A Night at Camp WildWood is a chilling story about bravery, fear, and the horrors that come out when the sun goes down.
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It all started back in 2002, when three fearless teenagers were dared to sneak into Camp WildWood at Terrell State Hospital. They were boys, of course — eager, cocky, and desperate to impress a group of girls from school. The oldest, Ben, had just turned seventeen. Dylan and Mark, sixteen-year-old twins, were right behind him. All three were star football players at Terrell High, convinced that spending a night at the abandoned camp would be a piece of cake. They were wrong. Chapter 1 - The night was thick with cackling laughter and blood-curdling screams that would have sent anyone sane running for their lives. It was ten o’clock when the boys, their bags packed, said goodbye to their friends. The girls they were trying to impress cried, begging them not to go, calling them crazy. Ben just chuckled as he climbed into his new Chevy truck, Dylan and Mark piling in beside him. They drove off without a care in the world. An hour later, they reached the hospital grounds. Ben slowed down, driving past the entrance, sizing up whether they should really go through with it. “This place gives me the creeps, guys,” Dylan said, peering out the window. “I don’t want to do this. It doesn’t feel right.” Ben smirked. “You want a chance with Cassidy, don’t you? Then man up. Stay one night in a creepy old camp, and you’ll prove you’re brave enough to take her out too.” That was all it took. Ben parked the truck off the road — far enough not to be spotted, close enough to make a quick getaway if needed. They grabbed their gear and headed down the cracked, weed-choked road toward the old gates. Rust clung to the iron bars. Beyond them, the dark shapes of trees stretched into the night sky. They slipped through the gates, glancing around nervously for guards or stray workers. The campgrounds were about a mile in. But they soon discovered it wasn’t just a camp. It was a cemetery too. “This is sick, man,” Mark muttered, reading the broken sign by the cemetery gates. “Can’t we just ditch this place? We’ve got our playoff game against Forney on Friday. I don’t wanna fucking die tonight.” Ben laughed, kicking at a rock. “Some of these graves date back to the 1800s,” he said, his voice low and amused. “That’s insane.” Mark and Dylan shared a look. Doubt flickered across their faces. Just then, Dylan spotted something. “Look, there’s a lake — and an old swing set,” he said, pointing through the trees. “Wonder how many people tried to drown themselves out there…” His voice was a little too excited. “Come on,” Mark said, shouldering his bag. “Let’s pitch the tent, get some sleep. We’ll explore tomorrow.” “Or just get the hell out of here,” Dylan muttered under his breath. The three stood there, motionless, too scared to move without one of the others going first. “Forget sleeping,” Dylan finally said, his voice rising. “I’m not letting my guard down. I don’t even wanna be here.” “Keep it down,” Ben chuckled. “You’re gonna wake the neighbors.” He pointed at the rows of crumbling headstones just yards away. Dylan cursed under his breath, earning a glare from both Ben and Mark. “Just shut up,” Mark said. “We’ll make it through the night. Then we’re out first thing in the morning.” Finally, they found a small clearing by the edge of the woods and started setting up camp. Not that they would get much sleep.Ben didn’t know how long he was gone. Time seemed to lose meaning in the place between waking and death, in the suffocating grip of WildWood. When his senses returned, it was as though his very soul had been torn and rewritten. He was kneeling on the cold, wet ground, his hands pressed into the dirt. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, but his body felt heavy, weighed down with an oppressive force. He could hear the voices again — distant, faint whispers like rustling leaves. “You’re one of us now, Ben,” came a voice that wasn’t his own, but he recognized it. It was Mark’s voice, but warped, twisted. Hollow. “You’ll never leave.” The world around him was darker than it had ever been. The trees were not just trees anymore; they were part of him, feeding off his fear, feeding off the very essence of his soul. They had wrapped themselves around him like vines, as if the forest had claimed him, had devoured him whole. The laughter came again — loud, cruel, and sharp — echoing around
Ben’s scream echoed, but the sound dissolved into the thick, suffocating air. The shadows seemed to stretch out, curling around his body like chains. Nadia’s twisted form stepped closer, her smile widening as if to savor his terror. “You never left, Ben,” she murmured, her voice hollow, as though it came from somewhere deep within the earth itself. “You never escaped. You were always ours, from the moment you crossed that threshold.” Ben stumbled back, his body trembling uncontrollably. He wanted to run, to fight, but his limbs wouldn’t obey. His heart raced, and his throat constricted, as though the forest itself was tightening its grip on him. “You think you can walk away from us?” Nadia continued, her voice growing darker, more insidious. “This place is in your blood. WildWood never forgets its children.” He could feel it now — something far darker than fear. It was like the very earth beneath his feet was alive, pulsing with a sick, rhythmic beat, as though the woods themselv
The world shifted again, violently, and Ben’s vision went white as he tumbled through the air. The wind whipped past his face, and for a moment, he thought he might be falling — falling back into WildWood’s grasp. But then, just as quickly, the sensation stopped. He hit the ground hard, his body crashing into something solid and familiar. He groaned, blinking through the blinding sunlight, his breath ragged. When his eyes focused, he saw it — the road. The one that led home. The familiar stretch of asphalt that ran through the town. He wasn’t in WildWood anymore. He had crossed over. For a moment, Ben lay there, gasping for air, his heart still racing in his chest, the taste of the forest still fresh on his tongue. He had done it. He had escaped. The woods were behind him. The shadows were gone. But as he lay there, catching his breath, a cold shiver ran down his spine. Somewhere deep in the distance, beyond the trees, he could hear it again. The faint sound of laughter. Twiste
