3 Short Scary Stories about Appalachia
Nestled among the age-old rolling hills of the Eastern United States lies a region renowned not just for its natural beauty, but for the depth and richness of its stories: Appalachia.
This sprawling area, stretching from southern New York down to northern Alabama, harbors tales as ancient as its mountains, as intricate as its forests, and as poignant as its streams.
While mainstream media might offer a monolithic image of Appalachia, those familiar with its diverse cultures, traditions, and tales know that the true essence of this region lies in the varied narratives of its inhabitants.
In this post, we’re delving deep into the heart of Appalachia, uncovering stories that evoke a sense of fear for a land that has shaped countless generations.
Join us as we journey through tales of resilience, hope, mystery, and the timeless bond between the people and the rugged landscape they call home.
Stories about Appalachia
1. Whispers of the Appalachian
The Appalachian Mountains, stretching from Georgia to Maine, are as old as they are vast. They have been the silent witness to countless mysteries and stories.
Among the many tales whispered through the small towns and villages dotting the range, one story is told again and again, especially on cold, foggy nights.
In the early 1980s, a group of four college friends decided to hike a particularly remote section of the Appalachian Trail. Jack, Susan, Brian, and Clara were eager for adventure and wanted to escape the hustle and bustle of their daily lives.
They were well-prepared, packing enough food, water, and gear to last them a week. They started their journey filled with enthusiasm, snapping pictures and laughing at each other’s jokes.
On the third day, after setting up camp near a stream, Brian decided to venture a little further to take some sunset photos. The sun’s warm hues danced on the horizon, and the mountains were awash with an ethereal glow.
Lost in the beauty of the landscape, Brian didn’t realize how far he’d gone until darkness enveloped him.
Panicking, he tried to trace his steps back but everything looked different in the dim light. He called out for his friends, but his voice only echoed through the vastness, met with the distant sounds of nocturnal animals.
Meanwhile, back at the camp, the trio grew increasingly worried. They shouted Brian’s name, their voices cutting through the chilly night, but there was no answer. They lit a fire, hoping its glow would guide him back.
Hours passed, and just as they were about to lose hope, a faint silhouette appeared at the edge of their camp.
It was Brian, but something was off. He seemed disoriented, his eyes distant.
When asked about what had happened, he simply said, “I saw her.”
“Who?” they pressed, but Brian just stared into the fire, his face pale.
He finally whispered about an old woman with long, silver hair, singing an ancient melody. She had beckoned him to follow her deeper into the woods, her voice enchanting.
But as he got closer, her appearance changed. Her eyes turned a soulless black, her face twisted into a malevolent grin, and her fingers elongated into sharp claws.
Terrified, he had run away.
Thinking he was probably hallucinating due to panic and darkness, the group tried to comfort him and get some sleep.
But in the middle of the night, Susan was awakened by a soft singing. She peeked out of the tent and to her horror, she saw the old woman Brian had described, standing at the edge of their camp, her eyes fixed on Brian’s sleeping form.
She was softly humming the same tune.
Frozen in fear, Susan could only watch as the spectral woman slowly faded into the mist. The next morning, the group, now fully aware of the dangers lurking in the mountains, packed up and hurriedly made their way back to civilization.
The tale spread, and locals nodded, sharing similar tales of the “Appalachian Siren” who lured unsuspecting travelers with her haunting melodies.
Even today, hikers are warned to be wary if they hear a woman singing in the mountains.
For, as the story goes, she’s still out there, waiting to lure another soul into the ancient heart of the Appalachians.
2. The Souls that Linger
The Appalachian Mountains have seen centuries come and go. With their thick forests and breathtaking views, they have always been a hub for hikers and nature lovers.
But locals knew stories that outsiders didn’t – tales of the unseen and unheard, and the one path everyone was warned to avoid: Deer Hollow Trail.
