Hello, it’s Spooky Boo Rhodes from Sandcastle, California. I have several anonymous scary stories for you today about spooky tales of campfires, hunting, fishing, and ghosts. Have you ever set foot next to a creepy lake and wondered if any person has died in the lake or around it? Perhaps these tales of terror make you think twice about ever camping alone again.
Story One
My name is Randy, and I’ve always been drawn to the solitude of nature. There’s something about the stillness of the woods and the gentle rush of the river that puts my mind at ease. So, when the opportunity arose for a solo camping trip near a secluded river, I couldn’t resist.
The first night, as I settled into my tent near the water’s edge, an eerie fog rolled in. It clung to the ground, obscuring my vision and muffling the sounds of the night. Strangely, faint whispers drifted through the mist, carried by an abnormally cold breeze. With my heart pounding in my chest, I strained to listen.
“Leave,” the voices whispered, their words filled with warning. I shivered, my breath choking in my throat. I cautiously approached the river’s edge, peering into the dense fog, but there was nobody around at all. The whispers grew louder, and more urgent and angrier, yet I could find no source of the sound. Fear gripped me, but I couldn’t abandon my campsite just yet. I convinced myself it was simply my imagination running wild.
Determined to enjoy my solitary retreat away from the bustle of the city and work, I shrugged off the unsettling encounter and embraced the second night. Darkness came filling the sky with stars, and I nestled by the campfire, the roaring fire providing a false sense of security. But then I heard footsteps. Heavy, deliberate footsteps. They were unmistakable, echoing through the silence of the night and crunching on fallen leaves.
I looked cautiously from side to side, scanning the perimeter of my campsite, but my eyes only met empty darkness. The footsteps continued, growing closer, until they seemed to circle my tent. Panicking, I fumbled for my flashlight, shining it into the night. Nothing. No sign of anyone or anything. The footsteps faded, gradually dissipating into the darkness.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Every rustle of leaves and every distant hoot of an owl, kept me on edge. Doubt gnawed at my mind. Was I truly alone in these woods? Or was there something lurking just beyond my reach? I couldn’t shake the feeling that another camper was toying with me, playing a sinister game of hide-and-seek. I didn’t believe in ghosts and a stalker was the obvious.
The third night arrived, and I nervously tended to the campfire, seeking comfort in its warm glow. As the flames danced, casting eerie shadows, I scanned the area. And then out of nowhere, a ghostly figure of a farmer emerged from the darkness, an eerie glow around his body. He wore tattered overalls, his face etched with weariness and sorrow. In his hands, he carried a menacingly large machete.
My heart froze as our eyes locked. His gaze pierced right through me, his blue eyes glowing. A chilling scream tore through the air, emanating from his twisted, gaping mouth. I stumbled backward, my pulse racing, my mind paralyzed with fear.
The farmer’s face twisted into a mass of hallow darkness and swirling smoke showing the anguish and torment of a thousand lost souls. At this point I knew this was no human, no human at all. It was far worse than any person or animal I had ever seen before. I suddenly believed in ghosts!
In that moment, instinct took over. I abandoned all rational thought and ran for my life. The campsite and fire were left abandoned, swallowed by the darkness that had taken hold. Branches whipped against my face as I sprinted through the night, desperate to put as much distance as possible between me and the haunting specter.
I found the road leading into the woods, breathless and trembling, leaving behind the sanctuary I had sought. The once serene river that had drawn me in now seemed tainted, its beauty shattered by the encounter with the ghostly farmer. I vowed never to return, to leave those woods and their dark secrets behind.
But even now, as I recount this chilling tale, I can feel the weight of that encounter lingering in the depths of my memory. The whispering voices, the phantom footsteps, the tortured face of the farmer—it all haunts my dreams, a constant reminder of the darkness that exists beyond the safety of our everyday lives.
So, if you ever find yourself tempted by the allure of the wilderness, heed my cautionary tale. For in the depths of nature’s beauty, there may lurk an evil that defies comprehension—a darkness waiting to consume the unsuspecting souls who dare venture too far into its grasp.
