5 True Scary Appalachian Trail Stories That Will Haunt You

 The Appalachian Trail is over 2,000 miles of untamed wilderness—and not everyone who enters comes out the same. 

In this episode of Blighty Nightmares, we share five terrifying true stories from the mountains: from disturbing disappearances and cryptid sightings to dark Appalachian folklore that refuses to die. 

Whether you’re into real unsolved cases, haunting legends, or backcountry horror, these stories will pull you deep into the shadowy heart of America’s most mysterious trail. 

🌲 This episode includes:
• Randall Lee Smith – A convicted killer returns to the trail
• The Hammock Abduction – A backpacker vanishes without a sound
• Geraldine Largay – A solo hiker’s tragic final days
• Spearfinger – A legendary soul-stealing creature of Cherokee myth
• The Bear Encounter – When nature turns deadly in the night 

Subscribe for more episodes covering true horror, Missing 411 cases, cryptid encounters, and folklore that still haunts the wild. 

Transcript

 They called him Lying Randall a quiet 
peculiar man from Parisburg Virginia a 
small town with quiet streets and long 
memories to most folks Randall Lee Smith 
was just a drifter a loner who wandered 
the Appalachian Trail for days at a time 
sometimes vanishing for weeks he would 
show up again thin sunburnt smiling like 
nothing ever happened he was strange 
sure but not dangerous that's what they 
thought until the spring of 1981 
two social workers from Maine Susan 
Ramsay and Robert Mountford were hiking 
the Appalachian Trail to raise money for 
mental health charities it was a noble 
journey through one of the most 
beautiful yet unforgiving regions of 
America they were last seen near the 
Witi shelter a small rustic lean too 
deep in the woods a place meant to offer 
rest safety but on that night it became 
something else entirely when Susan and 
Robert failed to show up to meet fellow 
hiker as planned the alarm was raised 
deputies combed the trail at first 
nothing just endless trees and silence 
then they found it a blood stain on the 
shelter's floorboards a disturbed patch 
of leaves a buried sleeping bag inside 
was the body of Susan Ramsay stabbed 
beaten her final moments hidden beneath 
the very soil she hiked to inspire hope 
nearby they found Robert Mountford a 
single gunshot to the head executed and 
near their graves a paperback book 
inside the book fingerprints that didn't 
belong to either victim they belong to 
Brand Lee Smith police raided his home 
in Parisburg what they found chilled 
them to the bone bloody clothes stolen 
items from victims disturbing homemade 
instruments and a handwritten note 
claiming he had been kidnapped the 
handwriting matched his own a Randall 
was already gone banished into the 
Appalachian wilderness he knew better 
than anyone else weeks passed then 
months until by eerie coincidence the 
lead investigator Sheriff Tom Lawson got 
a call while vacationing hundreds of 
miles away on Myrtle Beach a man had 
been picked up wandering the streets 
covered in bug bites disorientated 
he said he didn't know his name said he 
had amnesia but when they handed him a 
form to sign for medical treatment he 
wrote Randall Lee Smith he was brought 
back to Virginia in shackles but despite 
the brutality of his crimes Randall 
never faced the death penalty he took a 
plea deal 30 years in prison he served 
half 15 then in 1996 he walked free a 
convicted double murderer released in 
the very same town where his victims had 
once hiked in peace locals avoided him 
hikers whispered his name in fear 
randall he went back to the trail back 
to the woods some said they saw him 
talking to campers smiling polite no one 
recognized the danger time passed people 
forgot but the mountain didn't may 2008 
two fishermen Scott Johnson and Sha 
Farmer were both camping near Bushy 
Mountain just a couple of guys sharing 
trout and beer in the heart of the 
forest that's when a man emerged from 
the trees finn pale accompanied by a 
starving dog he called himself Ricky 
Williams claimed he was a NASA scientist 
married to a beauty queen said he'd been 
lost in the woods for weeks scott and 
Sha knew he was lying but in the 
Appalachian tradition they offered him a 
meal a place by the fire a bit of 
kindness he ate in silence then stood to 
leave and then he turned and opened fire 
four shots sha took one to the head 
Scott in the neck then Sha again in the 
chest Scott in the back somehow they ran 
stumbling bleeding vanishing into the 
dark woods as Randall watched from the 
edge of the firelight but the killer had 
made a mistake he was out a bullet sha 
reached his truck drove with a bullet in 
his skull found Scott on the road who'd 
somehow survived too they reached the 
farmhouse hammered on the door a woman 
inside screamed for her son to call 911 
when the police arrived one of the young 
men still bleeding barely conscious 
pointed to a missing poster "it's him," 
he whispered "that's the man who shot us 
Randall Lee Smith." Hours later a 
Virginia State trooper spotted Scott's 
stolen truck speeding down a mountain 
road it crashed flipped randall was 
inside unconscious trapped his pistol 
just out of reach he was taken to the 
same hospital as the two men he tried to 
murder when he woke he claimed 
self-defense of course no one believed 
him a few days later a corrections 
officer brought Randall his dinner tray 
he didn't respond they found him 
collapsed on the floor of his cell no 
injuries no wounds no signs of struggle 
randall Lee Smith a man who had killed 
without reason without remorse had 
simply stopped living some say it was 
natural causes others say he lost the 
will to exist once the thrill of hunting 
was gone he was buried next to his 
mother the only soul to attend the 
graveside surface was his dog Lou but 
what's truly horrifying about Randall 
Lee Smith isn't what he did it's why he 
did it there was no motive no robbery no 
grudge the hikers he killed in 1981 
strangers the fisherman in 2008 they fed 
him showed him kindness and he still 
tried to end their lives because Randall 
didn't kill for gain he killed for 
pleasure he didn't need a reason he was 
the reason and sometimes in the 
Appalachian dark where cell surface 
fails and the trees stretch for miles 
people like Randall are still out there 
smiling friendly waiting for the fire to 
die down and watching you fall to sleep 
if you made it this far maybe you're not 
like the others hit subscribe and I'll 
keep the stories coming i was 26 years 
 
