub, the whole nine yards. We arrived
• 41:24
  Speaker 1: on a Friday evening, and the cabin was even nicer
• 41:27
  Speaker 1: than the photos had shown. Modern amenities, but with that
• 41:30
  Speaker 1: rustic mountain charm. We unpacked, opened a bottle of wine,
• 41:34
  Speaker 1: and settled in for what we thought would be a
• 41:36
  Speaker 1: relaxing weekend. The first night was fine. We had a
• 41:40
  Speaker 1: nice dinner, soaked in the hot tub, went to bed early.
• 41:44
  Speaker 1: But around three in the morning, I woke up to
• 41:45
  Speaker 1: the sound of someone crying. It was a woman's voice,
• 41:48
  Speaker 1: coming from somewhere in the cabin. Soft, muffled sobs. I
• 41:53
  Speaker 1: woke James and we both listened. The crying was definitely real,
• 41:57
  Speaker 1: definitely inside the cabin with us. James grabbed a flashlight
• 42:01
  Speaker 1: and we searched every room. The cabin was only one floor,
• 42:04
  Speaker 1: just three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and an open living area.
• 42:09
  Speaker 1: We checked everywhere. We were alone. But the crying continued.
• 42:13
  Speaker 1: It seemed to be coming from the walls themselves, moving
• 42:16
  Speaker 1: from room to room as we searched. After about 20 minutes,
• 42:20
  Speaker 1: it stopped James thought maybe it was pipes or the
• 42:23
  Speaker 1: wind creating weird sounds. I wanted to believe that, but
• 42:28
  Speaker 1: it hadn't sounded like pipes. It had sounded like a person.
• 42:33
  Speaker 1: We went back to bed, though I had trouble falling asleep.
• 42:36
  Speaker 1: When I finally did drift off, I had terrible nightmares.
• 42:40
  Speaker 1: I dreamed I was in the cabin, but it was different. Older, dirtier,
• 42:44
  Speaker 1: and there was a woman in the bedroom with me,
• 42:46
  Speaker 1: standing in the corner, crying. When I tried to speak
• 42:49
  Speaker 1: to her, she looked up. and her face was covered
• 42:52
  Speaker 1: in bruises. I woke up screaming. James tried to calm
• 42:56
  Speaker 1: me down, said it was just a bad dream. But
• 42:59
  Speaker 1: when I looked at the corner of the room where
• 43:01
  Speaker 1: the woman had been standing in my dream, I saw
• 43:03
  Speaker 1: something that made my blood run cold. There were wet
• 43:07
  Speaker 1: footprints on the floor, small bare feet, leading from the
• 43:11
  Speaker 1: corner to our bed. James saw them too. We both
• 43:15
  Speaker 1: stared at those footprints, trying to come up with some
• 43:17
  Speaker 1: logical explanation, but they were fresh. the water still soaking
• 43:22
  Speaker 1: into the hardwood, and they ended right at the side
• 43:25
  Speaker 1: of the bed where I'd been sleeping. We decided to
• 43:27
  Speaker 1: leave first thing in the morning. We weren't staying another night.
• 43:31
  Speaker 1: But when morning came, we found the front door wouldn't open.
• 43:35
  Speaker 1: It wasn't locked from the inside, just wouldn't open. The
• 43:38
  Speaker 1: deadbolt turned, the handle turned, but the door wouldn't budge.
• 43:42
  Speaker 1: Same with the back door and all the windows. It
• 43:44
  Speaker 1: was like they'd been sealed shut. James tried breaking a
• 43:48
  Speaker 1: window with a chair. but the glass wouldn't break. Not crack,
• 43:52
  Speaker 1: not shatter, nothing. He hit it as hard as he could,
• 43:55
  Speaker 1: and the chair just bounced off. We were trapped. We
• 44:00
  Speaker 1: tried calling 911, but we had no cell service. The
• 44:04
  Speaker 1: cabin was supposed to have a landline, but when we
• 44:06
  Speaker 1: picked it up, all we heard was that crying again.
