100 Scary Stories That Would Send Chills Down Your Spine

Story 4: “The Thing That Watches From the Tree”

Danny’s new home had a massive backyard, the kind that kids dream of and adults dread to mow. But what caught his attention immediately wasn’t the swing set or the old shed. It was the tree.

The tree was ancient. Black bark, gnarled limbs like twisted claws, and tall — too tall. It stood at the far end of the yard, past the patch of overgrown weeds, casting a shadow that never quite moved with the sun.

Danny didn’t like the tree. Neither did his dog, Rupert.

From the first day, Rupert refused to go near it. He’d growl low in his throat, hackles raised, ears back. If Danny tugged his leash too hard, Rupert would plant his feet and whimper, tail between his legs.

But Danny was twelve and curious, and curious boys don’t listen to scared dogs.

So one afternoon, when the sky was gray and the wind had that strange electric hum, Danny walked out to the tree alone.

There were no leaves. Just bark that seemed to pulse slightly beneath his fingers, like it was breathing. Carved into the trunk, half-covered by moss, was a symbol — a circle with jagged lines shooting out of it. It looked like an eye. An open, wide eye.

As he stared at it, the wind died.

The world went dead silent.

And then he felt it — something watching him. Not from the house. Not from the woods. But from the tree itself.

He backed away slowly, the feeling clinging to him like damp cold. He never went near it again.

But the thing in the tree came to him.

That night, as he lay in bed, he heard the sound of bark cracking. Slow. Deliberate. Like something forcing its way out.

Then — thud.

Thud. Thud.

Heavy steps on the grass outside his window.

Danny peeked between the blinds.

What he saw wasn’t human.

It had the shape of a man, but it was too long. Arms too thin. Skin black like bark, with antlers that twisted like dead branches. Its face was featureless, except for one thing:

A wide, lidless eye in the center of its head.

Staring at him.

Unblinking.

Danny ducked under the covers and didn’t sleep.

In the morning, he thought he’d imagined it — until he saw the muddy footprints outside his window. Three-toed. Clawed. Leading back toward the tree.

He told his parents.

They laughed.

“It’s just your imagination, sweetie. This old place can play tricks on you.”

But the thing came back every night.

Always at 2:19 a.m.

Always watching.

One night, Danny couldn’t take it anymore. He stayed up with a flashlight and Rupert by his side. When the thing came, he shone the light on it.