Latest / Shallow Nights: Scary Bedtime Stories / New Year's Eve Nightmares: Chilling Encounters from Wilderness to Urban Shadows

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New Year's Eve Nightmares: Chilling Encounters from Wilderness to Urban Shadows · Shallow Nights: Scary Bedtime Stories

0:06
New Year's Eve has never been my scene.
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While most people countdown the seconds to midnight with friends
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or strangers surrounded by champagne and confetti, I've
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always preferred quiet, reflective celebrations.
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As a photographer, nature has always been my greatest muse.
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So last year I decided to welcome 2024 by doing what I
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loved most, hiking alone in the Appalachian wilderness near
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Asheville, NC, with my camera in hand.
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The day was cold, the kind of cold that nips at your nose but
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invigorates your lungs. I packed light my favorite Nikon
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camera, a thermos of coffee, some granola bars, and a
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flashlight. The trail I chose was relatively
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short, leading to an overlook that promised a stunning view of
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the Blue Ridge Mountains. I plan to shoot some photos at
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sunset, sip my coffee, and maybe catch the stars as they emerged.
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The hike started gratefully. The trail was quiet with no one
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else around, which was exactly how I liked it.
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Solitude in nature has always been my reset button.
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As the sun began to set, I reached the overlook.
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The view didn't disappoint. Rolling hills blanketed in
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shades of orange and purple with the promise of a clear, starry
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night ahead. I set up my tripod and spent the
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next hour capturing the changing light.
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It was as the last light faded and the sky turned inky black
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that I saw them. At first I thought it was just
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weird shadows, but as I adjusted my camera's focus, I realized
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there were figures standing among the trees about 50 feet
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away. 5 or 6 people, maybe more. They were wearing masks.
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Not the cheap party kind, but detailed, grotesque masks that
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looked hand carved. Some had exaggerated animal
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features, others were distorted human faces.
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They didn't move, didn't speak. They just stood there looking at
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me. Happy new year.
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I muttered to myself. Deciding to mind my own
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business, I packed up my gear and started heading back down
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the trail. That's when the footsteps
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started. I stopped, swung my flashlight
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around and stared into the dark trees, trying to catch
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something, anything out of the ordinary.
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But the trail behind me was empty, just the quiet whisper of
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wind in the branches. Still, unease crawled under my
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skin. I picked up my pace, convincing
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myself it was probably just an animal, or just my imagination
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running wild. As usual.
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In the darkness of the forest, it is easy to get confused and
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scared for no reason. But then the footsteps got
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louder and closer. I stopped again, whipping the
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flashlight around. Something stirred at the very
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edge of the illuminated area. Not a deer, definitely not my
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imagination. Hello.
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I called out, though it felt more like a croak.
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The silence that followed was almost suffocating.
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No response, no rustling, no retreating footsteps, just
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nothing. I started walking faster.
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My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my mouth.
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Every step felt like it took me deeper into a trap.
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The familiar markers I'd noted on my way in the split tree, the
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Moss covered boulder were harder to spot in the dark, and the
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trail seemed to stretch longer than I remembered.
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The flashlight jittered in my unsteady hand, casting shadows
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that danced and shifted, fueling my paranoia.
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Then I saw them again. The masked figures were back.
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This time they weren't scattered in the distance.
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They were closer, standing just off the trail, hidden in the
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shadows of the trees. My flashlight caught fragments
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of their forms. There were more of them now,
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maybe 8 or 9, all frozen in place like some twisted tableau.
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They weren't moving, but they weren't just standing either.
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They were waiting. I backed away.
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What do you want? I yelled, my voice cracking.
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They didn't answer. Of course they didn't.
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They just stood there, They're horrifying masks crooked as
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though they were scrutinizing me.
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One mask had antlers, another was streaked with what looked
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like dried blood. The whole thing felt surreal,
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like some nightmare I couldn't wake up from.