Story Two
My name is Jennifer, and the memory of that fateful day still haunts me to this day. I was just a little girl when I found myself lost in the woods. I had stepped way from my parents for just a moment while chasing a bunny that disappeared into the falling leaves. As I walked around in circles trying to find my parents, the dense foliage and towering trees seemed to close in on me, their shadows dancing ominously as the sun began its descent. Panic surged through my veins as darkness threatened to swallow me whole.
With each passing moment, my fear grew, and I knew I needed to find shelter. It was then that I stumbled upon an old, dilapidated barn. The weathered wood creaked as I pushed open the heavy doors, revealing an abandoned sanctuary within. My relief was palpable as I stepped into the dimly lit space.
The barn was filled with remnants of its former life—a time long gone. Tools that once served the purpose of farming and butchering were scattered about, their rusted edges reflecting the fading light. Despite the eerie ambiance, I convinced myself that this was a safe place to spend the night. Exhaustion weighed heavily on my small frame, and the hay-strewn floor beckoned me to rest.
I gathered bundles of hay, creating a makeshift bed to shield myself from the biting cold. As I settled in, the sound of my own heartbeat filled the air. Sleep slowly enveloped me, its tendrils lulling me into a fragile slumber.
But then, a noise pierced through the darkness, jolting me awake. My eyes darted around the barn, searching for the source of the disturbance. And that’s when I saw him—a ghostly figure clad in overalls and wearing a bloody butcher apron. He stood before a workbench, sharpening his knives with meticulous precision.
I trembled, my small frame hidden amidst the hay, my heart pounding in my chest. The ghostly figure seemed unaware of my presence as he muttered to himself, his voice carrying an eerie tone. “Come out, little girl,” he whispered, a sinister edge lacing his words. “These pigs are hungry.”
My breath hitched as I strained to hear, and faintly, in the background, I heard the haunting sound of pigs oinking. Fear paralyzed me, but I knew I had to remain hidden. I dared not move or make a sound, praying that he would pass me by.
As I lay motionless, fear gnawed at my insides. The ghostly figure continued his grim task, completely consumed by his macabre obsession. The rustling of hay under my trembling body became my only solace, the only thing that reminded me of my own presence amidst this terrifying encounter.
Eventually, the night waned, and the first rays of morning light filtered through the cracks in the barn’s aged walls. Relief washed over me as the sound of voices outside reached my ears. People were looking for me. They were searching for the little girl lost in the woods.
I mustered the courage to reveal myself, to emerge from my hay-covered hiding place. The barn’s ghostly occupant had vanished, as if swallowed by the shadows from whence he came. But the memory of his chilling words and the grunting and squealing of pigs still echoed in my mind.
As the people found me, their arms enveloping me in warmth and safety, I clung to them desperately. It wasn’t until much later, as an adult, that I discovered the truth behind that harrowing night.
It turns out that the barn I had sought refuge in belonged to a pig farmer, a man consumed by his twisted desires. The gruesome reality unfolded before me—this farmer met a grisly fate at the hands of his own pigs. They devoured him, consuming the very soul that had harbored such darkness.
The realization sent shivers down my spine. Had I encountered the restless spirit of the farmer, forever doomed to roam the place of his demise? Or was it simply a figment of my child’s imagination, distorted by fear and the unknown?
The mystery remains, etched into the fibers of my being. The barn and its secrets are long gone, lost to the passage of time. But the memory of that night lingers, a reminder of the darkness that can reside even in the most innocent of places.
Story 3
My name is Colin, and I was an adventurous ten-year-old boy with an insatiable curiosity. It was a bright summer afternoon when I found myself wandering alone in the woods. There was an enchanting quality to the forest, the way the sunlight filtered through the leaves, creating a kaleidoscope of dancing shadows. But little did I know that this day would lead me to a chilling encounter that would forever haunt my dreams.
As I ventured deeper into the woods, an ethereal sound reached my ears—a faint cry, like that of a baby. My heart skipped a beat, and a sense of urgency overcame me. Determined to uncover the source of the cry, I followed its melodic trail, guided by an unknown force.
The cries led me to a meadow bathed in golden light. There, sitting atop a weathered stump, was a toy doll—a haunting presence amidst the serene beauty. Its vacant eyes stared into my soul, and a chill ran down my spine. But my attention was quickly drawn to the scene unfolding nearby.
