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| New Jersey's Devils Tree |
The road is quiet.
Too quiet.
The air feels heavier the closer you get to it—a pressure that builds behind your ribs, whispering turn back.
Ahead, in the middle of a snow-dusted field, stands a single, massive oak tree. Its bark is blackened, its branches twisted like claws reaching for the sky. The grass beneath it is dead. In winter, when snow blankets everything around it, the ground beneath this tree stays bare.
Locals say nothing grows near it.
Birds won’t land on it.
And anyone who touches it courts the devil himself.
Welcome to Bernards Township, New Jersey—home of The Devil’s Tree.
Part Thirty of Our Series
This is Part Thirty in our series: The Scariest Urban Legend from Every State.
Last time, we wandered through the fog-choked woods of New Hampshire, where the elusive Wood Devils watched from between the trees.
Now we travel south to New Jersey, a state with no shortage of strange legends—from phantom roads to winged beasts. But in a quiet field outside Bernards Township stands something darker. Something alive, ancient, and wrong.
A tree said to be cursed by murder, haunted by demons, and rooted in hell itself.
The Legend
The Devil’s Tree looks like any other oak—until you get close. Then you notice the bark: scorched black as though struck by lightning, though no storm has touched it in years. The air around it feels warmer, even in mid-January. Snow melts in a perfect circle at its base.
According to local lore, the tree marks a place of violence and despair.
One story claims that a farmer, after murdering his family, came to the tree and hanged himself from its lowest branch. Ever since, that branch has remained bare, as though life refuses to return to it.
Another tale says that the tree was once a gathering site for the Ku Klux Klan in the early 1900s, where lynchings took place under its limbs. Some believe the spirits of the victims still hang there, their agony seeping into the roots.
Still others whisper that the tree is not a marker of death, but a portal—a thin spot between worlds. A gateway to hell itself. Those who approach at night have reported hearing screams rising from underground, as though the earth beneath the roots is alive and burning.
The legend warns that anyone who disrespects the tree—carving initials, spitting, or urinating on it—will meet a violent end within a week.
A Curse That Kills
The stories surrounding the Devil’s Tree are as numerous as the people who have tested them.
Teenagers dared to touch the trunk and died days later in freak car crashes. A man who tried to chop it down lost control of his chainsaw, nearly severing his leg. Visitors report cars stalling when they park near the tree, their phones losing signal, their headlights flickering like a heartbeat.
Some claim that if you touch the bark, it feels warm—even in freezing weather. Others say that the tree bleeds a dark sap that smells of iron and smoke.
Then there’s the most famous tale: the Truck from Hell.
Locals say a black pickup materializes out of nowhere when someone lingers too long near the tree at night. Its engine roars to life, headlights blinding, tires spinning gravel as it chases trespassers down the road before vanishing without a trace.
Whether the driver is a guardian, a ghost, or the devil himself depends on who’s telling the story. But everyone agrees: if you see those headlights in the dark, run.
The History Behind the Horror
Bernards Township, in Somerset County, has long balanced history with haunting. Rolling farmland and colonial estates border quiet neighborhoods—but not far beneath the surface lie remnants of darker times.
Local historians confirm that parts of the area were indeed used for racial gatherings and violent acts in the early 20th century. Records of unsolved deaths, disappearances, and even suicides add weight to the legend.
Some researchers speculate the Devil’s Tree stands on or near an unmarked burial site, its roots feeding on more than soil.
Others point to natural explanations: the tree sits above an underground spring or mineral deposit that keeps the ground warmer, preventing snow accumulation. But even skeptics admit the atmosphere around it feels… wrong.
The township eventually fenced the tree off after repeated vandalism and midnight pilgrimages. Signs warn visitors to keep out, but that hasn’t stopped thrill-seekers.
The Devil’s Tree still stands—alone in a field where nothing else grows.
Modern Encounters
The Couple’s Story (1998):
Two college students visited the tree late one night on a dare. They reported hearing a deep humming sound, like a low growl, coming from the trunk itself. When they turned back toward their car, their breath fogged—but the air felt hot. They fled, returning a week later to find claw marks gouged into the hood of their car.
The Photographer (2007):
A local photographer attempted to capture long-exposure images of the tree for a Halloween article. Every photo came out blurred, even though the camera was on a tripod. When she developed the negatives, one frame showed a faint, red glow at the base of the trunk.
The Paranormal Team (2014):
A New Jersey ghost-hunting group spent the night near the tree using EMF meters and thermal cameras. Their equipment spiked repeatedly around the roots, showing unexplained heat signatures. One member reported a hand grabbing his shoulder—but there was no one behind him.
The TikTokers (2021):
Recent visitors filmed themselves circling the fence at night. The footage shows the area completely still—until a faint human-shaped shadow crosses behind the tree, even though no one was there. Their car alarm went off seconds later.
The Gateway Theory
Of all the tales surrounding the Devil’s Tree, the most chilling is the idea that it’s not haunted—it’s open.