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Then they stepped forward, all of them in Younison.
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I didn't wait to see what came next.
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Adrenaline surged and I bolted down the trail, the beam of my
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flashlight bouncing wildly as I ran.
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Branches snagged at my jacket, roots clawed at my boots, but I
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didn't care. The sound of their footsteps
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followed me, echoing through the woods.
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They weren't running, but they didn't need to.
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Their pace was steady, relentless, like they knew I
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couldn't outrun them. When I finally broke through the
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tree line into the parking lot, I felt relief, but it was gone
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almost immediately. My car, parked alone at the edge
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of the lot, was now blocked by a pile of logs and branches.
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It was deliberate. Whoever these people were, they
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planned this. No, no, no, I muttered, fumbling
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with my keys as I sprinted to the car.
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I flung myself inside, locking the doors, my hands shaking so
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badly it took three tries to get the key into the ignition.
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I finally managed to start the car, and the headlights
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illuminated the figures emerging from the woods.
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They stood just at the edge of the lot, their masks glowing in
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the beams. They came slowly walking toward
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me. Screw it.
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I threw the car into gear and floored it.
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A loud screech came from the tires as they slammed into the
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makeshift barrier. The sound of splintering wood
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and grinding branches was chaotic as the car jolted and
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bounced over the obstruction. I didn't care about the damage,
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I just needed to get out of there.
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As I speed down the road, the rearview mirror showed nothing
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but darkness. Somehow that felt worse than if
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they'd been following me. The next morning my car was a
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mess. Scratched paint, a cracked
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headlight, and some dents on the bumper.
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I didn't know what to make of the night before, so I told my
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friend Derek about it over coffee.
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He listened, then pulled out his phone.
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Dude, have you heard about that YouTube channel?
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They do these creepy Appalachian Trail pranks.
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He showed me a few clips and my stomach sank.
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The masks, the woods, it all matched.
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You think it was them? I asked, half in disbelief, half
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relieved it wasn't something more sinister.
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Only one way to find out, he said, pulling up their contact
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info. I emailed the channel describing
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what had happened. A few hours later they replied.
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Yeah, that was us. Sorry if we freaked you out, we
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didn't think anyone was actually hiking that late.
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We can cover the damage to your car, just let us know the repair
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costs. I didn't know whether to be
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pissed or relieved. On one hand, it wasn't some
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malevolent cult or supernatural force.
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On the other hand, they deliberately terrorized me for
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clicks. I sent them the repair estimate
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and left it at that. And even though I know it was
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just a prank, the memory of those masks lurking in the dark
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still makes my skin crawl. Some things, joke or not, stick
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with you. In New York City, New Year's Eve
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pulses with a unique magic The lights, the energy, and the hope
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that comes with turning the page to a new year.
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For me, though, the night started off on a typical note.
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A rooftop party at my friend Rachel's apartment seemed like
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the perfect way to close out the chaos of 2019.
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After a year that had pushed everyone to their limits, I
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craved a night of laughter and celebration.
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Rachel's Place was a dream. Huge windows with a breathtaking
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skyline view, the kind of view you only see in magazines.
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The party buzzed with a mix of familiar faces and strangers.
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The countdown was electric, the fireworks visible between the
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buildings. For a moment, it felt like
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things might be OK again. By 1:00 AM, the guests had
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started trickling out. I stayed a little longer to give
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Rachel a hand with the mess, but exhaustion finally set in.
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It was time to call it a night. I grabbed my coat and bag, waved
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goodbye, and made my way to the elevators.
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The hallway was quiet. As I approached the elevator, I
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noticed a man leaning against the wall near the doors,
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scrolling on his phone. He looked vaguely familiar,
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tall, late 30s with neatly combed dark hair, but I couldn't
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place him. Probably someone from the party,
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I thought. The elevator arrived with a soft
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Ding. I stepped in instinctively
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holding the door for the man. Then he walked in.
