I spent a lot of time with one set of grandparents during my
youth. They watched me while my parents
worked all week and kept me all summer at a campground.
I had been coming there and staying every summer from the
ages of two to 13 and have many fond memories.
However, there is one memory that has stuck with me over the
years. On this particular occasion, I
was six years old and my best friend, who was eight at the
time, was spending a few days with us at the campground.
We only stayed there on weekdays since my grandmother worked
double shifts all weekend. Therefore, the campground was
sparsely populated from Monday through Friday as many people
only had time off work for weekends or holidays.
So there were already eerie vibes there, especially in the
darkness, not to mention the ghost stories my dad had told us
about the place. Our neighbors in the immediate
area were perfect despite barely seeing them.
They had a complete outdoor kitchen that I loved playing
pretend chef in, and they left it open whenever I wanted and
allowed me to play in it. My grandparents were always
lovely and easy going, and my nan was mainly incredibly
nurturing to your needs no matter who you were.
But they also had their moments. Have you ever seen that movie
The Visit? It's kind of reminiscent of that
where there would be a creepy moment and then it would go back
to normal. My best friend's first day at
the campground was when my pop told us to watch out for bears
because he had seen one earlier that day.
We brushed that off since we had heard things like this all the
time and we were having too much fun riding bikes and going into
the Creek to really care. Night soon came and it got
really dark really fast. My best friend and I were
playing in the outdoor kitchen I mentioned before when out of
nowhere we heard this low growling and moaning sound which
got much louder as something began tearing at the tarp cover
acting as if it were a kitchen wall.
We all know that reasoning shuts down the limbic system and is
overridden during threats of survival.
The fight or flight response takes over if you will.
It seemingly happened in an instant.
We were running and immediately crying before we could even
process what was happening. We ran a few feet to our camper
to get to my nan. I was expecting her to be
comforting, as she always was, but her reaction to us was
somewhat horrifying. She laughed wildly and
practically slapped her knees, baffled and scared.
I had no idea how to react to this.
My pop emerged behind the camper next to ours and joined the mad
laughter, eyes bugging out. So yeah, my Pop pretended to be
the bear, but he never really admitted to it.
You know, it was kind of weird. So he made-up that he had seen a
bear earlier in the day to scare us, and then I guess when we
didn't get scared by it, he came and physically pretended to be
the bear. At least that's my understanding
all these years later. We weren't amused and I don't
remember the rest of that week if I'm honest, but I recall
still being terrified and finding no relief in their
words. I was scared of them and didn't
understand why they did that and I still really don't.
I'm all for pranks and kidding around but I feel like this was
a bit beyond. Especially because they never
said explicitly that they pranked us, they just acted like
it didn't happen but clearly laughed in our faces about it.
I don't know, everything scared me at that age as well so I'm
not acting like this is some crazy traumatic thing, but they
had never done anything like this before or after and I just
found it so weird. They did get a kick out of us
two kids running away crying and screaming.
I can tell you that they were definitely holding back tears
from laughing so hard. Looking back, I felt like it was
alarming. They never really apologized or
even paid much mind to the rest of my friends stay, but they
would laugh heartily whenever we brought this up.
You know, I'll likely never get any further elaboration from
them, but I thought this would be a cool story to share.
As all of you know, life can be a struggle sometimes.
Making ends meet isn't always as easy as just getting a job.
Several years back I couldn't find a job.
It was rejection after rejection, and at the time
nobody was really hiring. The few places that were hiring
were ultra competitive. I was barely making over minimum
wage as a deli employee at a grocery store.
I remember one night while working online for ways to make
extra money, I stumbled upon Craigslist.
I'd heard of Craigslist, but had never really explored it myself.
I found an ad on Craigslist for a freelance job where I would be
what's called a secret shopper. For those of you who may not be
familiar with what a secret shopper is, it's basically an
anonymous customer who comes into a store and asks the
employees a series of questions. The employee is then graded on
certain criteria. For example, does the employee
make eye contact, greet you, give a suggestion, offer to
escort the customer and give a parting comment, etcetera.
It seems simple, but a lot of companies, specifically the
store I worked for, will reprimand the employee for a bad
secret shopper score and even fire the employee if they
receive more than one bad score. Since I had experience in the
store and knew exactly what they were looking for, I thought this
would be an easy way to make some money on the side.
The first store I visited was a local chain of grocery stores in
my hometown. Oddly enough, it was the same
company I worked for, but not the same store.
I started making my rounds and noticed a man, probably in his
20s, stocking the shelves. He looked at me and immediately
put his head back down. He didn't greet me so he lost
points right away. I had to greet him and ask him
where the canned tuna was. He never lifted his head from
stocking the shelves and just sort of angrily said aisle 2
halfway down. Again, this guy lost points for
not making eye contact and offering to show me where it was
located. Also, just for the record, I
know how ridiculous all of this is, but these companies take
this seriously. They don't care if you're
waiting on another customer or what the excuse is.
If you get a bad score, you're kind of screwed.
I was trying to pause and give the guy a chance to redeem
himself by telling me to have a good day, but he never did.
I eventually had to initiate the parting remark and that's when
he finally looked up and said, yeah, you too.
I finally saw his name tag, which read Patrick and I smiled
and walked away. I noticed that Patrick kept his
eye on me. I felt his stare as I walked
away. I started to figure that he was
on to me, that I was maybe a secret shopper.
I was going to ask a few more employees questions, but I
started to feel uncomfortable. Every time I looked up I could
see Patrick at the end of the aisles.
It almost seemed like he was following me.
I wasn't sure what the end game was for this guy, but I didn't
want to find out. I cashed out and the cashier
passed her secret shop with flying colors.
After I cashed out, I briskly made my way to my car and just
wanted to get out of the store so badly and be done with this.
Once I was in the car, I started writing down the full report
before I drove off. I just wanted to get all the
information down while it was still fresh.
