My great grandpa's story is something that still haunts me
to this day. He was a young man of 23 when he
was drafted into World War 2 in 1943.
And now, at the astonishing age of one O 3, he shared with me an
experience that he claimed was the most terrifying of his life.
It was a tale so chilling that even the memory of it gave him
nightmares. Curiosity got the better of me,
and I asked him if the story involved the vicious Japanese
soldiers of that time. But he shook his head and told
me it was something else entirely, something that no one
ever believed. He had been stationed in the
Philippines in 1943, tasked withholding off the Japanese
forces along with his comrades. 1 Fateful day He and his friend
Samuel got separated from their platoon while navigating a
forest within the mountainous region.
The exact province eluded my great grandpa's memory, but he
remembered the dense forests and scattered villages that
surrounded them. As they called out for their
comrades, they venture deeper into the wilderness until they
reach the forest's end. I asked him why they didn't
simply radio their platoon for help.
He explained that they tried, but for some inexplicable reason
their communications were scrambled and unintelligible, a
fact that unsettled both him and Samuel.
Still they continued, mindful of the possibility of encountering
Japanese soldiers. Emerging from the forest, they
noticed that the sun was about to set, prompting my great
grandpa to suggest setting up camp.
Samuel agreed, and as they prepared, they noticed a small
wooden Hut in the distance. Curiosity LED them to approach
the mysterious structure. They knocked on the door, but
there was no sign of anyone inside, only scattered clothes
strewn about the floor. My great grandpa suggested that
the inhabitants might have fled in a panic, a theory Samuel
concurred with. They decided to make camp inside
the Hut, but something felt off. As they ate dinner.
Samuel proposed, taking shifts to keep watch throughout the
night, wary of the potential danger they could face while my
great grandpa slept, Samuel abruptly woke him up, his voice
trembling with fear. He claimed to have seen movement
outside, and my great grandpa grabbed his rifle, demanding to
know what he had spotted. Samuel handed him binoculars and
pointed towards a field 300 yards away.
At first my great grandpa saw nothing, but then he noticed a
figure moving in the darkness. As he focused his binoculars, he
realized it was just a wild boar, and he reassured Samuel.
However, their piece was short lived.
The oil lamp inside the Hut began to flicker and went out.
My great grandpa went to relight it, but despite the abundance of
oil, it repeatedly extinguished. Samuel started feeling uneasy
about the situation, and they couldn't shake the feeling that
something was amiss. Suddenly, the wild boar
disappeared into thin air, leaving them both puzzled.
A loud thud from above startled them, as if something had landed
on the hut's roof. My great grandpa and Samuel
grabbed their rifles. Sensing impending danger, Samuel
urged them to leave immediately, and as they gathered their
belongings and exited the cabin, my great grandpa turned his
light toward the roof. What he saw still haunts him to
this day. A grotesque and malevolent
creature perched there. It had a humanoid appearance,
with enormous wings resembling a mix of bats and Hawks, blood red
eyes that glowed in the dark, jet black skin, wild unkempt
hair, and enormous fangs that protruded from its closed mouth.
Terrified, my great grandpa fired his rifle at the creature,
and Samuel did the same. To their astonishment, the
creature remained unfazed, its gaze fixed upon them.
Panic set in and they started screaming as they fled for their
lives, running blindly through the night.
Miraculously, the creature did not pursue them, and they
eventually stumbled upon a small village where they found refuge.
The locals explained that what had attacked them was known as
an Ass Wang, a common supernatural entity in the
countryside. They considered my great grandpa
and Samuel fortunate to have survived such an encounter.
Reunited with their platoon after a few days, they shared
their harrowing tale, but only a few believed them.
Most assumed they had been intoxicated and encountered
enemy fire, attributing Samuel's neck wound to that.
After the war ended, they returned home, haunted by the
traumatic encounter. Samuel, however, passed away at
the age of 80 due to a stroke. The story sent shivers down my
spine, and I spent hours researching aswangs to learn
more about these terrifying creatures.
It's a tale that has left an indelible mark on me, leaving me
with more questions than answers about the unknown horrors that
my great grandpa and Samuel face that night.
As I loaded up my motorbike with the essentials for my solo
hunting trip, the crisp air of Ross River nipped at my skin,
reminding me that summer in Yukon was nothing but a fleeting
guest. I'm Kevin, just a regular guy
with a taste for the wilderness and a knack for hunting.
Ross River, my little corner of the world, is a place where the
untamed beauty of Canada's wilderness meets the quiet life
of a small community. It's the kind of place where
everyone knows everyone and the land feels like an extension of
your own backyard. The plan was simple.
Head out to a secluded spot between Sheldon Lake and
Mcqueston. Meet up with a couple of pals
from work the next day and spend 3 days hunting moose before
returning to the humdrum of everyday life.
Seemed like the perfect getaway. But as I revved up my bike and
set off on the N Canal Rd. a sense of unease settled in my
gut. It was a feeling I couldn't
shake off, like a shadow clinging to my back.
The weather was turning, and not for the better.
The temperature had dropped noticeably since I left home,
and the sky was a brooding canvas of Gray, ready to spill
its contents at any moment. I've always been the kind who
respects nature's moods, but on that day it felt more ominous
than ever. The gentle onset of rain soon
turned into a steady downpour, forcing me to pull over and
layer up, wet and cold. I continued my journey, the
discomfort a small price for the anticipation of the hunt.
There's something about the wilderness that speaks to me,
something raw and untamed. As I rode, the vast expanse of
the Yukon enveloped me, its wild beauty a sharp contrast to the
growing unease in my mind. It was a strange day.
Even the birds seem to sense it, their songs muted and distant.
By the time I reached the trailer at Dewhurst Creek, dusk
was creeping in, uninvited, soaked through.
