Scary Story Time | Dark Woods Demon | A Creepypasta


Original Story

Music by Dr. Creepen

Intro and ending music by Myuu

Author’s note: This story is based on actual events. By Johnny and Elijah Henderson



Jacob cursed as he pushed through the thick underbrush trying to make his way to the tree stand he had built earlier in the summer. He was certain that this location would give him an optimal line of sight to the neighboring field in which he frequently saw large herds of deer. This was going to be his year, and he was sure of it. This is the year that I bring home my trophy buck, he thought, as he recalled the events of the day so far.

He had awakened at 4:30 A.M.  He began to prepare for a long day in the woods, on the back side of his farm. His first order of business had been to locate and rescue his gloves and camouflaged hunting gear from whatever undisclosed area of his home that his wife had hidden them. He would most assuredly need them this morning to protect him from the bitter cold November morning.

How could it be this cold, this early in the year, he wondered as he started to work on his second task of the day, which was to prepare a breakfast that would stick to his ribs long into the day. He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted this morning, but he finally settled on toast, country ham, and scrambled eggs that were just a little too runny. He topped it all off with a large cup of coffee that had left a bitter after taste on his tongue, in fact, he could still taste it. After accomplishing tasks one and two, he packed himself a bologna and cheese sandwich for lunch, grabbed his Remington 30.06 hunting rifle, a thermos of coffee, and headed out the door.

He loaded his gear into his truck and pulled out of the drive way and turned right onto the one lane black top road that led to the backside of his property. After about two and a quarter miles he turned right again off the black top onto a dirt road that was gouged with deep mud filled ruts. He had travel about half a mile down that pitiful rut filled excuse for a road when he came to his desired location. He got out of his truck and loaded his gun and sauntered off into the woods.

Jacob had gone little more than 500 yards into the densely wooded tree line when he began to wish that he had put on an extra layer of clothing to shield him against the chilly morning air. Ten minutes out of the truck and he was already cold, and it was made worse by the cloudy overcast day, and the wind that was blowing steadily through the trees, making the autumn leaves rattle like dry bones. Oh well, he thought, it’s going to be a good day anyway, especially if I bring home a big one! Jacob took about ten more steps when an uneasy feeling began to creep over him, he felt as though someone had stepped over his grave. He got the distinct feeling that he was being watched, but by whom, this was his property, and it was posted, no one had permission to be on his land.

He had to be alone, but if he was alone why couldn’t he shake this eerie feeling that was scratching at the base of his skull? Something was off today, there was a deafening silence there in the forest, no bird, or insects, only the sound of the wind in the trees. Convincing himself that it was nothing more than a case of nerves, he continued to press on until he came to a clearing not far from his tree stand.

Stepping into the clearing Jacob saw the remains of what appeared to be a large deer, he wasn’t quite able to make out what he was seeing from this distance because the sun wasn’t completely up yet and the forest was still enveloped in shadows. Jacob walked closer to get a better look, and found that he had been correct.  It was a deer, a large eight point buck in fact. Looking at the remains, he felt a sense of dread come over him and icy fingers danced along his spine.

Something about this kill just didn’t seem right. The throat was completely torn out, and the stomach was ripped open, plus several of the internal organs were missing. It was the most grisly thing he had ever seen. This definitely wasn’t a coyote kill, and no hunter would have done this; they would have taken the head to have it mounted.

What could have done this, he wondered? A fear like nothing he had ever experienced before began to wash over him in waves, what is going on, he thought? At nearly 225 pounds, and well over six foot, he wasn’t one to give into fear, but now he couldn’t seem to calm down, and his heart was beating like a trip hammer.

The feeling that he was being watched was getting stronger by the minute, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was moments away from a bad situation. He slowly started to back away from the mangled carcass, and head back to his truck, and back to safety. No more than six steps into his journey his blood turned to ice in his veins, as a deep guttural, wailing scream shattered the eerie silence, and what was left of his courage.

He had grown up on the farm all his life, and had been an experienced hunter since childhood, he was familiar with every animal in this part of the state, not even a cougar, bob cat, or bear could have produced the scream that had torn through the early morning forest and filled him with such a bone chilling apprehension.

Primal fear now gave way to stark terror as he chambered a round into his 30.06, and turned around only to find there was nothing behind him. His mind raced with confusion, and he was confronted with a million thoughts at once. What should I do? What could it be? Should I run? Am I going to die? His survival sense kicking into overdrive, Jacob decided to continue on his previously contrived plan which was go to the truck, and get out of there while the getting was good.