But while I was writing, I looked up and saw my buddy from
the aisle intensely walking through the parking lot.
Patrick. I ducked down a little but
thankfully it didn't appear like he had noticed me.
He just kept walking until he got to his car which was a dark
4 door sedan of some kind and he speed off.
I waited a few minutes before I departed.
I don't know why but this guy just gave me the creeps.
Though I kept thinking to myself why he was following me around
the store like that. It truly did feel like he was
and it just felt so weird. I'm a textbook overthinker so I
tried telling myself that maybe I was overthinking, but
something about him was definitely off.
That night I went home and emailed my supervisor the report
and life went on. It only took a day or two for me
to completely forget about that interaction.
A few nights after I turned in the report, I was having a late
night dinner with my boyfriend. We were just hanging out,
enjoying each other's company. The relaxing evening was
interrupted by a loud and consistent banging on the front
door. It wasn't just an aggressive
knock either. It sounded like someone was
throwing their entire body weight at the door.
You have no idea how horrifying it is to hear a knock at the
door at that hour, let alone a banging knock like this one.
We looked out the window and I was at a loss for words.
It was Patrick, the guy from the grocery store, and he looked
horrible. His eyes looked like they were
sunken in and he looked like he hadn't slept in days.
I called out telling him to leave right now, that I was
calling the police, and he didn't even flinch.
He just kept banging and demanding that I let him enter
the home, repeatedly saying that I ruined his life and that I
needed to pay, that there would be an eye for an eye, I remember
him saying. I didn't even want to think
about what he meant by that. While this interaction was
happening, my boyfriend had called the police, though they
must have been in the area because the first squad car
showed up in less than two minutes.
And it's a good thing too, because I don't know how much
longer my door was going to hold up.
Patrick was really throwing himself into the door, and this
whole site was nuts. A cop tackled Patrick right on
my front steps and handcuffed him, and while they were
apprehending him, they ended up finding a knife concealed in his
waistband, which for me was the most terrifying information
about this entire ordeal. I still can't stop thinking
about what he intended to do with that knife if he had broken
down the door after he was arrested.
I did get some closure on this whole nightmare.
It turns out it was just a situation of being in the wrong
place at the wrong time. Apparently Patrick was at the
end of his rope and my visit to the store that day was what
forced him to fall completely off.
He was struggling to pay his bills and from what I was told,
his girlfriend had just broken up with him the day of that
secret shopping event and when I approached him in the store that
day, he was only minutes away from the end of his shift and
was just mentally completely done at that point.
I get it, we've all been there, well to a degree, and I happened
to catch him on a bad day and asking for a can of tuna was the
last thing on his mind. He ended up losing his job
because he had failed another secret shopper report, a report
that I sent in. The part that I can't still
figure out about this is I have no idea how he found out where I
lived. I don't think he followed me
that day after the store, but there's no other way that he
would know where I lived. I stayed at my boyfriend's house
after that at night and rarely stayed at my old house alone.
I don't know what happened to this guy, but I genuinely hope
that he figured it out. And more importantly, I hope
these stores get rid of the secret shopper program because
it's just horrible. Hey everyone, if you've been
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And let's be honest, who doesn't get distracted with everything
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On day one, I felt a bit skeptical, not going to lie, but
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I'm not just buzzing through tasks, I'm actually enjoying
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code CREEPY 20 at checkout. Now back to the stories.
When I turned 13 years old a few years back, I invited about
eight friends to go camping with me.
The campsite was near a large forest with giant trees and many
bushes. As you can probably guess, the
campsite was located by the water, so we spent the two days
there swimming, biking, and exploring the nearby woods.
On our first day, we were biking around the other campsites when
we encountered a group of kids our age.
There were about three of them. Instead of getting along, we got
into a big argument, which escalated into a war between our
two groups. At one point, one of the kids in
their group threatened to hurt us with his dad's knife.
This deeply disturbed us and made us uncomfortable, prompting
us to head back to our own camp. That night was pretty typical.
We forgot all about those kids and roasted some s'mores.
My mom and dad, who were the only supervisors on this trip,
went to bed at about 10:00 PM. They told us not to stay up too
late, make too much noise, or leave the campground.
As we were messing around, I saw something out of the corner of
my eye. It kind of looked like the shape
of a human at the tree line near our campsite.
I pointed it out to my friends and we decided to take a closer
look. As we approached, we could see
it was indeed a person, but they weren't moving and we're
standing dead still. My friend, whom I'll call Matt
for this story, said he was getting uncomfortable.
He wanted to get closer to the figure because he was sure it
was a man. We were all perplexed and a bit
scared, so we didn't want him to confront the figure.
My first thought was honestly, why would anyone put a mannequin
out here? I tried to find some sort of
rational explanation for why this figure would be standing so
still without making a single noise or movement.
As we tried to figure it out, we began to hear movement from the
nearby bushes. We decided to dash back to camp
and once we all made it, we got into our tent and kept watching
to see if anyone was coming. At one point, my friend Brody
saw a figure moving in the tree line.
I caught a glimpse of it too, but I was unsure if it was a
person. We kept taking shifts, sleeping
and watching throughout the night.
The following day we were tired and decided to check out the
dummy. When we approached the area, it
was gone without a trace and it was only about 5:00 in the
morning, meaning someone must have come and taken it very
early. We went back to check on the
kids we had argued with and saw that they were still there.
When they saw us coming, they quickly went into their camper
and hid. We tried to wait for them, but
they wouldn't come out no matter what.
Eventually we gave up and headed back to our site.
It was still relatively early, so we decided to keep exploring
where Brody might have seen a person.
What we found next made us all want to leave and never return.
In a Bush right next to where Brody saw the figure, there was
a hunting knife, a pair of binoculars and a hunting rifle.
We assumed it was those kids, but how did they get those items
if the oldest kid was maybe 11 years old?
The night was pretty normal again until about midnight.
We saw more movement in the trees and knew we had to be
careful. We all stayed up and watched as
multiple figures made their way through the trees.