old the first time I hiked the 
Appalachian Trail alone it was the 
summer of ' 89 before GPS before cell 
phones just me a compass and the kind of 
youthful arrogance that makes you 
believe nothing can go wrong back then I 
lived in Rhode Island a beautiful state 
but small too small i'd already 
exhausted every local trail worth hiking 
and I wanted something raw wilder the 
Appalachian Trail was a right of passage 
among serious hikers my uncle had done 
the whole thing back in the 50s and 
never stopped bragging about it made it 
sound like some sacred pilgrimage i 
couldn't get the time off work to do the 
whole trail but I figured 2 weeks would 
be enough to knock out the southern 
portion from Harper's Ferry down to the 
Blue Ridge Mountains ending in Asheville 
that would be my tribute my challenge i 
set out with everything I thought I'd 
need food a map and a lightweight 
hammock something I could string up 
between trees to keep me off the ground 
at night safer from the bugs the damp or 
so I thought 
the first few days were brutal long 
heights blistering heat and an 
exhaustion that reached down into my 
bones but the solitude that was the real 
reward there's something almost 
spiritual about walking alone through 
endless trees like the forest knows 
secrets it only whispers when you're 
quiet enough to listen then came that 
night the one I don't talk about often 
the one I still dream about 30 something 
years later 
it started like any other i set up my 
hammock at dusk somewhere deep in West 
Virginia no one around for miles i 
remember the quiet The wrong kind of 
quiet not peaceful but heavy like the 
trees were holding their breath i woke 
up sometime after midnight to the sound 
of leaves shifting not rustling in the 
wind footsteps i shifted slightly 
peeking over the edge of the hammock and 
I froze just beyond the tree line stood 
a figure a man perfectly still no 
flashlight no gear no expression just 
standing there watching me my breath 
caught in my throat he didn't move 
didn't speak just stared i didn't think 
i rolled out of the hammock and ran no 
shoes no gear just pure instinct driving 
my legs into the dark i must have run a 
100 yards before I ducked behind a tree 
heart pounding so hard I thought it 
might burst i waited listened no 
footsteps behind me no sounds at all 
eventually I crept back towards my camp 
my hands were shaking as I scanned the 
trees my gear was untouched no sign of 
him it was like he'd vanished 
but I couldn't shake the feeling that he 
wanted me to come back that this was 
part of something a test a game i packed 
up fast and I hiked through the night 
until I found a new spot but after that 
I couldn't sleep right every snap of a 
twig every rustle in the leaves my brain 
screamed "He's back." I brought fishing 
line in a small trail town a few days 
later set up makeshift trip wires with 
old tin cans that clattered when touched 
primitive alarms it gave me some peace 
of mind until one night a fox set them 
off and I leapt out with a knife in my 
hand only to find it was a curious 
animal i laughed it off but I never 
slept with the knife again too dangerous 
too easy to make a fatal mistake in 
panic about a week passed i was 100 
miles from that first campsite and 
started to feel normal again the 
paranoia had faded until the night 
something worse happened i woke up 
unable to move the fabric of my hammock 
was tight across my chest my arms pinned 
to my sides something had cocooned me 
wrapped the hammock closed with cord or 
wire i couldn't breathe right i couldn't 
scream then I heard it leaves dragging 
the sound of fabric scraping against 
dirt i was being pulled someone had cut 
the hammock down and was dragging me 
still inside it across the forest floor 
i panicked thrashed screamed but the 
material was thick and my voice was 
muffled no one could hear me no one 
would come and I had no knife no 
flashlight nothing then I remembered 
something my dad had given me an old 
wristwatch the clasp had a sharp metal 
edge dull but enough to nick skin if you 
weren't careful i twisted my wrist 
fumbling with fingers that barely worked 
found the latch press it against the 
fabric soared 
the seconds felt like hours i heard 
footsteps behind me measured and calm 
whoever was dragging me wasn't in a rush 
they were enjoying it but eventually 
moonlight i saw it peeking through the 
shredded fabric i tore and ripped until 
my arm came free then my chest then I 
burst out of the hammock like something 
being born again cold screaming and 
running for my life i don't know how I 
escaped i didn't look back eventually I 
found a house lights on front porch 
glowing like salvation i banged on the 
door until someone answered and let me 
in called the sheriff took me in like I 
was astray when the sheriff came the 
next morning I told him everything every 
awful detail he nodded slowly said 
"Maybe I had a bad dream maybe I got 
tangled and panicked but I know someone 
was out there someone had tracked me for 
a 100 miles someone was waiting who 
watched who dragged me into the dark and 
wanted to see what happened next i never 
finished the trail took a bus back north 
and never spoke about it again not until 
years later when I told my uncle and he 
didn't laugh didn't scoff he just looked 
at me for a long time and said "Some of 
those mountains don't belong to us they 
are places out there the maps don't warn 
you about." and people who never come 
back down then he said something I'll 
never forget the trees out there they 
keep secrets and they never forget your 
face if you made it this far maybe 
you're not like the others hit subscribe 
and I'll keep the stories coming her 
 