• 44:10
  Speaker 1: The same woman's voice sobbing into the phone line. We
• 44:13
  Speaker 1: spent that day trying to find a way out, but
• 44:16
  Speaker 1: nothing worked. As it got dark, we heard footsteps walking
• 44:19
  Speaker 1: around the cabin. Slow, deliberate steps, and that crying, constant now,
• 44:26
  Speaker 1: coming from every room at once. That night, we both
• 44:30
  Speaker 1: had the same dream. We were watching a scene play
• 44:33
  Speaker 1: out like a movie. A young woman, maybe 25, living
• 44:36
  Speaker 1: in the cabin with her husband. But he wasn't a
• 44:38
  Speaker 1: good man. He hurt her, hit her, locked her in
• 44:42
  Speaker 1: the bedroom. In our dream, we watched him beat her
• 44:44
  Speaker 1: to death, then bury her body in the woods behind
• 44:47
  Speaker 1: the cabin When we woke up Sunday morning, the doors opened.
• 44:51
  Speaker 1: Just like that. We threw our stuff in the car
• 44:53
  Speaker 1: and got out of there as fast as we could.
• 44:56
  Speaker 1: When we got home, I called the owner of the cabin.
• 44:59
  Speaker 1: I told her we'd had to leave early due to
• 45:01
  Speaker 1: an emergency and asked if she'd give us a partial refund.
• 45:05
  Speaker 1: She was very apologetic and said, of course. Then I
• 45:07
  Speaker 1: asked her about the cabin's history, if anything bad had
• 45:10
  Speaker 1: ever happened there. There was a long silence. Then she
• 45:14
  Speaker 1: asked how I knew. She told me that the cabin
• 45:17
  Speaker 1: had been built in the 1970s by a couple. In 1983,
• 45:20
  Speaker 1: the wife disappeared. The husband claimed she'd run off with
• 45:24
  Speaker 1: another man, but her body was found two years later
• 45:26
  Speaker 1: in the woods behind the cabin. The husband was arrested, tried,
• 45:30
  Speaker 1: and convicted. He died in prison in 1999. The owner
• 45:34
  Speaker 1: said she'd bought the cabin in 2019 and completely renovated it,
• 45:37
  Speaker 1: thinking that would take care of any issues. She'd had
• 45:41
  Speaker 1: a few guests complain about strange noises, but nothing like
• 45:44
  Speaker 1: what we experienced. She offered us a full refund and
• 45:47
  Speaker 1: begged us not to leave a bad review. I took
• 45:51
  Speaker 1: the refund, but I didn't leave a review. What would
• 45:54
  Speaker 1: I say? That the ghost of a murdered woman trapped
• 45:57
  Speaker 1: us in a cabin for two days? No one would
• 45:59
  Speaker 1: believe me. But I know it was real. We both do.
• 46:03
  Speaker 1: And sometimes I still have that dream watching that poor
• 46:06
  Speaker 1: woman's final moments. Only now, at the end of the dream,
• 46:10
  Speaker 1: she looks at me. Right at me. And she mouths
• 46:13
  Speaker 1: two words. Help me. I don't know how to help her.
• 46:19
  Speaker 1: I don't know if she's still trapped in that cabin
• 46:21
  Speaker 1: or if she somehow followed me home. All I know
• 46:23
  Speaker 1: is that I'll never rent another mountain cabin, and I'll
• 46:26
  Speaker 1: never stop feeling guilty that I left her there. Story eight.
• 46:30
  Speaker 1: My name is Stephen Baker, and I'm a paramedic from Morgantown,
• 46:33
  Speaker 1: West Virginia. In the summer of 2019, my girlfriend Rachel
• 46:37
  Speaker 1: and I went on a backpacking trip in the Dolly
• 46:39
  Speaker 1: Sodds Wilderness Area. We'd planned to spend four days hiking
• 46:43
  Speaker 1: a loop trail, camping at different spots each night. The
• 46:47
  Speaker 1: first two days went great. Beautiful weather, stunning views, no problems.
• 46:53
  Speaker 1: On the third day, we were hiking through a particularly
• 46:56
  Speaker 1: remote section when we came across something strange. There was
• 47:00
  Speaker 1: a backpack sitting in the middle of the trail. It
• 47:03
  Speaker 1: was an ice pack, expensive looking, and it appeared to
• 47:06
  Speaker 1: be fully loaded. Rachel and I stopped and looked around,
• 47:09
  Speaker 1: calling out to see if anyone was nearby. No response.