Eventually, assuming that Matt got mad, he decided to open the
tent, shine his flashlight, and start yelling at whoever was out
there. We followed him as he moved
closer to the trees and saw that there were two kids booking it
deeper into the woods carrying the items we had found in the
Bush. After we scared them off, we
returned to the tent and the rest of the night was
uneventful. Although none of us could sleep,
nothing more happened and by the time we checked on the kids the
next meta picks, they had already left the campsite with
their family. That experience still haunts me
and I often wonder what would have happened if we had been
vulnerable in those woods that night.
I mean, they had a gun and we had a tent.
At the end of the day, if they really wanted to do something
they could have, and I think that's what bothers me
sometimes. Not long ago I decided to listen
to a friend of mine about picking up some babysitting jobs
from Craigslist. I know that seems weird, but I
was surprised at how many postings for that type of work
were there. Ordinarily, I wouldn't have
needed the job, but at the time I had just broken up with my
boyfriend and I didn't think I would be able to pay my rent.
This seemed like the easiest way to make some money.
It helps that I used to babysit when I was a teenager and my
brother has two small kids, so I felt like an expert in the
field. After all, how hard could
looking after some children for a few hours be?
I set up a job for early Saturday evening and started
messaging a woman named Chloe. She said that she and her
husband would be leaving the house around 5:15 PM and they
would be back sometime after 10:00.
She gave me the address and all the information about the
children. I would be watching two boys, 17
and the other nine. I figured this was going to be
easy money. In my opinion, boys that age are
easy to entertain and because they weren't babies, they
wouldn't need my undivided attention.
After I talked to the lady, I told my friend about the job who
was jealous of the money I was about to make.
She had been doing Craigslist babysitting jobs for a few
months now and had never come close to the money I was about
to make, or at least that's what I was told.
On Saturday evening I made my way to the address given to me
by Chloe, and right away I had some regrets.
The house was in a very sketchy neighborhood, not necessarily
crime ridden, but it was a poor rundown area.
When I knocked on the door, there was no answer.
I waited for several minutes and attempted several more knocks.
Finally a strange and very rough looking man answered the door.
He was tall and skinny with a massive Gray beard.
I would say he was at least in his 50s unless he just looked
rough for his age. In a very low and gruff voice he
said come on in sweetheart, sorry I didn't hear the knock
because my ears ain't what they used to be.
I walked inside and the first thing I noticed was how not
child friendly the house was. A lot of trash and general
clutter was lying about. I was just standing in front of
the door when the man said my wife should be back any minute
with the kids. Go and sit down and make
yourself at home. Sorry I know the place ain't the
cleanest. I was trying not to be judge
mental. I know it sounds like I should
be running for the hills but I didn't want to unfairly judge
this guy or his family. The man pointed down the hall
and told me that the living room was at the back of the house.
I made my way back there and sat on a bluish couch.
The amount of anxiety I felt at that moment was absolutely
crushing. I saw no pictures of children,
no toys, and no indication whatsoever that children even
lived there. While I was waiting on the
couch, I could hear the man walking back and forth in the
other room and I think he was mumbling to himself.
Every few minutes he would begin to shout.
Hey, sorry about this, ma'am. My wife can be forgetful with
the time. I promise she'll be back soon.
A few minutes later, he ran into the room.
Scratching his head with a big smile, he said.
You know what, I'm an idiot. I bet my wife came inside with
the kid through the basement entrance.
She's probably waiting for you down there.
Nobody uses the front door that you came in.
The basement's right over there. Why don't you go check it out
and I'll meet you all down there in a minute.
He stood there like some scarecrow, pointing to a door on
the far side of the room. I didn't know what to do and
just nodded and told him I would go check.
Truthfully I had had enough at this point though.
He smiled in a very unsettling voice.
He said well that's great, I'll see you in a second sweetie.
Then he walked back into the front room.
I opened the door to the basement out of curiosity and it
was obvious that nobody was down there.
The lights were off and the smell was just horrific.
When it hit my nose, there was no chance I was going to go down
there. While staring into the dark
basement, I heard that he was still bumping around in the
front room, and without thinking, I ran as fast as I
could toward the front door that I came from.
Once I hit it, the door was locked.
I quickly unlocked it and ran to my car.
As I opened the car door, I could hear him yelling from
inside the house, but I didn't look back.
I started backing down the driveway and I could see him
running out of the house, waving his hands back and forth.
Thankfully, by the time he reached the driveway I was
already flying down the road. I almost didn't call the police
because technically I was physically fine and maybe even
overreacting, but after calling my friend, she convinced me to
call the authorities just in case.
After the phone call, I had no idea what had happened.
The dispatcher on the phone told me that they would take it from
here and that was the end of it, at least on my end.
Maybe there was a wife and kids. Maybe this was just a poor
family that I had very unfairly judged.
Maybe there really was an entrance to the basement that
his wife used instead of that front door.
But honestly, I'd rather look like some crazy jerk who judged
the family than potentially be the victim of something much
worse. The unnerving nature of the new
situation told me to run and I stand by that gut feeling which
very well could have been the best decision of my life.
To provide a bit of back story, I generally keep to myself, but
I feel compelled to share this story because something out of
the ordinary is happening to me. I live in an area where it is
uncommon to see Wanderers or any sort of travellers.
I barely see anyone except for the occasional funeral of an old
friend. I consider it a safe and
peaceful area to rest. However, some occurrences over
the past few weeks have made me think otherwise.
It all started about a week ago on a warm evening as I was
relaxing at home, watching the day go by and listening to the
creatures sing their song of nature in the beautiful wooded
country I inhabit. Suddenly, all went quiet.
There was not a single bird chirping or a frog croaking.
Something felt wrong. I strained my ears to see if I
could hear or see anything out of the ordinary, but everything
looked and sounded normal. It was just quiet.