Slowly, and cautiously he made his way toward the perceived salvation of his vehicle, silently praying every step of the way. With three hundred yards separating him from his only avenue of escape, Jacob began to hear heavy foot falls off to his left. He could hear the crunching of withered leaves, sticks and debris that littered the forest floor. Summoning every ounce of courage that remained within him, he forced himself to look in that direction, and that is when he saw the dark silhouette that followed him through the densely tangled forest.

Quickening his pace, he redoubled his efforts to reach the truck and get to a phone and call the sheriff, the game warden, or anyone that would listen. He couldn’t tell what it was that was stalking him, but he could clearly see that it towered more than 7 feet, and was incredibly massive.

Jacob couldn’t help but think that he was about to become a national statistic, a person who left home under normal circumstances and just disappeared without a trace. How many people, he wondered go into the woods and just vanish, and the authorities just assume that they have become lost, or injured, or been the victims of animal attacks, with their bodies never recovered. Please God, don’t let that happen to me, he thought, as he drew closer and closer to his truck.

75 yards became 50, and 50 became 30, and 30 became 10. Like a miracle he was back and opening his door. Throwing his rifle inside he pulled himself up into the cab, and started the engine and hit the gas, but the truck went nowhere. He had parked in a large mud puddle, and now the tires simply spun, slinging mud 30 feet behind him.

Oh no, not now he thought, I can’t be stuck, not now. Allowing himself a moment to think Jacob remembered, this truck is a four wheeled drive, there is no way I can be stuck. Reaching down he locked his truck in four wheel drive, and was prepared to punch the gas and leave this nightmare behind.

Unfortunately for Jacob some nightmares are not so easily left behind, and there is nothing worse than a nightmare you can’t wake up from, and Jacob was about to learn that the hard way. Hearing something to his right he instinctively turned, and immediately wished that he had not. It took him maybe a half second to turn his head, but he would have given anything in the world to have that half second back, because it was the last moment that his world would ever seem normal again.

In that split second, his world changed, it was no longer a place where the world was light, and safe, where he was just a husband, and a father, and a guy that liked to hunt, and watch football on the weekends. That reality had evaporated away like early morning fog, and all that was left was a world where monsters existed, and things really went bump in the night. And now an ambassador from that nightmare realm was standing just outside his passenger door, a visible reminder that his world had been turned upside down.

Jacob screamed as he stared transfixed on this escapee from a horror movie. In his most terrifying, fevered, dream he couldn’t have imagined that such a thing could exist. It was hideously ugly, easily standing 8 feet tall, with a thick, muscular body. It looked very apish in appearance, but then again it didn’t. There was just something about that face that was just wrong, almost like an obscene amalgamation of man and animal that had gone horribly awry.  It was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen, it was completely covered with thick shaggy black hair that was matted in areas with God only knows what, and it walked on two legs, not four like you would expect from some kind of animal.

What was this thing that had shattered his perception of reality? Was it a demon? Was a werewolf? It can’t be, he thought, those things don’t exist, maybe it was some kind of reject from the island of Dr. Moreau. Whatever it was, it was staring at him, and it did not look happy.

The menacing juggernaut threw its enormous head back and let out a bloodcurdling scream that resonated throughout the surrounding area and seemed to vibrate him to his very core. Shocked back into action Jacob threw his truck into gear and took off as though he were being chased by the very hounds of hell.

Jacob, mind racing, wondered what he was going to do. How will I ever feel safe on this farm again, he thought? Are my wife and children in danger? Where did this thing come from, and will anyone believe me? The whirlwind of thoughts that swirled through Jacob’s mind came to an immediate stop as he slammed on his brakes and nearly slid off the road.

In a state of disbelief Jacob sat staring at the large hackberry tree that laid across the dirt road and blocked his path, preventing him from reaching the blacktop, and guaranteed safety. How is this even possible, he thought. I just came down this road not even thirty minutes ago, and this path was clear. However this tree came to be across the road, it was painfully obvious to Jacob that he had to get that tree moved if he was going to make it home. Since he had neither chain to pull the tree out of the road, nor did he have a saw with which he could cut up this unexpected barricade, he was left with few viable options, one of which was walking, which he discounted almost immediately.

The most logical course of action that he could come up with was to call for help. His best friend Kenny Patterson owned the farm just over from his; if he were home he could bring a saw and cut the tree up for him. Jacob, with his nerves still frazzled and frayed, reached into his glove box and pulled out his cell phone and clumsily dialed Kenny’s number. The phone rang six times and Jacob was about to give up when Kenny answered the phone and said, “Hey, ugly, what do you want this early in the morning?”