• 47:14
  Speaker 1: We checked the pack. thinking maybe there was an AD
• 47:17
  Speaker 1: or something that would tell us who it belonged to. Inside,
• 47:20
  Speaker 1: we found clothes, food, a sleeping bag, all the typical
• 47:23
  Speaker 1: backpacking gear. We also found a wallet with a driver's license.
• 47:28
  Speaker 1: The license belonged to a woman named Amanda Richardson, aged
• 47:31
  Speaker 1: 28 from Ohio. There was also a phone in one
• 47:34
  Speaker 1: of the pockets, but it was dead. Rachel suggested we
• 47:38
  Speaker 1: take the pack with us and turn it into a
• 47:39
  Speaker 1: ranger station when we got back to civilization. I agreed.
• 47:44
  Speaker 1: We strapped it to my pack and continued hiking. About
• 47:47
  Speaker 1: an hour later, we found another backpack. This one also
• 47:51
  Speaker 1: appeared to be fully loaded, sitting right in the middle
• 47:54
  Speaker 1: of the trail. Just like the first one, same situation,
• 47:57
  Speaker 1: no one around, and when we checked it, we found
• 47:59
  Speaker 1: it belonged to a man named Christopher Hayes, age 32,
• 48:03
  Speaker 1: also from Ohio. We started to get worried. Two abandoned
• 48:07
  Speaker 1: packs was strange, really strange. We picked up the pace,
• 48:10
  Speaker 1: thinking maybe the owners were ahead of us, having some
• 48:12
  Speaker 1: kind of emergency. That's when we found the tent. It
• 48:16
  Speaker 1: was set up off the trail, maybe 20 feet into
• 48:19
  Speaker 1: the woods. The flap was open and we could see
• 48:21
  Speaker 1: sleeping bags inside. We called out again. No answer. Rachel
• 48:26
  Speaker 1: stayed on the trail while I approached the tent carefully.
• 48:30
  Speaker 1: The sleeping bags were laid out like someone had been
• 48:32
  Speaker 1: using them. And there were two more backpacks inside, along
• 48:36
  Speaker 1: with various personal items. But no people. It looked like
• 48:40
  Speaker 1: they'd just gotten up and walked away, leaving everything behind.
• 48:44
  Speaker 1: I was starting to seriously freak out at this point.
• 48:46
  Speaker 1: Four people, all their gear, just gone. Rachel suggested we
• 48:50
  Speaker 1: call for help, but we had no cell service out there.
• 48:54
  Speaker 1: The nearest ranger station was at least a full day's
• 48:56
  Speaker 1: hike away. We made the decision to stay at the
• 49:00
  Speaker 1: campsite and wait, thinking maybe the missing hikers had just
• 49:03
  Speaker 1: gone off trail for some reason and would be back soon.
• 49:06
  Speaker 1: While we waited, I went through the backpacks more thoroughly,
• 49:09
  Speaker 1: trying to find anything that might explain what happened. That's
• 49:12
  Speaker 1: when I found the notebook. It belonged to Amanda Richardson,
• 49:17
  Speaker 1: and the last entry was dated two days before we
• 49:19
  Speaker 1: found her past. She'd written about how beautiful the area was,
• 49:23
  Speaker 1: how she and her three friends were having an amazing time.