This might not sound off to some, but for where I live there
were always noises of nature. Always something, whether it be
the wind, the bugs, the dirt, or even the grass.
A few days passed and all was normal until I had just finished
cooking dinner and went up to rest for the evening.
I was looking out and listening to the song of nature again when
suddenly everything went dead silent.
I almost brushed it off at that time again, but I started
considering the possibility of a predator since there can be
bears and such in the area from time to time.
Once again, as I listened closely, trying to tune into the
nature around me, it was eerily silent, almost unbearable.
That was until I heard it, a distant chattering sound.
I sat and focused for a minute, trying to pinpoint where it was
coming from. Honestly, it sounded like it was
coming from everywhere. After a few more seconds of
silence, I began to hear leaves crunching, as if something
massive was moving. Living in the country, you can
tell the difference between humans, animals, and anything
else walking in the woods. This was definitely some sort of
human, or at least a bipedal creature.
Fear struck me as I nestled down and tried to get out of sight.
My house is not very conspicuous.
It's built into the woods and can't really be noticed unless
you stumble upon it. After some time, I noticed that
someone approached my house wearing a strange outfit.
It honestly looked like a homemade ghillie suit, as if he
was trying not to be heard. The chattering stopped and I
noticed that whatever this person was doing, he was making
the noise with his teeth by chattering them.
The sounds were honestly awful. I then began to hear a banging
sound and wasn't really sure what they were doing, but it
looked like whatever they had in their hands, they were banging
against a tree. I began to squeal in slight
fear. As I've said, I'm pretty
introverted. I'm not really a tough guy.
I can take care of myself and survive off the land, but
confrontation with people is not something I've ever been good
at. Eventually they got closer and I
noticed what was in their hand was actually some sort of
machete or spear like tool. It looked like he had APVC pipe
that he had spray painted and somehow mounted a machete on it.
It was pretty janky looking if I'm honest.
This guy noticed me and started shouting at me while doing more
of those loud chatters with his teeth.
At this point I began to black out, absolutely terrified.
I thought of all the funerals I've attended, all the fallen
friends and acquaintances that I have unfortunately had to see
over the years, the ones who didn't get to live the life that
I got to live. In that moment, I decided that
this was not going to be my fate and today was not going to be my
funeral. This guy started charging at me,
chattering, his teeth sounding like some sort of alien from a
movie. He swung his spear machete at me
and it grazed my legs slightly as I moved out of the way.
I was in shock. I had no idea why this person
would be charging at me or trying to take my life like
this. All I had was a small 22 caliber
rifle. I had a 380 caliber gun
somewhere else in the house, but I believe it was broken or
jammed. There was something wrong with
it and I couldn't figure it out, but my 22 worked just fine.
It wasn't ideal, it wasn't going to pack the most powerful punch,
but if it bleeds, it dies. So I picked up my 22, which I
had laying next to my chair outside, and I just unloaded.
Luckily, it seemed like I scared him more than I may have hurt
him, because the moment he saw me aiming a gun at him, he began
to run. I'm not the type of person
that's just going to scatter them with a bunch of bullets.
I let off a couple of shots, intentionally missing him,
watching him run in terror, making a more alarming and
distressed chattering sound. I'm sure we've all made some
foolish mistakes in high school. Sometimes it's not even you who
makes the mistake. Simply by joining in with your
peers, you can find yourself in a very bad situation.
When I was in high school, my friends and I would visit
Craigslist to mock the odd characters we found there.
Trust me when I say there are a lot of weirdos on Craigslist.
One night, my friend group let things go too far.
We found an ad from a guy who was looking for a woman to come
over and massage his feet. Yes, weird.
Right from the start, we all pretended to be a woman named
Molly and began messaging this guy from a fake e-mail account
we had created. This was before the whole
catfish phenomenon was talked about, but we were essentially
doing the same thing. It just didn't have a mainstream
name yet. Even though this guy was creepy,
we were still in the wrong for leading him on and pretending to
be something we were not. My friend Dan was pushing the
envelope, flirting and saying things he shouldn't have.
It was only a matter of time before this man sent us his
address. Everyone started laughing and I
also laughed, not really finding it funny but wanting to fit in.
I just wanted this practical joke to end.
To be honest, Dan wasn't ready to let the joke end just yet.
He wanted to visit the creeps house and actually try to get a
glimpse of the man. I very much voted against this,
but Dan peer pressured the group and before I knew it we were in
the car and on our way to this weirdo's house.
The car ride was mostly quiet other than Dan trying to get us
fired up for the occasion. It took us about 15 minutes to
get to the neighborhood of the man looking for his foot.
Therapy, as he put it, and it was a pretty rough part of town,
the kind you don't want to be wandering around in after dark.
It was clear that everyone was now regretting this decision,
except for Dan. We all thought that we were just
going to drive by the house and then head back, but he had other
plans. We stopped in front of the
house, and while we were stopped, Dan opened the door and
started making his way to the guy's front door.
We all started freaking out trying to get him to come back
into the car. Everyone except my friend who
was driving got out of the car and tried pleading with Dan.
I remember even forcibly trying to hold him back but he just
pushed through. We were arguing, really whisper
arguing, trying not to bring attention to ourselves.
Dan looked at us and said listen guys I need to see what this
freak looks like. I promise once I get a quick
glimpse I'll just leave. What's the worst that can
happen? I was still against the idea,
but I could tell that he had won my friends over.
Not wanting to be the coward that I always was, I joined in.
As we snuck toward the house, I thought maybe Dan would just
peer through the window or something, but this absolute
maniac went right to the front door.
Without giving us any notice or any time to prepare or hide, he
rang the doorbell. My heart was beating so fast I
was convinced I was going to have a heart attack.
Seconds later a very short but very overweight man wearing a
bathrobe answered the door and we all froze in a squeaky and I
admit pretty comical voice. This guy asked what's the
meaning of this? Where's Molly?