I shivered as I lit a fire, the flames casting eerie shadows
against the walls. Hunger was the last thing on my
mind, but I forced down a quick meal before exhaustion claimed
me. I remember thinking, as I
drifted off to sleep, that tomorrow would be a new day,
clear skies and hopefully a successful hunt.
But the wilderness has its own plans, and sometimes they don't
align with ours. As dawn broke, I was greeted by
a clear sky, the rain having retreated as abruptly as it had
arrived. Eager to make the most of the
day. I dressed quickly, loaded my
firearm and hopped back on my bike.
The air was fresh and the world seemed renewed.
Washed clean by the night's downpour, I rode at a leisurely
pace, the engines hum A comforting companion.
The landscape unfolded before me, a tapestry of greens and
Browns punctuated by the rugged mountains in the distance.
It was picturesque, serene, and for a moment I let myself get
lost in it, the earlier unease momentarily forgotten.
But life, I've learned, is full of unexpected turns, and what
happened next was as unexpected as it gets.
The morning was unfolding like any Hunter's dream.
The air was crisp and clean, the kind that fills your lungs with
a refreshing chill. I was in my element, the
wilderness of Yukon embracing me and it's vast, untouched
splendor. There's a unique kind of silence
out here, the kind that makes you feel both insignificant and
at one with the world. I've always found comfort in
this solitude, a piece that the bustling streets of Ross River
couldn't offer. As I navigated the rugged
terrain on my bike, scouting for signs of moose, the sun began to
cast its early light, painting the mountains in hues of gold
and amber. It was during one of those
moments, the kind when you feel like you're the only soul for
miles, that I saw it. At first glance, it looked like
an airplane, a silhouette against the brightening sky, But
something was off. It was too low, too quiet.
I squinted, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
It was large, about the size of a school bus, and it moved with
a purposeful grace, slicing through the air without a sound.
It seemed to flicker, like it was struggling to stay in this
world. I remember feeling a chill that
had nothing to do with the morning air.
This was no plane. It was something else, Something
otherworldly. A UFO, perhaps?
The thought should have scared me, should have sent me racing
back to Ross River. But it didn't.
Instead, I felt an overwhelming sense of calm, as if whatever
was out there in the sky was telling me that everything was
all right. I instinctively reached for my
camera, a habit I've developed over the years to capture the
raw beauty of Yukon. But as my fingers grazed the
lens, that same calming sensation washed over me again.
It whispered to me in a way that words can't describe, that I
didn't need to take a picture, that this moment was meant for
my eyes only. And just like that, the object
was gone, vanishing behind a conical hill, leaving me alone
with the rising sun and a heart full of wonder.
I stood there for a while, trying to make sense of what I
just witnessed. Was it real, A trick of the
light or something more? As I pondered, a sudden noise
snapped me back to reality. It was a sharp, metallic clang,
like the sound of a heavy trunk slamming shut.
It came from just around the bend in the road, and my
Hunter's instinct kicked in. Quietly, I walked towards the
sound, my senses on high alert. Rounding the corner, the sight
that greeted me was something straight out of a science
fiction novel. There, standing in the tall
grass, were two figures. They were short, maybe 5 feet
tall, clad in blue jumpsuits that hugged their slender
frames, but it was their heads that caught my attention.
They weren't human. They were insect like, with
pointed Gray faces and enormous eyes that seemed to Pierce
through me. For a moment, Time stood still.
Then one of them raised a hand, holding what looked like a
flashlight. A bright flash enveloped me, and
the world went black. In that instant I felt a sense
of detachment, as if my very being was being pulled away from
my body, stretching towards the sky, and then nothing.
In the days that followed, that inexplicable encounter on the N
Canal Rd. my mind was a tumultuous river of confusion
and fragmented memories. I found myself back at the
trailer, the events between seeing those insect like beings
and waking up on the roadside, lost in a fog of uncertainty.
The shadows of the trees told a story of missing time, hours
unaccounted for, and the sun was already beginning its descent.
I tried to shake it off, telling myself it was fatigue, maybe a
trick of the mind. But deep down I knew something
extraordinary had happened. The wilderness had always been
my place of clarity, but now it felt like a labyrinth of
unanswered questions. As the days turned into weeks
and weeks into months, snippets of memories began to surface.
Like debris after a storm, they came in flashes, unexpected and
disorienting. I remembered the sensation of
being scrutinized by those Gray beings, their large, unblinking
eyes examining me with an intelligence that was both
terrifying and mesmerizing. I recalled the interior of what
I could only describe as their craft, a place that defied the
laws of physics as I knew them. There were glimpses of being LED
through corridors that seemed to shift and change, and the
feeling of being both a specimen and a guest.
The most vivid memory was standing before a window, or
what I thought was a window, gazing out at the vastness of
space. There were stars, galaxies, and
celestial bodies I couldn't name all spread out in an infinite
canvas, a Gray being. Its presence, somehow comforting
and authoritative, communicated to me not in words but in
thoughts, showing me visions of Earth from afar, a tiny, fragile
orb in the void. They told me I would forget that
it was necessary, and for a long time I did.
But the mind has a way of holding on to truths, no matter
how deep we bury them. I found myself drawn to stories
of others who had experienced similar encounters, tales that
spanned across cultures and decades.
It became clear that what I experienced was not unique, that
these beings, these insectoids, had been visiting us for longer
than we could fathom. The more I delved into the world
of ufology, the more I realized how complex and layered the
phenomenon was. It wasn't just about lights in
the sky or mysterious crafts. It was about a connection,
however elusive, with something beyond our understanding.
But understanding was what I craved.
I needed to make sense of what happened to me, to know that I
wasn't losing my grip on reality.