• 49:27
  Speaker 1: Normal hiking journal stuff. But the last line made my
• 49:30
  Speaker 1: skin crawl. We heard singing coming from the rocks, going
• 49:34
  Speaker 1: to investigate. Rachel and I looked at each other. Singing
• 49:38
  Speaker 1: from the rocks? What did that mean? We decided we
• 49:41
  Speaker 1: weren't staying there after all. We'd hike back the way
• 49:44
  Speaker 1: we'd come, get to the ranger station as fast as possible,
• 49:47
  Speaker 1: and report what we'd found. As we were packing up
• 49:50
  Speaker 1: to leave, we heard it singing. It was coming from
• 49:54
  Speaker 1: a rock formation about a hundred yards away, these huge
• 49:57
  Speaker 1: boulders that jutted up from the forest floor. The voice
• 50:00
  Speaker 1: was female, high and sweet, and she was singing something
• 50:03
  Speaker 1: that sounded like a lullaby. Rachel grabbed my arm and
• 50:06
  Speaker 1: said we needed to leave it now. I agreed. We
• 50:09
  Speaker 1: started hiking back down the trail as fast as we
• 50:11
  Speaker 1: could without running. The singing followed us. For the next
• 50:16
  Speaker 1: three hours as we hiked, we could hear that voice
• 50:18
  Speaker 1: singing behind us. Sometimes it was close, sometimes it was distant,
• 50:22
  Speaker 1: but it never stopped. When we'd stop to rest, the
• 50:25
  Speaker 1: singing would stop. The moment we started moving again, it
• 50:28
  Speaker 1: would start back up. We hiked through the night, not
• 50:31
  Speaker 1: daring to stop for more than a few minutes at
• 50:33
  Speaker 1: a time. By dawn, we'd made it back to the
• 50:36
  Speaker 1: trailhead and drove straight to the ranger station. The rangers
• 50:39
  Speaker 1: took our report seriously. A search and rescue team went
• 50:42
  Speaker 1: out that same day. They found the campsite, the backpacks,
• 50:46
  Speaker 1: all the gear, but they never found Amanda Richardson, Christopher Hayes,
• 50:50
  Speaker 1: or their two friends. The case is still open. The
• 50:54
  Speaker 1: official explanation is that the four hikers got lost and
• 50:57
  Speaker 1: succumbed to the elements, though why they'd leave all their
• 51:00
  Speaker 1: gear behind is anyone's guess. But I know what happened.
• 51:04
  Speaker 1: They heard that singing and went to investigate, just like
• 51:07
  Speaker 1: the journal entry said. And whatever was doing, the singing
• 51:10
  Speaker 1: took them. Rachel and I broke up a few months
• 51:13
  Speaker 1: after that trip. She couldn't deal with the nightmares, the
• 51:16
  Speaker 1: constant fear. I understand. I have the nightmares too. Dreams
• 51:22
  Speaker 1: where I'm walking toward those rocks, drawn by that beautiful singing.
• 51:27
  Speaker 1: And I know if I get there, I'll never come back.
• 51:30
  Speaker 1: I've thought about going back. About trying to find those people.
• 51:34
  Speaker 1: But I know I won't. Because whatever is out there
• 51:36
  Speaker 1: in those rocks is still singing. and I'm terrified that,
• 51:40
  Speaker 1: if I hear it again, I won't be able to resist.
• 51:43
  Speaker 1: Story 9. My name is Michelle Carter, and I'm a
• 51:46
  Speaker 1: schoolteacher from Roanoke, Virginia. What happened to me on a
• 51:49
  Speaker 1: covered bridge in the mountains of North Carolina still gives
• 51:51
  Speaker 1: me nightmares, and this was back in the spring of 2018.
• 51:54
  Speaker 1: I was driving home from visiting my sister in Asheville,
• 51:58
  Speaker 1: taking some back roads, because I liked the scenic route
• 52:00
  Speaker 1: and I wasn't in any hurry. It was late afternoon
• 52:03
  Speaker 1: getting toward evening, and I was driving through some pretty
• 52:06
  Speaker 1: remote areas. I came around a curve and saw this
• 52:09
  Speaker 1: old covered bridge ahead. It looked like something out of
• 52:12
  Speaker 1: a postcard, one of those historic wooden bridges that are
• 52:15
  Speaker 1: rare nowadays. There was a small sign next to it
• 52:17
  Speaker 1: indicating it was built in 1882. I love old architecture,
• 52:21
  Speaker 1: so I decided to stop and take a few pictures.
• 52:25
  Speaker 1: I parked my car on the side of the road
• 52:26
  Speaker 1: and walked onto the bridge. It was probably 50 feet long.
• 52:30
  Speaker 1: My footsteps echoed on the wooden planks as I walked.
