@bdcampimgs: #huntercamping #haunted #hauntedforest #scarycamping

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Monday 10 August 2026 15:40:55 GMT

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Comments

KaLa JaBro PaEv :

Birds don’t usually chirp at night that’s a frog

2026-08-11 05:18:09

4311

E. Marie Z :

First of all, you don’t go camping in the Appalachian mountains😳😱

2026-08-12 01:48:03

1360

AllyCat :

Who sleeps with their head towards the zipper?

2026-08-16 01:53:51

2233

Italian Mike :

Why the hell would you go camping in the Appalachian Mountains??

2026-08-15 04:47:57

39

Valkyrie Hikes :

Dude, you’re extremely loud and making way too much noise. Might as well yell, “Here I am!”

2026-08-11 05:26:58

2761

JAK :

😂 White people always say helllo to something 🤣

2026-08-17 15:44:24

444

🇺🇸 DYLAN 👑 :

I can’t be the only one who is bothered by the fact that he didn’t remove the leaves around that woodstove all it takes is one spark and his entire floor is gonna be onfire

2026-08-27 06:37:16

0

thelightoftheworld50 :

This is Fske

2026-08-27 06:45:48

0

YellowFootprints :

im guessing this was a made up thing for video. however take a listen to a mountain lion chirp sometime

2026-08-11 06:04:06

3

KaelRun :

Number one rule never I mean never respond to anything in the woods and if you hear something no you didn’t

2026-08-11 02:03:59

1623

Ignacie Norie :

omg

2026-08-16 23:56:22

61

🌸Dreamy🌸 :

Dude when you hear something at night in Appalachia, no you didn’t. You never ever ever ever EVER call out to it.

2026-08-11 14:46:12

959

Phoenix Flame :

Now sir, why TF would you say "hello?" Why TF would you be out there by yourself in the middle of that forest? And why TF are you making all that noise? .... you can not be in a horror movie.

2026-08-12 05:42:23

609

cbees :

With all the info out there about this place whyyyy do people camp there? Then act all shocked when scary crap happens??!

2026-08-24 08:56:39

22

JuanTheKing90 :

You have to change your fire alarms batteries

2026-08-24 10:42:23

17

LyndzNicole :

Does anyone else see the face in the trees? 😳🤭

2026-08-21 14:01:37

68

6669 :

so you shout hello, what would you do if something says hello back ?

2026-08-16 19:26:37

71

Livannn :

Why would he even yell hello.

2026-08-11 06:59:19

563

Boomchateau1 :

You wouldn't catch me dead in the woods inside of a vinyl tent by myself!... Nope!😳.....

2026-08-11 01:29:12

547

Lacie :

It’s OK it’s just Meredith

2026-08-13 06:51:40

252

BASIR JAAFAR :

THE WORST MISTAKE ANYONE WOULD DO IS TO RESPOND TO WHAT EVER NOISE U HEAR BE IT OUTSIDE OR INSIDE. U ARE EXPOSING UR POSITION. I WOULD PREFER OFF ALL LIGHTS IN THE TENT.

2026-08-20 14:40:30

10

Gini :

Birds don’t chirp at night

2026-08-20 02:55:17

26

Marly :

Hi there I was playing with the contrast and this shit scary

2026-08-22 23:14:20

12

michelle 🌺 :

I was more scared of the noise you made getting off the bed, than anything else. made me jump.