I pored over books, interviewed experts, and even tried reaching
out to other experiencers. Each story added a piece to the
puzzle, yet the complete picture remained elusive.
I wrestled with questions that had no answers.
Why me? What did they want?
Were they observers, guardians. Or something else entirely?
The more I searched, the more I realized that some truths might
be beyond our grasp. As time passed, I learned to
live with the mystery, to accept that some things are meant to be
experienced, not explained. But the longing for
understanding, the need to connect the dots never really
left me. It became a part of who I was, a
silent companion on my journey through life.
Months turned into years since that surreal morning on the N
Canole Rd. but the encounter never faded from my mind.
It was like a shadow, always there, always lurking in the
background of my thoughts. I had come to terms with the
fact that I might never fully understand what happened to me,
but that didn't stop me from seeking answers.
I spent countless hours researching, diving deep into
the world of Ufology. I found stories from all corners
of the globe, each as bewildering and varied as my
own. From the dense forests of Yukon
to the sprawling deserts of the American Southwest, people had
encountered beings that defied explanation.
The mantis like creatures I had seen were just one part of a
much larger, more complex phenomenon.
These stories, these encounters, they weren't just isolated
incidents. They were part of a tapestry
that stretched back through history.
From ancient folklore to modern day sightings, the narrative
remained consistent beings from the stars visiting our little
blue planet. Some encounters were benign,
others terrifying, but all were transformative in their own way.
I couldn't help but wonder about the purpose of these visits.
Were they simply observing us, like scientists studying a
lesser known species? Or was there a greater agenda at
play, Something beyond our comprehension?
The theories were as varied as the encounters themselves.
Some spoke of intergalactic diplomacy, others of sinister
experiments. The truth, it seemed, was as
elusive as the beings themselves.
Despite the myriad of stories and theories, one thing became
clear. These encounters had a profound
impact on those who experienced them.
Like me, they struggled to reconcile their experiences with
the reality they had known. Their lives were forever
changed, marked by a sense of otherness, a connection to
something greater than themselves.
In my quest for answers, I came across other experiencers.
We shared our stories, our theories, and our frustrations
in each other. We found a sense of camaraderie,
a mutual understanding that was hard to come by in the outside
world. We were a community, bound by
our experiences seekers on a journey for truth.
But the truth I learned was a tricky thing.
The more I searched, the more I realized that some mysteries
might never be solved. Perhaps that was the point.
Not to find answers, but to keep seeking, to keep questioning.
Our encounters had opened our minds to possibilities we had
never imagined, and maybe that was the real gift.
As I sat on the porch of my cabin in Ross River, looking up
at the star filled sky, I couldn't help but feel a sense
of awe. The universe was vast and
mysterious, full of wonders we had yet to discover.
My encounter with the unknown had been a small glimpse into
that vastness, a reminder of how little we truly understand.
The questions remained, but so did the sense of wonder.
The universe was a puzzle, and we were all pieces trying to
find our place in the grand scheme of things.
My encounter with the Mantis like beings was a part of my
journey, a chapter in a story that was still being written.
As the night deepened and the stars shone brighter, I realized
that some mysteries were meant to be embraced, not solved.
And in that embrace, there was a kind of peace, a recognition
that we are all part of something much larger than
ourselves. The enigma of my encounter would
always be with me, but so with the sense of wonder, the
unending quest for understanding in a universe full of mysteries.
I've always believed that some nights are just different.
You know, like they have this weird energy that makes you do
things you wouldn't normally consider that Friday night was
one of those. I'm Sullivan, by the way, the
guy with a quarter Native American blood and an
uncomfortable knack for feeling when things are about to get
weird. Alex and Ted, my two best
friends since middle school, were with me aimlessly driving
around the streets of our small New Jersey town.
Ted, the joker of our trio, was behind the wheel of his beat up
Ford and Alex, who could best be described as the brains of our
Operation Rd. shotgun. I was lounging in the back seat,
my head resting against the window, watching St. lights
flicker by. Guys, what if we did something
different tonight? Alex suddenly said, breaking the
silence. Like what?
Drive to another town and find a new diner?
Ted joked, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
No, something more adventurous. What about that lake between
Central and North Jersey, the one people say is haunted or
something? Alex proposed, his eyes lighting
up. Ted's grin widened.
Haunted, you say? Now we're talking.
I sat up straighter. You mean the lake near the Pine
Barrens? The one supposedly built over an
Indian burial ground? I added a bit.
Uneasy. My grandma used to tell me
stories about respecting such places.
Yeah, exactly, that one, Alex confirmed.
I hesitated. Something about the idea seemed
off, but the thrill of adventure and the excitement in my
friend's eyes were too contagious to resist.
All right, let's do it. I finally agreed.
Trying to shake off my apprehension.
We drove to the lake, The car filled with a mix of excitement
and nervous energy. The Pine Barrens at night were
like something out of an eerie movie, with tall, shadowy trees
and an unsettling stillness. As we reach the trailhead, the
last rays of the sun were disappearing.
Casting a golden glow on the dense foliage around us.
We began our hike towards the lake.
The sounds of nature are only company.
I couldn't help but feel a deep connection to the land, a
reminder of MyHeritage. Ted and Alex were in high
spirits, laughing and joking as we walked, but I couldn't shake
off a feeling of unease. It was like the forest was
watching us, aware of our every step.
We talked about school, the latest video games, and girls
trying to keep the mood light. Yet the deeper we ventured, the
more I felt a strange energy in the air.
It was as if the forest had a secret, one that it wasn't keen
on sharing with outsiders like us.
And then Ted, in his typical fashion to lighten the mood,
pulled up some creepy goatman sounds on his phone.
This will make things more interesting.