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Thanks, he said. No problem, I replied, hitting
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the button for the lobby. He didn't press another button.
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The doors closed, and the elevator began its descent.
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The first few seconds were OK. I leaned against the walls,
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scrolling through my texts, and he stood across from me, hands
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in his pockets, occasionally looking at me.
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Then the elevator jolted. It wasn't violent, just enough
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to make the lights flicker briefly before the car came to a
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complete stop. I hit the lobby button again,
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but nothing happened. Great, I said, pressing the
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emergency call button. A mechanical chime sounded,
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followed by silence. The man chuckled softly.
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Classic New York elevators, huh? Yeah, I said, forcing a smile.
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They don't make them like they used to.
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He sounded relaxed, yet I felt a subtle edge I couldn't define.
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I dialed the building's emergency number on my phone,
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relieved to see I still had a signal.
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A woman answered, assuring me a technician was on the way.
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Looks like we'll be here for a bit.
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I said, trying to break the awkward silence.
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The man responded. Guess so.
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You coming from the party upstairs?
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Yeah, you. Something like that.
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The 1st 10 minutes passed with standard small talk, work, the
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weather, the party. But as time passed, his behavior
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started to shift. His questions became more
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personal. Do you live in the building?
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No, just visiting a friend. You seem familiar.
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Weren't you wearing that red dress earlier?
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I wasn't wearing red. I was in a black sweater and
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jeans. No, that wasn't me.
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Huh, my mistake. He said with a small smile, but
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there was no sincerity in his eyes.
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I tried to shrug it off, but the comment left a sour taste.
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Something about the way he said it felt weird, like he wanted to
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see how I'd react. 15 minutes turned into 20, then 30.
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The air felt heavier, the walls closer.
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I couldn't focus on my phone anymore, I was too aware of his
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presence, the way his eyes stayed on me a little too long.
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You don't seem nervous. He said, breaking the silence.
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Should I be? I asked, trying to keep my tone
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light. He laughed softly, shaking his
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head. Just making conversation.
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He didn't break eye contact for a second, I was suddenly hyper
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aware of the limited space between us.
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At one point, he moved closer to the control panel, pressing
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random buttons as if testing them.
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When nothing happened, he let out an exaggerated sigh and
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leaned back against the wall. This is taking forever, he said.
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By the 40 minute mark, I couldn't push the creeping
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tension out of my mind. I discreetly activated the
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emergency app on my phone, sending my location to Rachel
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and a few other contacts. A text from Rachel popped up
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almost immediately. What's wrong?
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Stuck in the elevator? Not alone, something feels off.
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I typed back. Her response was immediate.
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Want me to call someone? Already did, just stay by your
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phone. The man noticed me typing and
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asked. Someone waiting for you.
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No, just letting my friend know what's going on.
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I managed to sound composed, hiding the nervous tension
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bubbling beneath the surface. Good idea, always best to let
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someone know where you are, just in case.
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As the minutes dragged on, his questions grew darker.
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Ever think about how vulnerable people are in elevators?
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He asked, his tone almost casual.
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You're just stuck, nowhere to run, no one to hear you scream.
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I stared at him, unsure how to respond.
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His smile widened, as if he enjoyed my discomfort.
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Relax. He said, chuckling.
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I'm just messing with you. I forced a laugh, but my heart
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was racing. I gripped my phone tighter,
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mentally rehearsing how I'd react if he tried anything.
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Finally, a crackling voice came through the speaker.
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Hello, can anyone hear me? Yes.
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I shouted, relief flooding through me.
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We're working to get the elevator moving.
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Hang tight, it shouldn't be much longer.
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The man's face grew tense. For the first time, he looked
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genuinely irritated. When the elevator jolted again
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and the doors began to slide open.
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I stepped forward instinctively, but as I moved, he blocked my
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path. Ladies first, he said, his voice
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low. Thanks, I said cautiously,
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edging around him. My heart raced as I stepped into
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the hallway, the two maintenance workers waiting just outside.
