The Whispering Shadows of Cold Creek (West Virginia)

Narrator Profile:

• Name: James “Jim” Morrow
• Age: 42
• Hometown: Cold Creek, West Virginia
• Occupation: Former mechanic, now a paranormal investigator
• Background: Jim was born and raised in the small town of Cold Creek, nestled deep within the Appalachian Mountains. Growing up, he always dismissed the eerie rumors about strange happenings around the town. However, after a terrifying personal encounter, he became a dedicated investigator of paranormal events, focusing on uncovering the truth behind the spirits that haunt the area.

Story:

I grew up in Cold Creek, a tiny town in the Appalachian Mountains. Life here is slow, simple, and full of the sort of quiet that lets you hear the wind whisper through the trees. That peacefulness, however, hides something far darker—something I didn’t fully understand until I experienced it firsthand.

As a boy, I’d heard the stories about Cold Creek. Most of the locals spoke in hushed tones about strange happenings: people hearing whispers when no one was around, old houses that felt unnervingly cold despite the heat, and shadowy figures seen in the corner of your vision. But it wasn’t until my adult years that I came to realize just how real these stories were.

It all started when I moved back to Cold Creek after a few years in the city. I’d been away for a while, working as a mechanic, but something about the place always drew me back. I thought maybe I could settle down and make a living working on cars, but the moment I returned, I felt it—the presence. It’s something you can’t quite explain. The air was heavy, like it was thick with the past, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching me.

At first, I chalked it up to being back in a small town. You know, the kind of place where everyone knows everyone’s business. But it wasn’t just that. It was more than just the sense of familiarity; there was something supernatural about the way Cold Creek felt. At night, when the wind howled through the mountains, I started hearing whispers.

It wasn’t the sound of the wind, though. It was clear, distinct whispers—voices that came from nowhere and everywhere at once. I could never make out the words, but they always seemed to come from the same place: the woods just outside town. At first, I thought it was my imagination. But then I started to notice something even more disturbing.

One evening, I decided to take a walk. It had been a long day, and I figured the cool mountain air might help clear my head. I walked down the dirt road that led into the woods, trying to push the odd feeling in my gut aside. The whispering started almost immediately, faint at first, but as I walked deeper into the forest, the voices grew louder.

They weren’t just whispers anymore. They were calls, soft but insistent. “James…” they said. I froze in my tracks, my heart pounding. I turned around, half-expecting to see someone standing behind me, but the path was empty. Just trees, shadows, and the ever-present sound of the wind.

I kept walking, hoping it would stop, but it didn’t. The voices followed me, getting louder with every step. The air around me grew colder, and I could see my breath in the dimming light. Something was wrong.

Suddenly, I heard a loud snap, like a twig breaking behind me. I whipped around, and that’s when I saw it—a figure, standing just beyond the tree line. It was tall, impossibly tall, its form barely visible in the dark. But the thing that stuck with me the most were its eyes—glowing faintly, like two embers in the night.

I couldn’t move. My body felt like it was glued to the spot, my legs stiff and unresponsive. The figure didn’t move either, but I could feel its gaze on me, burning into my soul. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. The whispering voices swirled around me, a chorus of unintelligible words that seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the figure disappeared into the trees. The whispers stopped. The air was still again, but now, everything felt wrong. My heart was racing in my chest, and I could barely catch my breath.

I ran back to town, my mind racing with questions. What had I seen? What were those whispers? And why did they know my name?

I didn’t tell anyone about that night. No one would believe me, and part of me wasn’t sure I even believed it myself. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever I had encountered in those woods was still out there—watching me, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Over the years, I’ve come to learn that Cold Creek is a place where spirits never really leave. The whispers are just the beginning. Many folks around here have had similar experiences—shadows in the corners of rooms, flickering lights, the feeling of being watched when you’re alone. And every time I walk through the woods, I can still feel that presence—those eyes, burning through the darkness.

I’ve since become a paranormal investigator, dedicating my life to uncovering the truth behind Cold Creek’s dark history. But no matter how many investigations I conduct, no matter how many answers I uncover, one thing remains certain: The whispers in Cold Creek are real, and there are spirits out there that have yet to rest.