• 52:33
  Speaker 1: I was taking pictures with my phone when I noticed
• 52:35
  Speaker 1: something carved into one of the wooden beams. It looked
• 52:38
  Speaker 1: like names, dozens of them, carved into the wood. I
• 52:42
  Speaker 1: moved closer to read them, and that's when I realized
• 52:45
  Speaker 1: they all had dates next to them. Mary Elizabeth Walker,
• 52:49
  Speaker 1: June 3rd, 1889. Thomas James Preston, September 17th, 1891. Sarah
• 52:52
  Speaker 1: Louise Harrison, February 28th, 1894. They went on and on,
• 53:06
  Speaker 1: all these names with dates from the late 1800s and
• 53:08
  Speaker 1: early 1900s. At first I thought it was just people
• 53:12
  Speaker 1: carving their names and the dates they'd visited, like a
• 53:14
  Speaker 1: historical guest book. But then I noticed the dates were
• 53:17
  Speaker 1: all death dates. Next to each name was a small inscription.
• 53:21
  Speaker 1: Drowned in the river below. Fell from the bridge. Took
• 53:25
  Speaker 1: her own life here. I was reading through these morbid
• 53:29
  Speaker 1: carvings when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around,
• 53:32
  Speaker 1: but there was no one there. The bridge was empty.
• 53:36
  Speaker 1: I was about to go back to my car when
• 53:38
  Speaker 1: I heard a voice. You should add your name. It
• 53:42
  Speaker 1: was a woman's voice, and it seemed to come from
• 53:44
  Speaker 1: everywhere at once. I spun around looking for the source,
• 53:46
  Speaker 1: but I was alone. Who's there? I called out, my
• 53:50
  Speaker 1: voice shaking. Add your name, the voice said again. Everyone
• 53:54
  Speaker 1: who crosses has to add their name. I started backing
• 53:57
  Speaker 1: toward my car, my heart racing. That's when I saw her.
• 54:01
  Speaker 1: Standing at the far end of the bridge, blocking my
• 54:04
  Speaker 1: path back to my car, was a woman in an
• 54:06
  Speaker 1: old-fashioned white dress. Her hair was long and wet, hanging
• 54:11
  Speaker 1: down like she'd just come out of the water. Add
• 54:13
  Speaker 1: your name, she said again, and this time her mouth
• 54:16
  Speaker 1: moved with the words. I turned to run the other way,
• 54:20
  Speaker 1: but there was another woman standing at that end of
• 54:21
  Speaker 1: the bridge, also in white, also with wet hair. Then
• 54:26
  Speaker 1: another appeared, and another, until there were at least a
• 54:29
  Speaker 1: dozen women, all in white dresses, all dripping water onto
• 54:33
  Speaker 1: the wooden planks. They started moving toward me, closing in
• 54:36
  Speaker 1: from both sides. I looked over the edge of the bridge,
• 54:39
  Speaker 1: down at the river below. It was maybe a 20-foot drop.
• 54:43
  Speaker 1: The water looked dark and fast-moving. Add your name? They
• 54:47
  Speaker 1: all said in unison. Join us in the water! I
• 54:51
  Speaker 1: made a split-second decision. I climbed onto the railing of
• 54:54
  Speaker 1: the bridge and jumped. The water was ice-cold, and the
• 54:57
  Speaker 1: current was stronger than it looked. I went under immediately,
• 55:00
  Speaker 1: got turned around, didn't know which way was up. My
• 55:03
  Speaker 1: lungs were burning and I thought I was going to drown.
• 55:06
  Speaker 1: Then I felt hands grabbing me, pulling me up. I
• 55:08
  Speaker 1: broke the surface and gasped for air. The hands kept pulling,
• 55:12
  Speaker 1: dragging me to the shore. When I finally collapsed on
• 55:15
  Speaker 1: the riverbank, coughing up water, I looked up to thank
• 55:18
  Speaker 1: whoever had saved me. There was no one there. I
• 55:22
  Speaker 1: was alone on the riverbank, soaking wet and freezing, but alive.
• 55:26
  Speaker 1: I looked back at the bridge and I could see
• 55:27
  Speaker 1: figures standing on it, looking down at me. The women
• 55:31
  Speaker 1: in white. I stumbled through the woods until I found
• 55:34
  Speaker 1: the road, about a quarter mile downstream from the bridge.
• 55:37
  Speaker 1: My car was still parked where I'd left it. I
• 55:39
  Speaker 1: got in, started the engine, and drove away without looking back.