He chuckled, playing the eerie noises.
I frowned, feeling a chill run down my spine.
We should be respectful, you know.
This is native land, I warned, half joking, half serious.
Ted laughed it off, but I couldn't help but feel that we
were not alone. Little did we know our light
hearted adventure was about to take a turn into something much
darker and more inexplicable than any of us could have
imagined. As we walked deeper into the
pine barrens, the playful banter between Ted and Alex continued.
But I couldn't shake off a growing sense of unease.
The sun had dipped below the horizon now, and the woods
around us were bathed in twilight.
The beauty of the setting was undeniable, but so was the eerie
feeling that we weren't alone. I've heard stories about this
place, I said, my voice a bit more serious than I intended.
They say the spirits of the land aren't too fond of visitors.
Alex rolled his eyes. Sullivan, you and your ghost
stories, he said with a laugh. Ted, however, seemed intrigued.
What kind of spirits? He asked, his eyes scanning the
darkening woods. Old ones.
Native American legends speak of spirits that protect these
lands, I explained, feeling a strange responsibility to share
Myheritage's lore. They say some can be vengeful,
but Ted, ever the prankster, wasn't going to let the
opportunity pass. To add some spookiness to our
adventure, he played those Goat Man sounds from his phone again,
the eerie cries echoing unnaturally in the dense forest.
I felt a shiver run down my spine.
Dude, cut it out, I said, half joking, half serious.
You might attract something we don't want to meet.
Ted laughed, but his laughter was cut short.
We all stopped in our tracks. There, behind us, was a figure.
It was distant, barely visible in the fading light, but
unmistakably there. What is that?
Alex whispered, his usual skepticism replaced by fear.
I squinted, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
The figure was tall, too tall to be human and unnaturally thin.
It stood motionless, watching us.
It's probably just a tree or something, Ted said, but his
voice lacked conviction. We hesitated, then continued
walking, picking up our pace. I glanced back, and my heart
skipped a beat. The figure was following us,
matching our speed with an eerie grace.
It's following us, I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Don't be ridiculous, Alex said, but I could hear the fear in his
voice. We walked faster, the jokes and
laughter now replaced by tense silence.
Every time I looked back, the figure was there, always the
same distance behind us. Guys, what if it's AI started to
say, but I couldn't bring myself to finish the sentence.
The word Skinwalker lingered in my mind, unspoken.
We reached a clearing, and for a moment we thought we had lost
it. But then there it was, at the
edge of the woods, watching us with its unnerving stillness.
Run, I said. And we did.
We ran as fast as we could not daring to look back.
The sounds of our heavy breathing and the pounding of
our feet on the trail were the only things we could hear.
But even as we ran, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were
not running from something, but towards something even more
terrifying. The shadows of the pine barren
seem to close in around us, and I knew our night was far from
over. We didn't stop running until we
reached a part of the trail closer to the main road, where
the sounds of distant cars brought a small sense of relief.
Panting, we leaned on our knees, trying to catch our breaths.
The eerie silence of the woods was now replaced by the distant
hum of traffic. We lost it, right?
Alex panted, looking back towards the dense trees.
I wanted to believe we did, but something deep inside me said
otherwise. I'm not sure, I admitted, my
voice shaky. That thing.
It wasn't normal. Ted, who was usually the bravest
among us, looked genuinely scared.
What was that, Sullivan? You know about this stuff?
Tell us It was just a bear or something.
I wished I could. I wished I could explain it away
as a trick of the light or an animal, but the image of that
tall, slender figure silently trailing us was burned into my
mind. I don't know, I whispered.
But we should keep moving. We resumed our walk, but now
with a heightened sense of vigilance.
Every rustle in the bushes, every snap of a twig made us
jump. The playful adventure had turned
into a nightmare, and I couldn't shake off the feeling of being
watched as we approached an open area near the road.
I thought we were safe, but when I turned around to check once
more, my heart sank. It was there, barely 100 feet
behind us. It had followed us, silent and
relentless. It's still there, I said, my
voice barely audible. Ted and Alex turned, and I saw
their faces drain of color. The creature was closer now, and
in the dim light of the road we could see it more clearly.
It was humanoid but grotesquely thin, its skin pale and
stretched over its bones. It had no face, just a blank
expanse of skin where features should have been.
We need to get out of here, Ted said, and we started running
again. Fueled by pure fear, we sprinted
down the trail, the creatures silent pursuit haunting every
step. As we near the parking area, our
hopes were dashed. The lot was empty, except for
Ted's car. It was a stark reminder that we
were alone out here. Quick, get in the car.
Ted yelled, fumbling for his keys.
We piled into the car, slamming the doors shut and locking them.
Ted started the engine and floored it, the tires screeching
as we speed away from the trail. As we drove, I looked back
through the rear window, half expecting to see the creature
following us. But there was nothing, just the
dark, empty Rd. None of us spoke as we drove,
The radio, usually blaring our favorite songs, was now silent.
We were all processing the terror we had just experienced.
When we finally reached my house, we sat in the car for a
moment, the safety of familiar surroundings doing little to
ease our shaken nerves. That thing, What was it?
Alex finally broke the silence. I shook my head, unable to
provide an answer. I don't know, I said.
But I have a feeling this isn't the last we've seen of it.
Little did I know how right I would be.
The next day was eerie in its normalcy.
The sun shone brightly and birds chirped as if last night's
horrors were just a figment of our imagination.
I couldn't shake off the events, though.
Every shadow seemed to hide A threat.
Every noise made me jump while walking my dogs.
A sense of dread washed over me as a stray cat emerged from the
woods, its eyes fixed on me. Grandma's stories echoed in my
head about skinwalkers, creatures from Native American
lore that could mimic any animal.
I hurried back inside, my heart racing.
