Appalachian Mountain Scary Stories Novels & Stories

I was filled with the urge to scream, but I couldn't; the wind kept slapping me shut. After 2 minutes of turbulent speed, he finally came to a halt. I came crashing down almost immediately, my stomach churning from the insane air I had been putting up during the ride in his arms. "So, Vamparina, do you know where we are?" He questioned. I raised my head a bit, staring at the big mountain, which had come crumbling like it had been struck by a meteor. "Dark skies, dewy sands, that's the Gerly Mountain. How did it crumble?"

I was the girl who poured their drinks, cleaned up their crumbs, stood off to the side with my head low. But I listened. Every night, I listened. And my favorite stories—the ones that sent chills down my spine—were about the rogues. Greywin would say, “They don’t walk like us. They stalk. They don’t breathe like us. They sniff, they growl. And when you hear a branch break in the middle of the forest, child, don’t run… they already know where you are.” I remembered the way the girls would huddle closer, giggling but scared. But I wasn’t giggling. I was barely breathing. I always held my tray tighter and leaned closer to hear more.

She thought her world would be desolate from then on, but now that he was here. While they were kissing, they heard a miserable scream coming from outside the backyard. "Ah..." Then, there was the sound of something falling down. When Savannah looked up at it attentively, she covered her mouth in surprise. Why did it look like a person? Did someone scream just now? This mountain was relatively primitive, so wild animals would probably show up at night. Savannah burrowed into Callan's arms and nervously asked, "Is there any wild animal here? Or is there a ghost?"

There are fights breaking out every few feet, people lashing out over the last piece of fire wood, or accusing one another of thefts and attacks. Utter dread fills me as I wait for the inevitable castigations from the other Alphas. And you want us to bring these wretches into our world? I imagine Kieran saying, with disdain dripping from his tongue. A crash sounds in the distance, and terrified screams break out as the humans whip around, searching for the source of the disturbance. It’s coming from the Northern mountains– the opposite direction of the shifter camps – and it sounds like nothing more than a rock slide. However to their ears it must sound like an incoming army, and their fear

I cry, clutching onto his shirt tightly. "Shh... let everything out," he coos softly, rubbing my back. --- After an hour, I am finally okay—back to my normal state. I am now sitting on the couch while Zander makes some tea for me and coffee for himself. I keep looking outside into the deep forest, watching the trees sway from the strong wind. Thank goodness we don't live in the Appalachian Mountains, or else I would have made a run for it. One of my cousins, who is married to a warrior in the Sun Down Pack located in the Appalachian Mountains, says it gets creepy after dark.

In 1983 a Mrs Carson of New York was laid out in our coffin, presumed dead of hear disease. As mourners watched, she suddenly sat up, alive as you or I. Unfortunately her daughter dropped dead of fright on the spot. I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon. You can send me your short stories for a feature if you feel like it. Thanks for reading. Enjoy!I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon.

It was late autumn when they arrived — the trees skeletal, the air thick with a kind of oppressive stillness that seemed to hum beneath the surface of the world. Emily Carter, a graduate student in folklore and urban legends, had heard the whispers about WildWood all her life. She had grown up just a few towns over and had spent years gathering the old stories: tales of the “vanishing patients,” the “howling trees,” and the “night doctors” said to stalk the forest paths. Determined to separate fact from myth, Emily organized an expedition for her thesis, enlisting a few brave companions:

“But why can’t we just visit Hela's woods near Wales or Jermain mountains which fall on the way to Scotland?” “But what's wrong with Dracon, babe?” asked Alex, eyeing her with suspicion. “Umm…nothing just, I have heard highly mysterious stories about those woods. The place has been haunted for centuries and….,” she gulped, with fear, making a substantial effort to utter the rest of the sentence. “Those who have had taken a stroll in those woods or the mountain nearby have had their heads sliced and hung on top of trees,” her sentence ended, sending a massive line of shiver down my spine.

Some of them stand in packhouses and call you the reason their mate is dead. And some of them, maybe, are not monsters at all. Just stories. Just fear. But I do not know which story is true. And that might be the scariest part. --- Night falls. The group makes camp in a valley between two mountains. The guards give me more bread and a blanket. I curl up in the corner of the wagon and try to sleep. I cannot. The stories circle in my head like angry bees. He killed ten rogues with his bare hands.

The few bears that still roamed the mountains were all hibernating comfortably in their dens. It could have been worse, Nicky and Teri knew—they could have been forced to share a tent with their eight-year-old brothers instead of with each other. But thankfully, the boys were in tents with their dads. The six of them had spent the last couple hours sitting around a blazing campfire, taking turns telling scary stories. Most of the stories were pretty lame, but Teri’s father raised some goose bumps with a tale of a crazed psychopath who preyed on campers, dragging them from their tents back to a cave where he slowly ate them alive. By the time he was done, the youngsters found themselves peeki