Camp Pinecrest
Location: Ironside, outskirts of town
Owner: None, it is abandoned
Description: Tucked away in the dense woods outside Gatlinburg, Camp Pinecrest has been abandoned since the early 90s, yet the land still holds onto the ghosts of laughter, crackling bonfires, and the whispers of things much older than summer camp legends. The entrance sign, once bright and welcoming, now hangs lopsided on rusted chains, the words “Camp Pinecrest” barely legible beneath peeling paint and creeping moss. The gravel road leading in is cracked and overgrown, tree roots pushing through as if the forest itself is reclaiming the space.
The cabins stand in quiet disrepair, their wooden frames warped by years of harsh winters and humid summers. Doors hang open, creaking on rusted hinges, and the bunk beds inside are coated in dust, their thin mattresses long since rotted away. The main lodge, once a bustling mess hall, is now a cavernous, echoing space where the wind whistles through shattered windows. A swimming hole sits at the heart of the camp, ringed by a crumbling wooden dock. The water is murky, filled with fallen leaves and the occasional ripple—though no one is ever sure if it’s just the wind or something else moving beneath the surface.
Legends about the camp’s closure vary. Some say it shut down after a fire that took one of the cabins. Others claim a camper went missing one summer and was never found. Whatever the truth, few locals dare to come near after dark, claiming to hear faint voices on the wind, the crunch of unseen footsteps on the trails, and the occasional glint of something watching from the treetops.
For most, Camp Pinecrest is just another relic swallowed by time. But the Lost know better. Sometimes, when the light filters through the trees just right, a doorway appears—woven from branches that seem too perfectly arched, a shimmer in the air where mist gathers even on clear days. Those who have seen it speak of a sense of wrongness and wonder in equal measure. The gate never stays in the same place for long, flickering in and out of existence like a memory trying to surface. Some mortals who swear they saw it say it leads to an endless summer, where the fires never die and the laughter never stops. Others swear they’ve seen something looking back from the other side, waiting for someone to step too close.