Was this paranoia, or had last night's terror followed me home
later that day? Ted called.
Hey, can I come over? I don't want to be alone, he
said, his voice trembling. Sure man, I'll pick you up, I
replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
But when I pulled up to Ted's house, something was off.
He climbed into the car, his face pale, his eyes darting
around nervously. Ted, you OK?
I asked as we drove back to my place.
He was silent for a moment before he spoke.
Sullivan, I need to tell you something.
When we got back to your house last night, I saw it.
That thing. It was outside.
My grip tightened on the steering wheel.
Outside my house? I managed to ask, my voice
barely above a whisper. Ted nodded.
I didn't want to scare you, but I think.
I think it's following us. A cold shiver ran down my spine.
The creature had followed us out of the Pine Barrens.
But why? And what did it want?
We spent the evening trying to distract ourselves with video
games, but our hearts weren't in it.
Every Creek of the house, every rustle of the wind outside sent
waves of fear through us. That night, lying in bed, I
couldn't sleep. The shadows in my room seemed to
move, and every small sound was magnified.
I kept picturing that faceless creature lurking just beyond my
window. The following days were a blur
of anxiety and fear. Ted and I tried to act normal,
but the shared experience had changed us.
We jumped at shadows, avoided the woods, and barely spoke of
what happened. A week later, Alex called a
meeting at his house. We need to talk about what
happened, he said, his usual skepticism gone.
We sat in his living room, the three of us, a sense of
solemnity hanging in the air. Do you think it was a
skinwalker? Alex asked, looking directly at
me. I sighed.
I don't know, But whatever it was, it's not something we
should take lightly. We can't just pretend it didn't
happen, Ted added, his voice shaky.
We agreed to do some research to try and understand what we had
encountered, but deep down I knew some mysteries were better
left unsolved. The Pine Barrens had revealed a
glimpse of something ancient and terrifying, a reminder that some
legends are rooted in truth. And as we delve deeper into the
lore, trying to find answers, I couldn't shake off the feeling
that the creature was still out there, watching, waiting.
The shadows of the Pine Barrens had followed us, and our lives
would never be the same again. I've seen my fair share of
mysteries in my time, but nothing quite like the enigma
that is the Round Valley Reservoir.
They call it the Bermuda Triangle of New Jersey, and the
more I delved into its history, the more I understood why.
It wasn't just a catchy nickname, it was a warning.
It started back in 71 with Thomas Tremblit and his
brother-in-law, Christopher, just a couple of guys out
fishing on a clear day. They were in a 12 foot aluminum
boat, the kind that's as common as cattails around these parts.
No one thought much of it until they didn't come home.
The search party found their capsized boat, but of Thomas and
Christopher, there was no sign. Not then.
Not ever. It was as if the reservoir had
swallowed them whole. I remember talking to one of the
old timers at the local diner about it.
He had this way of stirring his coffee.
Slow, deliberate. It's not just the drowning that
gets you, he said, his voice a low rumble.
It's the not knowing, the unanswered questions that haunt
you and haunt they did. As years passed, the reservoir
claimed more victims Craig Steer and Andrew Fennella vanished
while walking along the northern shoreline.
One moment they were there, the next just gone.
No screams, no struggle, nothing.
It was as if they'd stepped into another world.
The local started to talk. You'd hear whispers at the
grocery store, see the fear in people's eyes at the gas
station. It wasn't just a series of
tragic accidents. Something more sinister was at
play. It's funny how a place can
change in the eyes of those who live there.
I remember when the reservoir was a spot for family picnics
and lazy fishing days, but after these disappearances, it morphed
into something else. A mystery, a place of unease.
I could feel it every time I drove past a chill that wasn't
just from the breeze off the water.
But it wasn't just the disappearances that got to me.
It was the lack of closure. Take Jeffrey Moore and Raymond
Barr, for example. Their boat capsized on a day as
calm as any Ray was rescued, but Jeff?
He was just gone, vanished into thin air.
I talked to Ray once, and the guilt in his eyes was something
I won't forget. We were just fishing, he kept
saying, as if he was trying to convince himself it was all just
a normal day. The more I dug into these
stories, the more I realized how deep the fear ran.
It wasn't just the reservoir. It was the unknown, the
unexplained that had everyone on edge.
I'd sit at the bar and listen to the theories, curses, vortexes,
even alien abductions. Each tale was Wilder than the
last, but in their voices I heard something real.
Fear. As I looked out over the still
waters of the Round Valley reservoir, I couldn't help but
feel a sense of foreboding. This wasn't just a body of
water. It was a mystery, a keeper of
secrets. And I knew deep down that some
secrets are never meant to be uncovered.
The Round Valley reservoir had a way of keeping its secrets As
the years passed. Each disappearance seemed to
deepen the mystery, like layers of silt settling on a sunken
object obscuring it from view. 1989 brought a new chapter to
this unsettling saga with the disappearance of John Kubu and
Albert Lawson. They went out fishing, much like
those before them, and only one came back, but not in the way
anyone hoped. Lawson's body was recovered
years later, but John John was just another question mark in
the reservoirs, murky depths. I remember when the news broke
about Lawson's body being found. It was a cold morning in 93, the
kind that bites at your cheeks and numbs your fingers.
I was at the station, nursing a cup of coffee that did little to
warm me. The discovery brought a grim
sort of closure, but it was like closing a book when half the
pages were still missing. The case of Jeffrey Moore and
Raymond Barr was a different kind of puzzle.
Their boat capsized on a day that couldn't have been more
perfect. Clear skies, calm waters.
Ray was saved. But Jeff?
It was as if the reservoir had just reached up and plucked him
from the surface. No trace, no clue, nothing.
