The Lost Boy in the Woods - Nighttime Stories

An eight-year-old boy goes missing in a sleepy, overcast town, sparking an intense investigation that will have you gripping your seat. Follow the narrative as a police officer leads us through a tension-filled search in the dense woods near the boy's home. The discovery of a lone sneaker amidst the trees escalates the urgency, and just when hope begins to fade, an eerie voice pierces the night, echoing a haunting plea that blurs the lines between reality and the supernatural. This chilling account raises more questions than answers, leaving you pondering the true events that transpired in those ominous woods.Transition from the woods to the unsettling confines of a weathered house, where an encounter with an elderly woman introduces an atmosphere thick with fear and mystery. Her puppet-like movements and cryptic warning of unseen intruders unsettle the bravest of hearts. The story then escalates into a nightmarish escape from an abandoned house pursued by inexplicable figures, a memory etched with terror and the unknown. These tales promise to keep you on the edge of your seat, exploring the horrors that hide just beyond the fringes of the known world, waiting to ensnare the unsuspecting.


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Welcome to another episode of the Nighttime Scary Tales Podcast, where we explore the dark side of storytelling. Tonight, prepare for spine-chilling tales featuring original horror stories, eerie supernatural encounters, and real-life crime that reveals the darker aspects of human nature. Each story is designed to keep you on the edge of your seat long after it ends. We’d love to hear your thoughts! Share your most chilling moments by leaving a review on your favorite podcast platform. More haunting stories are coming, so keep your lights on and your doors locked. Sweet dreams… if you can find them!

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:08):
As a police officer, you get used to the noise,
the bustle, the unpredictable nature of people and their troubles.
But every so often you come across something that shakes
you to your core, something that doesn't fit into the
neat little boxes you've built for the world. It was
a quiet, overcast afternoon when the call came, in the

(00:28):
kind of day where the sky is a flat, gray
blanket and everything feels muffled, like the world is holding
its breath. I was at the station, wrapping up some
paperwork when the dispatcher's voice crackled over the radio. A
young boy eight years old had been reported missing by
his mother. She'd last seen him playing in their front yard,
and now he was gone without a trace. I felt

(00:51):
a familiar nod of concern in my stomach as I
grabbed my gear and headed out. Missing kids were always
a priority, and time was of the essence. The boy's
house was in a quiet neighborhood on the edge of town,
ordered by a thick expanse of woods that stretched for miles.
As I drove, I couldn't shake the feeling that something
about this call was different, something that didn't sit right

(01:14):
with me. I pulled up to the house, a small
place with a neatly manicured lawn. The mother was waiting
on the porch, her face pale, her eyes red from crying.
She was wringing her hands, her whole body tense with fear. Officer,
thank you for coming, she said, her voice trembling. Please,
you have to find him. He's never run off like

(01:36):
this before. I nodded, giving her a reassuring smile. We'll
do everything we can to find him. Ma'am, can you
tell me exactly what happened? She took a deep breath,
trying to steady herself. He was playing in the yard
right there, she said, pointing to a small patch of
grass near the fence. I was inside just for a minute,
getting him some water. When I came back out, he

(01:59):
was gone. I looked everywhere, called his name, but he
didn't answer. He's never gone into the woods alone, he
knows better. I followed her gaze to the edge of
the yard, where the fence ended and the woods began.
The trees were tall and dense, their branches intertwining overhead,
casting long shadows across the ground. The entrance to the

(02:19):
woods was marked by a narrow, well worn path, the
kind kids might use to explore or play games of
make believe. Did you check the woods, I asked, already
knowing the answer. She shook her head quickly. No. I
didn't want to go in there alone. I thought. I
thought maybe he just wandered off, that he'd come back
if I waited, But he didn't. I radioed for backup,

(02:41):
requesting additional units to help with the search, and then
turned back to the mother. We'll start by searching the woods.
If he's in there, we'll find him. She nodded, her
eyes wide with worry. Please find him. I gave her
a reassuring nod and set off toward the path, my
flashlight in hand. Even though it was still daylight, the

(03:03):
woods were thick, the trees towering overhead, their branches forming
a dense canopy that blocked out much of the light.
The ground was soft and uneven, covered in a thick
layer of fallen leaves and underbrush. As I walked, I
called out the boy's name, my voice echoing through the trees,
but there was no response, just the sound of the