Dan made a very inappropriate joke or comment, called the man
a freak and we all just started laughing and briskly walking to
the car. I was incredibly anxious, but I
was trying to fit in, hence why I was laughing with the group.
We couldn't have been more than 10 feet away from the front of
the house when this creepy man grabbed a rifle that he must
have had right next to the door and began pointing it in our
direction. His face was all red and he
looked like he was shaking. At that moment, we were all
freaking out. Finally, Dan realized that we
may have crossed a line. Obviously, the creepy man did
say something, but through all the paranoia, none of us could
hear what he said. We all ran as fast as we could,
dove into the car, and I looked behind me as I closed the car
door. I could see the man starting to
give chase with that rifle still aiming in our direction.
We drove off as fast as we could, and when I looked behind,
he was now standing in the middle of the road, still
staring down the barrel of the rifle.
I ducked down, expecting to hear the rear window glass shatter at
any second, but thank God it never did.
We eventually made it back to the house and we panicked for
the entire night. We actually ended up receiving
an e-mail from him not long after we got home that said I
will find you. I saw your car and your license
plate. I will find where you live.
At that moment, we were beside ourselves.
We didn't know what to do. We turned off all the lights and
I'm not kidding. We stared out that window the
entire night, holding our breath every time a car drove by.
I suggested maybe calling the police, but my friends talked me
out of it. They made me believe that we
were the ones who would get in trouble if we called them.
So we didn't, and that was the longest night of my entire life.
The creep never showed up though, and we never heard from
him again. I tried convincing myself that
his threat was just some bluff, but I still never felt safe.
It took months of not hearing from him for me to finally feel
like I was safe. All these years later, I still
haven't been down that street since that night, and even
though I'm older, I still have an irrational fear that he'll be
outside waiting for me. For that reason, I'll continue
to avoid that area of town as long as I can.
I've always had a knack for finding things people left
behind. Sometimes it's just old
furniture or forgotten books. But today it was a GoPro, tucked
in a dusty corner of a rented storage unit.
That's how I found myself holed up in my office, watching the
small screen as it flickered to life, casting shadows across the
stacks of case files on my desk. The video began abruptly.
The camera was shaky at first, pointing at the ground, then
lifted to strap onto someone's head.
Marks I assumed since he was the one narrating the introduction,
his voice uneasy but eager. How does it look?
He asked, his voice capturing a mix of excitement and nervous
anticipation. You look stupid.
Came a response, followed by a collective chuckling from the
group gathered around. That was Frank, a man with a
gruff voice that matched his no nonsense demeanor.
Mark's retort was cut short by Margaret, who jumped in with a
voice smooth as river stones, but firm enough to quiet the
laughter. Frank, please try your best to
be nice. Margaret then took the lead, her
maternal tone gathering everyone's attention like sheep
to a shepherd. Now that we are all settled in
and the fire is going, how about we all give our names and why we
are here? Mark, how about you go 1st and
we go right from you? She suggested, sitting cross
legged and looking up at Mark expectantly.
The introductions that followed painted a vivid picture of a
group as varied as the landscape of Wyoming.
Rugged, raw and real. There was Daniel, a young man
with a warm smile, known to Margaret from past support
groups. His look was sincere, his eyes
scanning the circle, a knot of his head as he took in every
face. Then Emma, a frail figure who
barely lifted her gaze from her worn out boots, her voice a mere
whisper. I'm here to move on from the
last two years. I couldn't help but feel a
twinge of curiosity about what had brought each of them to this
remote patch of wilderness. Each story was a thread weaving
a tapestry of recovery and redemption, or so it seemed.
As the camera panned around the circle, the light from the
campfire flickered across anxious and hopeful faces.
All right, Frank, your turn. Margaret coaxed, her tone soft
yet firm. I'm here to deal with my anger.
Frank muttered almost to himself, staring into the fire
as if trying to scorch his troubles in the flames.
The video captured more than just faces.
It caught the underlying tension, the weight of unspoken
stories and unresolved struggles.
It was when Jacob, an ex alcoholic who had found solace
through Margaret's previous interventions, introduced
himself that the mood briefly lifted.
Everyone clapped, including Frank, though his applause
seemed reluctant, his scoff a sharp note in the night air.
Margaret suggested mingling, but Mark's GoPro caught none of
that. The camera went dark, and for a
moment there was nothing but the crackling of the fire and the
distant hoot of an owl. When the screen lit up again,
the calm had been shattered, the introductions were over, and
survival was about to begin. The shadows in the trees seemed
deeper, more sinister as Margaret stood up, announcing
she'd be right back. Little did we know, the darkness
was watching and it was hungry. Sitting there in the dim light
of my office, I knew I was only scratching the surface of what
had happened. I was drawn in, unable to look
away, a part of me dreading what I knew was to come.
The forest had a different feel after dark, as if the trees
themselves absorb the day's warmth and now exhaled a
chilling presence. It had only been a few minutes
since Margaret vanished into the darkness towards the van, but
her absence felt much longer. Mark's voice broke the silence.
1/2 hearted attempt to keep spirits light.
Anyone got any good scary stories to tell?
But before Daniel could spin his yarn, a palpable tension seized
the air. A feeling of being watched.
That's when the real horror began.
The laughter and camaraderie were swiftly cut off by the
appearance of five figures, cloth sheathed over their bodies
like sinister shadows, faces obscured by blank white masks.
It wasn't just their sudden appearance that froze the blood
in my veins. It was the stark, menacing
contrast of their expensive looking black suits against the
ragged wilderness. Frank's voice shattered the
silence, his tone a mixture of disbelief and challenge.
What the hell do you all want, huh?
But no one was prepared for the swift brutality that followed.
The tall figure in the center, a beast of a man, answered not
with words, but with a vicious swipe of a machete.
Margaret didn't even have time to scream before her head
tumbled to the ground, her body crumpling as her head smouldered
by the fire. Panic erupted.
Commands were shouted. People scrambled.
