What awaits you in the North Eastern Woods? Beautiful scenery, majestic hiking, nature, clean air, and openness. Sounds like the perfect thing until you realize that maybe those warnings you heard about the people going missing - might not be rumors after all. Then you find out the hard way why.

I went hiking the Appalachian Trail and found something nailed between two trees — a mirror that didn’t reflect the forest. It showed a room instead. My room.

People told me not to touch it. Told me hikers go missing up there. Told me the woods don’t always give you back what you bring in.

I escaped. I made it home.

But now no one remembers me. My family doesn’t know my name. My girlfriend swears I never existed. And every mirror I pass feels like it’s waiting for me to step back inside.

This recording is the only proof I was ever here.

They say she roamed the high ridges, her skin hard as granite and her finger honed to a blade. Spearfinger, the witch of Cherokee legend, hunted children for their hearts and vanished into the fog before dawn. Her voice could mimic your mother’s. Her shadow could follow you home.

But legends like hers don’t die—they wait. And in these mountains, when the wind scrapes against the stone just right, you can still hear her calling your name.

They came out of the woods one night—small, pale-green figures with eyes like wet glass and movements too smooth to be human. The locals thought it was moonshine madness… until the gunfire started, and the footprints stayed.

Decades later, the stories still echo through the hollers. Were they visitors from the stars, or something that’s always lived beneath these mountains?

Sometimes, the scariest thing isn’t what you see—it’s what keeps coming back after the lights go out.

Deep in the Blue Ridge night, strange lights rise above the ridgeline—glowing orbs that dance, vanish, and return with a mind of their own. Locals call them spirits, scientists call them gas, and the old folks just stop talking altogether. But when a group of travelers disappear chasing those lights, the mountain itself starts whispering back.

This isn’t just a ghost story—it’s a warning from the hills. Some lights aren’t meant to guide you home.