trail name was inchworm not because she 
was weak or afraid but because she moved 
with purpose slowly steadily one mile at 
a time geredine Lara was 66 years old 
when she decided to hike the Appalachian 
Trail nearly a thousand miles of 
wilderness starting in Harper's Ferry 
West Virginia for many it was a bucket 
list challenge for Geredine it was 
something deeper she'd been married for 
over 40 years a devoted nurse a woman 
who had always cared for others now for 
once she was doing something for herself 
she walked with a close friend Jane Lee 
her husband George followed along in 
their car meeting them at intervals to 
deliver supplies fresh clothes or a 
quick night in a motel for weeks it went 
perfectly then Jane had to leave the 
trail unexpectedly and Geredine chose to 
continue alone those who knew her would 
later say she wasn't best with 
directions that she sometimes flustered 
when trails became tricky but she was 
determined stubborn even somewhere deep 
in Maine in one of the wildest least 
forgiving stretches of the trail 
Geredine stepped off the path maybe to 
use the bathroom maybe to scout a 
shortcut whatever the reason she never 
found her way back the forest swallowed 
her hole she had no GPS no way to mark 
her position but she had a notebook 
small and black where she documented 
every day of her journey even after she 
became lost she kept writing she texted 
George lost since yesterday off trail 3 
or four miles call please what do I do 
the messages never sent there was no 
signal just that cruel little send in 
failed icon blinking over and over in 
the corner of the screen as if mocking 
her she wrote another text in some 
trouble lost need help again not 
delivered geredine did everything right 
she didn't panic she searched for high 
ground she tied a silver blanket between 
two trees to signal rescue teams she 
rationed her food she waited but help 
never came and no one saw her rescue 
teams flooded the areas helicopters 
search dogs trail crews but they never 
saw the silver blanket the forest canopy 
was too dense her campsite tucked 
between fur trees and underbrush was 
invisible from the sky volunteers passed 
within a mile of her location likely 
closer and never realized it she was 
right there and yet utterly alone 
false tits began to pour in psychics 
claimed she'd been kidnapped some said 
she drowned others accused George of 
foul play time was wasted focus was lost 
meanwhile Geredine was dying not in a 
single violent moment but in slow 
increments a little colder each night a 
little weaker each morning a little more 
invisible 
her final journal entries were clear and 
heartbreakingly calm when you find my 
body please call my husband George and 
my daughter Carrie it will be the 
greatest kindness let them know I am 
dead and where you found me she had 
waited 26 days alone cold hope 
flickering like the last light in the 
long hallway when her body was finally 
discovered 2 years later she was still 
inside her sleeping bag the campsite was 
pristine her belongings were neatly 
arranged there was no sign of panic no 
violence no chaos she had died as she 
lived orderly quiet dignified and 
utterly unseen 
people like to imagine the wild is tamed 
now that with GPS and cell towers and 
satellites overhead no one can simply 
disappear 
but Geredine Lay did in one of the most 
hiked trails in America in a country 
that prides itself on never losing 
people and the part that stays with me 
the most she would less than a mile from 
rescue close enough to hear footsteps 
close enough that searches might have 
unknowingly passed her by their eyes 
facing forward never looking to the side 
she was there the forest knew it just 
didn't tell if you made it this far 
maybe you're not like the others hit 
subscribe and I'll keep the stories 
coming i grew up in North Carolina back 
 
