Okay so I made this story up while hiking in the Shanendoahs and have fleshed it out a little. Would be happy for it to become a creepy pasta for hikers!

Two hikers were making their way through the smoky mountains and were looking for a good spot to get water and make camp. The sun had gone down a while ago and the forest was dark and silent around them. As they turned the next corner, the hikers spotted a campfire a ways off the trail.
“Must be some stealth campers” said the first hiker. “Do you think they might know where to get water?” wondered the other. It was getting quite late so they decided to go see who was at the campfire and ask about water.
As they approached, the hikers saw two men cooking with a pot and a grate over the fire. There were a couple of jugs near them and they could see a clothesline hung by some very old looking tents drying a pair of wool socks and trousers. A twig snapped and the men looked up from their meal. In the dim light, the hikers could see that these men were not in the forest for the same reason they were; they were old and dressed in dingy overalls and had heavy leather boots on. They both had long, silver beards and their faces were sallow. They seemed like hermits but the outline of a large barrel and several buckets in the opposite corner of the camp gave away what they were actually doing. They were moonshiners.
The moonshiners were surprised to see the hikers but did not move. The hikers looked at each other, and then the first one stepped forward. “Hi. My name is Light Foot and this is Black Jack”, he said motioning towards his companion. “We are thru hiking and were looking for a spot to get water and make camp when we saw your fire. Is there a stream nearby?”
The two old men looked at each other and then looked back at Light Foot and Black Jack. They didn’t say anything. A little uneasy now, Light Foot went on. “We don’t want any trouble fellas, we’re just tired and were hoping you could point us in the right direction but we’ll leave you alone.” Light Foot turned away from the old men. “C’mon Black Jack, let’s keep moving”.
The hikers were about to take their leave when one of the moonshiners spoke up with a deep voice, hoarse as though he rarely said anything. “The stream we get our water from is just over yonder”. Light Foot turned back to see where the old man was talking about. He was pointing towards a path, which lead past the moonshine equipment. Light Foot looked at Black Jack who just shrugged in an “I dunno” kind of way.
“A-alright,” Light Foot stammered. “Thanks. We’ll go check it out”. The two hikers passed the fire; the old men just stared at them as they headed for the path. Just a few steps in the woods, the light from the campfire was already fading and Light Foot thought to ask a question. He turned around. “Hey, does this path meet back up with the trail?” but the two old men were gone. “They must’ve gone to bed”, said Black Jack. “Let’s just get our water and get out of here. It has to be good stuff if they’re making shine with it.”
The pair continued down the path; their headlamps dimly lit the way. After some time, they could hear the trickle of a stream and then they came to a clearing of sorts. “Nice!” exclaimed Black Jack as he pulled his bottle and filter from his pack. “Finally!” said Light Foot with a breath of relief. He started to get his filter out when he spotted something that gave him a start.
“Oh yeah, this tastes great!” Black Jack said as he took a much needed sip of water. “Shhh!” Light Foot put a hand up in a motion to stop and pointed to the far end of the clearing. “Look”, he whispered.
There was the outline of a tent. Now this was different from what the old men had set up. It was clearly a modern tent; one that was strikingly similar to their own. “Looks like there’s someone camping here already.” Just as the words left Light Foot’s lips, a small flicker of light came from within the tent. It looked like the flick of a lighter.
“Oh! They must be awake still”, whispered Black Jack. “Hopefully they don’t mind company. This is a great spot!” Light Foot looked around. Black Jack wasn’t wrong. It was a good, flat area and the ground was mossy and soft from the nearby stream. “Well, let me make sure it’s okay”, Light Foot said.
He approached the tent slowly. As he got closer he could see that it was the same popular model that most thrus had been using that season. This tent had clearly been put through the ringer though. Light Foot could see that there was actually some damage to it and the pitch was saggy as if one of the poles had failed. The vestibule flap was unhooked and he could see that the entry way was partially open as well. Black Jack walked over to join his friend and felt his foot hit a stake. He went to pick it up; it was rusty and caked with dirt.
Hey, Light Foot!” he said, holding up the stake. Light Foot shushed Black Jack again and beckoned for him to come closer. “I think this is an abandoned tent”, Light Foot whispered. He knelt down to look inside. He was met with the musty smell of wet fabric. The items had obviously been there for a while. Black Jack pulled a lighter out, since they had both left their packs and headlamps by the stream. They could now see that there were two sleeping bags in the tent; nice ones. At least they had been nice at one time. They must have been there for at least a year. There were leaves and signs of animal activity in the tent.
“Wow! Whispered Black Jack. Who would leave these here!?” I paid like 400 bucks for mine!” He reached out and yanked on one of the bags to pull it out but stopped suddenly when he felt that the bag was far heavier than it should be if it was empty. The two friends looked at each other, fear painted across their faces. Black Jack and Light Foot had met while ridge running and were no strangers to the sorts of things that can be found in the woods. They knew it was their duty to report anything they found while on their hike and, though they were both scared, this time was no different. They both crouched down further to scoot in just enough to check both bags.
“Both at the same time, okay?” Said Light Foot. “Okay”, replied Black Jack. Holding their breath, they pulled back the tops of the sleeping bags to reveal two desiccated but definitely familiar faces. It was them. They tried to scream but nothing came out. Light Foot and Black Jack crawled quickly out of the tent entry way, in shock. They got up to run back to the stream and their packs but as they turned around, there were the two old moonshiners.
The one who had spoken before said “You drank from the stream again didntchya?” in a firm and angry voice. He raised a gnarly hand and placed it on Black Jack’s face. Light came out of the old man’s eyes and Black Jack’s face twisted into a ghastly, but silent cream. They were both enveloped in darkness and disappeared.
“Black Jack!? Black Jack!!” Cried Light Foot. “Where is he!?” he demanded of the remaining moonshiner but the old man only pointed at the tent in the distance. “No! This can’t be!” Light Foot sobbed. He curled into a ball and began to rock, eyes shut tight. He could hear the footsteps of the old man as he walked away. Leaving Light Foot alone in the dark. After some time he crawled back to the tent, finding Black Jack’s lighter on the ground. He took it and sat in the corner of the tent. Flicking the lighter in a mad trance as he rocked back and forth and that is where he stayed, waiting endlessly for his friend to come back to the stream.