Back to Ravensville
Marcus Ridge was an ordinary young man living alone in his one-bedroom apartment—which looked more like a tiny studio—right in the middle of the city. Not many people, not even his closest friends, knew about the past that still haunted him to this day. Another thing no one really knew was that Marcus had an identical twin brother named Jonah who lived in a small town called Ravensville, hundreds of kilometers west. The two brothers were never close, and their childhood had been far from happy. Their mother died in a car accident when they were little, leaving them with a silent, alcoholic father. When Marcus was sixteen, a brutal argument with their father led him to leave home and the sleepy town they were born in to start a new life in the city. Over ten years had passed since then, and Marcus had never once returned or visited his father and brother for Christmas. It was as if he had disappeared from the face of the earth. Then one day, news came from a distant relative: their father had died. Marcus decided to return home to see how his twin was doing. Rain lashed down over Ravensville as their father’s coffin was lowered into the ground. The brothers stood in silence, frozen and expressionless, during the entire funeral. Marcus looked awkward behind his dark aviator sunglasses, his body reeking of tobacco and booze, mingled with the scent of wet soil. Jonah stared at their father’s gravestone, unblinking, as if trying to convince himself that the old man was truly gone for good. They looked so much alike it was nearly impossible to tell them apart. The only visible difference was a faint, long scar down one side of Jonah’s sharp face. Apart from that, they were mirror images—same pale skin, same straight nose, same piercing light brown eyes, inherited from their late father. They hadn’t exchanged many words since Marcus arrived a few hours earlier. Jonah had been handling the funeral arrangements alone since morning—Marcus had missed the afternoon train and was forced to catch a bus that crawled slower than a tortoise. The two of them stood awkwardly among strangers, scanning the unfamiliar faces of mourners. One by one, people began to leave, until the twins were left standing together beneath the lingering drizzle. “You want a smoke?” Marcus blurted suddenly, pulling out a pack of Marlboros and a lighter from his dark brown jacket, lighting one up. It was the first thing he’d said since returning to Ravensville—and the first time he’d spoken to Jonah in over a decade. Jonah frowned at him, saying nothing for a few seconds, like he was weighing the situation. Then, wordlessly, he reached out, took a cigarette, and lit it. “I didn’t know you smoked,” Marcus said, exhaling a thick cloud and flashing a grin. “There’s a lotta stuff you don’t know, brother,” Jonah replied flatly, squinting out toward the pine-covered hills in the distance, looming tall beneath the clouded sky. “Maybe we should talk. You know? So I can catch up on whatever the hell’s been happening here while I was gone.” Marcus studied his brother’s face for a long moment. It felt like he was standing in front of a mirror, staring at his own reflection—only this version of himself looked older, harder, worn down by life. Jonah’s eyes didn’t sparkle like they used to. They looked tired and hollow. Jonah glanced back at his twin brother. “Too late for all that,” he shrugged. “He never stopped saying your name, not once, ever since he found out the cancer was terminal and that he was going to die.” Marcus stayed quiet. There was bitterness in Jonah’s voice—he could hear it clearly. His mind drifted back to that night ten years ago, the night of their final fight. Their dad had lost control and slapped him, hard. Marcus had inherited the same stubborn streak from the old man, while Jonah had always been more like their mother—gentle, melancholy, always backing down to avoid conflict. Jonah dropped his cigarette to the ground and began walking away from the grave. Marcus followed without a word. Back at their father’s house, Jonah went straight into his bedroom, leaving Marcus alone in the living room, taking in the echoes of the past that still lingered in every corner. The house hadn’t changed much. It was just as gloomy and lifeless as he remembered. “Whiskey?” Jonah called out suddenly as he returned, carrying two small glasses and setting them down on the table. “Thanks,” Marcus said quietly, dropping his backpack without taking his eyes off a dusty black-and-white photo hanging beside the window. It showed the two of them as kids, camping and fishing with their dad by the lake not far from Ravensville. The photo had been taken just a year after their mother died. Still, they looked happy—like grief hadn’t touched them at all. “I’ve got some wine stashed in the attic too, if you’re into that,” Jonah offered, sinking into a big recliner across the room. “How ’bout we go camping out in the woods again, like we used to? You down?” Marcus asked suddenly. The idea had popped into his head out of nowhere. Jonah froze, his glass halfway to his mouth. “What