A woman hung from a tree, her body swaying gently in the breeze. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed softly, begging for forgiveness. Her pleas were filled with anguish and remorse, carried on the wind to my ears. And at the bottom of the tree, a man knelt, his own tears mingling with the earth.
“I forgive you,” the man whispered, his voice trembled with a mix of sorrow and empathy. His words echoed through the meadow, filling the air with a haunting resonance. The woman’s cries grew louder, filled with both desperation and relief. It was a scene of forgiveness and redemption, played out in the most haunting of circumstances.
But as the final echoes of forgiveness dissipated, a rustling sound emerged from the depths of the forest. It started as a faint whisper, barely discernible, but it grew in intensity until it became a cacophony of scurrying feet. And then, they emerged—hundreds of rats, their beady eyes reflecting an eerie glimmer.
The rats poured into the meadow, their dark figures weaving through the grass like a macabre dance. The couple remained oblivious to their presence, locked in their moment of reconciliation. But the air grew heavy with a sense of foreboding, and I could feel the primal fear coursing through my veins.
The rats converged upon the couple, their numbers multiplying as if summoned by a demon. And then, with relentless determination, they began their gruesome feast. I recoiled in horror as the rats devoured the flesh of the woman and the man, their voracious appetite leaving nothing but bones in their wake.
The scene played out before my eyes, a grotesque ballet of death. The cries of agony and the relentless gnawing of the rats filled the meadow, etching a nightmare into my memory that would forever haunt me.
In a haze of disbelief and terror, I stumbled backward, tripping over my own feet. I fled from the meadow, my heart pounding in my chest. Tears streamed down my face as I sprinted through the woods, desperate to escape the horrors I had witnessed.
When I finally emerged from the woods, gasping for breath, I found myself in the comforting embrace of concerned adults. Their questions and reassurances became a blur as my mind struggled to comprehend what I had seen.
As the years passed, the memory of that day remained etched into my soul. The haunting melody of the baby’s cries, the doll on the stump, and the consuming rats—they lingered in the depths of my nightmares.
Story 4
My name is Jeff, and at twelve years old, I considered myself an adventurous and independent spirit. Growing up in a small town surrounded by vast woods and shimmering lakes, I found peace in the love of nature. Fishing became my favorite pastime, and there was a particular spot I loved, a hidden gem nestled deep within the heart of the woods—a serene lake where time seemed to stand still.
One sunny afternoon, I embarked on my usual fishing trip to that secluded lake. I rowed my small boat into the middle of the calm waters, casting my line with eager anticipation. The world around me was silent, except for the gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the boat.
Lost in my thoughts, I suddenly noticed movement near the edge of the lake. Squinting my eyes against the sunlight, I made out the figure of a person standing there, their arm extended, beckoning me to come closer. Curiosity got the better of me, and I started rowing toward the shore, eager to see who it was.
However, as I reached the shore, the person had vanished into thin air. Confused, I looked around, my heart pounding in my chest. It was then that a soft whisper filled the air—a voice carried by the wind, urging me to hide, to seek safety. I brushed it off as my imagination playing tricks on me and decided to entertain the thought, just for the thrill of it.
I quickly found a hiding spot near an old, empty shed, concealed by bushes that had overgrown with neglect. Crouching down, my heart racing, I wondered what might unfold. It was in those anxious moments that reality collided with my imagination.
A few seconds later, a man appeared, his presence commanding and foreboding. He held a screaming girl in his arms, her cries piercing the air. His voice barked at her, threatening her with harm if she didn’t quiet down. I felt a surge of protectiveness welling up inside me, pushing me to take action.
As the man set the girl down, his attention focused on opening the creaky door of the shed, I knew this was my chance. Summoning every ounce of courage, I lunged forward, pushing him with all my might, causing him to stumble into the shed. I slammed the door shut and locked it from the outside, sealing him within the confines of his own darkness.
The girl’s sobs quieted as she looked up at me with tear-filled eyes. Without hesitation, I extended my hand to her, offering her a lifeline of safety and reassurance. With trembling hands, she reached out, grasping my hand tightly. Together, we sprinted away from that desolate shed, our feet pounding against the forest floor.