The forest around us became a labyrinth, the trees morphing
into menacing figures as everyone fled into the dark.
My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a loud echo in
my ears. We regrouped, out of breath and
shaken to our cores. Accusations flew wildly as the
initial shock faded into a cold, creeping dread.
This has to be some sick set up. Liam gasped, his voice tinged
with paranoia. Margaret's intention for a
therapeutic escape seems now a grotesque farce, and mistrust
quickly wormed its way through the shaken group.
I felt it too. A gnawing suspicion.
Was this a planned massacre? A psycho's game?
The video didn't flinch as it captured every flicker of fear,
every whispered conspiracy. The forest was no longer just a
backdrop. It had become an active
participant in our nightmare, whispering secrets I wasn't sure
I wanted to hear. Our attempts to escape were
futile. The masked figures were not just
sinister apparitions, they were hunters, and we were the prey,
stumbling through the underbrush, tripping over roots
that seemed to claw at our feet. Emma, the girl who had barely
spoken a word since the fire, suddenly cried out.
I can't do this. As a branch snapped ominously
close behind us, the video captured it all.
The fear, the fights, the fleeting moments of courage.
Frank, usually so imposing and sure his voice now trembled as
he tried to rally us. We have to keep moving, but
every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig tighten the noose
of terror around our necks. Then a thought struck me, As
cold as the Creek water running through these woods.
If we were the prey, then this night was our trap, and someone
had lured us here, into the dark heart of the forest where the
shadows danced with our fears. As the camera lens fogged
slightly with the evening mist, so too did the lines between
victim and villain blur into a harrowing tableau of survival.
As the first light of dawn threatened the horizon, it did
little to lift the shadows that clung to the forest floor or the
dread that settled in my stomach.
We were fewer now. The night had claimed more than
just our sense of security. It had taken members of our
group, their screams now just echoes among the trees.
Frank's breathing was ragged beside me as we paused, leaning
against a gnarled pine that seemed as weary as we were.
We got to keep moving. He muttered, but his eyes were
haunted, flickering back to the dark we had just run from.
Each of us carried the weight of the night's horrors, our faces
gaunt, our eyes hollow with the things we'd seen.
It was then, amid the whispered planning and quick, frightened
glances, that we realized we had become part of something far
beyond a simple retreat gone wrong.
The remaining survivors, myself included, were ragged edges of
ourselves, suspicion gnawing at our frayed bonds.
Mia, always the tough one, had become a pillar of cold fury,
her arms crossed as she stared down the dim trail.
We're not just running from them, she said, her voice low
and steady. We're running from whatever sick
game this is supposed to be. The conversation turned to
Margaret. Could she really have been
behind this? Her gentle demeanor, the
encouraging words around the campfire now seemed like a cruel
mask. Daniel, his face pale with grief
and loss, shook his head slowly. She wanted to help, he insisted,
but his voice cracked, betraying his doubt.
I proposed a final stand, not out of heroism, but out of sheer
desperation. If we keep running, they'll just
pick us off one by one. We need to face them.
I declared, my voice stronger than I felt.
It was a gamble, but fear had sharpened into resolve, a hard
cutting thing that left no room for hesitation.
We set up an ambush at a narrow pass between 2 rocky outcrops, a
choke point that offered no real advantage other than necessity.
As the sky lightened, the forest seemed to hold its breath, and
for a moment the only sounds were the distant calls of waking
birds and our own laboured breathing.
The attackers appeared with the sun silhouetted against the new
light, their masks still in place, their movements
deliberate and unhurried. Now.
I whispered, and the air exploded into chaos.
Mia charged first, her anger a palpable force that seemed to
startle even our assailants. We fought with the desperation
of cornered animals, and for a moment I believed we might
prevail. But the forest had other ideas.
An arrow whistled past, narrowly missing Emma but finding its
mark and Jacob. He fell with a grunt, his body
thudding against the damp earth. The fight drained out of us
then, replaced by a raw, aching grief that spread like wildfire.
In the end, it was not our plan that saved the remaining few, it
was the sheer unpredictability of human desperation.
Frank, ever the fighter, made a last reckless charge, buying us
precious seconds. Run, He bellowed, and we did,
scattering into the woods, leaving behind the bodies of
friends and foes alike. The camera, still recording,
captured my last glance back, a tableau of violence and loss,
the ground muddy with red liquid and trampled leaves.
I ran until the forest gave way to a clearing, the morning light
harsh and unforgiving. And as I finally stopped, my
breath ragged and my body aching, I knew the wilderness
wasn't what we had to fear. It was what it brought out in
us, what it always had. Growing up on a farm isn't like
the adventures in storybooks. It's not all about riding horses
through open fields or finding secret treasure in the barn.
It's hard work. And for me, it was mostly just
lonely. Our farm was huge, with acres of
field stretching out as far as the eye could see, all the way
to where the dense forest marked the edge of our land.
I used to stand there on the brink, looking into the tangle
of trees and shadows, wondering what secrets it held.
My parents had one rule, stay out of the woods.
But rules like that are made for curious boys with too much
imagination and not enough company.
I was eight years old the first time I decided to step beyond
the edge. It was early morning, just after
I'd finished my chores, and the sun was barely peeking over the
horizon. The dew was still fresh on the
grass, making my boots wet and cold as I made my way to the
forbidden line of trees. At first, I kept close to the
farm, darting in and out of the tree line, my heart pounding
with the thrill of disobedience. The forest felt alive, like it
was watching me, testing me. With each step deeper, the
sounds of the farm faded until all I could hear was the rustle
of leaves and distant calls of wild birds.
One morning, feeling braver than usual, I ventured farther than I
ever had. I counted my steps, marking the
time, and after about 15 minutes, I stumbled upon a
clearing. It wasn't just any clearing.
It was perfectly round, as if someone had drawn a giant circle
in the middle of the woods. The trees around it were
different too, Taller, darker, almost guarding it.