In the 1970s, Jane was an enthusiastic hiker, always in search of new trails. She had heard murmurs about Deer Hollow Trail, but most locals were vague about why it was avoided. Intrigued, Jane decided she would hike it.
As she entered the trail, the dense forest surrounded her, and the ambiance became eerily silent. Not even the chirping of birds or rustling of leaves.
But she pressed on, dismissing her feelings as mere jitters.
Hours into the hike, as the sun began its descent, she started hearing faint whispers. At first, she thought it was the wind playing tricks on her, but soon the whispers grew louder and more distinguishable.
“Turn back… not safe… leave…“
Jane’s heart raced. She tried to find the source of the voices but saw no one. Panic set in. She decided to set up camp for the night, hoping daylight would bring clarity.
As night fell, the temperature dropped drastically, which was unusual for that time of year. She huddled inside her tent, but the whispers continued, now sounding desperate.
“You shouldn’t be here…“
In the pitch black, she heard footsteps circling her tent. She held her breath, praying for it to be a deer or some non-threatening animal. But then, the shadow of a human figure projected against her tent by the faint moonlight.
Suddenly, the tent’s flap started to unzip. Paralyzed with fear, Jane watched as a pale, almost translucent hand made its way inside.
She mustered the courage to shine her flashlight at the entrance, but there was nothing. The tent flap was closed, and the forest was silent again.
Deciding she couldn’t spend another minute in that place, she packed up and started making her way back, guided by her flashlight. But every so often, she’d hear those whispers, or see figures standing off in the distance, their outlines barely visible.
When dawn broke, she finally exited the trail, her clothes torn and her face pale from terror.
She learned later from an old local that during the 1800s, Deer Hollow Trail was a route taken by settlers. One winter, a group got trapped by heavy snowfall. Unable to move forward or go back, they perished from cold and hunger.
They say their souls still linger, warning hikers of the dangers of the trail.
Jane never hiked Deer Hollow Trail again. But she sometimes woke up in the middle of the night, with the chilling sensation of cold whispers in her ear, reminding her of that fateful hike.
3. The Keeper of Crimson Creek
Deep within the heart of the Appalachian Mountains, there exists a secluded creek known by the locals as Crimson Creek. The name, as some old-timers would whisper, was not for the reddish hue of its rocks, but for the blood that had once stained its waters.
In the late 1800s, there was a hermit named Elias who lived by the creek. He was a tall, thin man, with piercing blue eyes that seemed even more intense against his sun-weathered skin. Elias was known to be possessive about the creek.
He claimed it had special healing powers and that it had granted him a longer life than any normal man. But he also warned that the creek demanded a price for its gifts.
One summer day, a group of children decided to play by the creek. They laughed, splashed, and enjoyed its cool waters, oblivious to its dark history. As the sun began to set, they heard a deep, echoing voice, “The creek demands its price.”
Startled, they looked around and saw Elias, standing on a boulder, his shadow stretching long and eerie against the setting sun.
Panic set in, and the children fled, but one tripped and fell, hitting his head on a sharp rock. The water around him turned crimson with his blood.
The town was enraged. They believed Elias had cursed the creek and the child. A mob formed, and by nightfall, they cornered Elias at the creek, binding him with ropes.
“You love this creek so much? Then be its keeper forever!” one of them shouted, pushing Elias into the deep end, the ropes pulling him downwards.
The last thing the townsfolk saw were his accusing blue eyes, before they disappeared beneath the water.
From that day on, anyone who ventured near the creek reported seeing those same piercing blue eyes watching them from the water, and hearing a voice whispering, “The creek demands its price.”
Many have gone missing near Crimson Creek, and on quiet nights, some say you can hear the sorrowful wails of Elias, forever bound to the waters he loved and feared.
Today, Crimson Creek remains untouched, its waters eerily still. But every so often, when the setting sun casts long shadows across the Appalachians, a hint of crimson appears in the creek, a haunting reminder of its dark past.