for? To relive our blissful family memories?” Marcus ignored him. “You remember how much Dad used to love taking us out to the woods after… you know…” Marcus didn’t finish. He stared out the window awkwardly. Jonah swallowed. “Bad idea. We never got along. We always fought when we were left alone. Only reason we didn’t try to kill each other back then was ‘cause Dad was there,” Jonah said quickly. “We’re not kids anymore,” Marcus sighed. “Besides, I’ve been meaning to do it for a while. City life’s kinda soul-sucking. I think I need some air that doesn’t smell like smog and garbage.” Jonah took a sip of his whiskey and shook his head slowly. “I don’t have time for dumb crap like that. My boss gave me three days off for the funeral. I’m back at work Tuesday.” “C’mon, just one night,” Marcus pressed, sticking his head out the window. “Rain’s letting up. We’ll just crash by the lake and head back in the morning.” Jonah narrowed his eyes and shook his head again. “Don’t think so.” He set his empty glass on the table and started walking away. “For Dad?” Marcus said softly. Jonah paused in the doorway. One hand rested on the frame, hesitant. Marcus held his breath, waiting. Then slowly, Jonah turned just slightly without looking back at him. “You’ll let me pick the campsite, and you’ll do exactly what I say while we’re out there…” “Deal!” Marcus grinned wide. Two hours later, they were hiking along a narrow winding path through towering pine trees. Wet branches snapped and crunched beneath their boots with every step. The forest felt calm and quiet under a veil of mist that still clung to the air after the rain. Now and then, the heavy silence would be broken by birdsong echoing off steep, rocky cliffs that loomed like ancient watchtowers. After a few hours, they reached a grassy clearing among the shrubs, and Jonah decided they’d rest there for a while. “We should keep moving ‘til we hit the lake. Still plenty of daylight left,” Marcus said, looking up at the dense canopy blocking the afternoon sun. “You promised to follow my lead,” Jonah reminded him, dropping his overstuffed backpack to the ground. “Alright, alright. You’re the boss,” Marcus grumbled, making Jonah chuckle. “At least tell me you’ve brought a map.” “We don’t need one,” Jonah said, taking a long drink from his water bottle and wiping the sweat from his brow. “Dad never used one. Said our old camping spot didn’t even show up on any map. But he knew the way by heart.” “Yeah? And you do too?” “The lake’s west of town. We just follow the trail. It’s not rocket science.” “This trail goes south, though. Pretty sure. There’s a creek up ahead that leads to the lake.” “Nope. You’re thinking of a different trail that loops back toward town.” Marcus shrugged, not in the mood to argue. “You’re the boss.” They were about to start moving again when a sudden downpour forced them to scramble and pitch an emergency tent. Marcus pulled out their gear from his pack, cursing under his breath. The peaceful forest was instantly drowned in the icy roar of the rain. “Screw this! I’d rather walk home soaked than spend the night here,” Marcus muttered, crawling into the tent behind Jonah. “This was your idea,” Jonah shot back. Marcus clenched his jaw, keeping the rest of his complaints to himself. The rain didn’t stop, even as the sun dipped below the western horizon. Darkness slowly crept through the forest like a thick black blanket. The wind and rain battered their tent, and all they could do was lie there, listening. Close to midnight, Marcus woke up. A warm, golden glow flickered through the fabric of the tent. He sat up and saw Jonah sitting under a large oak tree nearby, feeding a fire that crackled as it devoured the dry branches they had gathered earlier. The rain had stopped, and the forest had gone eerily silent again. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Hungry? I made dinner,” Jonah said, noticing Marcus was awake. “What time is it?” Marcus asked, stretching and yawning before crawling out to the fire. “Man, this feels good.” He rubbed his hands together and held them near the flames. “Twenty-three to midnight.” Jonah handed him a can of beer and a steaming bowl of soup. “We were out that long?” “You were. Snored like a dying moose. I barely got any sleep.” Jonah shook his head. “Sorry, man. Haven’t slept that deep in ages.” Marcus slurped his soup greedily, eyes closed, savoring the warmth. “What’ve you been doing in the city, anyway?” Jonah asked, cracking open his beer. “Oh, you know… stuff. Bills to pay. I do side gigs, here and there.” “And you still had cash to send Dad every month?” Marcus froze, spoon midair. He stared at Jonah. “How did y—?” “I know everything, Marcus. You really think we bought that story about a pension from some great-grandma who died like fifty years ago?” Marcus said nothing. The fire popped softly, filling the silence. