Just Creepy: Scary Stories
Best Scary Skinwalker Stories of January 2025 | Compilation, Wendigo, True Scary Stories for Sleep
Wed, 29 Jan 2025
These are the 19 Best Scary Skinwalker Stories of January 2025 | Compilation, Wendigo, True Scary Stories for Sleep Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ Music by: ► Myuu's channel http://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Music http://bit.ly/2f9WQpe Thumbnail art: ►Just Creepy Business inquiries: ►[email protected] #scarystories #horrorstories #Skinwalker #Wendigo #Cryptid #JustCreepy 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀
Chapter 1: What makes Skinwalker stories so chilling?
I always thought moving to the cabin would be peaceful. You know, the quiet where the loudest thing is the wind in the trees and the occasional crackle of a fire. Grace loved it here. She said the woods felt alive, like they were watching over us. I used to laugh that off, but after what happened, I'm not so sure anymore.
The ridge loomed behind the cabin like a wall, the trees stretched thin and tall against the sky. It was beautiful during the day, but at night it was something else entirely. The way the shadows moved, the faint rustle of branches. It was too still, too quiet. I'd chalked it up to my imagination, at least until that night on the porch.
We were sitting outside wrapped in a blanket watching the stars. Grace was leaning against me, her face lit by the faint glow of the lantern beside us. She was humming softly, something she'd heard growing up, when she stopped mid-note and stiffened. Do you see that? she whispered, barely audible. See what? I asked, already feeling the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
She pointed toward the ridge. At first I didn't see anything, just the black outline of trees against the sky. But then it moved, a flash of pale, almost white, slinking low to the ground. I squinted, trying to make sense of it.
a deer maybe but it wasn't it was too thin its limbs too long its movements all wrong it crawled forward on all fours its head jerking unnaturally like it was struggling to balance itself for a second it stopped and turned toward us i froze i couldn't see its face but i swear it was looking at me It's just an animal, I muttered, trying to convince myself as much as Grace. She shook her head.
No, it's not. Her voice didn't sound like her, calm, almost reverent. She leaned forward, her eyes locked on the thing as it crawled into the shadows and disappeared. I wanted to get up, grab the flashlight, and chase after it, but my legs wouldn't move. Maybe it's a coyote, I suggested, my voice unsteady. Grace smiled faintly, her eyes still fixed on the ridge. No, she said, it's something else.
I didn't sleep that night. Every creak of the cabin, every gust of wind, made me jump. Grace, though, seemed perfectly at ease. She even laughed at me when I told her I'd heard something outside. Maybe it's your forest spirit, I said, trying to make light of it. She just smiled. Maybe it is. The next morning, I went out to check the property.
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Chapter 2: What happened on the porch that night?
The air was crisp, the ground damp from the rain the night before. Everything looked normal until I got to the edge of the clearing. Then I found something disturbing.
a circle of broken branches scattered as if something had been lying there in the center was a pile of bones small ones picked clean i knelt down my stomach twisting they looked like rabbit bones but there was something off about the way they were arranged almost like a spiral
Chapter 3: What disturbing discovery was made in the clearing?
i brought grace out to see it she didn't seem phased it's a gift she said simply a gift from what she shrugged her gaze drifting toward the ridge the forest i laughed nervously but she didn't she just stood there staring until i finally dragged her back inside that night the thing came closer We were inside, the fire crackling low, when Grace suddenly got up and went to the window. What is it?
I asked, already dreading the answer. She didn't reply at first, just pressed her hand against the glass. Finally, she said, it's here. My chest tightened. I grabbed the flashlight and stepped onto the porch. The air was freezing, my breath coming out in clouds. And there it was. It stood at the edge of the clearing, upright now, its pale body stretched and gaunt.
Its limbs were too long, its hands dangling near its knees. It didn't move, didn't breathe, just stood there, watching me. I shined the flashlight on it, and it flinched, its head snapping to the side like it was trying to avoid the light. Then it dropped to all fours and skittered back into the woods, disappearing into the dark.
When I turned back to the house, Grace was still at the window, smiling. "'It doesn't want to hurt us,' she said, her voice soft. "'It just wants to watch.' That was the first time I felt truly afraid, not of the thing, but of her. It started with Grace spending more time on the porch. She'd always liked being outside, but this was different.