The locals couldn't make heads or tails of it.
If a man could disappear on a day like that, what did it say
about the rest of us? The authorities did what they
could. They brought in a submersible in
77 state-of-the-art at the time. Andre Galler piloted it, a man
who'd worked with the famed Jacques Cousteau.
If anyone could find answers at the bottom of that reservoir, it
was him. But after a week of searching,
the waters gave up nothing. It was like looking for ghosts.
State troopers, trained in underwater recovery, took up the
torch. In the years that followed, they
scoured the depths combed through every inch they could
reach. But the reservoir was stingy
with its secrets. I spoke to one of the divers
once over a beer. His eyes had that far off look
of a man who'd seen too much and found too little.
It's like the water just swallows them whole, he said, a
hint of bewilderment in his voice.
In 2006, the community rallied again, armed with another
state-of-the-art submersible. Hope has a way of hanging on,
even in the face of relentless uncertainty.
But again, the reservoir remained silent, its depths
impenetrable, its secrets locked away.
I'd often drive by the reservoir, my thoughts as
turbulent as the waters were calm.
The place had a way of getting under your skin, of making you
question the line between the natural and the supernatural.
In the diner, in the bars, the theories flew like sparks from a
fire, curses, hidden underwater chasms, even a submerged ghost
town. But beneath all the speculation
and fear, a sad truth lingered. People had vanished, leaving
behind families, friends, and a community grappling with the
unknown. As I gazed out over the still
water, I couldn't shake the feeling that some mysteries are
too deep, too dark to ever see the light of day.
And in those depths, the truth about the Round Valley Reservoir
lay waiting, silent and inscrutable.
There's a strange comfort in knowing, even when what you
learn is grim. The Round Valley Reservoir, with
its penchant for keeping its secrets, finally yielded some
answers, albeit few and far between.
Like a puzzle slowly piercing together, each recovery brought
a fragment of truth, but the full picture remained elusive.
In 2013 the reservoir gave up one of its long held secrets.
Kenneth Harten, a 56 year old fisherman, was found in 70 feet
of water. The state police's marine unit
had picked up an unusual signal, an anomaly that stood out like a
sore thumb in the otherwise mundane readings of the lake
bed. Divers were dispatched, and
there, in the depths they found him.
The community was abuzz with the news, a mix of relief and
renewed anxiety. If Harton could be found after
all these years, who else might still be down there?
I remember standing on the shore the day they brought Harton up.
The sky was a steel Gray, the kind that presses down on you,
heavy with unshed rain. There was a solemnity in the
air, a quiet acknowledgement of the man's fate finally coming to
light. It was closure, yes, but it was
also a stark reminder of all those still missing, their
stories untold, their fates unknown.
The discovery of Harden prompted fresh talks, theories and
speculations. Some clung to logical
explanations. The reservoir's unique geography
creating sudden, lethal weather conditions.
The frigid waters slowing decomposition, keeping bodies
hidden in its depths. It made sense in a cold,
scientific way, but it lacked the finality, the absolute
answers we all craved. The more outlandish theories
continued to circulate, too. Curses.
Supernatural forces, even extraterrestrial intervention,
were discussed in hushed tones in the corners of diners and
bars. It was easier for some to
believe in the fantastical than to confront the harsh randomness
of nature. Then there was the discovery by
those amateur divers, a reminder that sometimes the truth was
more straightforward than we wanted to admit.
They had stumbled upon the remains of a fisherman who had
gone missing in 1976. It was a grim find, a skeleton
still clad in rubber boots and tattered clothing. 11 months
later, another body was found in almost the same condition.
It was a chilling echo of the past, a reminder that the
reservoir held more than just water in its depths.
These discoveries, as sparse as they were, brought a kind of
solace. They were proof that not all was
lost to the murky waters, that answers could still surface even
after decades. But with each answer came more
questions, more wise. And how's that lingered in the
air as palpable as the mist that often hungover the reservoir?
In the early mornings, as I walked away from the water's
edge, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease.
The Round Valley reservoir was more than just a body of water.
It was a keeper of stories, a holder of secrets.
And for every secret revealed, it seemed, a dozen more were
born. The truth, it seemed, was as
elusive and deep as the reservoir itself.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows
over the Round Valley reservoir, I found myself reflecting on the
legacy of this enigmatic place. It was more than just a body of
water. It was a symbol of the
unexplainable, A testament to the mysteries that lie just
beneath the surface of our understanding.
Over the years, I've seen how this reservoir has gripped the
imagination of the community and beyond.
It's a place where logic meets legend, where fact intertwines
with folklore. Each disappearance, each
unexplained incident, added another layer to its mystique.
And despite the occasional breakthroughs, the reservoir
retained its air of mystery, its ability to both fascinate and
terrify. I've walked these shores more
times than I can count. Each visit leaving me with more
questions than answers, ran the gamut from scientific to
supernatural. Some folks spoke of underwater
ghost towns, remnants of a bygone era submerged beneath the
Placid waters fueling the reservoirs, eerie reputation.
Others whispered of curses laid by displaced Native American
tribes, their spirits restless and vengeful.
But amid the tales and theories, there was a palpable sense of
loss, a collective mourning for those who had vanished without a
trace. It was a reminder that behind
each mystery there were real people, families left grappling
with the unknown, their grief a constant undercurrent in the
community. The reservoir, with its dark
waters and deeper secrets, had become a character in its own
right, an enigmatic presence that loomed large in our
collective consciousness. I've seen the way people's eyes
would flicker to the water when they spoke of it, a mix of fear,
respect and awe. It was as if they were
acknowledging an old, inscrutable adversary.
As I stood there, the chill of the evening air creeping through
my jacket, I couldn't shake the feeling that the reservoir was
watching. Listening.
