Welcome to Scary Story Podcast. If you're following me on Instagram, you'll notice
an obvious connection between what I've been doing and today's story. It's about a
trail. My name is Edwin, and here's a scary story. I scrambled
through the backpack early in the morning. Four was too early to be awake.
Although I remembered what it was like getting to the factories in my early
years, six days a week, coming in at four forty five in the
morning, those four dollars and twenty five cents per hour seemed like nothing now,
and still every once in a while I think of everything it took to
get me here. Those four dollars and twenty five cents were part of that
too. It was a strange silence that morning. Normally there would be the
sound of plastic and people clearing their throats, teeth being broughtushed, and the
occasional alarm clock that had not yet been silenced. It had all registered for
the trail along the Northeast Mountain Range. This would be one of those rare
flat areas of it, miles and miles of flat terrain, a river that
would come along about halfway through, and yet most of the hikers had decided
to wait for one of the buses that would take them over the next hill
instead. I found it silly, it really did. It was such a
widely accepted story that businesses had sprouted for those who decided to skip that area
of the trail. Most would be getting around the corner of a rock in
the shape of a tower just before sunrise, but by that time it would
be too late to get past the rest of the area with no shade and
the scorching sun. Everyone like me had to be up and ready to leave
by four fifteen and maintain the past given on the guide books in order to
get to the next stop just before noon the heat. And yet no one
wanted to pass by the ruins of Gertha in the dark. There was a
section through the trees and stones, some called them the Witches Pass, just
before leaving the forest. But like with all trails, we had some options.
We could cross it just before sunset and to the rest of the distance
in the dark, or we could get one of those buses I just told
you about. He could even hire an ATV to take you in a caravan
through the pass just after sunrise. Stories had circulated for some time. It
was even in one of the original guide books, the tale of a man
who had written his name down Nicholas Bauman in a notebook at the start of
that day's section, but he never made it out. When he was found
weeks later, his fist was crawling with ants, and upon being opened,
they found loosely wrapped hard candy, melted, no brand, no color,
supposedly part of the Witch's curse, just off that pass. I knew to
avoid those types of stories. I wouldn't call myself afraid of it, but
I avoid them because of the mindset everyone got from them, a way to
be lazy and not go through when we were supposed to. Victor, a
man I had met at the start of the trail just two days before,
had mentioned the Witch's Pass when you were at one of the campsites, and
he was telling a story of a friend of his. Bob was his name.
He walked out of Orgison sometime in the fall. He had always been
one of those silent people who didn't mind doing the work alone. He woke
up before four in the morning and walked out on his own. He was
about to make it through the corner by the ruins when he heard the voice
of a woman calling him. He looked over at her and was able to
describe a haunched old woman walking to the top of one of the stones.
Slowly she crawled the rocks. First he saw her hair, it was messy
and tangled, and then her eyes and pale face. This way she whispered,
smiling and trying to invite him to come to her. Startled, knowing
exactly what he was looking at, he turned around and ran back to camp,
something he later found out was the best decision he could have made.
Had he chosen to run past her, his fate would have been the same
as Nicholas Bauman from the guidebook. He shared a story with everyone at the
campsite, some believing him completely, while others, of course teased them to
no end. Bob put his trail short and went home on the next bus
back. But Victor, the guy who had been telling me this story,
said that a few of the guys knew him from that and other trails they
had hiked over the years. But they said that Bob was never the same
after that at might have been the teasing that got to him, or might
have been the thing he saw that morning I asked Victor if he believed in
the story of the Witches Pass, and he chuckled. No, but I'm
not risking it, he said. He laughed to himself for a bit before
letting the silence take over, with only the sound of the fire crackling in
front of us. Not everyone knew each other as we hiked the trails.