• 55:43
  Speaker 1: When I got home, I researched that bridge. Turns out
• 55:46
  Speaker 1: it has a dark history. At least 14 women died
• 55:49
  Speaker 1: there between 1882 and 1920. Some drowned in the river,
• 55:53
  Speaker 1: some jumped from the bridge, some were pushed. The bridge
• 55:56
  Speaker 1: had been closed to vehicles in 1975 due to structural concerns.
• 56:01
  Speaker 1: but it was still accessible to pedestrians. I found articles
• 56:04
  Speaker 1: about other people who'd visited the bridge and had similar experiences.
• 56:08
  Speaker 1: Some saw the women in white. Some heard voices telling
• 56:12
  Speaker 1: them to jump. A few people did jump. Not all
• 56:15
  Speaker 1: of them survived. I've never gone back to that bridge,
• 56:18
  Speaker 1: and I never will. But sometimes late at night, I
• 56:21
  Speaker 1: dream that I'm standing on it again, and the women
• 56:24
  Speaker 1: are there. And they're telling me I didn't finish what
• 56:26
  Speaker 1: I started, that I still need to add my name
• 56:29
  Speaker 1: to the wall, In the dream, I always climb up
• 56:32
  Speaker 1: onto that railing. And I always jump. But when I
• 56:35
  Speaker 1: hit the water, I don't come back up. I just
• 56:39
  Speaker 1: sink down, down into the darkness. And I can hear
• 56:42
  Speaker 1: them singing. The same lullaby I heard that day on
• 56:45
  Speaker 1: the bridge. And I know that one day, the dream
• 56:48
  Speaker 1: will become reality. One day I'll find myself driving on
• 56:52
  Speaker 1: that same back road. And I won't be able to
• 56:55
  Speaker 1: resist the urge to stop at that bridge one more time.
• 56:58
  Speaker 1: And when I do, I'll add my name to the wall.
• 57:01
  Speaker 1: and then I'll join them in the water. Story 10.
• 57:05
  Speaker 1: My name is Richard Coleman, and I'm a geology professor
• 57:08
  Speaker 1: at East Tennessee State University. In April of 2022, I
• 57:11
  Speaker 1: took a group of students on a field trip to
• 57:13
  Speaker 1: study rock formations in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
• 57:17
  Speaker 1: What started as an educational excursion turned into something I
• 57:21
  Speaker 1: still can't fully explain. We had a group of eight students, myself,
• 57:25
  Speaker 1: and a graduate teaching assistant named Kyle. The plan was
• 57:28
  Speaker 1: to hike to a specific geological site about four miles
• 57:32
  Speaker 1: from the nearest trailhead, take samples and measurements, and hike back.
• 57:36
  Speaker 1: Standard field work that I'd done countless times before. We
• 57:40
  Speaker 1: set out early in the morning and the hike to
• 57:41
  Speaker 1: the site was uneventful. We reached our destination around noon
• 57:45
  Speaker 1: and the students spread out to take their measurements and
• 57:47
  Speaker 1: collect samples. I was supervising a couple of students when
• 57:51
  Speaker 1: Kyle came over and told me he'd found something interesting
• 57:54
  Speaker 1: about 100 yards off our planned route. He'd been exploring
• 57:57
  Speaker 1: a little and found what looked like an old trail
• 57:59
  Speaker 1: that wasn't on any of our maps. It was pretty overgrown,
• 58:02
  Speaker 1: but definitely man-made, with cut logs forming steps in the
• 58:06
  Speaker 1: steeper sections. As a geologist, I'm always interested in how
• 58:10
  Speaker 1: people move through landscapes, so I told him we'd check
• 58:13
  Speaker 1: it out once everyone finished their work. About an hour later,
• 58:16
  Speaker 1: we'd wrapped up what we needed to do. I told
• 58:19
  Speaker 1: the students we were going to take a quick detour
• 58:21
  Speaker 1: to look at this old trail Kyle had found before
• 58:23
  Speaker 1: heading back. We followed him to where the trail started,
• 58:26
  Speaker 1: and I have to admit, I was curious. It was
• 58:28
  Speaker 1: clearly old. probably decades since it had seen regular youth.