As quickly as he could, he related the recent events to Kenny and said, “Man, please hurry, I’m not kidding there is something out here.”

Kenny hearing the shakiness in his friend’s voice assured him that he would be there in a matter of minutes. Jacob thanked him and hang up the phone, and braced himself for what he was sure would be the longest few minutes of his life.

Sitting motionless with bated breath there in the truck, every sound made his imagination run wild with fear and expectance. Even though little more than three minutes had passed since he had spoken to Kenny, it felt as if hours had passed. Each tick of the clock seemed to be an eternity. Jacob frequently checked in all directions for any sign that, that nightmarish monstrosity had pursued him. In every shadow that the forest, and this irritatingly cloudy day produced he thought he saw the shape of the black beast that had followed him out of the woods, and he was afraid that he would lose his sanity long before Kenny arrived to clear the tree out of his pathway.

After what seemed like a lifetime Jacob heard the sound of Kenny’s old truck sputtering up the road, and in just moments he was able to see the old red Chevrolet as it made its way closer to him. Jacob’s spirits lifted when he saw his old friend, and a sense of relief washed over him as he realized that he was no longer alone.

Stepping out of his truck Jacob said, “Man, what took you so long, I asked you to hurry.”  Kenny, with an indignant look on his face said, “What are you talking about, you only called me eleven minutes ago, I think I made pretty good time.” Jacob could hardly believe that only eleven minutes had passed; it had seemed so much longer. After apologizing to his friend, and telling him exactly how happy he was to see him, both men walked over to the fallen tree, and made a discovery that startled them both.

The tree had not broken, it had not been cut, it had been pushed over and completely uprooted. All around the tree were large, bipedal footprints that had a somewhat human appearance to them, but if they were human, the owner would require a size 28 shoe.

Jacob and Kenny looked at each other, and then without a word went to work on the tree. Kenny took a Husqvarna chainsaw from the bed of his truck and began to cut up the fallen blockade, meanwhile Jacob pulled the logs and debris from the road. Mission accomplished, Kenny put away his saw and he and Jacob were about to get in their vehicles and leave, but before either man had even opened their doors, an earsplitting scream, that would have filled a Banshee with paralyzing fear erupted from the woods behind them.

Warily Jacob walked over to Kenny and whispered, “That’s what I was telling you about, I don’t know what that thing is man, but it looks like some kind of monster, and I think we need to get out of here, now.”

Kenny, who looked as though the blood had drained completely out of his face became very pale as he said to Jacob: “Jacob man, I’ve never mentioned this to anyone before now, but over the last few months that thing has been killing off a few of my cows. Their throats are usually torn out, and the bodies are mangled, and broken. I didn’t want anyone to accuse me of being crazy and making stuff up, so I never said anything about it. But, that’s the reason I rushed over when you called. I’ve heard that sound a few times off in the distance at night, but never this close, so I think you are right old buddy, it’s time to go.”

Cautiously and with a sense of urgency, Jacob and Kenny climbed into their vehicles and expeditiously made their way back to the blacktop. Turning left, both vehicles began the two and a half mile trek that led back to Jacob’s house so they could decide what course of action should be taken.

Jacob could feel the temperature drop as snow began to gently fall. He reached over and turned his wipers on as snow began to pelt the windshield harder. As he passed his neighbor, William Springer’s farm, he noticed a herd of deer grazing in the field that bordered his own property.

Having put a bit of distance between himself and the nightmare he had just encountered, Jacob felt a renewed sense of security as his fatigued nerves began to calm. Not willing to let this opportunity pass him by, Jacob turned on his hazard lights and pulled to the shoulder of the road, and signaled Kenny to do the same. Kenny instinctively knew what Jacob was thinking as pulled in behind him, and turned his ignition off. Getting out of his truck Kenny said, “What are you doing, man, we need to get out of here, now.” Jacob said, “I know, I know, and we will in just a minute man, I just can’t turn this down man. I have to take the shot that is a six point buck standing there. It’s not the trophy that I wanted but at least I won’t go home empty handed, and after the morning we’ve had I think we deserve a little something good.”  “Alright, just take the shot so we can go, I still don’t feel right about this,” Kenny said.

Steadying his rifle across the hood of his truck Jacob zeroed in on the buck and prepared to fire. That’s when he heard Kenny make a gasping noise and whisper, “Oh my God.” “What is it man, what’s wrong with you?” “Raise your scope three inches,” he said. Raising the scope Jacob immediately saw what had been the cause of Kenny’s alarm.