Some people joined us at Pacific campsites, while others were planning to end where
others started. Somehow, the story held everyone together. Once we get past
it, the tone of the hike changes as we complained about other things,
like our packs or the bugs, and the Witch's Pass becomes just another tale
of the trail. The night before the Witches Pass was as you would expect
it to be. The dozen or so people doing the trail were split to
either being nervous about seeing something at the end of the forest by the ruins
or nervous but trying to hide it. Everyone, though, had a plant
to detour the walk by the ruins before sunrise. I met a couple from
Australia that night as we sat by the fire. The man was noticeably nervous
about going through it, but his wife had figured out away around the Witch's
Pass, a trail that would take them an extra two hours. It isn't
just about the past, they said, since not making hikers go through there.
The trails are barely marked now, but the last year's rains the bunny
trails are the only guides that remain, and even those take you deeper into
the woods before you make it out. She could tell she had studied the
guide books and maps. She said the were alternative routes from the inside of
the forest, though they were rough, some requiring some steep climbs up jagged
rocks. I wanted to learn more about these alternative routes, you know,
just in case I told no one about my plan to leave at the scheduled
time and walk through the woods and through the ruins just before sunrise. I
wanted none of that negativity, especially now. Say what you want about haunted
forests or whatever, but our mind is more powerful than that. If I
go out there expecting to see a witch, you can bet I'm going to
see a witch out there, and she's gonna take my shoes and give me
some candy and leave me for dead, or whatever the story say. As
I stared at the fire, the Australian couple got up and got all zipped
into their tent, saying good night to everyone, and then everyone shushed down.
There's a standard rule for anyone trying to go to sleep earlier than the
rest of the group. I looked around, noticing a new face in the
group. The man's gray beard glowed orange with the fire as he looked at
me and held up his metal cup with his right hand. I raised mine,
and he got up to walk over to the log I was sitting on.
You're planning on sticking to the trail, laurn't you? He said,
guilty, I shot back. He smiled and asked if I could tell that
he was going to do it too, so that we would see each other
out on the trail that morning. Like all conversations about the topic, I
asked him if he was afraid of what we were about to see that next
morning, what he thought of everything, and most importantly, if he believed
in the story of the Witch's Pass. He stayed silent for a bit,
saying he was ready for it now. He had tried it many years ago
and let everyone's talk get to him, but now this time he was ready.
I looked at his necklace with a crucifix, and asked if he knew
the stories behind that that it pisces her off. Yeah, I've heard of
that, he said, chuckling. He believed the stories, and he knew
of many more encounters with the witch for decades she had lived in there,
And if there were any logical explanations about it, researchers had failed to find
one. Several privately founded investigations, mainly from television shows and radio stations,
had tried to make stories about it, some even coming up with the movie.
They never made anything happen intentions, He said, how are you going
to find a story when you're looking to take advantage of it? Like that?
Come on? He looked at me right in the eye. There was
a strange calmness in his voice that made me question all of these other stories
I had heard about the Witch's past. The debates had largely become a thing
of do we believe in it? Do we not believe in it? And
if you do, why, if you don't, why not? This was
different. You can accept a story as it is and then decide if you
want to go through it or not. My decision, for example, had
been made. I wanted to go through the hike as it was intended to
happen, and it did not matter to me if the witch existed or not.
It was okay to be nervous about it. That would be alone,
well, maybe not anymore. During the walk that next morning, I turned
my head toward the man as I stood up to go to my tent to
say good night. Pride had called it a night while I was lost in
my introspection, and he was no longer there, And with that I got
to my tent. I zipped everything up, listened to the sound with the
dying fire against the soft wind coming from the dark woods behind us. The
second part of Witch's pass was coming upward. After this stay with me,
the alarm pluck vibrated under my sleeping bag. I had not slept much anyway,
so I was waiting for the darn thing to go off at any moment.
For the past couple of hours, almost everything was ready. I rolled
everything up and collapsed a tent with the light of my head lamp and walked
out of the group of blue and yellow tarps, my boots crunching against the
dried up dirt as I left the camp site and entered the dark valley just
before the forest, and I heard some one walking up behind me. Quickly
I turned around, following the beam of my head lamp as it moved across
the open field and the campsite off in the distance. The stories, even
though I didn't want to admit it, then had gotten to me. I
was about to walk into a site known for its ghost or which, whatever
you want to call it. It was part of history for that trail.
