Most of these stories except the last one were created by a ChatGPT experiment. Honestly, I was not impressed!
Story One
The air was crisp as our family car meandered down the winding road, carrying us deeper into the heart of the dense forest. Excitement tingled in the atmosphere as we embarked on our annual camping trip. Trina, my loving wife, Rocco, our adventurous dog, and our two children, Josh and Liz, eagerly awaited the adventures that awaited us in the wilderness.
We arrived at our chosen campsite, a the perfect place nestled in the towering redwood trees. The scent of earth and nature filled our senses. Birds were singing to us from the trees. With only a little bit of difficulty, we pitched our tents, and soon, our temporary home for the next few days stood proudly against the backdrop of nature’s grandeur.
Night fell, and we gathered around the flickering flames of the campfire, casting a warm glow upon our faces. Marshmallows roasted on sticks, laughter filled the air, and the innocence of family bonds enveloped us like a protective cocoon. Little did we know that evil was nearby.
As the wind blew the leaves around, I thought I heard whispers. At first, I dismissed it as just the wind, but it really did sound like more than one harmonious voice. As the darkness descended upon us, so did the intensity of the sounds.
A chill ran down my spine as I noticed a shadowy figure dash across the clearing. The shape of a pale girl moved with a floating grace. She appeared only briefly, yet her presence was undeniably haunting.
Trina, always the rational one, tried to dismiss it as a trick of the imagination, a result of the surrounding darkness playing tricks on our minds. But as the night wore on, our encounters with the ghostly girl became more frequent. My wife grew extremely concerned for the girl as she seemed to be lost and without parents.
Liz, our brave and curious daughter, began recounting tales of whispers in the night. She spoke of a ghostly voice beckoning her to follow, its eerie melody tugging at her curiosity. Josh, our innocent young boy, spoke of seeing shadows dancing on the tent walls, their forms resembling the little girl’s figure.
Our camping trip soon turned into a nerve-wracking ordeal. The ghostly girl seemed determined to torment us, her presence growing more disturbing with each passing night. Her haunting visage invaded our dreams, casting a pall of fear over our waking hours.
We had all decided at that point the girl was a real spirit and not just some child lost in the woods. Whenever we tried to follow her, she would disappear before our eyes. Several times I suggested we leave and head for home, but the family wouldn’t hear of it.
One moonlit night, as we huddled together, seeking solace and protection, the ghostly girl’s apparition materialized before us. Her eyes, once filled with innocence, now held a sorrowful longing. She emanated an aura of sadness and desperation, as if yearning for something we couldn’t comprehend.
She beckoned for us to come closer in a whisper that carried on through the breeze. We hesitated, I told the family we should be cautious as we don’t know of the nature of her need. Trina, always compassionate, took a tentative step forward, her voice gentle as she asked, “What do you want from us?”
In response, the ghost pointed toward a nearby gnarled and ancient oak tree. Its trunk bore the scars of time, etched with the markings of past sorrow. A hidden secret awaited, and with caution, we approached the tree.
As we neared, the girl’s apparition began to fade into mist. We could still see the mist, guiding us toward the heart of the mystery. To our surprise, we discovered a weathered wooden box, concealed among the roots of the ancient oak. Inside, was a collection of yellowed photographs and handwritten letters painted a tragic tale of a young girl lost in the depths of the woods, her spirit forever bound to these haunting grounds.
As we delved deeper into the contents of the weathered wooden box, a profound sense of sadness enveloped us. The photographs depicted a young girl, her eyes filled with innocence and hope, capturing moments frozen in time. There were snapshots of her playing in the sunlight, laughing with friends, and embracing the beauty of nature. It was clear that she had once been full of life and joy.
The handwritten letters revealed the young girl’s innermost thoughts and dreams. They spoke of her longing for adventure, her yearning to escape the confines of her mundane existence. Each word carried a touch of rebellion and defiance, a testament to her restless spirit.
It was in one particular letter that the truth of her tragic fate unfolded. She had set out on a journey into the woods, seeking freedom from the chains that bound her. But fate had a different plan in store for her. As she wandered deeper into the forest, a cruel twist of destiny led her to the ancient oak tree, where her foot became ensnared in its gnarled roots.
As the young girl remained trapped, her cries for help echoed through the forest. She endured the torment of hunger and thirst, her strength fading with each passing day. And as her life ebbed away, her spirit merged with the very essence of the ancient oak, forever bound to its haunting grounds.
We tried praying for her soul around the tree but instead she appeared before us with an evil grin for revenge. Her once angelic mouth twisted and screamed into the night. Her skin began falling from her bones and her hair now reached her heels.
“Leave my forest, heathens of the city!” she screamed, her voice screeching with notes of an owl flying in the night.
My daughter screamed as the the girl’s tendrils of hair began wrapping around her body like mummy and then she dropped to the ground, the girl disappearing into the night.