Standing just outside the tree line in the edge of the field was the creature that they had left behind, not even five minutes. Was this thing following them, was it after the deer, what was it doing? Jacob watched the creature through his scope for a full 30 seconds before it ever moved, and when it did, it ignored him and the deer and started to lope off toward William’s barn that was just about 500 yards from where the woodland demon had been standing. Jacob called out to Kenny and said: “Kenny, call William and tell him there is something trying to get in his barn.” “I know he has at least two mares with foals in there, and if that thing gets in it will kill all of them.”

In an attempt to be rid of this monster, werewolf, Sasquatch, Wendigo, or whatever it was, Jacob fired a shot but missed. The creature turned in their direction and glared at them through red hate filled eyes, and then began to run toward then at full steam. Kenny who was still on the phone with William screamed at Jacob to get in his truck and go. Jacob did as he was told, and Kenny followed suit.

Starting their trucks Jacob and Kenny both raced to Jacob’s house as though they were driving on the NASCAR circuit. Arriving at home Jacob, gun in hand, ran inside to get a phone book so that they could call the game warden and the police and get some kind of animal control out there to get rid of this thing. Jacob had just stepped out on his front porch when they heard gunfire coming from over at William’s place. Dropping the phone book and running back inside, Jacob grabbed his 12 gauge pump shot gun and some shells and handed them to Kenny, who took little time in loading it. Jacob and Kenny now locked and loaded, walked together to Kenny’s truck preparing to mount up a rescue for their neighbor William.

Simultaneously, both of them stopped in their tracks as an uneasy but familiar feeling crept over them, and Jacobs’ Rottweiler, and two German Shepherds began to whimper, and ran under the front porch to hide. Kenny, whose throat had suddenly gone dry as a bone, whispered to Jacob and said: “I have a really bad feeling about this.”

No sooner had the words escaped his lips, they heard a deafening scream erupted from the forest off to their right, and the creature exploded from the trees in front of them. Until now, neither man had been able to fully appreciate the colossal size and scope of the beast, but standing less than thirty feet away they were almost overcome by the sheer magnitude of it. Jacob had seen it up close earlier from his truck while sitting down, and had guessed the height at maybe eight feet, but now standing there looking up he could tell that this fellow was eight and a half, or nine feet tall, and would tip the scale at 800 to a 1000 pounds. It had inhumanly long arms that bulged with thick ropey muscle, that were easily seen beneath its long shaggy black hair, which covered it from head to toe.

The chest was larger than a 55 gallon drum, and there was little doubt that it could have pulled the arms off an ape, and now it glared at them with malevolent intent.

Jacob and Kenny both opened fire without hesitation. The creature screamed with rage as the bullets tore into its massive body, knocking it to the ground, but not killing or seriously injuring it. Jacob and Kenny watched speechless as it crawled in to the tree line, struggled to its feet and limped away. Jacob ran back to the porch and grabbed the phone book, and called the local game warden.

Nearly two hours later Gene Traughber the local Warden showed up to take their statements, and told them that he had been called out to answer numerous such reports in the area, but he wasn’t sure what to make of all these reports. “Guys”, he said, “I don’t know what to tell you, there is no animal in this area, or any area for that matter that fits your description”. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, I just don’t know what it is.”

Jacob whose face was reddened with anger said, “Come here! Here is the blood from where we shot it, and here are the footprints!” A look of complete confusion washed over Gene’s face and he asked if they would care to go with him as he tried to track it. Jacob and Kenny agreed, but they said they weren’t going without a gun. Gene stated that he planned to take his gun as well.

All three men loaded their guns, and set out following the deeply impressed tracks and droplets of blood, that had fallen on the withered leaves. They followed the trail for about a mile until arriving at a creek that was located deep in Jacob’s woods where the tracks that they were following were joined by others just like them. Some were smaller, but at least one set was larger. Deciding that the safest course of action would be to return home, they all went back to Jacob’s. None of them relished the idea of staying out in the woods longer since there was now apparently more than one creature, and the cloudy overcast day made the forest seem even darker than it would normally be this time of day.

Back at Jacob’s, Gene informed them that there was nothing left that he could do but file it under an unknown animal sighting, which made both Kenny and Jacob anything but happy. Jacob and Kenny spent the next couple of days trying to warn their neighbors to use caution when they were out in the forest.

Most of their friends just laughed at them and said they had probably seen a bear, or something. No one believed them except William, who had seen it himself the same day they had. He had even taken a shot at it, but missed. Jacob, William, and Kenny knew what they had seen, and they knew it was still out there, and they didn’t care who believed them, and who didn’t.