In the center of the clearing stood a figure.
My heart skipped a beat. It was a man, or so I thought,
standing perfectly still and facing right at me.
I ducked behind a tree, my breath shallow, watching him.
But he didn't move, not an inch. Curiosity got the better of my
fear. I edged closer, hiding behind
another tree, then another, until I could see him clearly.
He wasn't a man, he was a scarecrow.
Relief washed over me, followed by a burst of laughter at my own
fright. But this scarecrow was different
from any I'd seen before. He was dressed in a red checked
shirt with a straw hat perched jauntily on his head, and he had
a wide smile stitched across his face from 1 ear to the other.
He looks so real, so lifelike. Standing there, I wondered why
someone would put so much effort into making a scarecrow look
that good, and then hide him away in a clearing where no one
could see him. Drawn by a mix of admiration and
curiosity, I stepped into the clearing.
The ground felt softer here, almost sacred.
As I approached, I tried to convince myself that it was just
a scarecrow, but something about the way his eyes seemed to
follow me made my skin crawl. I reached out a hesitant hand
and touched his arm. It was solid, but strangely
warm, not like Straw should be. I pulled back quickly, my mind
racing with questions. Who made him and why?
What was he guarding in this secret circle?
The forest seemed to lean in, listening to my thoughts, the
leaves whispering secrets I couldn't quite catch.
I knew I should head back, that I'd been gone too long already,
but the mystery of the Scarecrow called to me, promising answers
and adventures. As I turned to leave, I promised
myself I'd return, if only to prove that it was just a
scarecrow, nothing more. But deep down, I wasn't so sure.
Every chance I got, I sneaked back to the clearing.
The days turned into weeks and the weeks into a month, and
every visit made the scarecrow, Peter I had named him, seemed
more like a friend than just a bunch of straw and old clothes.
The clearing became my secret place, my escape from the
loneliness that draped over the farm like the endless skies.
I'd sit with Peter for hours, talking about everything and
nothing. I told him about school, the
books I was reading, and even the little adventures I had on
the farm. It sounds silly, talking to a
scarecrow, but Peter was a great listener.
He never interrupted, never judged, just stood there with
his stitched smile as if encouraging me to continue.
Peter, I'd often start as if he could respond.
Do you think it's weird I don't have real friends?
I'd wait, half expecting him to nod or give some sign.
Of course, he never did, but in my head I imagined him
understanding, offering silent solidarity.
As summer faded into autumn, the magic of the clearing seemed to
fade to the leaves turned golden and fell, carpeting the ground
in a crunchy, colorful mosaic that muted our footsteps.
Peter began to change as well. His once vibrant shirt faded,
the colors dulling with the season.
His smile seemed less welcoming, more a grimace stitched in
place, and sometimes I could swear his once lively eyes
looked a bit emptier. Despite these changes, I
continued my visits. Each day I noticed something new
about Peter that seemed different.
The realistic look of his skin seemed to sag, losing its
lifelike lustre, and the illusion of his breathing, which
I once swore I saw, had stopped altogether.
It was as if Peter was slowly turning back into what he really
was, a scarecrow. One particularly chilly
afternoon, as I sat sketching Peter's fading form, I couldn't
shake off a feeling of sadness. You're not the same anymore.
I murmured, more to myself than to him.
I guess nothing stays magical forever, huh?
It felt like our time together was a kind of summer that had
passed, leaving behind only memories and a longing for
something that could never be recaptured.
I started visiting less often, driven away by the cold and the
creeping realization that Peter was just an object.
My trips to the clearing became weekly, then monthly.
Eventually, the ground froze over and snow covered the paths
I once walked so eagerly. The barrier of winter made the
woods seem impenetrable, a world away from the warmth of my room
and the crackling fire at home. Winter turned into spring, and
with the melt came a new beginning.
I decided to visit Peter again, propelled by a mix of nostalgia
and the hope that maybe, just maybe, the magic had returned
with the new blooms. But as I approached the
clearing, my heart sank. It wasn't just that Peter looked
more worn than ever, it was that he didn't give off the same
sense of companionship. He was truly just a scarecrow
now. In that moment, I realized I had
outgrown the clearing and Peter. The loneliness I felt wasn't
about not having friends, it was about not letting myself be part
of the world beyond the farm. I needed more than a silent
friend. I needed to find a place where I
belonged with people who could answer back when I spoke to
them. As I left the clearing that day,
I knew it was probably for the last time.
Peter had been a good friend in his way.
But some friends, I realized, are just meant for a season.
It was surreal, being back on the farm after all these years.
University had changed me. I had friends now, real ones,
who laughed and talked back, who didn't have straw for brains or
smiles stitched into their faces.
But there I was, back in my old room, the walls echoing the
silence I had left behind. The lockdown had driven everyone
to their safe places, and ironically, this was supposed to
be mine. One evening, as the sun was
setting, casting long shadows across the fields, my mom and I
sat on the porch sipping tea. The conversation turned to the
neighbors and she mentioned Linda, the new lady living next
to Mr. Hitchcliffe's place. My heart skipped a beat at his
name. I hadn't thought about the
clearing or the scarecrows for years.
What happened to Mr. Hinchcliffe?
I asked, trying to sound casual, but my voice trembled slightly.
Mom sighed, looking down into her tea.
Oh, Charlie, it was awful. She began, her voice low.
He died last year. They found him in the woods not
far from here. She paused, her eyes meeting
mine, filled with sadness. And he wasn't alone.
A chill ran down my spine. Not alone.
My thoughts raced to dark places, to possibilities I
hadn't let myself consider before.
They found a woman with him. Mom continued, her voice barely
a whisper, now strapped to a pole dressed up like one of his
scarecrows. The police said.
She choked up, unable to finish. My mind reeled.
The scarecrows, the visits, the talking, it all came crashing
back, a tidal wave of horror and disbelief.
What did they do to her? I managed to ask, my voice
strained. She survived, barely.