Since that night, our daughter has not been the same. She suddenly enjoys different foods and no longer likes to play games with her brother. Her looks began to change as well. I fear the soul of the ghost has invaded my daughter and we may never get her back.
Story 2
When my friends and I were around 15 years old we went camping one night out deep in the forest one night. We picked a nice secluded spot near the lake and close to an old barn. It was the perfect spot and if we had to go, the barn had an old outhouse near it.
After we all got settled in, Hailey had to go to the bathroom first. She sauntered off to the outhouse and a few minutes later we heard her scream. Tyler and I went running to where we heard the scream and found her locked in the outhouse from the outside. She kept screeching “let me out!” Tyler and I, being the adolescent males we were, kept on laughing and tormenting her until we heard her start to cry. Then we opened the door.
She slapped me first and then went running to the camp calling out Sheila’s name but Sheila wasn’t answering. We all arrived at the campsite at the same time and didn’t see our friend at all. She just vanished.
Figuring that she might have went a different direction to the outhouse to help Haily, we covered the whole area around the outhouse but there was no sign of our friend.
“Hey, look over here!” Tyler yelled.
We ran over to where Tyler was standing. Before us stood a gigantic old graveyard. The cemetery was so old that we couldn’t read half of the words or dates on the tombstones. There was a surreal fog just hovering over the graves as well.
We walked through the area calling out our friend’s name in hopes that she would show up but she never responded. I tried calling her house but no one answers. Of course her parents were going out for the night so no one was there unless she just went home and went to bed. That was our first thought.
We waited for a few more hours for her to show while strolling through the forest and the graveyard until we came upon a grave separated from the rest. There were no markings on the Celtic cross tombstone yet there was a large grate over the top of the grave.
“Hey, I’ve seen those,” Haily said. “They used it to keep grave robbers out of the grave.”
“Yeah, but why the weird tombstone?” I blurted out.
She shrugged and as we started looking for our friend again I heard a scratching noise behind us. When I turned around there was an apparition of a man floating over the grave.
“Let me go,” he whispered in the wind.
“What kind of prank is this? Is that you Sheila?”
“Noooo…” it whispered. “If you are looking for the girl, I know where she is but I will only tell you if you break the spell.”
“What spell?” I said as I stepped closer to the grave. I couldn’t figure out how the prank was being pulled, but it was pretty good.
“Kind sir, yonder in the shed there is a saw. You can saw these binds that hold me to my grave. Once I am free, I will tell you where you lass went off to.”
“All right,” I said and ran over to the shed to find a hacksaw. A regular saw wouldn’t work, just something that might work on metal. Instead, I brought back a sledgehammer and the hacksaw.
I started working at the bars right away. Some were rusted so it didn’t take much to break parts of them down but other areas were very hard to break. My friends came back to watch and thought I was crazy, but once I got all of the bars removed the ghost appeared again.
“Your friend was taken by some fiends in a white horseless carriage. The numbers on the back were 479 KJE. You have to hurry. I can see them now. They plan to hurt her.
My friends were dialing 9-1-1 and I continued to speak to the ghost. “Why, sir, were you bound to your grave?”
“I was once considered a murderer but it was only to protect my sister from fiends. But now I am free and I can go visit her in the holy land.”
And with that he disappeared. My friend was found and the men arrested for kidnapping. We never spoke of it again.
The Graveyard People
by Jay ten
About eleven years ago, I used to live in a small house that neighbored a cemetery. I was only twelve at the time, so this arrangement was slightly unnerving. Particularly so when I began to stay up late during the summer when school was out.
If I looked into that graveyard at around three in the morning, I could see shadows moving. For a long time, I didn’t know what they were or what they wanted, but I eventually took to calling them the graveyard people.
The graveyard people had a little ritual they would do. They would always go to a grave (this was a different grave every night), grab something, and then run back into the mausoleum that sat in the center of the cemetery.
For a few months I would stay up just to watch them. After all, they stayed only in the cemetery, and never seemed to notice me watching through the blinds. I had always been careful to darken my room when watching them, so that I didn’t leave my silhouette showing in the window.
However, in early August of that year, I had a nightmare. I can’t remember what it was now, but it made me utterly afraid to have a light off that night. Despite this, I wanted a last look at the graveyard people before school forced me to sleep well before they awoke for their strange ritual.
So, I pressed my luck. I slipped my head up to the window. A scream caught in my throat. One of the graveyard people was at my window, staring at me with its grey, hound like face. It stared, perfectly still, with a half eaten and half rotted limb in one hand.
I was frozen as it snorted hot breath onto the window, making a fog on the glass. Then it took a long finger and wrote on the glass. “You Should Be Sleeping”.
My moves have brought me full circle. I am in college now, and live across from a cemetery once more. And occasionally, if I’m up late enough and dare look out my window, I can make out the shadows of the graveyard people. I wonder if they ever look back, to see if I am watching.