Over the next few weeks more and more neighbors began to take the story a little more seriously, as family pets began to disappear, and others were found brutally mangled. Other farms in the area began to find their cows and other livestock torn open with their throats ripped out. Just a week after shooting the creature in his yard, Jacobs’ own Rottweiler was found dead with its throat torn out, hanging across a limb in a tree in his front yard. It almost seemed like a revenge killing.

A few days later, one of William’s new foals died the same way. The foal’s mother had to be put to sleep, because she had gone into shock over whatever she had witnessed there in the barn when her foal was killed.

Some people in the area still don’t believe. They think the whole story was made up. But, Jacob and Kenny know that there is still something out there in the forest. They still occasionally find tracks, or a slaughtered cow, or goat. They still hear the bloodcurdling screams off in the woods at night. They know that there is still something out there watching and waiting biding its time. Something cold, and cunning, and cruel, something not human with a taste for blood and revenge.

Scary Story Time | Skinwalker by Max Minton

Original Story

Music by Dr. Creepen

My father told me a story once. I’ll never forget it, for a few reasons. I think it’s the first story he ever told me, as a child. It’s also the story of how my grandfather died. But honestly, that isn’t the reason.

You hear stories, on TV, or sometimes you over hear something in a public place. People talk about ghosts and aliens, and you think to yourself, “That isn’t real. They’re making it up, or they’re mistaken, or they’re crazy,” or something like that. You just can’t believe it.

Until something happens. Something that brings it all together, connects the dots in a way you didn’t think of before. Maybe it happens to you, maybe you hear the same story again and again, happening to different people. It doesn’t take long for the world to become a lot bigger than you thought it was.

As I said, this is a story my father told me, but I never believed it, even though he swore up and down it was true. It wasn’t until I started clicking around the internet I started to believe. I started to hear other stories just like the one my father told me. It didn’t take me long to believe in The Rake.

That’s not what my father called it, of course. He’s never used the internet in his life, he wouldn’t know what the consensus has taken to naming it. When he chose to call it something other than “it” or “that thing”. He called it “Skinwalker” after an old Navajo tale his grandfather told him.

But I’ll tell you the story, the way he told it to me.

“We were out hunting one night,” he’d tell me. “Coyotes. We’d kill ’em for fifty bucks a skin.” They lived on a dairy farm, in Ohio. “They’d kill calves sometimes. We’d do it every night, because we needed the money. Sometimes, while we were out, we’d come on a deer, and kill it. Our landlord didn’t mind, and it could a feed our family for a few nights and save us some money.

“Anyway, we were done making our rounds and heading home, walking, ’cause we didn’t have a car or some four-wheeler back then. We’d cut through the woods. That’s when we came up on it.

“Blood, everywhere. Splattered on the trees, in the grass, in the creek, everywhere. At first, we figured it was a pack of coyotes. We’d seen it sometimes, they can’t scavenge and start hunting deer or cattle. The worst was when they bred with feral dogs. But this wasn’t like that.

“See, when a pack of dogs, or wolves, or coyotes attack something, they do it right. They’ll pick off one that’s weak, or sick, or old, or just small. They’ll hunt it, draw it into a corner, some place it can’t get out off, and they’ll run it right to the biggest one, the alpha. And that deer will never see that alpha. It might hear it, but it won’t see it. It’ll just notice that its throat is gone, and then it’ll drop dead. It’s quick, it’s clean. That wasn’t what happened here.

“Something had run up on a den of deer. Coyotes won’t attack a den, wolves neither, because they’d get too much of a fight. There were three, I think, three bodies. Just torn apart. You’d see a head here, a leg here, a torso there. Predators don’t do that. They don’t leave behind scraps. What had done this hadn’t done it for food. It had done it for fun.

“But we didn’t know that. We saw a bunch of carcasses and we think it’s something we gotta take care of. I remember my dad telling me to go home; he thought it was a pack of feral dogs.”

“But I wasn’t leaving him, and I damn sure wasn’t walking through two miles of woods alone, with nothing but a twenty two and a pocket knife.” He was only thirteen at the time, so a .22 rifle was about the only gun he could reliably use. “Dad had the shotgun, and I wasn’t going anywhere without it.

“It took me a while, to convince him, but finally we began tracking whatever did that. It wasn’t hard, either, we just followed the blood. Either that thing bled a deer before it got away, or it dragged one for a mile. I don’t know. I know that I’d never seen my dad scared before that night.

“We started hearing noises. I’ve been in a lot of woods, in my life, I’ve been all over the world, and ain’t never heard noises like I heard that night. I heard things screaming.