2026-08-15 05:01:42

71

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The accident happened on a rain-slicked road just after midnight. Engfa had been driving home from her friend's house, mind still half-lost in the usual quiet ache, when another car skidded through a red light. By the time the ambulance reached the hospital she was already unconscious, the doctors speaking in careful, measured tones about swelling and time and the long uncertainty of a coma. A mutual friend called Charlotte in London that same afternoon. Engfa was in a Bangkok hospital and had not woken up. Charlotte stood still in her flat, the phone pressed to her ear. Three years of distance fell away in an instant. She had never stopped loving Engfa. She had only forced the breakup because staying would have meant giving up the scholarship and the life she had worked for. When Engfa flew to England twice, Charlotte had hidden. She was afraid that if she opened the door she would leave everything behind and go back without finishing what she started. She had followed every quiet update about Waraha Café from a distance. She knew the café had become both a success and a monument to what they had lost. Now the monument was empty, and the woman who built it was lying still in a hospital bed. Charlotte booked the first flight she could find. When she arrived in Bangkok the city felt both familiar and impossibly distant. She went straight to the hospital. Engfa was still in the coma. Charlotte sat down beside the bed, took the cool, unmoving hand in both of hers, and began to speak. She apologized for everything. For the way she had left. For the silence. For the fear that had kept her from opening the door in London. She told the quiet room that she had never stopped loving her. That she only wanted Engfa to open her eyes. Three months passed. Charlotte barely left the room. Nurses grew used to the woman who slept in the chair and whispered the same words every night. The café continued under temporary staff. Charlotte stayed. One quiet morning Engfa’s fingers moved. Her eyes opened. The first thing she saw was Charlotte’s face, tired and wet with tears. Engfa stared. She thought she was still dreaming. She closed her eyes, heart racing with the old fear of waking alone. When she opened them again Charlotte was still there. “Charlotte?” Her voice was rough. “How?” Charlotte smiled through her tears. “Sorry that it took me this long to come back.” They talked for a long time once the doctors finished. Charlotte explained everything—the way Engfa’s honest confession three years ago had cut so deep, the fear of losing her own dream if she stayed, the quiet way she had watched from a distance and never stopped loving her. Engfa listened, holding her hand tightly. When Engfa was discharged, Charlotte took her home. She helped her up the stairs above the café, cooked the soft meals the doctors recommended, and sat with her through the slow days of recovery. They found their way back together in the ordinary moments—shared coffee at dawn, Charlotte’s steady hand on Engfa’s arm, the first night Engfa fell asleep against her shoulder without dreaming of loss. Together they returned to Waraha Café. Charlotte learned the machines. Engfa taught her how the regulars liked their drinks. The place that had felt empty for so long began to feel alive again. One evening after closing, Engfa locked the front door. Charlotte was wiping down the counter, hair tied back the same way it had been in the dream Engfa once believed she would never escape. Engfa reached into her pocket, walked across the quiet floor, and sank to one knee. “Charlotte,” she said, “instead of just running this café with me… will you let me hire you as my wife?” Charlotte’s tears came freely this time. She nodded and whispered, “Yes.” Engfa stood. The ring slid onto Charlotte’s finger. They kissed in the middle of the empty café—slow and certain. Outside the city kept moving. Inside, the dream and the waking world finally met, and neither of them had to close their eyes again. #au #englot

The accident happened on a rain-slicked road just after midnight. Engfa had been driving home from her friend's house, mind still half-lost in the usual quiet ache, when another car skidded through a red light. By the time the ambulance reached the hospital she was already unconscious, the doctors speaking in careful, measured tones about swelling and time and the long uncertainty of a coma. A mutual friend called Charlotte in London that same afternoon. Engfa was in a Bangkok hospital and had not woken up. Charlotte stood still in her flat, the phone pressed to her ear. Three years of distance fell away in an instant. She had never stopped loving Engfa. She had only forced the breakup because staying would have meant giving up the scholarship and the life she had worked for. When Engfa flew to England twice, Charlotte had hidden. She was afraid that if she opened the door she would leave everything behind and go back without finishing what she started. She had followed every quiet update about Waraha Café from a distance. She knew the café had become both a success and a monument to what they had lost. Now the monument was empty, and the woman who built it was lying still in a hospital bed. Charlotte booked the first flight she could find. When she arrived in Bangkok the city felt both familiar and impossibly distant. She went straight to the hospital. Engfa was still in the coma. Charlotte sat down beside the bed, took the cool, unmoving hand in both of hers, and began to speak. She apologized for everything. For the way she had left. For the silence. For the fear that had kept her from opening the door in London. She told the quiet room that she had never stopped loving her. That she only wanted Engfa to open her eyes. Three months passed. Charlotte barely left the room. Nurses grew used to the woman who slept in the chair and whispered the same words every night. The café continued under temporary staff. Charlotte stayed. One quiet morning Engfa’s fingers moved. Her eyes opened. The first thing she saw was Charlotte’s face, tired and wet with tears. Engfa stared. She thought she was still dreaming. She closed her eyes, heart racing with the old fear of waking alone. When she opened them again Charlotte was still there. “Charlotte?” Her voice was rough. “How?” Charlotte smiled through her tears. “Sorry that it took me this long to come back.” They talked for a long time once the doctors finished. Charlotte explained everything—the way Engfa’s honest confession three years ago had cut so deep, the fear of losing her own dream if she stayed, the quiet way she had watched from a distance and never stopped loving her. Engfa listened, holding her hand tightly. When Engfa was discharged, Charlotte took her home. She helped her up the stairs above the café, cooked the soft meals the doctors recommended, and sat with her through the slow days of recovery. They found their way back together in the ordinary moments—shared coffee at dawn, Charlotte’s steady hand on Engfa’s arm, the first night Engfa fell asleep against her shoulder without dreaming of loss. Together they returned to Waraha Café. Charlotte learned the machines. Engfa taught her how the regulars liked their drinks. The place that had felt empty for so long began to feel alive again. One evening after closing, Engfa locked the front door. Charlotte was wiping down the counter, hair tied back the same way it had been in the dream Engfa once believed she would never escape. Engfa reached into her pocket, walked across the quiet floor, and sank to one knee. “Charlotte,” she said, “instead of just running this café with me… will you let me hire you as my wife?” Charlotte’s tears came freely this time. She nodded and whispered, “Yes.” Engfa stood. The ring slid onto Charlotte’s finger. They kissed in the middle of the empty café—slow and certain. Outside the city kept moving. Inside, the dream and the waking world finally met, and neither of them had to close their eyes again. #au #englot

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