It was the summer of 2015, and five friends—Dylan, Matt, Sarah, Jenny, and Tyler—decided to take a break from their usual city life in Los Angeles and go camping. They had just graduated high school and wanted one last memorable trip before heading off to college. Armed with Spotify playlists, enough snacks to last a week, and a secondhand tent from Craigslist, they drove up to Big Bear Lake for a weekend getaway.
The first day was perfect. They hiked, took selfies against the backdrop of towering pines, and laughed as Dylan failed to start a campfire on his first try. As night fell, they huddled around the fire, roasting marshmallows, scrolling through Instagram, and telling urban legends they’d heard online. The sky above them was an inky black canvas dotted with stars. Sarah, ever the practical one, joked about how they were far enough from civilization that no one would hear them scream if something went wrong.
By midnight, the laughter started to die down. Their phones had lost signal hours ago, and without internet, everyone grew more aware of the silence around them. The woods, once peaceful, now felt unsettlingly still.
Suddenly, a rustling sound came from behind the trees. At first, they brushed it off as a raccoon or maybe a deer. But the sound grew louder, more erratic—like footsteps. Heavy, slow, and deliberate.
“Did you hear that?” Tyler whispered, breaking the quiet. His voice carried an edge of fear that made everyone uneasy. Matt, trying to act tough, got up to check. Flashlight in hand, he scanned the perimeter of their campsite. Nothing. Just trees, bushes, and darkness. Still, the feeling that something was watching them was unmistakable.
“Let’s just get inside the tent,” Jenny suggested. “It’s probably nothing, right?”
They agreed, but the air felt tense. They zipped up the tent, all five crammed together, when the noises started again—this time, closer. The footsteps were slow, deliberate, circling the tent. They held their breath as they heard twigs snapping underfoot.
Dylan whispered, “It’s probably just some animal—maybe a bear.” But everyone knew that didn’t quite explain the slow, human-like footsteps.
Suddenly, a low scraping sound moved across the side of the tent, as if something—or someone—was dragging a hand along the nylon fabric. Everyone froze. The sound circled around again, stopping briefly before continuing on the other side. It felt like hours before the noise finally faded into the distance, leaving them in an oppressive silence.
No one slept that night. When morning finally came, they scrambled to pack up their gear. No one dared to acknowledge what had happened. As they threw their belongings into the trunk, Matt spotted something on the edge of the campsite: a crude, hand-carved wooden figure, almost like a small totem, half-buried in the dirt.
“We’re leaving, now,” Sarah said, her voice shaking.
They drove back to LA in near silence, each one too afraid to discuss what they’d heard, seen—or felt. Even now, years later, whenever the friends get together, the trip is always brought up in passing, but no one dares to talk about the strange presence that haunted them that night in the woods.
That camping trip scarred them all in different ways, and while no one could ever prove what they encountered, they all agreed on one thing: they were never going camping again.