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I looked back to see him standing in the elevator, his
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eyes locked on me. You OK, miss?
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One of the workers asked. My legs felt like Jelly, but I
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lied. Yeah, thanks.
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I made my way out of the lobby as fast as I could and got into
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a cab before he could even step out of the elevator.
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I can't fully explain what happened in that elevator.
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Maybe he was just an odd guy with a bad sense of humor, or
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maybe it was something darker. Either way, it's a night I'll
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never forget. New Year's Eve might be about
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new beginnings, but for me it became a lesson in how quickly
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things can go from celebratory to chilling, and how thin the
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line is between safety and danger.
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New Year's Eve had always been my favorite night of the year.
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The glitter, the champagne, the shared energy of excitement as
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the clock ticked closer to midnight.
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It was intoxicating. As an event planner, this was my
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Super Bowl, and December 31st, 2021 was no different.
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I had just wrapped up coordinating a massive party in
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downtown Denver, and despite the exhaustion, I felt exhilarated.
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The event had gone off without a hitch, The guests were happy,
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the DJ killed it, and I even managed to snag a flute of
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champagne to toast the New year. By 1:00 AM, the crowd was
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starting to thin out, and I knew it was time to head home.
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My apartment was only a 15 minute walk away, and the
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streets were still alive with the energy of celebration.
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It felt safe enough. I stepped out into the cold
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night, the city lights shimmering against the dark sky.
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Groups of revellers stumbled down the sidewalks, laughing and
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shouting, while taxis and ride shares clogged the streets.
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The sound of fireworks echoed in the distance.
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I tightened my coat around me and started walking, my heels
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clicking against the pavement. A few blocks in, I noticed a man
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walking about 20 feet behind me. He wasn't close enough to cause
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immediate concern, but something about his pace caught my
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attention. It wasn't hurried, like he was
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trying to catch up, but it wasn't leisurely either.
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I looked back, pretending to adjust my scarf.
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He was tall, wearing a dark hoodie with the hood pulled up,
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and his hands were stuffed into his pockets.
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But it was New Year's Eve. Everyone was out.
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He was probably just heading home, like me.
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Still, I couldn't help but pick up my pace.
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The festive chatter of nearby groups was comforting, reminding
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me that I wasn't alone. But as I turned onto a quieter
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St. the sounds of celebration faded, and I realized he was
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still behind me. I told myself not to panic.
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Maybe he lived in the same direction.
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Maybe this was all a coincidence.
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I crossed the street, and so did he.
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My heart started to race. I'd listened to enough true
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crime stories to know when something didn't feel right.
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I decided to test him. At the next intersection, I
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turned left instead of continuing straight toward my
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apartment. If he followed, I'd know.
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Sure enough, he turned left, too.
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OK, now I was panicking a little.
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I pulled out my phone and pretended to text, hoping the
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act of holding it would deter him.
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I even called a friend, but it went to voicemail.
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Hey, just walking home, I said loudly.
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Should be there in 10 minutes. See you soon.
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I looked back. He was closer now, maybe 10 feet
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behind. His posture was focused.
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I'd had enough. I ducked into a nearby
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convenience store, the bell jingling as I pushed the door
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open. The fluorescent lights and warm
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air clashed with the cold, dark St.
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The clerk looked up from his magazine.
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Hey, just browsing, I said. I lingered by the snack aisle,
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peeking out the window. The man had stopped outside,
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leaning casually against the lamppost.
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He wasn't looking at the store, but I knew he was waiting.
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I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
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I pulled out my phone again, debating whether to call the
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police, but I could already hear the skepticism in their
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response. After a few minutes, I decided
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to make a break for it. I left the store and darted into
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a nearby alley, weaving through the narrow path until I reached
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another street. I looked over my shoulder.
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No sign of him. Maybe I'd lost him.