“Heard deer, and fox, and rabbits and raccoons and birds, just scared. Keep in mind, this is maybe twelve, or one o’ clock. ‘Cept the fox, and some birds, nothing was supposed to even be awake. But they weren’t just awake They were moving. I saw flocks of birds that night fly straight into trees just trying to get out of there. We came up on a pack of coyotes, nearly shot a couple thinking it was what we were looking for us, but then we saw they were running towards us. They ran right passed us, didn’t even notice.

“Then some deer did the same. Then some rabbits, squirrels, foxes, even a couple wild hogs. These things were supposed to be eating each other and the only thing they cared about was getting out of there.

“We should have put it together. That maybe whatever we were tracking, it wasn’t something we were supposed to see, and it wasn’t something we could kill. I don’t know why we didn’t just go home. I guess we were curious. I think that was my dad’s nature, to go toward trouble, to fight. And knowing what I knew about what my father did during the war, my nature was to stay close to him.

“We finally get into an open valley. It was normally a soy field, but it wasn’t in season, so it was just flat dirt. We saw the tracks, then. A lot of the animals fleeing the forest had paved over the land. But where that deer blood was, nothing had taken a single step. Like they were leaving it for us to find.

“The tracks were shallow. Whatever it was couldn’t have weighed more than one hundred pounds, but that didn’t mean much. A bobcat weighing forty pounds wet nearly tore out my damn throat, once. All that means is that it’s quick and hard to hit.

“So we follow the tracks, and it doesn’t take us long to find where it is. There’s this old school house that sits on the top of a hill. Half of it had been ripped out by a tornado, but nobody lived there, not for a long time. We caught homeless people in there, sometimes, or druggies looking for a safe place to shoot up. We figured maybe that was it. Maybe it was some sick kid riding a high. But we didn’t think that for long.

“We get within fifty yards, and we hear this noise. A screeching kinda sound. It was sort of made up of two different sounds. One was a high pitched screech, another was a low pitched growl. It was making both, at the same time.

“We get within twenty yards, and we hear this sound. I can remember thinking that it sounded like paper being torn apart, while someone was swinging water in a bucket, back and forth.

“Dad looks at me, kneels down, and whispers. ‘I gotta stay behind him, ’cause we’re about to corner him. Any animal will fight when it’s cornered, ‘specially when it’s a predator. But we can tell by the tracks that it’s just one’. He tells me it’s probably a single, feral dog, probably rabid.

“The plan is to sneak up on it while it’s eating, shoot it, and then keep shooting it ’till it don’t move anymore, then slit its throat. If it gets to dad, it’s my job to shoot it or stab it to get it off him. So he walks up, and I’m right behind him, just a tad to his side, so I can see what it is. I wish to this day I hadn’t.

“It was leaning over a carcass, tears off its flesh, and throws what it doesn’t nibble at aside. There’s blood all over the brick, glistening in the moonlight. It’s pale white, human looking; but not quite human. It had arms and legs like a human, but it sat like a monkey, hunched over. Its hands weren’t normal; it had long fingers with claws at the end.

“So we see that, and my dad hesitates. He wasn’t about to fire on a person. So he clears his throat, to try get it to turn around.

“I swear to god, all the noise just ceased. I ain’t ever heard true silence before that, and not after it. But for two seconds, nothing, nothing, made any noise. Which made it all the louder when it turned around, made this shrill cry, and jumped on dad.

“He got a shot off. I think he missed. If he hit the thing, it didn’t mind. But it was on him, tears parts of him off. I start shooting it with the twenty two, point blank, but it barely bled the thing. I got off five rounds, and then I started hitting it with the gun butt. But it wasn’t budging.

“It didn’t even register that I was there.

“It clawed at my dad, taking off bits of his flesh. It started on his torso, ripping off the skin, his tit, then it moved up. It tore off his throat, it tore off his nose, his eyes. It scalped him. Then it started digging in and ripped off the bottom half of his jaw, the little bones and that tube in your neck, then his ribs.

“I don’t exactly remember what happened, but somehow, my dads knife ends up in this things shoulder, and my dad ends up on my back. I’m running, and by god I’m running faster than I’d ever run before or after. And it’s following me. I end up back in the woods, opposite the ones we been in. I’m headin’ towards my landlord’s house, ’cause it’s half a mile away.

“I can hear this thing, screeching and moaning. I hear the tree branches crack and get thrown around. It sounds like someone’s taking an axe to every single tree I pass, it’s cracking so loud and often, but I just ain’t looking back.