when I was a kid I was a boy scout back 
when that still meant campfires rope 
knots and memorizing how to read moss on 
trees we'll go on hikes learn survival 
skills fish in cold rivers and sleep 
under the stars without ever worrying 
about what might be sleeping beside us 
at least most of the time there was one 
summer trip deep in the Smoky Mountains 
that I'll never forget and not because 
of the views or the samores but because 
something out there watched us that 
night and I still don't know if it was 
real it was the third night of our 
week-l long camp out we were huddled 
around a fire the air thick with smoke 
and mosquito repellent when one of our 
scout masters an old mountain guy named 
Ray decided to tell us a local legend 
"you boys ever heard of Spear Finger he 
had our attention." "She walks these 
mountains," he said older stones skin 
like granite one long sharp finger on 
her right hand sharp enough to stab 
clean through a tree or a person doesn't 
matter 
ray's voice dropped to a whisper she 
takes the shape of your loved ones your 
grandma your favorite aunt the kind of 
voice that sings you to sleep right 
before she slides that finger between 
your ribs and pulls out your liver 
a few of the younger kids giggled 
nervously 
cherokee legends say her heart's hidden 
in the palm of her hand so no weapon can 
kill her she walks at dusk alone and if 
the birds go silent in the trees it 
means she's close 
we laughed it off like you do when 
you're 13 and pretending to be tough but 
something about that story clung to me 
that image of a silent stone skinned 
woman drifting through the pines 
pretending to be your family singing 
lullabibby with bloody lips it got in my 
head that night at the lights out I lay 
in my tent wide awake listening every 
branch that snapped outside made me 
flinch i whispered to my tentmate but he 
was already snoring then I heard it a 
hiss soft like wind through dry leaves 
but slower more intentional 
and then I saw it a silhouette moved 
outside the tent tall and thin it didn't 
shuffle like a raccoon or skitter like a 
fox it walked human shaped it paused 
raised an arm i saw one long pointed 
finger touch the side of the tent 
tracing the fabric in slow circles then 
it whispered 
the Cherokee word for liver i couldn't 
move i couldn't scream my entire body 
locked up like stone then the zipper it 
started to slide open that snapped 
something inside me i screamed so loud I 
thought my lungs would burst i crashed 
through the flap of the tent tore into 
the darkness screaming that spear finger 
had come to eat us alive 
i expected chaos screams tents flying 
open panic everywhere but all I heard 
was laughter 
one of the older scouts Devon was on the 
ground red-faced and wheezing holding up 
a stick taped to his finger like some 
makeshift monster claw he'd snuck around 
while we were sleeping he even learned 
the Cherokee phrase from a book in the 
ranger station it was all just a prank 
at least that's what I told myself 
that's what we all told ourselves 
but here's the part I never shared 
later that night when the fire had 
burned down to coals I went to grab my 
flashlight from the edge of the camp 
that's when I heard it again just once 
behind me in the trees the same whisper 
seco 
i turned no one was there devon was 
still in his tent and above me every 
bird in the canopy had gone silent some 
things in the mountains don't care if 
you believe in them they've been 
watching far longer than we've been 
telling stories and sometimes they 
listen if you made it this far maybe 
you're not like the others hit subscribe 
and I'll keep the stories coming 
 
