The Lurking Presence in the Appalachian Mountains (West Virginia)

Narrator Profile:

• Name: Samantha “Sam” Thomas
• Age: 38
• Hometown: A small village near Fayetteville, West Virginia
• Occupation: Nurse at a local clinic
• Background: Sam grew up in the secluded Appalachian foothills, surrounded by dense forests and rolling mountains. Raised in a family that embraced the simplicity and serenity of rural life, she never fully embraced the fast pace of urban living. After spending years working in a city, she returned to her childhood home, seeking peace and solitude.

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Story:

It had been years since I left the Appalachian hills to work in a busy city. But after the hustle and bustle of urban life wore me down, I decided it was time to return to the place I once called home. My childhood house, an old log cabin passed down through generations, sat at the edge of a dense forest. It was isolated, far from the nearest neighbor, and that’s how I liked it. There was something soothing about the silence here, something that spoke to my soul.

But that silence began to change the night I moved back in.

The house was cozy, the familiar smell of pine and wood filling the air, but something was off. I felt it immediately. A sort of heaviness that hung in the air, an unease that settled in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t the house—it was the woods. I would often hear rustling, like footsteps crunching through the underbrush. I chalked it up to wildlife, but the hairs on the back of my neck would rise at the thought of someone—or something—out there in the dark.

The first real incident occurred a week after I moved back. One evening, I was sitting in my living room, reading, when I heard a voice. It was faint, but clear. “Samantha.” The voice called my name, almost like a whisper on the wind.

I froze, heart pounding. It sounded like my mother, but she was nowhere around. I called out, but there was no reply. I brushed it off as my imagination playing tricks on me. But that night, as I lay in bed, the sound came again—closer this time, from the woods. “Samantha.”

The voice wasn’t like a normal human voice. It had a hollow, eerie quality, almost as if it were coming from deep underground, like a wind carrying the whispers of something ancient and restless.

I decided to investigate the next morning. With the sun high in the sky, I made my way into the woods. The trees were thick, their branches intertwining like the fingers of ancient hands, blocking out much of the sunlight. The air was cooler here, and a strange mist clung to the ground.

As I walked deeper into the woods, I noticed something odd—a path. I had never seen it before. It was narrow, overgrown with moss, and barely visible, as though it had been abandoned for centuries. Curiosity got the better of me, and I followed it.

The path led me to an old clearing, a place I didn’t recognize. In the center stood a large rock, smooth and unnaturally round, surrounded by a circle of small stones. The ground was disturbed, as if something had recently been moved.

That’s when I felt it—a presence. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and an overwhelming sense of dread washed over me. I couldn’t explain it, but something about this place felt wrong, like I was trespassing in a forbidden area.

I turned to leave, but the moment I did, I heard a sound—a rustling, followed by a low growl. It was coming from the forest, somewhere deep in the trees, and it was unlike anything I had ever heard before.

I ran back to the cabin, my breath ragged, my heart racing. I didn’t stop until I was inside, the door slammed shut behind me. The growling faded, but the dread didn’t. It lingered, gnawing at me from the inside out.

Over the next few weeks, things only got worse. I began to see figures in the woods—shadows that moved when I wasn’t looking directly at them, flickering in the corner of my eye. At night, I would hear them—soft whispers, voices calling my name, and the unmistakable sound of footsteps outside my window. But when I looked, there was nothing there.

I reached out to the only person I knew who might have answers—an elderly woman named Esther, who had lived in the village her entire life. She had always been a bit of an oddball, someone who spoke in cryptic phrases and had strange beliefs about the supernatural. But I had to know if she could help me make sense of what was happening.

I found Esther sitting on her front porch, rocking slowly in her chair. She didn’t seem surprised when I approached her with my questions.

“You’ve seen them, haven’t you?” she asked, her eyes narrowing, not in suspicion, but in understanding.

“The shadows? The voices?”

Esther nodded. “They’ve always been here. The mountains are old, Samantha. Older than anyone knows. And sometimes, the things that live in the land don’t like to be disturbed. They’ve been watching you since the day you moved back.”

“Who are they? What do they want?”

“The spirits of the land,” Esther said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “They were here long before any of us. And they’ve claimed this place as their own. If you don’t show them the proper respect, they will never leave you in peace.”

“Respect?” I asked, confused.

“Leave them offerings. Pay your respects to the forest. And whatever you do, don’t go near the old clearing again.”

I was skeptical, but desperate. I agreed to follow her advice. The next day, I left a small bundle of herbs and a stone at the edge of the woods, where the path to the clearing began. I didn’t expect anything to happen, but I hoped it would be enough.

For a time, it seemed to work. The voices quieted, and the shadows disappeared. But every now and then, I still felt their presence, lurking just beyond the trees, waiting for me to slip up. I could never fully shake the feeling that I was being watched.

As the months passed, I learned to live with the uneasy truce between myself and the spirits of the land. But I never ventured into the woods again.

And every now and then, when the wind blows just right, I can still hear that whisper: “Samantha.”