She wasn't enjoying the fresh air or taking in the scenery. She was watching, waiting." Every morning she'd step outside barefoot, no matter how cold it was, and stare toward the ridge. At first, I told myself it was harmless. Grace had always been a little more connected to the natural world than me. And if she wanted to commune with the trees, who was I to stop her?
But then she started talking about it. I see it every day now, she told me one afternoon while I was stacking firewood. She was sitting cross-legged on the porch, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, her eyes locked on the tree line. I stopped mid-swing. You see what? The watcher, she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It comes closer every time.
I set the axe down, my stomach tightening. Grace, this isn't funny. She turned to me, her face calm, serene even. I'm not joking. It doesn't want to hurt us. It's curious, that's all. Curious, sure. Because that's exactly how I'd describe something that crawls on all fours like a broken marionette. That night, I woke up to find Grace's side of the bed empty.
At first, I thought she'd gone to the bathroom or maybe downstairs for a drink of water. But when I didn't hear any movement, I got up to check. The house was silent, the kind of silence that presses on your ears. The door to the porch was wide open, letting in a freezing draft. My heart dropped. I grabbed a flashlight and stepped outside. The moon was high, casting long shadows over the clearing.
Grace, I called, my voice shaky. No answer. I followed the faint tracks in the snow, my breath coming out in short, panicked bursts. They led toward the woods. Grace, I shouted again, louder this time. Finally, I saw her. She was standing just inside the tree line, her back to me, staring at something I couldn't see. Grace, I yelled, running to her. What the hell are you doing?
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Chapter 4: How did Grace's behavior change after the encounter?
We're going inside, I said, pulling her back toward the cabin. She didn't resist, but as we walked, she kept glancing over her shoulder like she was leaving something important behind.
the next day she acted like nothing had happened she hummed to herself while making breakfast joked about how i needed to chop wood faster and didn't mention the previous night at all something was wrong that afternoon while she was outside i found something near the edge of the clearing a bundle of sticks tied together with twine sitting on top of a patch of disturbed snow at first i thought it was just some weird debris
but then i noticed the hair tangled in the twine long dark strands that looked exactly like grace's i showed it to her when she came back inside do you know anything about this i asked holding it up her eyes lit up and she reached for it it's a gift she said cradling it like it was something precious "'A gift from what?' I demanded. She shrugged, still smiling. "'The forest.'
I took it outside and burned it. Grace watched me from the porch, her face expressionless. The breaking point came three nights later. I woke up to the sound of something moving on the roof, slow, deliberate footsteps. I lay there holding my breath, straining to listen.' Then I realized Grace wasn't beside me. I bolted upright and looked around.
The curtains were open, and through the window, I saw her. She was standing in the clearing, looking up at the ridge. I threw on my boots and coat, grabbing the flashlight as I stumbled out the door. The cold hit me like a slap, but I didn't care. "'Grace!' I yelled, running toward her. She didn't move. When I reached her, I grabbed her shoulders and spun her around."
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Chapter 5: What warning signs were present at the cabin?
Her eyes were wide, unfocused, like she was in a trance. "'What are you doing?' I shouted. She didn't answer, she just pointed toward the ridge. I followed her gaze, and there it was. The thing stood at the edge of the forest, half hidden in the shadows. It was taller now, its limbs impossibly long, its face a pale, featureless void.'
It tilted its head as if studying us, and then stepped forward, its movements jerky and wrong. I dragged Grace back to the cabin, my heart pounding. She didn't fight me, didn't say a word, just kept looking over her shoulder at the thing. When we got inside I locked the door and shoved a chair under the handle. Grace sat at the table, staring out the window with a faint smile on her face.
It doesn't want to hurt us, she said softly. I didn't sleep that night. Neither did Grace. She just sat there watching the woods. I didn't think it could get worse. Every night since that last encounter, I'd stayed up late sitting by the window with a shotgun across my lap.
grace barely spoke to me any more her eyes always drifting toward the ridge her face drawn and pale she claimed she hadn't seen the thing again but i knew she was lying she flinched at every creak of the floorboards every gust of wind that rattled the windows
but the worst part was how quiet the forest had become no birds no rustling of animals just silence it was like the woods were holding their breath waiting that night the storm hit the wind howled rain pelting against the cabin like a thousand tiny claws the power flickered and then died completely plunging us into darkness
I lit a lantern and tried to keep calm, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Grace had gone to bed early, or at least that's what she'd told me. I hadn't checked. I didn't want to see the vacant, glassy look in her eyes again. I sat in the living room, the shotgun propped against my knee. When I heard it, the faint creak of footsteps overhead. My stomach twisted.