“Finally, I trip into gravel. I look up and there’s my landlord and bunch of his buddies, drinking around a campfire. I scream and I cry, and they come over. I’m telling them to call an ambulance, and he looks at me, and I’ll never forget what he said.

“‘What is that on your back?’ he asked me. Just as he said it, he saw. One of those godawful flannel shirts my dad wore everywhere. It was what was left of my dad. Most of his head, his torso, but nothing after the waist.

“Suddenly we hear it; screeching. He grabs me, my dad gets thrown on the ground. I’m fighting him, crying, cause I think we can still save him, somehow, but my dad had been gone ‘fore I ever picked him up. He has to pick me up and throw me inside before I come with him.

“He and his buddies, we’re all inside, and their locking doors, and getting guns. The landlord’s asking me ‘What happened? What happened?’ but I just don’t know what to tell him. He pieced enough of it all together to understand that there was something dangerous there. All the lights in the house are on, and someone calls the cops. They’ll be there, but in fifteen minutes.

“We look outside, and see it walk in front of the fire they’d made. Don’t know what it is, one of ’em says it looks like an Ape. Suddenly, something goes through the window. We shoot at it, but ain’t the thing. It’s my landlord’s dog. Just the body, though. Not his head or legs.

“We start pushing things in front of doors and windows, when we hear something the garage. I remember one of his friends sayin’ that the doors were open. We hear metal and glass just get ripped apart. We put a couch and a TV in front of the door to the garage.

“It banged around some more, but then it got quiet. Not silent, like it was before. We could hear it move around some, and the guys were talking, making sure the guns were ready. Someone hands me a pistol. No sooner did I cock the hammer back did we hear something shatter upstairs. Then we heard it screech again. ‘cept now it was louder, and it didn’t echo and fade out. Because it was inside.

“We all rushed to the one door leading upstairs, and we got to it just as that thing did. It opened it just a bit, and four or five men just slammed into it. It got its hand through. Someone with a shotgun took care of that. Put the barrel right up to its wrist and pulled the trigger. Cut its hand off, clean.

“That only pissed it off, though. It started pushing on that door, clawing. We were on one side, pushing as best we could, and it was on the other, doing the same. That wood just wasn’t going to hold, so someone tells us to keep our heads down. Suddenly the top half of the door is just gone, my ears are ringing, and there are splinters everywhere. Two or three of them just unloaded on the top of that door.

“I don’t really know where it went after that. The police got there. I was still glued to that door, what was left of it. The sun was up before they got me off it. They put me in a hospital for a while. A lot of people talked to me, but I didn’t talk back, not for a long, long time.

“When I got back home, I got a job from the landlord, working on the farm. We didn’t talk much, not about the thing. But, I signed up for the army when I was nineteen, and he sat me down to drink some scotch as a send off. I asked him, right away, what the police told him. The story they went with was a wild animal, probably a wolf, or maybe a bear that had migrated north. I asked him how they could say that when they had the hand. He looks at me, stunned.

“He tells me that hand never made it back to the station. The cop who had it in his car wrecked, drove into a tree, died on impact. The hand was never found, probably taken away by an animal. The cops, when they would acknowledge the hand existed at all, said it was simply the paw of a bear that looked like a human hand.

“I never talked to the landlord again. He went missing when I was in basic. The cops never found him. They said he owed some people some money and just ran away, but I don’t think it’s that simple. I never went back to those woods. I wouldn’t even if I had the whole goddamn US Army at my back.”

But that was a lie. When my mother died, I don’t think my father felt he had anything left, and that he might as well settle old scores. He went to those woods. He never came back. The FBI was called, they did a show for everyone involved, but I knew they weren’t really looking. I had to get one drunk and slip him a few fifties before he finally told me that they get a few calls about those woods every year, about someone up and vanishing. But that was all he wanted to tell me. Before he got up and left with the rest of his team, he wrote “The Rake” onto a napkin. I didn’t know what it meant until I searched for it on the internet. Honestly, I would have rather not known.

Scary Story Time | A Dog Named Grim

Original Story

Music by Dr. Creepen

My parents had very demanding jobs. My mother and father ran a law firm, and we had to travel a lot. I had to get use to being pretty much alone. I could never get use to having friends. I knew I would only end up moving anyway. I was also an only child. Therefore, life was pretty much a sad thing for me. However, I will never forget a strange encounter I had when my parents and I moved into a trailer on the countryside of Mississippi. It was pretty much desolate other than a few other houses and trailers. The trailer was the best my parents could find.