It was as though it was aware of its own legend, basking in the
intrigue and speculation it inspired.
The truth, I had come to realize, was as elusive as the
shadows that played on the water surface.
Perhaps some mysteries weren't meant to be solved, their
secrets destined to remain hidden in the depths, and maybe
that was OK after all. It's the unknown that draws us
in, that stirs our imagination and keeps us searching, even
when we know some answers may forever elude us.
As I turn to leave, casting one last glance over the darkening
waters, I knew that the legacy of the Round Valley Reservoir
would endure, its stories passed down through generations, it
would continue to haunt, to intrigue, to remind us of the
thin line between the known and the unknown.
And in that space, in the gap between light and shadow, truth
and legend, the reservoir would remain a silent Sentinel,
keeping its secrets in the. Deep.
I remember that day like it was. Just yesterday, the woods near
our neighborhood were always a sort of sanctuary for me, a
place where the tall trees whispered secrets in the wind
and the small creeks babbled stories of faraway lands.
It was the kind of place where kids from all around would come
to ride their bikes through the winding trails, the sound of
their laughter mingling with the rustling leaves.
I loved those woods, not just for their beauty, but for the
sense of adventure they offered. On that particular afternoon,
around 4:00 PM, the sun was casting golden beams through the
canopy, creating a tapestry of light and shadow on the forest
floor. I had decided to take Bertha, my
faithful Labrador, for our usual walk.
She was more than just a pet. She was my companion, my
confidante. As we got out of the car,
Bertha's tail wagged with excitement, her brown eyes
gleaming. With the joy of another
adventure in our special place, we began our walk along the
familiar trail, the crunch of leaves under foot, the scent of
pine and earth filling the air. Bertha led the way, her nose to
the ground, eagerly sniffing out the scents of the forest.
Everything was as it always was, serene and peaceful, until
something strange happened. It started subtly at first, a
faint tingling sensation that washed over me like the gentle
touch of an unseen hand. It wasn't fear or apprehension.
Rather, it was a feeling of unexplained happiness, a sudden
lightness of being that seemed to lift the weight of the world
from my shoulders, my usual aches and pains, the remnants of
an old football injury vanished as if they had never been.
A smile spread across my face and a laugh bubbled up from deep
within me. Wow, I feel so good, I thought
to myself. I feel like a little kid.
I'm brand new this euphoria. Lasted for what?
Seemed like an eternity, but in reality it was probably only
about 20 seconds. That's when everything changed.
It was as if the forest itself had decided to reveal one of its
secrets. From the corner of my eye, I
noticed movement in the bushes. It wasn't the usual rustle of a
small animal scurrying away. This was different.
The Bush shook violently, as if something or someone was holding
onto it, intertwined in its branches, trying desperately to
remain hidden. Bertha reacted instantly, her
body tensing a low growl emanating from her throat.
She lunged towards the Bush, pulling me along.
I struggled to hold her back, my heart pounding in my chest.
Whatever was in that Bush was big, and it was close.
I could hear it moving, heavy thuds like the footsteps of a
giant, accompanied by the sound of branches snapping under its
weight. I wanted to run, to take Bertha
and flee back to the safety of my car, but something held.
Me there. Rooted to the spot, Curiosity.
Fear. I couldn't tell.
All I knew was that I had to see what was making that noise as I
stood. There heart.
Racing, the forest around me seemed to hold its breath,
waiting for what would happen next.
The creature, whatever it was, moved again, this time through
another Bush. Its presence felt more than
seen. I couldn't shake off the feeling
that I was on the verge of discovering something
extraordinary, something that would change everything.
And so, with a mixture of fear and excitement, I stepped closer
to the unknown. The mysterious rustling in the
bushes had only deepened the enigma of the woods.
Each step I took now felt heavier, as if I was walking
into a story yet to be told. Bertha, sensing my apprehension,
stayed close. Her ears perked up, alert to
every sound that day. As we venture deeper into the
woods, the atmosphere seemed to thicken with suspense.
The once familiar trees now appeared as looming spectres,
their branches reaching out like the fingers of a giant hand.
My heart. Raced with a mix of fear.
And excitement. What was hiding?
In these woods. A part of me.
Wanted to turn back. But curiosity propelled me
forward then. It happened again.
The same heavy, rhythmic thumping that we had heard the
day before, but louder this time.
Closer. It was as if something massive
was walking, or rather stomping, just beyond the line of sight.
Bertha growled, Her body tensed, ready to bolt or fight,
whichever came first. My mind raced.
The sound was unlike anything I had heard before.
It was like the footsteps of a colossal creature, something out
of a monster movie. The ground vibrated with each
thud, sending shivers up my spine.
Yet for all the noise it made, there was nothing to see.
The bushes shook and the leaves rustled, but there was no
visible 'cause. It was then, that.
The most terrifying. Sound of all filled the air, a
loud guttural roar, so deep and resonant it seemed to come from
the very earth beneath our feet. It was like the roar of AT Rex
from the movies, only this was real.
Happening right in front of me, Bertha and I stood frozen, our
eyes scanning the woods for any sign of the creature.
Sounds like. AT Rex from the.
Movies, I whispered aloud, my voice barely a breath.
The stomping stopped abruptly, as if the creature had heard me.
A chilling silence fell over the woods.
I could feel the vibrations of the last footstep fading away,
leaving us in a suspenseful stillness despite the fear.
Gripping my. Heart.
I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of connection to
this unseen being. It was as if it was aware of us,
maybe even curious about us. But why couldn't we see?
It. What was it hiding from?
Or perhaps, what was it hiding for what felt like an eternity?
Bertha and I stood there, staring into the woods, waiting
for something to happen, but nothing did.