i told myself it was just the wind that the old roof was groaning under the pressure of the storm but then it came again louder this time deliberate something was up there i stood gripping the shotgun my heart pounding grace i called out my voice cracking
no answer i moved toward the bedroom the lantern casting long flickering shadows on the walls the door was slightly ajar and when i pushed it open my heart sank the bed was empty the curtains were drawn back and the window was wide open rain soaking the floorboards
grace i shouted running to the window outside the storm raged but through the sheets of rain i saw her she was standing in the clearing her arms stretched upward her face tilted to the sky and it was there the thing loomed over her taller than i had ever seen it Its pale, emaciated body was bent at impossible angles, its limbs trembling as if struggling to hold their weight.
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Chapter 6: What transpired during the final confrontation?
The knocking stopped, replaced by a low, guttural growl. It wasn't like anything I'd heard before. Not an animal, not human, but somewhere in between. Lena clutched my arm. It's playing with us. The next few hours were a blur of terror. The sounds grew louder, more chaotic, scratching at the walls, pounding on the roof, footsteps racing back and forth.
At one point we heard the front door rattle, the knob twisting as if someone were trying to open it. Sam fired a shot out the window and for a moment everything went still. Then it screamed. The sound was inhuman, piercing and guttural, vibrating through my chest like a physical force.
It came from everywhere at once, surrounding the house, growing louder and louder until I thought my ears would burst. Get away from the windows, Sam shouted. Lena and I scrambled into the hallway, pressing ourselves against the walls. The house felt like it was under siege, the walls groaning under the weight of the relentless assault. Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped.
The silence was worse somehow, thick and oppressive, as if the house itself was holding its breath. I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could, there was a loud crash from the kitchen. Something had gotten in. Sam yelled, stay back, and disappeared around the corner, his rifle raised. Lena grabbed my hand, her grip so tight it hurt.
We stayed frozen in place, listening as Sam moved through the house, his footsteps slow and deliberate. Then we heard it, the growl, low and menacing, followed by the sound of claws scraping against the tile floor. Sam fired once, twice, and then, silence. "'Uncle Sam!' Lena called out, her voice trembling. No response.
And then, from the shadows of the hallway, we heard it, the sound of something breathing, heavy and ragged. And it wasn't Sam. I don't know how long we stood there, frozen in the hallway, listening to that horrible sound. Each breath it took was labored and wet, like it was savoring every moment before making its next move.' Lena's grip on my arm was vice-like, her nails digging into my skin.
But I didn't care. I couldn't move. I couldn't think. Uncle Sam? Lena whispered again, barely audible. The breathing stopped. The silence was worse. Oppressive. Suffocating. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might give me away. Then slowly, deliberately, the sound of footsteps echoed through the house. Heavy. Uneven. Whatever it was. It wasn't walking like a person or an animal.
It was something else entirely. The kitchen light flickered, casting erratic shadows onto the walls, and I could feel Lena trembling beside me. "'What do we do?' she mouthed. I didn't have an answer. Suddenly, the footsteps picked up, faster now, slamming against the floor as if whatever was out there had dropped to all fours. It was heading straight for us."
Run, I yelled, grabbing Lena and pulling her down the hall. We bolted into the guest room, slamming the door behind us. I pushed a dresser in front of it, my hands shaking so badly I could barely grip the edges. Lena was pacing near the window, her breaths coming in short gasps. It's in the house, she said, her voice cracking. It's in here with us. I didn't respond. I couldn't.
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Chapter 7: How does the legend of Skinwalkers evolve throughout the stories?
The trail was pretty straightforward. Tall grass flanked either side, and the path itself was thin but easy to follow. I reached the riverbank where there were two picnic tables. I didn't want to get eaten alive by mosquitoes, but I'd stupidly worn sandals. I dropped my bag on one of the tables and started back toward the cabin. For some odd reason, the path suddenly seemed distorted.
What was once a smooth trail was now rough and uneven. I noticed the tall grass on the side of the path had been flattened, as if something huge, and I mean gigantic, had passed through it. At first, I suspected a bear, since the locals warned us they could be a problem this time of year, but the sheer size of whatever caused it made me second-guess that.