(03:23):
wind rustling the leaves and the distant calls of birds.
I kept moving, my eyes scanning the ground for any
sign of him, a footprint, a piece of clothing, anything.
The deeper I went, the more the unease in my
gut grew. The woods were too quiet, too still, as
if the very air was holding its breath. I've spent

(03:43):
plenty of time in the woods before, but there was
something different about this place, something that made my skin crawl.
After what felt like hours of searching, I finally spotted something,
a small, worn sneaker, half buried in the leaves. My
heart leaped into my throat as I heard over picking
it up. It was a child's shoe, the kind that
could easily belong to an eight year old boy over here.

(04:07):
I called out to the other officers who had joined
the search, my voice strained with urgency. They came, running,
their faces grim as they took in the sight of
the shoe. We fanned out, searching the area with renewed intensity,
but there was no sign of the boy. It was
as if he'd vanished into thin air, leaving nothing behind
but that single solitary shoe. The day wore on, the

(04:30):
shadows growing longer as the sun dipped lower in the sky.
We combed through the woods, calling his name, searching every
inch of ground, but it was no use. The boy
was gone and no one had any answers. I returned
to the house as dusk began to settle, my heart
heavy with the weight of failure. The mother was sitting
on the porch, her hands trembling as she clutched a

(04:51):
blanket around her shoulders. When she saw me, her eyes
filled with tears, and I didn't have the heart to
tell her what I knew deep down. We weren't going
to find him, not today, maybe not ever. We'll keep looking,
I told her, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We'll bring in more officers, search teams, dogs, we won't
stop until we find him. She nodded, but I could

(05:15):
see the despair in her eyes, the way her hope
was slipping away bit by bit. Thank you, officer, please
please find my boy. I left her there on the porch,
her sobs echoing in the stillness of the evening, and
headed back to my car. But as I reached for
the door handle, I noticed something strange, A faint sound
coming from the direction of the woods. It was so

(05:37):
soft I almost missed it, but when I stopped to listen,
I heard it clearly, a distant, echoing call, like a
child's voice. My blood ran cold. It was his voice,
I was sure of it. But it didn't sound right,
didn't sound natural. It was distorted, almost mechanical, like a
recording played on a loop. Help me. The words sent

(05:58):
a shiver down my spineasing me in place. The sound
was coming from deep in the woods, far beyond where
we'd searched. I knew I should call for backup, should
wait for the others to arrive, but something compelled me
to move to follow that voice. I grabbed my flashlight
and headed back toward the trail, the beam cutting through
the growing darkness. The trees loomed overhead, their branches twisting

(06:22):
together like gnarled fingers, blocking out what little light remained.
The voice called out again, closer now, but still distant,
as if it was leading me deeper into the forest.
I followed the sound, my heart pounding in my chest,
every instinct screaming at me to turn back, but I couldn't.
I had to find that boy, had to bring him home.

(06:43):
The path grew narrower, the trees closing in around me,
until I could barely see the sky through the thick
canopy of leaves, and then, just as suddenly as it
had started, the voice stopped. The silence was deafening, pressing
in on me from all sides, making my skin crawl.
I shone my flashlight around, trying to get my bearings,
but the beam only revealed more of the same, endless trees,

(07:06):
endless darkness. I took a step forward, and that's when
I saw it, something small and pale, just at the
edge of my light. My breath caught in my throat
as I moved closer, the beam revealing more and more
of the figure. It was the boy. He was standing there, barefoot,
his clothes torn and dirty, his eyes wide and empty.
But there was something wrong, something deeply unsettling, about the

(07:29):
way he looked, the way he stood so still, so unnatural. Hey, buddy,
I said, softly, trying to keep my voice calm. Are
you okay, Let's get you out of here, all right?
But he didn't respond. He just stood there, kay, staring
at me with those empty eyes, his face expressionless. I
took a step closer, my heart pounding in my chest.