We moved in the trailer next to an old man. He looked as though he was in his late 80s. He also seemed to live alone. I never saw anyone but him outside. I don’t think he had a wife, kids, or even grandchildren. However, he did have a dog. It was quite a strange dog though. He appeared to be a black German Shepard. He had one of the most unique, beautiful black coat of fur I had ever seen on any animal. His fur could be compared to that of the night sky. He was also quite large. He definitely had some Great Dane in his bloodline. When you see this dog’s black coat and large size, he looks absolutely intimidating. It was simply astounding. I’d honestly never seen a dog quite like this.

I went over to introduce myself to the neighbor. Though he looked grumpy, the man was very nice. He introduced himself as Mr. Frank Gosold, but he told me I could call him Frank. I then asked what was the name of his dog. His name was Grim. Grim simply glanced at me, but paid me no attention.

As time passed, Frank and I had become friends. He said it was nice to finally have some company. I would regularly help Frank with his chores around the house. Afterwards, he would give me a little pay for my help. With my father always working, Frank pretty much became my father figure. It made me feel special.

Something was quite strange every time I visited Frank. Grim would be gone most of the time. Frank explained that Grim loved to explore the woods, but my gut told me that wasn’t the case. Occasionally, I would come across Grim. His behavior was quite…weird. Sometimes, he would just sit completely still staring out into the woods. He looked utterly focused.

I would try to play with Grim, but he was never playful. Whenever I tried to get him to play, he would just look at me with a blank stare and continue to stare out into the woods. His tail wouldn’t even wag in the slightest. He just didn’t seem like a happy dog. That was until about a month into staying in the trailer. Apparently, a man died late in the night. Police said he was drunk and drove his car into a tree. That day, I saw Grim’s tail wag. He actually looked happy. I ran over to see if he would happily greet me. After he noticed me, his tail stopped wagging and he gave me a low growl. It was like…I was disturbing his happiness.

After that, I was determined to find out what was Grim’s deal. The weirdest thing about Grim was his behavior. Every time someone in the neighborhood died, he would either be gone or be happy. What was this dog’s problem? It was like he knew when people died. This began to bother me. It actually began to disturb me. I began to have nightmares about Grim. I had dreams of him at the drunk man’s accident. There was an old lady who lived about three miles away from us. She’d suffered from a heart attack in sleep. I had a nightmare that Grim had something to do with it. One of my final nightmares was of Grim popping out of nowhere biting my throat out.

Time passed and my parents and I were getting ready to move again. I told myself I would never try to make friends, but I’d made such good friends with Frank. I just couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.

Before I continue, I want to say that I was one of the only survivors. Remember that. You’ll know what I mean at the end.

Anyway, I said my goodbyes to Frank. He was sad that I was leaving. I was pretty torn up about it as well. However, I couldn’t leave without knowing Grim’s issue. I asked Frank where he got Grim.

His face went pale for a moment. After a brief moment of hesitation, he answered.

“I didn’t find him. He found me. My wife died a few years ago. After that, he just…showed up.”

I found that quite weird. Grim just appeared after Frank’s wife died. He then asked him does he know about Grim’s weird behavior. His answer will forever live in my mind.

“I once thought Grim was a normal dog. I thought he was just some stray that found his way to my door. Then, I realized that wasn’t quite the case. You see, my boy, Grim isn’t just a normal dog. As a matter of fact, he isn’t a dog at all.”

I could not think of anything to say. I was completely baffled. I managed to ask one final question.

“Then…what is he?”

Frank looked at me with a face of caution.

“I think…I t-think he’s Death. I use to be curious where Grim would run off too just like you. I once followed him and discovered he was arriving at the scenes of upcoming death. He would never be happy until someone died or was about to die. I even believe he can be at several places at once. It’s best you leave now. We don’t want to upset him. Please.”

With that being said, I left Frank’s house and never saw him again. My parents had finished packing up. We were on our way to the airport. I will never forget what I saw as we drove away. I looked out the back car window and saw Grim. He was staring directly at me, but this time, he was wagging his tail. He was happy to see me leave.

At the airport, we began to board our plane. Remember when I said I was one of the only survivors? As I boarded the plane, I could’ve sworn I spotted Grim at the airport for a second, but when I took a second look, there was nothing there. I’m sure you can imagine what happened to that plane. I lost both my parents in that crash.

I finally realized what Grim was. This may seemed far-fetched, but maybe Grim is Death. That’s why Grim is named Grim. He is the Grim Reaper.

I have never been a spiritual person. I do believe in death though. Eventually, its coming for all of us. However, I can confidently say I cheated Death…and Death is a dog. Death is…a dog named Grim.