• 58:32
  Speaker 1: But it was well constructed. Someone had put significant effort
• 58:36
  Speaker 1: into building it. We followed the trail for about 15 minutes,
• 58:40
  Speaker 1: and it just kept going deeper into the forest, winding
• 58:43
  Speaker 1: around large boulders and following the contours of the land.
• 58:47
  Speaker 1: I was about to turn us around when one of
• 58:48
  Speaker 1: the students, a girl named Emma, called out that she'd
• 58:52
  Speaker 1: found something. There was a clearing ahead, and in the
• 58:55
  Speaker 1: middle of it was a stone cairn, maybe six feet tall.
• 58:59
  Speaker 1: But this wasn't like the small trail markers you sometimes
• 59:01
  Speaker 1: would see. This was elaborate, built with precision, and the
• 59:05
  Speaker 1: stones were covered in carvings, symbols I didn't recognize. and
• 59:10
  Speaker 1: what looked like writing in a language I couldn't identify.
• 59:13
  Speaker 1: As a scientist, my first instinct was excitement. This could
• 59:16
  Speaker 1: be a significant archaeological find, but something about it felt wrong.
• 59:21
  Speaker 1: The clearing was too quiet. No birds, no insects, nothing.
• 59:25
  Speaker 1: Just absolute silence. I started taking pictures of the carvings,
• 59:29
  Speaker 1: and the students were examining the cairn from different angles.
• 59:33
  Speaker 1: Kyle walked around to the far side and called out
• 59:35
  Speaker 1: that there was an opening, like a small doorway, built
• 59:38
  Speaker 1: into the base of the cairn. I told him not
• 59:42
  Speaker 1: to go inside, that we needed to report this to
• 59:44
  Speaker 1: the park service and let proper archaeologists examine it. But
• 59:48
  Speaker 1: before I could stop him, he'd bent down and stepped
• 59:51
  Speaker 1: through the opening. Kyle, get back here, I called. He
• 59:55
  Speaker 1: didn't respond. I walked around to where the opening was
• 59:58
  Speaker 1: and called his name again. Still nothing. I could see
• 1:00:02
  Speaker 1: into the opening, and it appeared to be a small chamber,
• 1:00:05
  Speaker 1: maybe four feet deep. But Kyle wasn't inside. I called
• 1:00:09
  Speaker 1: his name louder, starting to get worried. The students gathered around,
• 1:00:12
  Speaker 1: and we all looked into the chamber. It was empty.
• 1:00:15
  Speaker 1: No other exits. No way Kyle could have gotten out.
• 1:00:18
  Speaker 1: But he was gone. Emma suggested maybe he'd come out
• 1:00:21
  Speaker 1: a different way and was playing a prank on us.
• 1:00:24
  Speaker 1: We spread out, searching the clearing and calling his name. Nothing.
• 1:00:27
  Speaker 1: He'd simply vanished. I made the decision to get the
• 1:00:30
  Speaker 1: students out of there and call for help. We hiked
• 1:00:33
  Speaker 1: back to the trailhead as quickly as possible, and I
• 1:00:36
  Speaker 1: immediately reported Kyle's disappearance to park rangers. A massive search
• 1:00:40
  Speaker 1: operation was launched. Search and rescue teams, helicopters, dogs, the works.
• 1:00:46
  Speaker 1: I led them back to the clearing with the cairn,
• 1:00:49
  Speaker 1: but when we got there, the clearing was empty. The
• 1:00:52
  Speaker 1: cairn was gone. Not destroyed, not knocked over, just gone.
• 1:00:56
  Speaker 1: like it had never existed. The rangers thought I was
• 1:00:59
  Speaker 1: either lying or had gotten confused about the location, but
• 1:01:02
  Speaker 1: I had GPS coordinates. I knew exactly where we'd been.
