Hairy Scary

The town of Elder Hollow was the kind of place people passed through but never stopped. It had one grocery store, one gas station, and a lot of stories—strange ones. But none more bone-chilling than the legend of the Hairy Scary.

Everyone in Elder Hollow knew about the old Wickersham House, perched at the edge of Hollow’s End Road. The house had been abandoned for decades, but the stories about it never died. No one dared enter, not after what happened in 1974.

Back then, the Wickersham family vanished without a trace. No signs of struggle, no signs of packing—just gone. The neighbors reported hearing scratching sounds and howling the night before they disappeared. Afterward, people claimed to see something watching from the attic window: a hunched, hairy figure with long claws and glowing yellow eyes.

Some called it a ghost. Others said it was a cursed animal. The kids just called it Hairy Scary—and it became a dare to go knock on the Wickersham door on Halloween night.

But no one ever made it to the door. The closer you got, the colder the air became, the darker the night seemed—even with a full moon overhead. Some kids heard whispers. Others claimed something hairy brushed past their legs. One boy, Danny Marks, came back with a long scratch on his arm. He never spoke again.

The Dare

Fifty years later, Elder Hollow hadn’t changed much. But 17-year-old Gwen Price wasn’t from around there. Her family had just moved in from Chicago, chasing peace and a cheaper mortgage. Gwen found Elder Hollow dull and weird—until she heard about Hairy Scary.

“You mean, there’s a haunted house and a literal monster, and people just ignore it?” Gwen asked her new friend Milo at lunch.

“Pretty much. Everyone here’s too scared to deal with it.”

“Well, I’m not.”

That night, Gwen posted a challenge on TikTok:

"I’m going to the Wickersham House. Tonight. At midnight. Hairy Scary, come out and say hi."

Within hours, it went viral locally. She got hundreds of dares in the comments. Even some of the town’s kids who never dared go near the place said they’d watch from the road.

Into the House

Midnight came, and so did Gwen—with a flashlight, her phone streaming live, and a cocky grin.

“Okay, Hairy Scary. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The gate creaked open with a groan like a dying animal. She stepped onto the overgrown path, her breath visible in the unnatural chill.

The porch groaned under her feet. She knocked once, twice, then pushed open the rotting door. It swung in easily.

Inside, the air smelled of mold and something worse—wet fur and blood. Her flashlight flickered.

The camera feed buzzed with comments:

“Turn back!”

“Did you hear that??”

“Behind you!!!”

Then the door slammed shut.

The Attic

Gwen screamed and tried to reopen the door. It wouldn’t budge. A low growl echoed from upstairs.

Still filming, heart hammering, Gwen climbed the staircase, each step creaking like a scream. The attic door was open, black as a void.

She stepped inside.

The attic was empty—except for a single rocking chair, facing the window. In it sat a tall, hairy figure, rocking slowly. Long, matted fur, sharp claws, and those glowing yellow eyes.

Hairy Scary.

He stood, towering over her. Then, in a gravelly voice that sounded like leaves being crushed underfoot, he spoke.

“You rang?”

Gwen froze.

“Why are you here?” he asked, voice echoing unnaturally.

“I—I wanted to see if you were real,” she stammered.

He sniffed the air. “You don’t smell afraid. That’s… new.”

Suddenly, the creature turned and pointed at the floor. Beneath Gwen’s feet, the wooden boards began to shift and pull back like teeth opening a jaw.

“You’ve seen me. Now you stay.”

Escape

Gwen turned and ran. The house groaned and screamed around her. The walls seemed to close in, claws reaching out from the shadows.

She bolted down the stairs, tripped, then scrambled toward the front door—which swung open as if by magic. She didn’t look back.

Outside, Milo and a few others were watching from across the road. They saw her burst through the door, face pale, eyes wide, breathing like she’d run a marathon.

The livestream had ended, but the legend had just grown.

The New Story

Gwen never spoke of what she saw that night. But she did start drawing—strange, detailed sketches of Hairy Scary in notebooks, on her bedroom walls, even on her mirror in steam.

And sometimes, when you watch her livestreams late at night, if you look closely at the attic window behind her, you’ll see those glowing yellow eyes… watching.

Still rocking.

Still waiting.