The creature, if that's what it was, had vanished as
mysteriously as it had appeared. As we made our way back home, my
mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and questions.
What was this invisible presence?
Why did it make such terrifying sounds?
Was it watching us now, hidden among the trees?
The woods, once a place of joy and adventure, now held a
secret, a mystery that both scared and fascinated me.
That night, as I lay in bed, the sounds of the forest replayed in
my mind. The rustling bushes, the heavy
footsteps, the roar that shook the ground.
I knew one thing for sure, I had to find out what was lurking in
those woods. And so, with a mixture of dread
and determination, I resolved to return to the forest, to uncover
the truth behind the invisible terror that haunted it.
The next few days passed in a blur of restless thoughts and
endless questions. The woods had always been my
escape, a place where I could forget the world and just be.
But now they were a puzzle, a mystery wrapped in an enigma,
and I was drawn to it. Unable to stay away, each walk
with Bertha became a mission, a search for answers.
We treaded the same paths, but now with a heightened sense of
awareness, every rustle of leaves sending a jolt of
adrenaline through my veins. The invisible presence remain
just that, invisible, but its effects were palpable.
A feeling of being watched, of something just out of sight,
always there, lurking in the shadows.
Then one day it happened. It was an experience so
fleeting, yet so profound that it shook the very foundations of
my reality. We were walking along a familiar
trail, the air crisp with the scent of pine.
The sun filtered through the leaves, casting a dappled
pattern on the ground. I stopped for a moment to take
in the beauty of it all, the serene tranquility of nature.
As I stood there, lost in thought, a movement caught my
eye. It was quick, just a blur, but
it was there, Something large, something impossible.
It moved between the trees a mere 80 feet away, but in that
fraction of a second I saw it. It was humanoid, at least 10
feet tall, with broad, muscular shoulders and a large head.
Its appearance was like nothing I had ever seen, a perfect blend
of human and beast. But what was truly astonishing
was its skin. It shimmered, reflecting the
woods around it like the predator from the movies,
cloaked and almost invisible. The sight of it left me
breathless, my mind struggling to process what my eyes had just
seen. It was as if my brain had
captured a snapshot of the creature, etching every detail
into my memory. The thick, shiny hair on its
leg, the contours of its muscles, the way it blended into
the surroundings. It was all so vivid, so real.
I stood there, rooted to the spot, my heart pounding in my
chest, Bertha sensing my shock, wind softly nuzzling my hand.
The creature, whatever it was, had vanished as quickly as it
appeared, leaving no trace behind.
As we walked back home, my mind raced with questions.
What was this being? Why was it here?
And most importantly, why had it run from me?
Did it sense my presence, or was it startled by something else?
The encounter left me with a sense of awe and a deep respect
for the mysteries of the natural world.
It also brought a newfound caution.
The woods were no longer just a place of beauty and peace.
They were a realm where the unknown lurked, where the line
between reality and legend blurred.
From that day on, I became more vigilant on our walks, always
keeping an eye on the shadows, always listening for the
slightest sound. I didn't know what the creature
was or what it wanted, but I knew one thing for sure.
The woods were its domain, and we were just visitors, treading
lightly in a world we barely understood ever since that.
Day. When the impossible became
possible before my eyes, the woods have never been the same
for me. They have transformed from a
simple escape into a place of profound mystery and wonder.
Each time I walk with Bertha along those familiar paths, I
find myself looking at the world around me with new eyes, seeing
beauty and complexity in every leaf and every whisper of the
wind in the days. Following the encounter.
With the mysterious cloaked being, I found myself lost in a
sea of thoughts. What was it?
Why did it choose to reveal itself to me, even if only for a
brief moment? These questions spun around in
my head, unanswered but impossible to ignore.
Yet despite the uncertainty and fear that accompanied these
thoughts, there was also a sense of exhilaration, a feeling of
being part of something larger and more mysterious than I had
ever imagined. I began.
To realize that, perhaps. We are not alone in our journey
through this world. Maybe there are beings, entities
or forces that exist just beyond the reach of our understanding,
watching over us, guiding us, or simply coexisting in a parallel
reality we seldom perceive one of the most.
Profound changes in. Me was my new found appreciation
for Bertha. She was no longer just a pet,
but a companion, a guardian who seemed to understand far more
than I had given her credit for. Dogs, I mused, might be more
attuned to the mysteries of the world than we are.
They seem to sense things We cannot perceive, things beyond
our comprehension. Maybe.
In their own way. They are here to help us, to
guide us through the unseen and the unknown, this journey.
Through the woods. Through the Unknown had also
taught me a valuable lesson about life.
It reminded me that there is so much more to the world than what
meets the eye. It encouraged me to live
fearlessly, to embrace the unknown, and to find joy in the
journey, no matter how mysterious or frightening it may
seem. As I continued my walks with
Bertha, I made it a point to tell someone where I was going
to take precautions. The woods were beautiful, but
they were also wild and unpredictable.
I had learned to respect their secrets and to tread lightly in
their realm. But more than anything, this
experience had changed me in a good way.
It had opened my eyes to the wonders and mysteries of life,
to the possibility of the extraordinary existing alongside
the ordinary. It made me realize that
sometimes the most incredible adventures are not those we
seek, but those that find us. And so, as I walk through the
woods now, I do so with a sense of awe and respect.
I listen to the whispers of the trees and the songs of the
creeks. Wondering what other secrets
they might hold, I watched the shadows and the light, always
aware, always ready for the next encounter, the next revelation.
These woods, once just a place for a walk, have become a
gateway to a world of wonder, a reminder that life is a
beautiful mystery waiting to be discovered.
And I, along with Bertha by my side, am ready to embrace
whatever comes our way with No Fear, only curiosity and a sense
of adventure.