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I should’ve sent more. For his treatment.” “There wasn’t much we could do. You know how stubborn Dad was. Just like you. He hid it from everyone. By the time the docs found it, it had already spread. Chemo wouldn’t’ve done shit. And he didn’t want to blow money on something pointless.” Marcus took a sip of beer and sighed. “I used to love it when he took us camping like this,” he said. “I’d always beg him to stay out longer.” Jonah nodded. “He told me once, when he was young, he’d go out camping and fishing solo for days.” “Dude had guts. No electricity, no phones, no GPS. What if he’d gotten hurt or something?” “I don’t think we’ll ever be that badass,” Jonah laughed. “Different generation. They were raised tough.” “But I remember him telling me once, during one of his solo trips to the north end of the lake, near that old ghost town, he saw something. Scared the hell outta him.” “Oh yeah? I don’t remember him ever telling me that. What’d he see?” “He wasn’t sure. But whatever it was scared him so bad, he never went near the north woods again. I remember the look in his eyes when he said it: ‘Never go near the north shore. Stay the hell away from that cursed place.’” Marcus laughed. “Man, Dad used to make up the creepiest stuff just to freak us out.” “Maybe. But he said even the animals avoid that place. Whatever’s out there, it’s bad. We shouldn’t go near it.” Jonah tossed his empty can in a plastic bag and stretched with a yawn. “I’m gonna crash. I’m wiped.” “You don’t wanna hang out a little? Share a smoke?” Marcus pulled a pack from his jacket. “Nothing left to say,” Jonah called from inside the tent. A moment later, he was out cold, leaving Marcus alone by the fire, smoking and sipping his beer. Around two in the morning, Jonah woke up to Marcus gently shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see his brother’s pale, tense face hovering above him. His lips twitched, and his breathing was shallow and fast. “What’s going on? Why are you—” “Shhh…” Marcus pressed a finger to his lips, glancing toward the tent’s entrance with a worried expression. “What is it, Marcus?” Jonah asked, rubbing his eyes. “There’s something out there.” “What do you mean ‘something’?” Jonah sat up, frowning, his patience wearing thin from being yanked out of sleep. “I don’t know. Thought it was a bear at first, but its skin looked too smooth… like, weird-smooth. And it’s just been watching me from the dark. Not moving. Not making a sound.” “What exactly did you see?” “I don’t know, man. But there’s something in the trees.” Jonah shoved Marcus’s hand off his shoulder, irritation rising. “If this is your idea of a joke, it’s seriously not funny. Goddamn it, Marcus. This is why I didn’t wanna come out here with you. You always pull this crap—ruin everything like when we were kids.” Marcus looked hurt. “If you don’t believe me, go look for yourself,” he said softly, shifting aside so Jonah could sit up and move freely. Grumbling, Jonah crawled to the front of the tent and peered through the slightly open flap. The fire outside was still flickering low, and the woods were dark and still. “I don’t see jackshit,” he whispered to Marcus, who crouched beside him. “At the edge of the forest. Between those pine trees over there,” Marcus whispered back. Jonah squinted, ignoring the dim firelight. Then he saw it. Two large, round eyes glowing faintly, reflecting the firelight—high up in the trees. “Owl?” he murmured, trying to focus. “Or maybe a rac—” He didn’t finish. The fire dimmed suddenly, and the glowing eyes blinked. Then Jonah saw it: a long, pale, bony arm emerging from the darkness as the thing, whatever it was, began descending from the tree. Every hair on Jonah’s body stood on end. “Marcus!” he hissed. “The fire!” “What about it?” Jonah didn’t answer. He lunged out of the tent, rushing to the fire and throwing on more twigs and dry leaves they’d collected earlier. Flames flared brighter instantly. “Dude, what the hell is going on?” Marcus scrambled out behind him. “Keep the fire going. Help me! Hurry!” Jonah shouted, foraging the surrounding bushes for more dry kindling. Marcus glanced toward the trees where the thing had been. Nothing. It was gone. “It won’t come close as long as the fire stays lit,” Jonah muttered, still gathering anything flammable. “What do you mean?” Marcus asked, but then his voice trailed off. A long, hoarse, eerie howl echoed through the forest—just a few dozen meters away in the pitch-black woods. “What… was that a… w-wolf?” Marcus asked, voice trembling. “Don’t be stupid,” Jonah snapped, tossing more branches into the flames. “You ever hear a wolf sound like that? And wolves don’t climb trees. Especially not trees that tall.” “Then what the hell is it?” Marcus looked around wildly, eyes fixed on the dark woods as if expecting something to come charging out at any second. “We’re almost out of dry wood. This fire’s gonna die in an hour,” Jonah said, exhaling shakily. Sweat ran down his face. His expression was tight with fear. “We’ve gotta get outta here. Fast.” “But we’re miles from town,” Marcus replied, still staring toward the tree line. Jonah didn’t answer. He grabbed a burning branch from the fire and hurled it as hard as he could into the darkness. A low, guttural growl echoed back from the