Locals claim the tree marks a direct gateway to hell. They point to the way the ground stays warm year-round, the constant humming beneath the roots, and the way electronics fail near it. Some say the tree’s energy comes from souls trapped below, eternally feeding the darkness.
A few even believe the devil himself appears here during certain nights, leaning against the trunk, waiting for the next lost soul foolish enough to come close.
For those who grew up nearby, this isn’t a ghost story—it’s a warning.
Rules for the Brave (or the Foolish)
If you must visit the Devil’s Tree, folklore offers a few simple rules:
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Never touch the bark. Those who do are said to be marked.
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Don’t visit alone. The air grows too quiet when there’s no witness.
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Leave before midnight. The devil keeps his own hours.
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Never mock it. Laughter draws its attention.
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Don’t pick the fruit. In summer, strange apples grow near the base—some say they’re poisoned by the damned.
Similar Legends
The Devil’s Tree isn’t alone. Across the world, there are places where the air hums with dread, the ground refuses to rest, and the boundary between the living and the dead feels perilously thin. Here are a few that share its dark energy:
Stull Cemetery (Kansas) –
Known as one of the Seven Gateways to Hell, this small rural graveyard hides behind a crumbling church where the devil himself is said to appear twice a year. The ground is so cursed that it's said the Pope once diverted his flight path to avoid flying over it. Visitors report time loss, claw marks appearing on gravestones, and an oppressive silence broken only by the sound of wind that isn’t there.
The Devil’s Tramping Ground (North Carolina) –
In the pine forests of Chatham County lies a barren, perfect circle where nothing grows. Legend says the devil walks the ring at night, pacing as he plots the world’s next misfortune. Animals refuse to cross it, and anything left inside the circle is thrown out by morning. Locals swear they’ve seen glowing red eyes in the darkness just beyond the treeline.
The Gates of Hell (Clifton, New Jersey) –
Hidden beneath suburban streets is a network of storm drains that locals call a direct entrance to the underworld. The walls are covered in satanic graffiti, the air reeks of decay, and screams echo from tunnels that lead nowhere. Those who’ve ventured deep inside claim to hear footsteps following them—and sometimes, a voice whispering their name from behind.
The Hanging Tree of Goliad (Texas) –
Once the site of executions dating back to the 1800s, this enormous oak still casts a heavy shadow over the courthouse square. On still nights, passersby claim to see the silhouettes of bodies swaying in an invisible breeze, or feel a noose tighten across their necks when they stand beneath its branches.
The Witch Tree of Spirit Lake (Iowa) –
Gnarled and ancient, this twisted oak is said to mark the grave of a woman accused of witchcraft. Before she died, she cursed the town and vowed to rise again through the roots. Locals leave offerings of tobacco and corn to appease her spirit—and some swear her laughter rides the wind during summer storms.
Hoia Baciu Forest (Romania) –
Called “the Bermuda Triangle of Transylvania,” this forest is infamous for glowing orbs, strange time distortions, and a central clearing where no trees grow—said to be another doorway to the other side. People vanish here without explanation, and those who return describe feeling drained, disoriented, and watched by something they can’t name.
Each of these places shares a terrible kinship with New Jersey’s Devil’s Tree: ground that remembers, air that listens, and the unmistakable sense that something ancient is waiting beneath the surface.
Honorable Mention: The Jersey Devil
No discussion of New Jersey’s nightmares would be complete without mentioning the state’s most famous monster.
Born, they say, from the curse of Mother Leeds in 1735, the Jersey Devil still haunts the Pine Barrens—half bat, half goat, wings spread wide. But even locals who swear they’ve heard its scream will tell you: the Devil’s Tree is worse.
Because the Jersey Devil flies away.
The tree waits for you.
Skeptics and Science
Skeptics point out that the warm soil could be caused by natural geothermal pockets or buried power lines. Others argue the eerie atmosphere comes from suggestion—the power of the legend itself. Once you’ve heard the stories, your mind fills the silence with whispers.
But there’s no denying how people feel when they’re near it. Even those who laugh off the tales admit the same thing: the silence, the heat, the sense of being watched.
Folklorists say the Devil’s Tree has become a modern reflection of ancient fears—the idea that evil can take root in the physical world, waiting quietly while the world builds suburbs around it.
Final Thoughts
Some legends fade. This one grows.
No matter how many times the field changes owners, no matter how many fences go up, the Devil’s Tree endures. Its roots run deep—through history, through tragedy, through the soil of New Jersey itself.
Whether it’s a cursed landmark, a portal to hell, or a reflection of collective guilt, the result is the same: it draws people. Some out of curiosity. Others because, deep down, they want to believe there are still places in this world that can’t be explained.
So if you ever find yourself driving through Bernards Township after dark and you see a field where no snow lies—don’t stop. Don’t look.
And whatever you do, don’t touch the tree.
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