• 1:01:06
  Speaker 1: We searched the entire area. No cairn, no stone chamber,
• 1:01:10
  Speaker 1: no Kyle. The official conclusion was that Kyle had gotten
• 1:01:13
  Speaker 1: separated from the group and gotten lost. Despite extensive searching,
• 1:01:18
  Speaker 1: he was never found. The case is still open, but
• 1:01:22
  Speaker 1: there are no leads. But I know what happened. Kyle
• 1:01:25
  Speaker 1: stepped into that chamber and went somewhere else, somewhere we
• 1:01:29
  Speaker 1: can't follow. I had the photos I'd taken of the
• 1:01:32
  Speaker 1: cairn and the carvings on my phone. I showed them
• 1:01:34
  Speaker 1: to colleagues, to experts in ancient languages and symbols. No
• 1:01:39
  Speaker 1: one could identify them. One professor I showed them to,
• 1:01:42
  Speaker 1: a specialist in Native American history, went pale when he
• 1:01:44
  Speaker 1: saw them. He told me to delete the photos and
• 1:01:47
  Speaker 1: never speak of what I'd found. When I asked why,
• 1:01:50
  Speaker 1: he said that some things are hidden for a reason,
• 1:01:53
  Speaker 1: and the people who built that cairn knew exactly what
• 1:01:55
  Speaker 1: they were doing. I didn't delete the photos right away,
• 1:01:58
  Speaker 1: but a week later, they were gone from my phone,
• 1:02:01
  Speaker 1: not deleted by me, just gone. The backups I'd made
• 1:02:04
  Speaker 1: to my computer were also gone. It was like they'd
• 1:02:07
  Speaker 1: been erased from existence. I still lead field trips, but
• 1:02:11
  Speaker 1: never to that area, and I make sure to stick
• 1:02:13
  Speaker 1: strictly to marked trails. Some paths are meant to be forgotten,
• 1:02:17
  Speaker 1: and some doorways are meant to stay closed. Kyle's family
• 1:02:20
  Speaker 1: never got closure. I never got answers. All I have
• 1:02:24
  Speaker 1: are memories of that silent clearing, that impossible cairn, and
• 1:02:28
  Speaker 1: the knowledge that my teaching assistant stepped through a doorway
• 1:02:31
  Speaker 1: and never came back. Sometimes I dream about going back.
• 1:02:35
  Speaker 1: About finding that trail again. About stepping through that opening
• 1:02:38
  Speaker 1: to see where Kyle went. But I know if I
• 1:02:41
  Speaker 1: do that, I won't come back either. And maybe that's
• 1:02:44
  Speaker 1: what it wants. Maybe that's what it's always wanted. Just
• 1:02:48
  Speaker 1: one more person to step through. Just one more person
• 1:02:51
  Speaker 1: to disappear into whatever lies on the other side. Hey everyone,
• 1:02:55
  Speaker 1: thank you so much for sticking with me through all
• 1:02:57
  Speaker 1: 10 of these absolutely terrifying stories. From Appalachia. These are
• 1:03:02
  Speaker 1: real accounts from real people who experienced things in those
• 1:03:05
  Speaker 1: mountains that they'll never forget. If these stories gave you chills,
• 1:03:10
  Speaker 1: if they made you think twice about your next camping trip,
• 1:03:13
  Speaker 1: then please do me a huge favor. Hit that subscribe
• 1:03:16
  Speaker 1: button right now. We are so incredibly close to 1,000 subscribers,
• 1:03:22
  Speaker 1: and we need to hit that milestone before my birthday
• 1:03:24
  Speaker 1: next month. Every single subscription matters. Every like helps. And please,
• 1:03:30
  Speaker 1: please leave a comment telling me which of these 10
• 1:03:32
  Speaker 1: stories scared you the most. Was it the singing in
• 1:03:35
  Speaker 1: Spruce Hollow? The fire tower with the names and dates?
• 1:03:39
  Speaker 1: The children's voices at the old homestead? Your engagement helps
• 1:03:43
  Speaker 1: this channel grow and allows me to bring you more
• 1:03:45
  Speaker 1: true horror stories from the most mysterious and terrifying places
• 1:03:49
  Speaker 1: in America. Share this video with your friends who love
• 1:03:52
  Speaker 1: scary stories. Tell them about park ranger files. Help us
• 1:03:56
  Speaker 1: build this community of people who understand that sometimes the
• 1:04:00
  Speaker 1: scariest stories are the ones that actually happened. Thank you
• 1:04:04
  Speaker 1: again for watching.