They had to hospitalize her immediately, Mom explained,
tears in her eyes. The police, They found more
Charlie, dozens of bodies buried on his land.
Mr. Hinchcliffe had been using people for his scarecrows.
I felt sick, the ground beneath me seeming to shift.
All those years talking to what a person.
My silent companions weren't just scarecrows.
They were victims, their realities far more gruesome than
I could have imagined. The nights that followed were
restless. I was haunted by memories of the
clearing of Peter and the others that came after him, each visit,
each conversation now painted with a macabre brush.
How could I not have known? Was there ever a moment when the
truth nearly revealed itself to me, but I was too caught up in
my own loneliness to see it? Weeks passed, and the green
lushness of summer enveloped the farm.
I decided to visit the clearing once more, compelled by a need
foreclosure. The walk was familiar, yet
everything felt different. The trees, the path, the very
air seemed to hold a somber note.
The clearing was just as I remembered, but it was empty
now. No scarecrows, no Peter, just a
circle of grass and a sense of loss.
Standing there, I realized how much I had changed.
The farm, the woods, the clearing.
They no longer felt like home. They were just places tinged
with memories too painful to hold on to.
As I turn to leave, a small, hopeful part of me wish to
remember the good, the innocence, the solace.
But some stories don't get the endings we write for them in our
heads. They end with the harsh truth, a
reminder of the world's complexities and the shadows
that linger just beyond the tree line.
I used to be that guy who would do anything just for a buck.
Well, actually, I still am that guy.
I'm also someone who is lucky enough to be able to fix just
about anything. You might refer to me as a
handyman of sorts, so anytime I could pick up some side work for
cash, I was totally in. I'm not really sure exactly how
long ago this happened, but I was in my early 20s for sure.
I'm 33 now for a point of reference.
At the time I was struggling a bit to make ends meet.
My girlfriend at the time told me about Craigslist and
mentioned that there was a chance to make some money there.
I'd heard about Craigslist but never really gave it a shot.
I didn't know that work was posted there though.
Once I started exploring Craigslist, I found a lot of job
offers. People looking for painting,
yard work, and even plumbing. I was weighing my options and
trying to find the best posting for me and I ended up answering
this post from a guy named Steve.
He was really weird. Just my straight up first
impression of the guy was not great.
He was middle-aged, short, and a little round.
He had these huge eyes that bulged out of his head and was
rocking that sort of horseshoe haircut.
You know the one on the top and hair on the sides.
But weird appearances aside, he was going to pay me some pretty
good money to basically build him a little room in his
basement. Specifically, he wanted to
finish a small chunk of his basement and make it into a sort
of man cave. We set up times where I could go
and work for several hours at a time and he would pay me after
each session. The house itself was weird.
It was a big house in a nice neighborhood, but the inside of
the house was kind of gross and basically empty.
It looked like a frat house even though the guy was middle-aged
in the basement. Steve had already bought a ton
of supplies, everything I needed for the job and then some.
He explained in detail exactly how he wanted everything.
This guy had intricate blueprints and everything, and I
made sure that I constantly checked with him before I did
any more work, just because I wanted to make sure that we were
always on the same page. Other than being weird, Steve
wasn't a bad guy. We talked about the project a
bit and then he disappeared and I wouldn't see him again until I
left. After the first session, I
started bringing my brother with me from time to time.
The job was more ambitious than I had intended.
Whenever my brother came with me, Steve would never come into
the basement. I'd only see him when I was
alone. For the next few weeks, we
worked on the basement whenever we could find the time.
We thought it was weird that Steve only wanted to finish a
small portion of the basement and not the whole room.
He clearly had more than enough supplies, so it just seemed
weird to want to renovate a small little room.
My brother and I would constantly talk about how he
could ever even turn this into a man cave.
It was going to be so small that you could barely fit a love seat
in the room. But ultimately the conversation
always led to us not caring because we were getting paid.
One late afternoon while we were there, I was finishing putting
up a door for the small room and I was proud of the little room
that I had built. The door was nearing the
finishing touches. My brother was out in the truck
just grabbing some tools and probably having a cigarette.
Steve must have thought that I was alone because he joined me
in the basement. He looked eager and excited.
As I was finishing putting up the door, I made some comments
about the door being ready and without notice Steve kicked me
in the knee and pushed me into the room, slamming the door
behind me. While I was getting to my feet I
could hear him putting some type of lock on the door.
At this point, trying to process what was happening, I tried to
open the door, but just as I expected, Steve had locked it
somehow. I remember he starts yelling
something like you're mine now, you're staying here and you're
not leaving. He just kept repeating versions
of that same sentence repeatedly.
I tried banging on the door, but it wasn't doing anything.
I tried pleading with the guy, but he just kept screaming at
me. After only a few minutes of this
nonsense, I heard a loud thud, loud enough that I could feel
the vibration through the door. In my confusion and panic state,
I had totally forgotten that my brother was still outside.
He started making his way downstairs and witnessed
everything that had just happened.
My brother wasted no time and hit Steve in the head with a
wrench, and that apparently was the loud thud that I had heard
seconds prior. While Steve was unconscious on
the ground, my brother was able to find the key to the padlock
in his pocket and also found two different pocket knives on him.
My brother got me out of that room and we immediately called
the police. While we were waiting, my
brother pretty much stood over Steve and made sure that he
stayed unconscious. When the police finally showed
up, Steve was arrested for attempting to keep me as a
prisoner or something like that. I'm so thankful that my brother
was there that day, though. I still get freaked out thinking
about this Steve character and whatever his intentions were
that day. If my brother wasn't there, who
knows how long I could have been stuck there.
I'm not sure what happened to Steve after this ordeal.
I tried to move on and forget about it, and this is the first
time I'm even revisiting this memory since it happened.
It was probably the stupidest thing that guy could have done,
but also the scariest. Don't forget to check out Magic
Mind. You can find the link in the
description to get started today.