I was startled, but kept going until I made it back to the cabin, and then I returned to the river again. By now, I was a little frightened.
i kept telling myself i was just overreacting and should try to enjoy nature i sat at one of the tables and watched the river for a while that's when i started to feel like something was watching me i looked around assuming one of my friends was trying to prank me but there was no one Across the river, I noticed some disturbed brush.
It opened into a small clearing, blocked off by two logs in an X shape. The longer I sat there, the more uneasy I became. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was hidden behind that thick brush. Hoping to find some sign of life, I moved down to the river's edge. But there was nothing. No fish. No frogs. No roads. Just mosquitoes. A whole swarm of them.
disappointed i went back to the table that's when i heard it a sound i can't accurately describe like a scream mixed with a gurgle as if whatever was making the noise had a mouthful of water it was inhuman i froze i should have run for my life but i just stood there i heard rustling in the bushes behind me
Yes, the same bushes I'd been worrying about earlier, and then that scream again, even louder this time. It was the loudest sound I've ever heard. Run. So I did. I sprinted through the forest, but what should have been a quick run back to the cabin turned into anything but. After about ten minutes of full-on sprinting, I realized I was lost.
I stopped for a moment, panicking, to see if anything looked familiar. Finally, I spotted a bridge I remembered crossing on my way there. I started running toward it, wondering why that thing hadn't just attacked me when I first froze. That thought haunted me. I could hear it chasing me. It felt like a twisted game. Every time I stopped, it stopped too. Eventually, I made it back to my cabin.
Instead of going inside, I stood on the porch facing the forest and cried. I couldn't see anything unusual out there, but I knew it was there. I didn't want to turn my back on it, so I stayed on the porch for hours, silently crying, checking my phone occasionally, and writing all of this down. I still don't know what that thing was. The only creature I can compare it to is a wendigo or skinwalker.
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Chapter 8: What is the significance of the artifact found in the field?
The sound came again, closer this time. Probably some stray, I said, though it sounded more like a question. I took a step forward, and Bo went wild, barking and pulling harder than ever. All right, all right, I said, backing up. We're going. But as I turned to leave, the whimper changed. It stretched, warbled, like a record spinning too slow.
and then it was something else entirely a growl deep and guttural vibrating through my chest beau lunged at the wheat his leash cutting into my hand beau stop i shouted my voice cracking the wheat rustled a heavy sound like something big was moving through it not a dog not a coyote something bigger
i gripped bo's leash tighter and pulled practically dragging him back toward the cabin the growl followed us growing louder sharper and then it shifted again this time it sounded human a scream tore through the air raw and ragged like someone was being ripped apart my feet moved faster than my brain could process
dragging Bo along as he barked and howled like he was trying to fight whatever was in that wheat. We reached the edge of the yard, and I glanced back just once. The wheat was still again, perfectly still, like nothing had ever been there. Bo stopped barking but kept growling, his eyes locked on the field. I didn't wait to see if anything came out.
Inside the cabin, I locked the door and leaned against it, trying to steady my breathing. Bo paced in front of the window, still growling low. I grabbed the curtain and yanked it shut. No way was I looking out there again. That scream, though, it stuck. It didn't sound like an animal, didn't sound like a person either. It sounded... wrong.
Like something trying to sound human and not quite getting it. that night as i sat at the kitchen table beau curled up at my feet i thought about the field about how still it had looked after all that noise i almost convinced myself it was nothing just my imagination running wild just a stray dog or coyote then came the tapping on the window
light at first like a bird brushing against the glass, then heavier, deliberate. I didn't move. Bo's head shot up, his ears twitching. He growled low, a sound so deep it rumbled through the floorboards. The tapping stopped. I sat there, every muscle locked up, staring at the curtain like it was going to be ripped off at any second. But nothing happened.
The cabin stayed quiet, except for Bo's growl and the faint sound of wind whispering through the wheat. I didn't sleep that night, not even a little. I spent the morning cleaning up the scratches on my front door. Long, jagged marks that ran deep into the wood, like something with claws had tried to get in. Bo sat by the window, watching the tree line, growling under his breath.
he hadn't been himself since the day near the wheat and neither had i the cabin didn't feel safe any more every creak of the walls every gust of wind against the glass had me glancing over my shoulder i needed answers something had been out there and it wasn't leaving any time soon I called Walter, my nearest neighbor, if you could call someone living three miles down a dirt road a neighbor.
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