(07:50):
It's okay, I'm here to help. Let's go back to
your mom. She's waiting for you. But still he didn't move,
and that's when I realized he wasn't really looking at me.
He was looking past me, into the darkness behind me.
A cold shiver ran down my spine, and I slowly turned,
shining my flashlight into the shadows. At first I saw nothing,

(08:10):
just trees and darkness. But then out of the corner
of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something, something moving,
something watching. I turned back to the boy, but he
was gone, vanished into the night without a sound. Panic
surged through me as I called out his name, but
there was no response, just the echo of my own voice,

(08:30):
swallowed by the darkness. I tried to retrace my steps,
tried to find the path back to the house, but
everything looked the same, every tree, every shadow. I was lost,
trapped in the endless maze of the forest with no
way out. The night had fully descended, now, the darkness absolute.
The only sound was the pounding of my heart, the
rush of blood in my ears. And then, just as

(08:52):
I was beginning to lose hope, I heard it again,
that voice calling out from the darkness, help me. It
was the boy voice, but it was different, now, distorted,
twisted like a recording played backward. The sound sent chills
down my spine, my mind racing with fear. I knew
I should run, should get out of there, but I
couldn't move, couldn't think. All I could do was stand there,

(09:15):
frozen in place. As the voice grew louder closer. I
turned slowly, my flashlight trembling in my hand, and that's
when I saw it, a figure standing just at the
edge of my light. It was the boy, or at
least it looked like him, but there was something wrong,
something deeply unsettling. His eyes were empty, hollow, his face

(09:35):
pale and expressionless. He was standing perfectly still, staring at
me with those empty eyes, as if waiting for something.
Who are you, I whispered, my voice trembling, but he
didn't respond. He just stood there, staring at me, his
mouth slightly open as if he was about to speak.
And then slowly he raised his hand, pointing past me

(09:56):
into the darkness. I turned, following his gaze, and that's
when I saw it, a shadow moving through the trees,
coming closer faster. My heart leaped into my throat as
I stumbled back, my flashlight flickering as I tried to
get a better look, but the shadow was gone, vanished
into the night as quickly as it had appeared. I
turned back to the boy, but he was gone too,

(10:18):
leaving me alone in the darkness, my breath coming in
ragged gasps. I ran, my footsteps echoing through the trees
as I searched for a way out, for any sign
of the path back to the house, But the woods
seemed to stretch on forever, the darkness pressing in on
me from all sides. Finally I broke through the trees,

(10:38):
stumbling out onto the road, my chest heaving with exertion.
I could see the lights of the house in the distance,
a beacon of safety in the darkness. But as I
reached the house, I stopped, my heart skipping a beat.
The mother was still sitting on the porch, her eyes
wide with fear, but she wasn't looking at me. She
was looking past me, into the darkness of the woods,

(10:58):
and then slowly she raised her hand, pointing toward the trees.
I didn't look back. I couldn't. I just grabbed her
hand and led her inside, locking the door behind us.
We waited there in the darkness, listening for any sound about,
any sign of movement outside, but there was nothing, just
the silence, thick and oppressive, pressing in on us from

(11:20):
all sides. I never saw the boy again, never found
out what happened to him. But I know he's still
out there, somewhere in those woods. And sometimes when the
night is quiet and the wind is still, I can
still hear that voice calling out from the darkness, echoing
through the trees. Help me. But I know better now,
I know it's not really him. It's something else, something

(11:43):
that's been waiting in the shadows for a long time,
and it's still waiting. The vanishing boy was more than
just a missing person. It was a glimpse into something darker,
something that defies explanation. The fear I felt that day,
the way those woods seem to come alive with shadows
and whispers, it's something I'll never forget. There's a certain

(12:13):
routine you develop as a police officer, a rhythm to
the work that over time becomes second nature. You respond
to calls, assess situations, and deal with whatever comes your way.
Most nights it's the usual domestic disputes, traffic stops, the
occasional petty theft, But every once in a while, you
get a call that shakes you to your core, a

(12:33):
call that breaks the rhythm and leaves you questioning everything
you thought you knew. This is one of those calls,
a night I still can't fully explain, and one that
has left me with more questions than answers. It was
one of those nights where the air felt thick, almost oppressive,
like a storm was about to break. I was nearing
the end of my shift, looking forward to getting home

(12:55):
and unwinding after a long day. The streets were quiet,
the usual buzz of activity replaced by an eerie stillness.
I was cruising down a deserted road when the call
came in. The dispatcher's voice crackled over the radio, informing
me of a nine to one to one call from
an elderly woman who lived alone in an old house