trees, followed by light, shuffling footsteps moving away. Then silence. Jonah turned to Marcus, his face pale and taut. “Now’s our chance. We run. Now.” Almost an hour later, they were still running—branches slapping their faces, mist clinging to their clothes, the air cold and damp. Jonah gripped a makeshift torch he’d crafted from a stick and a torn piece of cloth. His face was wild with urgency. Marcus kept pace beside him. Behind them, the strange, mournful howl still echoed now and then, trailing them through the woods. “There’s a ranger post up ahead, a couple kilometers more. If we make it, we’re good. They’ve got guns. A fireplace. We’ll be safe there,” Jonah panted between gasps for air. Marcus nodded weakly, glancing over his shoulder. For a second, he could’ve sworn he saw a pale, long-fingered hand slipping through the brush behind them—but that couldn’t be possible. Could it? He didn’t wait to find out. They kept running until finally, towering above them, they saw it: a massive pine tree stretching into the sky, with a wooden watch cabin built around its trunk high above the ground. “There! The ranger tower!” Jonah yelled, looking up. Marcus followed his gaze. The cabin looked old, weathered, maybe even abandoned. “Marcus! The lift!” Jonah pointed at a rusted, cage-like elevator resting at the base of the tree, half-hidden beneath vines and weeds. A pulley system led up to the cabin. “Hurry!” Jonah said. “Let’s hope this thing still works.” They climbed in. Jonah scrambled to find the lever. His fingers found a rusted handle and pulled it. The old machine groaned, screeched, and shuddered—but didn’t move. “You think this thing can hold both of us?” Marcus asked nervously. “It has to.” Jonah muttered to himself. The torchlight danced in his wide, anxious eyes. “It has to.” The lift groaned again—and began to rise, slowly, creaking up through the trees until they were nearly touching the canopy. They exhaled in relief, sweat dripping from their brows. “What the hell was that thing?” Marcus finally asked, unable to hold back. “You know something, don’t you?” “Wait till we’re safe inside. Then I’ll tell you everything.” The lift bumped to a stop at the top. They leapt out onto the wooden deck, slipped inside the cabin, and locked the door tight behind them. Jonah lit the fireplace in the corner, then collapsed against the wall, gasping. Marcus stood by the window, peering out. Nothing moved below. “We’re safe, long as the fire stays lit,” Jonah said. “We’ll wait here ‘til morning. Then we’ll find a way out.” “You think that thing… was it the same one Dad saw all those years ago?” Marcus asked. “Maybe.” “What is it?” Jonah swallowed hard. “Something older than these woods. It’s been here long before the trees ever grew. Before anyone settled this valley. Before there was even a town.” “How do you know all this?” Marcus asked, frowning at his brother’s shadowed face. “I listened, Marcus. Back when we were kids. I heard the stories. From the old folks in town—whose grandparents were the first to settle here.” Marcus went quiet, thinking back to their childhood—before the accident, before everything fell apart. A time that felt so far away now. “You remember Billy Henderson’s grandpa?” Jonah asked. “The deaf old guy who mumbled to himself? Dad told us to stay away from him.” “He told me stories. Said that about a hundred years ago, when people first came here, they heard those same howls almost every night. Then livestock started vanishing. They figured it was a wolf, or a bear. So they sent five young men into the forest. All armed. To hunt it down.” “What happened to them?” “You got a cigarette?” Marcus tossed him the pack and lighter. Jonah lit one, exhaled slowly. “They never came back. Nobody knows if they found what they were looking for. No one ever found their bodies. People got scared. Some vanished—those who dared leave their homes after dark. That’s when the legends started. That something was out there. Something hunting.” “One by one, folks packed up and left,” Jonah continued, blowing smoke into the firelit air. “They moved away from the lake, far from the woods, and founded a new settlement to the east. That’s how Ravensville started.” “So that’s why the old town near the north shore’s abandoned?” Marcus asked. Jonah nodded. “Dad always said it was because the lake would flood and the town sat in a dip in the land. But that’s not what Billy’s grandpa told me.” “Come on, Jonah. That guy was nuts. And Billy Henderson? He was a pathological liar. Now he’s a lawyer in Edgertown, which honestly checks out.” “Oh, really? I haven’t heard anything about him since his folks died.” “I ran into him once in Edgertown a few years back. Still the same arrogant windbag. Even made fun of my suit and offered to buy me a new one.” Jonah chuckled, then took another drag of his cigarette. “What do you think happened to those people?” Marcus asked suddenly. “The ones who disappeared?” Jonah sighed, his eyes reflecting the firelight. “Once that thing in the woods got a taste for human flesh, it stopped hunting animals. That’s why it started