Y'all ever stood out in the woods at night when the air so still it feels like the earth's
holding its breath, when the dark ain't just something you see but something you feel watching
from the trees?
Some say it's just the wind or a trick of the light, but I know better.
Cause one night, long ago, I looked into the eyes of something that weren't meant to be
seen, and once you've stared into the dark and had it stare back, well, you don't never
forget.
Welcome to Kentucky Melody's Scary Stories from Kentucky, where we spin yarns about ghostly
haunts, creepy hollers, and spine-chilling legends from deep in the hills.
So grab a chair, dim them lights, and let's dig into something spooky.
Come on, y'all, pull up close to the fire.
The night's thick as molasses and the woods are listening.
Makes it the perfect time for a story that'll chill you clear to the bone.
This hears a tale from Kentucky soil, one that still clings to my memory like a shadow
that won't let go.
I weren't born in Kentucky.
Nah, I grew up in a little town up in Michigan, not too far from Detroit.
But my roots, they run deep in the hills of Kentucky.
My daddy was born and raised here, and my mama hailed from Arkansas.
Back in the 1950s, both their families headed north, chasing work and a better life.
That's where they met, fell in love and built a life.
But you know how them hills have a way of calling folks home.
By 1978, daddy started longing for the place he grew up, so they sold what they had and
moved us all back to Kentucky.
Mama wasn't too keen on the idea at first, but she went along for daddy's sake.
They bought a little farm about four miles outside town.
Nothing fancy.
Just an old two-story farmhouse built back in the late 1800s.
It was a shock for me and my sister.
I was seven, she was six, and moving from the suburbs to the middle of the woods felt
like stepping into another world.
No running water, no electricity, just the sounds of the land and the stars so close
you could almost touch them.
Life on that farm grew on us quick, though.
There's a kind of magic in the woods if you know how to listen.
At night, the coyotes howl from the ridges, frogs and crickets had hollered their songs,
and the mournful call of a whipper-will could send chills up your spine.
Come dusk, the whole forest would wake up at once, like every critter was calling out
to let the night know they was there.
Then, just as quick, it had fall silent, leaving you wondering what might be lurking in the
shadows.
Now, I reckon it's time to tell you about that night.
Five years after we'd moved in when I was twelve years old, it was late fall, air crisp
enough to sting your lungs in the leaves dry as old bones.
Sometime past midnight, the dogs started barking out back.
We had two young beagles, Annie and Dandy, brother and sister.
They'd grown up together on that farm and passed within weeks of each other when their
time came.
We buried them side by side near the old oak tree.
But on this night, their barks weren't the usual yippen they did when chasing rabbits.
Nah, this was different, sharp, frantic, with a tremble of fear that made my blood run cold.
I slipped out of bed and crept through the house, careful not to wake nobody.
Stepping onto the back porch, I found Annie peeking out from her doghouse, eyes wide as
saucers, while Dandy crouched under a chair, his ears flat against his skull.
Both of them stared toward the tree line about a hundred yards off.
The porch light threw long shadows across the yard, but I couldn't see nothing out there,
just the faint crunch of leaves carried on the breeze.
Curiosity got the better of me, so I dashed inside and grabbed a flashlight from the cabinet
by the back door.
Lucky for me, the batteries still had some life in them.
One back outside, I caught a whiff of something foul, like meat gone bad thick and heavy in
the air.
The dogs had gone quiet, but they still cowered in place, eyes fixed on something just beyond
the light.
I raised the flashlight, sweeping it across the yard, past the flowerbed mama had built,
toward the edge of the woods.
At first, I didn't see nothing, just bare trees and fallen leaves, but then, then my
light caught something that made my breath hitch in my chest.
Standing in the raised flowerbed at the edge of the yard was a figure.
No, a creature.
I say, creature, because there ain't no better word for what I saw.
It looked like a man, but wrong.
One pale as moonlight stretched tight over bones so thin you could see every rib.
It was naked, filthy, with stringy dark hair hanging in clumps around its face.
And the way it stood, down on all fours but not like no animal I'd ever seen, its legs
bent backwards at the knees and its fingers, long and bony with yellowed claw-like nails
dug into the soil.
It made this sound, like a low wheeze mixed with a faint grunt, like it was struggling
to breathe.
Blood dripped slow from its chin, glintin' dark in the flashlight's beam.
Its eyes caught the light, reflecting back like an animal's.
Cold, empty, and wrong.
Time seemed to stop.
I stood there frozen, heart hammering in my chest.
The creature didn't move, just stared at me with one hand lifted slightly off the ground,
as if poised to spring.
My fingers clutched the flashlight so tight it hurt.
I could hear my own breath, sharp and shallow in the silence.
Then, slow as molasses.
Its tongue slid out, long and thin, licking the blood from its lips.
That's when the fear hit me full force.
Moving as slow and steady as I could, I backed toward the door, watching that raised hand
the whole time.
My mind screamed a run, but my legs felt like they was moving through mud.
Finally, I reached the threshold, ducked inside, and slammed the door shut, throwing the lock
with a shaky hand.
Appeared through the window.
Heart pounded so loud it echoed in my ears.
But the creature was gone.
Just like that.
I scanned the yard with the flashlight, but there weren't no sign of it.
Annie and Dandy had come out from their hiding spots, sniffing the air and staring toward
the woods.
I didn't sleep much that night.
Come morning, after the sun had chased away the night's shadows, I made my way to the
tree line.
About ten feet into the woods, I found what I reckoned that creature had been feeding on.
A half-eaten rabbit carcass, fresh blood, dark against the fallen leaves.
I saw deer tracks scattered round, but nothing else to explain what I had seen.
I never told nobody about that night, not till now.
Over the years, I've questioned whether I'd dreamed the whole thing.
But every fall, when the air turns crisp and the leaves start to rustle, I remember those
eyes staring back at me from the dark.
You'll think I saw something supernatural that night, a when to go, a skin walker,
or maybe even a night crawler.
I've heard tales of all three, but this thing didn't quite match any of them.
So what was it?
What do y'all think?
Was it something from the other side, or just a trick of the mind?
Maybe I was dreaming, though I swear, come morning, that memory clung to me like a nightmare
that didn't fade with the daylight.
Drop your thoughts down in the comments.
And if you've ever had a brush with something that don't belong in this world, something
that stared back at you from the dark, share your story.
I reckon there's more folks out there who've seen what they weren't meant to.
And if you got the nerve for more tales that'll keep you up at night, make sure you subscribe
to Kentucky Melody.
We've got plenty more stories waiting in the dark, and who knows?
Maybe one of them's waiting for you.