(13:16):
far from downtown. The report was vague, something about a
woman in her house acting strangely, refusing to leave. The
dispatcher didn't have many details, just that the woman seemed
frightened and insisted she needed help. I sighed, turning my
car in the direction of the address. It sounded like
a routine welfare check, maybe a case of dementia. Or confusion,

(13:38):
but I had a job to do, so I responded
and headed to the scene. The house was easy enough
to find, a small, weathered structure set back from the road,
surrounded by overgrown trees and bushes. It looked like it
had been there for centuries, the paint peeling, the windows
clouded with dirt. A single porch light flickered weakly, casting long,

(13:58):
wavering shadows across the front yard. I pulled into the driveway,
the gravel crunching under the tires, and stepped out of
the car. The air was thick, with the scent of
rain and earth, the kind of smell that signals an
impending storm. As I approached the front door, I noticed
something strange. The door was slightly ajar, hanging open just

(14:19):
enough for a sliver of light to escape from inside.
I paused, my hand hovering over the handle of my flashlight,
a sudden unease settling in my gut. It wasn't unusual
for people to leave their doors unlocked in this part
of town, but something about this felt wrong. I pushed
the door open slowly, the hinges creaking loudly in the silence.

(14:39):
The interior of the house was dimly lit, the light
coming from an old lamp in the corner of the
living room. The place had the musty smell of disuse,
the air heavy and stale. I called out, announcing my presence,
but there was no response, just the sound of the
wind rustling the trees outside and the faint hum of
the refrigeration in the kitchen. I stepped inside, the floorboards

(15:04):
creaking under my weight, and it began to make my
way through the house. It was a small, cluttered place,
filled with old furniture and knickknacks, the kind you'd expect
to find in a home that hadn't been updated in years.
The living room led into a narrow hallway lined with
family photos that looked decades old. As I moved deeper

(15:24):
into the house, the unease i'd felt earlier began to intensify,
a cold knot forming in the pit of my stomach.
I reached the end of the hallway and found myself
standing in front of a closed door. The air was
colder here, the light dimmer, as if the very atmosphere
was trying to push me back. I hesitated, my hand
hovering over the doorknob. Something about this door, this room

(15:47):
felt wrong, like it was holding something back, something that
shouldn't be disturbed. But I had a job to do,
so I took a deep breath, turned the knob, and
pushed the door open. The room beyond was small and dark,
lit only by the faint glow of a single lamp
on a bedside table. The bed was unmade, the sheets
rumpled and stained, as if someone had been lying there

(16:08):
for days. And in the corner of the room, huddled
on the floor was the woman who had made the call.
She was old, maybe in her late seventies, with thin
white hair that fell in tangled strands around her face.
She was wearing a nightgown that was too big for
her frail frame, the fabric hanging loosely around her thin shoulders.

(16:29):
Her eyes were wide and bloodshot, staring at me with
a mixture of fear and desperation. Ma'am, are you okay?
I asked, stepping closer, but she didn't respond, didn't move,
She just stared at me, her eyes unblinking, her breath
coming in short, ragged gasps. Ma'am, I repeated, my voice, softer,
this time, trying to coax her out of whatever state

(16:50):
she was in, And then, without warning, she began to
scoot toward me. It was a slow, jerky movement, like
she was being pulled by invisible strings. She didn't use
her hands or legs, just her back, her body dragging
across the floor in an unnatural way. Her eyes never
left mine, wide and unblinking as she scooted closer and closer.

(17:12):
There was something horribly wrong about the way she moved,
something that made the hair on the back of my
neck stand on end. I instinctively stepped back, my heart
pounding in my chest. I called out to her again,
but she didn't respond, just kept coming, inching closer with
that horrible jerky motion. It was like watching a puppet
on a string, her movements mechanical and devoid of life.