Ben’s feet pounded against the cracked, uneven earth, his body shaking with exhaustion, but he couldn’t stop. He had no choice but to keep moving. The sounds of WildWood — the whispers, the laughter, the rustling of leaves — followed him, as if the forest itself was reaching out, clawing at his mind, urging him to stop, to return. But he refused. Every step felt like it was dragging him deeper into the forest, deeper into the heart of WildWood, but Ben wasn’t looking back. He couldn’t. He had seen enough. He had felt enough. This wasn’t just a place. It was a prison. And he wasn’t going to let it claim him. The trees seemed to shift around him, bending in unnatural angles, their dark branches scratching at the air, trying to grasp him, to pull him back. The ground felt soft, almost alive, as though it was pushing against him, making every step harder than the last. But he pushed forward, ignoring the pain in his legs, the burning in his chest. Somewhere in the distance, he thought
The world spun violently before Ben’s eyes, the dark shapes of trees and the cold, sharp air blending into a chaotic blur. His body felt weightless, his limbs numb as though he were floating, lost between worlds. He tried to scream, but no sound came, and the darkness thickened, suffocating him, drowning him in a void deeper than anything he had ever felt before. When the world finally righted itself, he found himself back at the camp. But it wasn’t the camp as he remembered. It was something worse, something twisted. The ground was slick with dark, inky tendrils that seemed to crawl toward him, wrapping around his ankles and tugging at his feet. The trees were even more grotesque, their gnarled limbs stretching upward like the hands of a thousand corpses reaching for the sky. And there, standing in the center of it all, was WildWood itself. Not a place. Not a collection of trees and stone. No, it was more than that now. It was a presence, an entity, a force that lived and breathed
The earth beneath Ben trembled again, but this time it wasn’t the pulsing of WildWood. This time, it was something else — a deep, guttural vibration that seemed to echo from the very heart of the forest, a force older and darker than anything he could comprehend. It rippled through him, through his bones, vibrating with an energy so pure and raw it almost felt like a living thing, like the very breath of WildWood itself. For a fleeting moment, Ben felt a shift inside of him — as if something was waking up, stirring to life in the deepest corners of his mind. His vision blurred, the shadows growing thicker, swirling around him like a storm. The faces of the others faded, their hollow eyes turning into something less human, more monstrous, until only the dark forest remained. The forest that had always been there, waiting, patient. “You feel it now, don’t you?” Nadia’s voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through him like a knife. “It’s in your blood. It always has been.” Ben clen
Ben’s world spun as the ground beneath him shifted and cracked, swallowing him whole. His legs gave out beneath him, and he tumbled into the deepening earth, his hands scraping against the jagged edges of the fissures. The sound of his breath, ragged and desperate, was drowned out by the cacophony of laughter and whispers that echoed from all around him. It was as if the forest itself was alive, twisting and pulling at him, dragging him deeper into its depths. He tried to scream, but the air was thick with the weight of WildWood, choking him, pressing against his chest. The laughter of his old friends — twisted and mocking — rang in his ears, warping into something alien, something inhuman. “Ben…” Nadia’s voice slithered through the darkness, and he could almost feel her cold, bony fingers brush against his shoulder. “You can never escape what you are.” The world shifted again, and suddenly, Ben was standing in the center of the camp clearing once more. But it wasn’t the camp he r
Ben’s heart pounded in his chest as he took another step back, his feet stumbling over the uneven ground. The laughter came again, louder this time, mixing with the whispers of the others—Willy, Nadia, the nameless faces of the past. They circled him like vultures, their eyes unblinking, their smiles twisted into something grotesque. “You’re one of us now, Ben,” Nadia’s voice echoed, her words distant and close all at once, like the forest itself was speaking. “No,” Ben gasped, shaking his head. His hands trembled, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. “This isn’t real. This isn’t—” But the forest seemed to swallow his words. The trees groaned, their branches moving in slow, deliberate sways, as if alive, as if they were listening, responding. The air felt thick, oppressive, like something was closing in from all sides. “You were one of us,” Willy’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and mocking. Ben’s gaze snapped to the boy standing at the edge of the clearing—Willy, but
The moment Ben stepped past the rusted gates, everything felt wrong. The air was thick with a sense of foreboding, like the earth itself was holding its breath. The familiar trees stood like silent sentinels, their twisted limbs reaching out in unnatural shapes. He hadn’t realized how much the woods had changed, or perhaps it was him that had changed, but the once-eerie landscape now seemed even darker, more alive. The breeze whispered secrets he couldn’t quite catch, but it didn’t matter — something was different, something had awakened.He couldn’t shake the feeling that the woods were watching him, waiting for him to make his next move.Ben hesitated, standing just beyond the threshold of the gate. The path ahead was overgrown, the dirt road buried beneath a tangle of roots and weeds. The forest seemed to close in around him, muffling the sounds of the outside world, leaving only the distant rustling of leaves and the faintest whisper of laughter — or was it a memory?He could feel
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