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I made it home without further incident.
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I unlocked the door to my building and practically
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sprinted up the stairs to my apartment.
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Once inside, I locked every bolt, drew the curtains, and sat
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on the couch, trying to calm my nerves.
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It was over, I was safe, or so I thought.
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Around 3:00 AM, as I was beginning to let the tension go,
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I heard a soft knock at my window.
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My apartment was on the 2nd floor.
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Every muscle in my body tensed. The knock came again, louder.
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Slowly, I crept toward the window, careful not to make a
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sound. My hands shook as I peeked
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through the curtain. He was there, standing on the
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fire escape. The hood was down now, revealing
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a face I didn't recognize. His expression was calm, almost
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smug, as if he knew exactly how terrified I was.
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I backed away. How did he find me?
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Had he followed me through the alley?
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Watched me enter my building? And why was he doing this?
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I grabbed my phone and dialed 911, whispering to the
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dispatcher as I explained the situation.
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Someone's outside my window. I'm on the 2nd floor, please
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hurry. The dispatcher stayed on the
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line, assuring me that officers were on their way.
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Meanwhile, the man didn't move. He just stood there staring, his
19:17
breath fogging up the glass. Minutes felt like hours.
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Then I heard the distant wail of sirens.
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The man's head snapped toward the sound, and without
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hesitation, he climbed back down the fire escape and disappeared
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into the night. The police arrived shortly
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after. They searched the area but found
19:37
no sign of him. I gave them a description,
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though it felt woefully inadequate.
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Tall, late 30s, maybe Dark hoodie.
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How many men in Denver fit that description?
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They advised me to stay somewhere else for the night,
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but I couldn't bring myself to leave.
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Instead, I sat up until dawn. I never saw the man again, but
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for a long time I didn't walk alone on the street or open my
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curtains. It happened three years ago, and
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I think I'll never forget the way his face looked at the
20:08
window. New Year's Eve used to be my
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favorite night of the year, my working Super Bowl.
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Now it serves as proof of how easily a happy night can become
20:18
a nightmare, and how some strangers aren't content to stay
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strangers. When you're a lawyer, your life
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is often dictated by deadlines, case files and an endless stream
20:35
of emails. That's why I decided to spend
20:38
New Year's Eve alone in my apartment.
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No parties, no loud crowds. Just a quiet night with a bottle
20:44
of wine, a book and the glittering view of the Seattle
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skyline. It felt like the perfect way to
20:51
recharge before diving back into work.
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I live on the 15th floor of a high rise in downtown Seattle.
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My apartment isn't huge, but the balcony makes it feel spacious.
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From my living room, I can see the Space Needle and the city's
21:05
sprawling lights. On New Year's Eve, the balcony
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is a front row seat to the fireworks display of the city's
21:11
celebration. The night started out perfectly.
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I made myself a simple dinner, ordered a glass of wine, and
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curled up on the couch with a novel.
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The faint noises of festivities from the streets below gave the
21:23
night a festive buzz without intruding on my solitude.
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By the time the clock approached midnight, I was ready to step
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out onto the balcony and watch the fireworks.
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I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and slid open the
21:36
glass door. The cold air hit me immediately,
21:40
crisp and biting, but refreshing.
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The city looked alive, lights twinkling in every direction.
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I leaned on the railing, taking it all in, feeling a rare sense
21:50
of peace. That's when I saw him across
21:54
from my balcony on the adjacent high rise.
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A figure stood on the neighboring balcony.
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It wasn't unusual to see people out enjoying the view, but
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something about this person gave me pause.
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The person was motionless. At first, I assumed it was a
22:08
neighbor I hadn't met yet. After all, the apartment next
22:12
door had been empty for months, and I figured someone must have
22:15
moved in recently. I gave a polite wave, a casual
22:19
acknowledgement of shared proximity.
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The figure didn't move, didn't wave back.
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Instead, the person seemed to be staring directly at me.