(17:35):
Stay back, I warned, my hand hovering over my holster,
but she didn't stop. She just kept coming, her eyes
wide and vacant, her mouth slightly open, as if she
was trying to speak but couldn't find the words. My
mind raced trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
Was she having some kind of seizure, a stroke, But no,
this was something different, something far more sinister. The air

(17:58):
in the room seemed to thicken, the shadows lengthening and
twisting in the corners, as if the very house was
alive watching. Suddenly, the woman stopped. She was only a
few feet away from me now, her face pale and
ghostly in the dim light, her head tilted to the side,
her eyes still locked onto mine. And then she spoke.
They're here, she whispered, her voice raspy and broken. They've

(18:23):
come for me. A chill ran down my spine, the
words sending a wave of fear through my body. I
didn't know what she meant, didn't understand who or what
they were, but the terror in her voice was unmistakable.
Who's here, ma'am, I asked, trying to keep my voice steady,
but she didn't answer. Instead, she let out a low,
keening wail, a sound that sent shivers down my spine.

(18:45):
It was a sound of pure, unadulterated fear, the kind
of fear that comes from knowing something terrible is about
to happen, something you can't escape. And then she lunged
at me. It happened so fast I barely had time
to react. One moment she was on the floor, and
the next she was on her feet, her hands clawing
at my uniform. Her eyes wild and frantic. I stumbled back,

(19:08):
trying to push her away, but she was surprisingly strong
for her frail frame. Her nails dug into my skin,
her breath hot and foul against my face. Get them out,
she screamed, her voice high pitched and desperate, Get them
out of my house. I finally managed to shove her back,
and she fell to the floor, crumpling into a heap.

(19:28):
She lay there sobbing, her body shaking with each ragged breath.
I stood there, panting, my heart racing, trying to make
sense of what had just happened. But there was no
time to process, because at that moment I heard it,
a soft shuffling sound coming from the hallway. I turned
my hand instinctively, going to my weapon, and I saw them.

(19:49):
At first, I thought it was just shadows, tricks of
the light playing on my tired mind. But as I
stared down the dark hallway, I realized they were real figures,
pale and indistinct, moving toward me in the darkness. There
were three of them, their forms vague and shrouded in shadow,
but I could see enough to know they weren't human.
They were tall, thin, their limbs too long, their movements

(20:12):
jerky and unnatural, just like the woman's had been. They
moved slowly, deliberately, their eyes glowing faintly in the darkness,
fixed on me. Who are you? I demanded, my voice trembling,
but they didn't respond. They just kept coming, their shapes
becoming more defined as they drew closer. I could see
their faces, now elongated, featureless, their mouths twisted into grotesque,

(20:34):
silent screams. The woman behind me let out another whale,
and I realized, with a jolt of terror, that these
were the they she had spoken of. These were the
things she had been so afraid of, the things that
had come for her, and now they were coming from me.
I didn't wait to see what would happen next. I

(20:55):
turned and ran, my footsteps echoing through the house. As
I bolted for the front door, i'd hear them behind me.
They're shuffling, footsteps, growing louder closer. The air was thick
with the scent of decay, of something rotten and old,
something that had been buried and forgotten. I burst through
the front door, the cold night air hitting me. I
didn't stop, didn't look back, just kept running until I

(21:16):
reached my patrol car. I jumped inside, fumbling with the keys,
my hands shaking so badly I could barely get the
car started. Finally, the engine roared to life, and I
floored the gas, the tires screeching as I sped away
from the house. I didn't stop until I was miles away,
the lights of the town finally coming into view. Only

(21:37):
then did I pull over, my breath coming in ragged gasps,
my hands still trembling. I called it in, told dispatch
what had happened, but I left out the details, the figures,
the woman's strange behavior, the things she had said. I
knew they wouldn't believe me, that they'd chalk it up
to exhaustion or stress. Hell, I wasn't sure I believed

(21:58):
it myself, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I
had seen something real, something that defied explanation. I could
still hear that woman's wail in my ears, still see
those figures moving toward me in the darkness, their eyes
glowing faintly, their mouths twisted into silent screams. The house
was abandoned after that night, left to rot and decay,

(22:20):
just another forgotten place on the outskirts of town. I
never went back, never tried to find out what had
really happened there. Some things are better left unknown, better
left in the darkness where they belong. The scooting Woman
was just the beginning of a nightmare that I'll never forget,
a nightmare that still haunts me to this day. The

(22:41):
things I saw that night, the things that came for her,
they're still out there, just beyond the edge of the light,
And if you're ever unlucky enough to encounter them, you'll
know what real fear is. Because some things can't be explained,
can't be understood, They just are. And that's the scariest
thing of all.