Fear propelled us forward, as if the very air itself was filled with the desperate urgency to escape. The path to the nearest police station felt like an eternity, our hearts pounding in unison, driven by a shared determination to bring an end to the nightmare we had witnessed.
By the time I arrived, I was out of breath. I thought the girl was still with me, but she had disappeared in our dash to safety. When I told the police about the girl, they told me to stop playing games and that the little girl had passed years before by the hand of the thug we ran from. The man I had witnessed was put to death in the electric chair.
Story 5
My name is Ethan, and I was a fifteen-year-old boy eager to prove myself as a skilled hunter. It was a crisp autumn morning when my dad and I set out for our first hunting expedition together. Excitement coursed through my veins as I anticipated the thrill of the chase and the pride of returning with a prized trophy.
My dad, a seasoned hunter, emphasized the importance of staying close, following his lead, and listening to his instructions. But, being a headstrong teenager with a massive curiosity, I couldn’t resist the temptation to venture off on my own. Ignoring my dad’s cautionary words, I decided to explore the mysteries of the forest, convinced that I could handle myself.
As I ventured deeper into the woods, the once-familiar path began to blur, swallowed by the labyrinthine nature of the wilderness. The dense foliage closed in around me, casting elongated shadows that danced upon the ferns of the path. With each step, I felt a growing unease, a whisper of doubt that tickled the edges of my consciousness.
That’s when I heard it—the faint echo of a cry, like the mournful wail of a wounded animal. Curiosity piqued, I followed the sound, my senses guiding me deeper into the heart of the forest. The cries grew louder, haunting and desperate, as if they were calling out for help. I quickened my pace, feeling a strange mixture of dread and obligation.
Soon, the haunting echoes materialized before me. Ghostly apparitions of hunted animals emerged from the shadows, their spectral forms glowing intensely. The deer, the rabbits, the birds—they stood before me, their eyes filled with sorrow and anguish. They brayed, bawled, and chirped in a chorus of pain, their voices echoing through the stillness of the forest.
Overwhelmed by their cries, I couldn’t turn away. It was as if their pain had seeped into my very soul, tugging at my heartstrings. I felt their suffering, their silent plea for compassion and understanding.
And then, amidst the spectral menagerie, I saw a ghostly human figure, his form translucent and his expression one of agony. His arm reached out toward me, his fingers trembling in silent supplication. It was clear that he, too, had suffered at the hands of hunters.
Something within me shattered, and the empthay from within me cried so desperately. The realization struck like lightning—I was a part of the cycle of pain and destruction that haunted these woods. I had contributed to the suffering of these innocent creatures, stripping them of their lives for the sake of a fleeting trophy.
Panic seized me, fueling my desperate need to escape this macabre spectacle. I turned on my heels, running with abandon through the forest maze with my heart pounding in my chest. The cries of the hunted animals echoed in my ears, urging me to flee and find safety.
When I finally burst through the thicket and emerged from the woods, I collapsed to my knees, gasping for breath. Tears streamed down my face as I looked up at the sky, feeling the pain of the death I had witnessed. I made a silent vow—a pledge to myself and to the spirits of those I had harmed—that I would never partake in hunting again.
With a heavy heart, I returned home and found my dad waiting anxiously. His eyes reflected a mix of relief and concern as he embraced me tightly. I struggled to put into words the profound epiphany I had experienced, the haunting encounter with the ghosts of the hunted.
But my dad, though initially disappointed, saw the change in me. He understood the impact of that day’s events, and he respected my decision. From that point forward, we found alternative ways to commune with nature, to appreciate its beauty without causing harm.
As the years passed, I became an advocate for the preservation of wildlife, dedicating myself to raising awareness about the consequences of hunting for trophies. The cries of the haunted animals continued to resonate within me, driving me to make a positive difference in the world.
Thank you for listening. If you enjoyed these stories, head on over to my website at www.creepypastascarystories.com and make a comment.
I’d like to thank the listeners and the Patreon members including madjoe, Ivy Iveryson, Bobbi Elliott, DrJoeBlob, John Newby, and PA Nightmres. If you would like to support the show, please visit my Patreon page where you can get a commercial free version of this podcast and my other podcast the Horrors of Sandcastle as well as other goodies. Just visit www.spookyboo.club for details.
That’s all for tonight. I’ll see you in your nightmares.
