haunted woods in Vermont — Submitted by: Rachel T., Burlington, Vermont
My name’s Daniel, and this happened in the summer of 2022 — up in rural Vermont, where my grandfather used to own a small, isolated cabin in the woods. It had been our family’s getaway spot for decades, but after Grandpa passed, no one really went back. It just sat there, untouched. Overgrown. Forgotten.
That summer, after a rough breakup and too much burnout from work, I decided to take a solo trip and clear my head. I thought the quiet would help. I didn’t realize how dangerous quiet could feel.
The first day was peaceful. The place smelled of old pinewood and damp leaves. The electricity still worked, barely. I spent the afternoon chopping firewood, walking the perimeter, and feeling that strange nostalgia you only get from childhood places. That night, I lit a fire, poured myself some whiskey, and sat under the stars. There was something comforting in how dark it got out there — no light pollution, no noise. Just nature.
But by the second night, something felt… off.
I was sitting on the small back porch, looking out at the woods when the silence changed. It wasn’t normal nighttime quiet — it was absolute. No crickets. No wind. Just… stillness.
And then I heard it.
Faint. Just a whisper. From deep in the trees.
It was my name. Daniel.
At first, I laughed nervously, thinking maybe it was the whiskey or my mind playing tricks. But then I heard it again — louder this time — and it was my voice. Like someone mimicking me, but wrong. Slower. Distorted. Daaaaniel…
I stood up, shining my flashlight into the trees. Nothing. Just black.
I went inside, locked everything, and didn’t sleep much. But the worst came the next morning.
When I stepped outside, I noticed something carved into one of the trees near the back trail. My name. Daniel. Fresh, deep grooves. But underneath it, carved in the same fashion, was a date: August 14, 1987 — the day I was born.
I called my brother. He didn’t answer. I called my mom. She picked up and asked what was wrong — she said I sounded terrified. When I told her what I found, she went silent… and then asked a question that froze my blood:
“Did you go into the woods behind the cabin?”
I said no — just walked the edges. She told me to pack my things and leave immediately.
She later told me that Grandpa had always warned them not to go into the woods after dark. That back in the 60s, a man went missing there. They found carvings in the trees, with names of people who hadn’t even been born yet — including mine. My parents never told me because they thought it was just some old folk tale Grandpa made up to scare the kids.
But now… I’m not so sure.
I haven’t been back since. The cabin is still there — untouched. But if you ever find yourself in the woods of Vermont, and you hear your own name whispered from the trees… don’t answer. And don’t look.
Because it remembers you.
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