Locals had talked about it for decades, and it was part of the reason
why so many people chose to walk the trail in the fall every year.
It was a thrill to be so close to it and yet still cautious enough
to walk around it. No designated trails, they said, too dangerous or
too dark, And sometimes the stories would play with your mind and disorient you
enough to see things in the dark, maybe go into a panic, and
even cause an accident. And so I looked forward and continued, and about
half an hour later I was at the tree line alone. Wouldn't sign with
the carved letters ruins of Gertha and an arrow pointing into the woods, That's
what everyone knew. As the witches pass, I looked around for any hikers,
but couldn't see any lights in there. With one big breath, that
took a step forward, but I was interrupted by the sounds of someone behind
me. Again. I turned around and nearly screamed when I saw the same
man I had been talking to the night before. He had said he was
ready for the trail. This time. His brown jacket was barely visible from
the light of a headlamp. Howdy, he said, as he walked up
the dirt trail and towerts sign are you ready? The small nood I wanted
to give was enlarged by the beam of light against the edge of the trees,
and with a silent agreement, he continued into the dark woods. We
didn't say much this time. We were walking in unison through the trail between
the trees, and he could tell that not many hikers had gone through the
woods past a certain point. The path had become thin and overgrown with plants
that grew by the roots of the trees. There were no silhouettes, just
darkness all around us. The sky was barely visible through the caps and branches
the crooked trunks that seemed to swirl around us with every step. The man
started humming to himself of about twenty minutes in the familiar song with no lyrics
that matched the rhythm of our steps as we moved around the woods. But
suddenly the humming stopped. I turned back to look at him, the light
reflecting off the cross of his cold necklace. Are you scared, he asked
me, put a serious tone in his voice. I don't know what I'm
doing, I confessed, trying to hide the fact that I had felt that
way longer than I wanted to admit, always trying to do things as they
were supposed to get done, even if there wasn't a reason to other than
to do them right. I thought of the sacrifices I had made to keep
my house and the wife happy, giving away my days at the factory that
could not care any less for me. This was the only time I had
to get away from everything. After a short silence in the darkness, I
asked him if he wasn't scared already, said that a crucifix would piss off
the witch even more, and yet there he was wearing a bright one outside
of a shirt. He chuck Golden said, this is the only thing that
will be protecting us. They'll thank me. Later I asked him again why
he thought this thing was real, and he said that he did not question
reality anymore, just how he didn't question light or darkness, earth or water.
That we're just there and not a matter of belief. So you're saying
that we're going to get to the Witch's Pass the Ruins of Gertha, and
we're going to see a witch and she's going to give us candy, and
we're going to be found dead. A week later, I asked, in
a slightly angrier tone that I had imagined would come out. Something's there,
he replied quietly. He started walking again. They meet all sorts of people
out in the woods. I knew of that, some claiming to see things
out there. The funny story of a guy who was out in search of
a place where elementals lived, tiny mythical creatures from the woods. He had
them drawn out in everything. The rest of us had a laugh at his
story. But he went out with the most confidence I had ever seen from
a man early one morning, and the later came out drawing everything he had
witnessed with an enormous smile on his face. But this guy was different.
He had no flashlight on him I don't know how he was expecting to do
the trail that morning. He believed in the thing from the ruins of Gertha.
He walked with a confident limp. He had no reason to do the
trail, just like me, and so we walked until we got to a
section of rocks that seemed to appear from the darkness. By this time,
the troll had completely disappeared, and we were basing our steps solely on the
directions from the guide books. The two large, sharp rocks would lead to
a flat one, and between them the trail followed an ancient river wash up
a hill. This was the last section before the witches passed. Everyone knew
it. We passed the rocks and climbed past the enormous routes before everything went
still. I looked behind me as a man looked past me, and continued
to step. The ruins were there, large stones lined up along the trees,
like walls of an enormous palace without a roof, walls all around it,
half of it missing from the forest, taking it over once again.