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I let it go, focusing instead on the city below.
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But when I glanced back a few moments later, the figure was
22:35
still there, standing, watching. A knot formed in my chest, but I
22:40
told myself I was being ridiculous.
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Maybe they were shy, or lost in thought.
22:46
Midnight arrived, and the fireworks lit up the sky.
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For a while, I forgot about the figure and lost myself in the
22:52
spectacle. But as the final sparks faded
22:55
and the city began to settle, I looked back across the way.
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The balcony was empty. The absence should have been
23:02
comforting, but it wasn't. Something about how they'd stood
23:05
there, unmoving, watching it, gave me a bad feeling.
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I stepped back inside, locking the balcony door behind me.
23:14
For good measure, I drew the curtains, blocking out the
23:16
night. The next morning, I tried to put
23:20
it out of my mind. People are weird sometimes, I
23:22
told myself. Maybe they were just drunk and
23:25
didn't realize how creepy they'd seemed.
23:27
By afternoon, I decided to call the building manager.
23:30
I wanted to ask about the new tenant next door, maybe
23:33
introduce myself, clear the air. When I reached her, she sounded
23:38
surprised. That unit is still unoccupied,
23:41
she said. We haven't rented it out yet.
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I paused, unsure how to respond. Are you sure?
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Because someone was on the balcony last night I saw them.
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There was a beat of silence on the other end.
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That. That doesn't make sense.
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There shouldn't be anyone there. Goosebumps crawled up my neck.
24:00
Could someone have broken in? I'll send maintenance to check.
24:04
She said with a mix of concern and skepticism.
24:08
But if you're feeling unsafe, maybe you should call the
24:10
police. After hanging up, I stood in my
24:13
living room, staring at the curtains.
24:15
I wanted to look to check if the balcony was still empty, but a
24:19
part of me was too afraid of what I might see.
24:23
Finally, I worked up the courage to draw the curtain aside and
24:26
take a cautious look. The balcony was empty.
24:30
For a brief second, I felt relieved, but it was over before
24:33
I knew it. That evening, every time I pass
24:37
by the window, I felt an inexplicable urge to look
24:40
outside, as if expecting to see the figure return.
24:44
By the time night fully descended, my nerves were
24:46
frayed. Around 10 PMI decided I couldn't
24:50
handle it anymore. I grabbed my phone and called
24:53
the police. They promised to send an officer
24:55
to check it out. While I waited, I kept the
24:58
lights off, sitting in the corner of the room where I could
25:00
see the balcony without being seen.
25:03
It felt like the shadows outside were alive, making my exhausted
25:07
eyes question what I was seeing. When the officers arrived, they
25:11
searched the area thoroughly. The neighboring apartment was
25:15
empty and there were no signs of forced entry.
25:18
They assured me the building was secure, but it wasn't enough to
25:21
calm my nerves. If anything else happens, don't
25:25
hesitate to call US, one of them said.
25:28
The next morning, I emailed my landlord and gave my notice.
25:33
I couldn't stay there anymore. The thought of stepping onto
25:36
that balcony, of feeling those unseen eyes on me, was
25:39
unbearable. Within a week, I was packed and
25:43
gone, leaving behind the view I'd once loved.
25:46
Even now, in my new apt, I avoid balconies at night.
25:50
Sometimes I catch myself looking out the window, expecting to see
25:55
someone staring back. If these New Year's Eve
26:00
nightmares gave you chills, don't forget to hit that like
26:02
button and subscribe for more terrifying stories.
26:07
What would you have done in these situations?
26:09
Share your thoughts in the comments.
26:11
We'd love to hear your survival instincts.
26:14
Send this video to a friend who swears New Year's Eve is all
26:17
about fun and fireworks and see if they still agree.
26:21
Remember, even the happiest nights can hide the darkest
26:25
dangers. Thanks for watching and I'll see
26:27
you in the next nightmare.