creeping into town at night. People who stayed outside past sunset—poof. Gone. Nobody vanished in daylight. And never when there was a fire nearby.” “So… we’re safe as long as the fire’s going?” Marcus glanced at the flames dancing in the corner. “If you want the logical, real-world explanation,” Jonah said, leaning forward, “they all probably left. Moved to the city for a better life. Bigger dreams than this dreary little valley could offer. Isn’t that what you did?” Marcus flinched. He hadn’t expected that. They locked eyes across the room. No words, just a quiet tension. “You know why I left…” Marcus finally said, his voice barely a whisper. “Do I?” Jonah snapped, flicking his cigarette into the fire. “My relationship with Dad was already falling apart before I left. He never got over Mom, and I—” “You forgot about her like it was nothing,” Jonah cut in. “That’s not true. I—” “You left me, Marcus!” Jonah exploded, his voice breaking. His jaw clenched, his eyes glistening. “You walked away and left me to rot in this dead-end town. You left me to take care of him—while I was still grieving. I was sixteen! And I had to carry everything alone.” “I’m sorry, Jonah.” “It’s ten years too late for sorry.” Jonah shook his head, staring into the fire. “You never even visited. Not once. Every single morning, the first thing he’d do was look out the window, hoping you’d be there. Hoping you came back. For ten goddamn years, Marcus. He waited. But you never even wrote. Not once. Nothing. You were all he ever thought about. You reminded him of Mom, and he just… fixated. Meanwhile I was right there, taking care of him. But none of that mattered.” “That’s not fair!” Marcus barked, anger flaring. “He loved us both—equally.” “Then why did he only care if you came back?” Jonah shot back, eyes hard. “Why did I get pushed aside while he waited for his golden boy to come home?” “That doesn’t mean he didn’t love you too—” Jonah stood up, walked toward him, face tight with fury. “I took care of him. I was the one who stayed. I was the one who fed him, cleaned up after him, watched him waste away. But the only name he ever said was yours.” “I swear to God, Jonah—I wish I could go back. I’d do it all differently.” “You know, Marcus,” Jonah said, voice low and bitter, fingers grazing the long scar on his face, “we might look the same. But all Dad ever saw in you was her. You were her. When you left, it was like losing her all over again. That’s what broke him. That’s what killed him. You didn’t just leave him, you destroyed him. You murdered him slowly, day by day.” “That’s not true,” Marcus whispered, tears welling in his eyes. “Murderer,” Jonah said, voice soft but sharp like a knife. “You’re a murderer.” Before Marcus even realized what he was doing, his fist flew and struck Jonah hard in the face, sending him stumbling back to the floor. Silence. Marcus stared at his hand, stunned. Jonah touched his cheek, eyes wide with fury and disbelief. “Go ahead. Finish it,” Jonah spat, panting. “Kill me too. Just like you killed Dad.” “I—” “You wanna know how Mom really died in that car crash?” Jonah asked, voice dripping with venom. Marcus couldn’t breathe. “We were fighting in the backseat that day. You were punching me over and over. Dad lost control. Didn’t see the truck coming.” Marcus’s head spun. He tried to remember—but all he saw was blackness. “She died on impact. The rest of us—me, you, and Dad—we survived.” Marcus felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. “No. No, that’s not true…” “If you don’t believe me, go read Dad’s journal. It’s in his bedroom drawer. He wrote it all down. Maybe we were too young to remember. But Dad never forgot. He saw that crash in his nightmares every night. That’s why he changed. That’s why he drank. Because he never slept again.” “Jonah, no… Please tell me you’re lying. Please.” Jonah let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Oh, my dear twin brother. You started all this. Took Mom. Then Dad. What’s next—me? There’s still room in the ground next to them, if that’s what you want.” Thunder cracked outside. Marcus couldn’t believe what he was hearing. For years, he’d dreamed of coming back, making things right. But now he knew—there was nothing left in Ravensville for him. He had buried the past long ago. “I’m so sorry…” Marcus choked. He couldn’t say anything more. His chest ached with all the pain and regret that now refused to stay buried. Jonah turned away, retreating to a shadowy corner of the room, hugging his knees. “It should’ve been you who died that morning. Not her,” he whispered. Marcus didn’t argue. He quietly walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the storm. Rain poured across the valley once more, but nothing moved in the trees. No monster waited in the shadows. Only guilt. Only sorrow. Only heartbreak and darkness, destined to haunt them both for the rest of their lives. Credit: Eoghan Ferguson Instagram Please note the author of this creepypasta does NOT give permission for it to be reproduced in any other media or medium Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.