You were still a good distance away from it, and yet you could feel
its presence in its entirety all around you. This was the infamous Witches Pass
that was there, that had made it. I walked slowly at first,
amazed by being in the place many people avoided if only they knew what they
were missing. But as we walked, I heard it, a whisper from
the trees. I couldn't tell what it said at first, but the place
was so still that any sounds, even from an animal, would stand out.
This way, I heard it say that froze in place. This was
not my hiking companion that morning. There was the voice of a woman,
flat and tired. Don't look, I heard from behind me. Who was
that? I asked him, You're almost through, Just keep going, I
heard him say. I picked up the step as I watched the bruins get
closer, like a castle in the woods, though shorter than we had seen
in the movies, and we were only on the edge of it, I
could not help but imagine what it looked like back when it was built.
Footsteps quick ones behind me and on my left, running off and around the
trees this way, I heard it say, don't you turn toward it to
hear me. I heard the man say. My heart started racing. I
had heard the voice loud and clear this time. Was it some elaborate prank?
Was it really the witch from the ruins, the one from the story.
I walked even faster as we passed the walls. The sky was turning
dark blue by this time, and I could see just how large the stones
were, the empty holes on the walls that used to be windows, pitch
black air on the inside. The footsteps approached from behind us quickly this way,
it said, I could feel my heart on my throat this time.
The thing was real. There was no way anyone else will be out here
this early. They had no reason to. No one else except for this
man had known that I was planning to come to the trail of this time.
This way, I heard from my right side. It became suspicious right
then I turned behind me and yelled for him to hide his necklace with a
cross. But was he doing wearing it? Why would he make the thing
angry on purpose like that? And if this was a prank, if what
was he taking it this far? Do you believe in it now? Don't
you? He said? But I was not going to do this, not
anymore. Many times I had been wondering why I did what I did,
sending all of my money away to Sarah, who spent it on god knows
what. All this time, early mornings and late evenings at the factories and
restaurants, just to do everything all over again the next day. I had
no chance to look anywhere else. I just did what I was supposed to
do, and now this condemned to keep my eyesight straight ahead, avoiding the
very thing that was calling me this time. Don't listen to it, I
heard from behind me. Who are you? I yeled back, Who are
you to tell me anything about what I'm supposed to do this way? I
heard from up ahead. Silhouettes were beginning to show along the path as the
sky became just a little bit lighter. What if this thing was real?
What if we were walking into some type of trap? What if I angered
it by not turning to see it. You don't have to see it to
know that it's there, I heard the man say. The whole thing was
silly, a grown man afraid of the story. That nobody knew if it
was real or not. But it wouldn't matter. The story was real to
me, at least during those last two minutes of the walk. The only
way to disprove it would be to turn toward it to see who was calling
me, And then I heard the footsteps behind me, much lighter than my
hiking companion, approaching very quickly turned around, he said, and that really
made my blood boil. This way. The light was a bit brighter now
that the edge of the trees was near. I could count the number of
them. My nails were digging into the palm of my right hand and anger.
When I heard that command, who are you? I yelled, still
facing forward. The name's Nick, And why did that sound so familiar?
I stopped as I reached the tree line and turned around. Was a bit
brighter now there was no one there, I yelled for him, looking into
the tunnel the trees had made. My heart was still racing when I took
those two deep breaths, wondering about what had just happened. But I turned
away from the trees and faced forward, doing what I was supposed to do,
which is past. Was written by me Edwin Kovarubyaz. You can find
me over on Instagram at Edwin Cove that's e d W N coo V,
or you can email me directly. I'll leave my info in the description of
this episode. Up next check out horror Story, where I tell you about
true creepy events and mysteries. You'll find it by typing horror story in the
search bar of Spotify or Apple Podcasts, or over on horror story dot com.
Thank you very much for listening and for your comments. To you soon.