my name is Lena i'm from Malaysia and 
the moment I thought I was going to die 
was in Virginia 
it happened during a summer school 
program at Virginia Tech there were 
field trips every weekend and one 
afternoon a small group of us hiked part 
of the Appalachian Trail with a local 
guide we were told it was a beginner 
route nothing dangerous just scenery and 
silence we didn't know silence could be 
dangerous 
it was stiffeningly hot no wind the kind 
of heat that makes your clothes stick 
and your mind drift 
we hiked for hours stopping occasionally 
to catch our breath drink lukewarm water 
or snap a few photos of the trees at one 
point we sat on a log sharing snacks 
crackers fruit bits of trail mix that's 
when we heard it a low rustling in the 
brush just a few yards off the trail i 
looked at our guide this man had been 
cocky and cheerful all afternoon and saw 
his face drain of color "don't move," he 
whispered "don't make a sound." 
I froze the brush parted and something 
stepped out a black bear full grown 
muscular silent it didn't roar didn't 
charge it just walked into our clearing 
like it had always been there like we 
were the visitors 
it sniffed the air once then turned 
directly towards me time fractured i 
remember the bear walking slow 
deliberate right up to where I sat i 
remember the sweat beading on my skin 
not from the heat anymore but from the 
sheer terror 
and I remember how it rose onto its hind 
legs it towered above me it looked into 
me i didn't move i didn't blink my mind 
screamed but my body had locked up it 
sniffed at my hijab closer closer i 
could feel its breath on my face hot and 
wild and ancient it could have ended me 
right there but it didn't it lowered 
itself back to all fours moved on to my 
friend soul she had frozen too mouth 
trembling holding a halfeaten sandwich 
in one hand she let it fall the bear 
sniffed the food ignored it then stood 
up again right in front of her snuffling 
at her face and neck for a moment it 
looked like it might but then it turned 
walked back into the forest as quietly 
as it had come the silence that forward 
was unbearable 
pardon the pun 
no one spoke no one moved the only sound 
was my pulse hammering in my ears and 
the faintest whisper of leaves rustling 
where the bear had vanished we didn't 
cheer we didn't breathe easy we just 
slowly nimly packed our things and 
followed the guide back to the trail 
head i don't remember the hike back i 
only remember what the guide said once 
we reached the van 
it didn't see us as a threat or a meal 
we were lucky that's all it ever is out 
here just luck 
people don't realize how quiet death can 
be how slowly it can walk right up to 
you no growling no violence just the 
sense that you've lost control that 
something bigger older and far less 
emotional now decides what happens to 
you that day the bear chose not to kill 
us and I still don't know why 
 
the Appalachian Trail stretches for over 
2,000 m but the real distance is 
measured in the stories people leave 
behind some come back with photos and 
memories others don't come back at all 
if these stories haunted you like they 
did me hit that like button and let me 
know in the comments which one disturbed 
you the most and if you want more tales 
of real life horror strange 
disappearances and forgotten legends 
subscribe to Brighty Nightmares where 
darkness walks on two legs and the wild 
still whispers i'll be waiting 
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