Today I'm excited to share these bone chilling and downright
bizarre scary Reddit stories that were sent in by viewers
just like you. As always, if you have a spine
tingling tail you'd like to share in a future episode, be
sure to submit your story at www.justcreepy.net or use the
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Let's dive into the unknown with these scary Reddit stories told
in the rain. I don't know what came back to
my home, but I do know one thing that is not my dog.
So my father went on vacation and left me his dog, a beautiful
Vimariner named Bella. In case you don't know,
vimariners are hunting hounds. They only really bond with one
human, and the rest are at best, pack.
The human Bella bonded with was my dad.
Obviously he's the one she spent most of her life with, but still
she listens to me. When I call, she comes.
When I tell her to stay, she stays.
Of course, a dog needs walking and that's fine.
My dad's retired, so he always walks her at the same time, and
she's used to that. She has trouble doing her
business if it's not her time, so I try to accommodate that.
My job has pretty comfortable times, so having her around just
means I need to get up a few minutes earlier.
There's a little strip of forest behind my home, so I can just
open the terrace door, open the fence door and let her run.
All fine, all good, until last Friday.
I had to get up at an ungodly early hour that day.
Even worse, when I woke up, it was raining like crazy the
middle of the night and rain coming down in Torrance.
I was absolutely stoked to have to walk the dog, so I just put
on some clothes and go outside with her, leaving the light on
the terrace on but pulling the door shut so she doesn't run in
with her paws all wet. Before I've had time to dry her
off, I walk through the pouring rain into the garden fence.
It's a tall fence, 7 feet and sturdy enough that you can't see
through it. I unlock the door, shove it
open, and Bella is off like a shot the way she always is.
The moment I step past the fence, I realized how stupid of
an idea this was. I can't see crap.
It's dark. So dark I can barely see.
The little porch light doesn't reach past the fence, 2 steps
out, and I immediately trip over a route that I've apparently
always avoided in better lighting.
I want to go back, but Bella's still out there, hopefully doing
her business. So I walk out, stumbling around
in the dark. My optometrist tells me that I'm
very good at seeing in the dark, but between the forest, the
early hour, and the rain, I can barely see 6 feet in front of
me. A coworker introduced me to the
Magnus archives recently, and the stories that always got me
were the ones where people get stuck in these bizarre, endless
dreamscapes. I feel like I'm in one of these,
an infinite plane of cold, dark wetness.
I'm getting scared. I call out to Bella.
My voice barely reaches my own ears through the pouring rain.
Bella always comes when called, but clearly she doesn't hear me.
I can't even tell if she's coming closer because the rain
is louder than the rustling of her paws on the forest floor
could ever be. Oh God, what if I can't find
her? What if I'm late to work because
of this? Should have just let her poop in
the backyard. I call out to Bella some more to
no avail. This is useless.
I decide to go back home, grab a flashlight, and search for her
Properly stumbling and slipping, I feel more than find my way
back to the fence and into the backyard and see the
unmistakable shape of a Weimaraner backlit by the porch
light. Smart Dog ran back to the
terrace when she couldn't find me and was waiting for me in
front of the terrace door. Relief floods me.
If you've ever been worried sick about something and then you
probably know the kind of relief I'm talking about.
It's the kind that's like a warm shower over your back.
I'm so relieved, in fact, that I don't question the red specks on
Bella's snout. It's Sunday now, and I'm certain
that whatever showed up on my porch, it wasn't Bella.
I only write this down now because I wasn't sure at first,
but now I am. That thing looks like my dog,
but it isn't. The first thing I noticed was
off was the eating habits. Bella is not a picky eater, and
her sweet tooth is almost as big as mine, so long as it's sweet.
She wants a bite of it, but this thing doesn't.
It only cares about meat. Dried meat won't do either.
The fresher the better. It refused Bella's kibble.
It refused the jerky I keep around for Bella.
At first I thought Bella was just being a bit prissy, but
then I accidentally cut myself while chopping some veggies for
dinner, and the picky eater was suddenly right there, licking up
the red. I was mostly just happy that she
wanted something, so I didn't question it until I felt her
teeth scraping at the wound to make me bleed more.
I yanked my hand away in shock. Normally when she nips me, she
gets this really apologetic look, but this thing just stared
at me as if offended that I was taking its delicacy away.
The eyes were the next thing that tipped me off.
Bella has these beautiful soulful Gray green eyes, but
this thing has eyes that are the most putrid shade of yellow.
Its teeth are whiter and sharper than Bella's too, but the looks
this thing gives me. I firmly believe that dogs are
incapable of being evil or mean. Even pitbulls, bread fighting
machines that they are, think they're being good boys when
they maul. But when this thing stares at
me, it feels actively malevolent.
I spent Saturday wondering why it didn't attack me in my sleep.
I leave my bedroom door open for Bella so she doesn't wake me up
at night by throwing herself against it, and she takes
frequent advantage of that, coming into my room to lick my
hand to get me to wake up and walk her.
It's super cute, but this thing doesn't do that.
It just stands right at the threshold, staring at me.
Eventually, I got an inkling of why that might be the case.
I kept a crucifix over my bedroom door.
In fact, after trying it out, I learned that whatever room I
hang the crucifix up in, the thing pretending to be Bella
refuses to enter it. The worst part is that I have no
idea what this thing is. Is there such a thing as a
skinwalker for dogs? Or is Bella still out there
while I'm taking care of this creepy changeling?
I haven't walked this thing. I just open the terrace door and
watch it. I often have birds coming into
my garden. Sparrows and blackbirds mostly.
Bella has long since given up trying to catch them.
She's just not fast enough. This thing is though, it's
already caught and mauled 3 blackbirds, 2 of them a couple.
First it got the female, then it waited in ambush until the male
came to grieve. The picky eater that didn't want
its kibble devoured the birds without blinking.
But the worst part is that I have no idea what I'm supposed
to do about this. My dad's vacation ends on
Wednesday. I can't very well hand that
monster over to him, but I can't exactly get rid of it can I?
It was getting near Halloween and my buddy and I wanted to
scare our girlfriends and or find a good make out spot in the
woods. We were seniors in high school
and all still lived at home so we had to find out of the way
spots to smooch. My buddy said he found the
perfect place but we needed bolt cutters.
My dad had some so that Friday night I swiped them from our
garage and the four of us set out for old Hagmann's road.
No one lived off of that old dirt Rd. which ran through the
woods connecting two other roads.
These roads themselves didn't get much traffic, but old
Hagmann's road got none at all because it was blocked off on
both ends by fence style gates which were locked with chains
and padlocks. Right on the gates were warning
signs that read Do not ENTER by order of the Howard County
Sheriff's Office. We pulled up to the South
entrance and my friend got out, cut the chain with the bolt
cutters and opened the gate. I drove the car and past the
gate which he shut behind us. He got back in the car and told
us all that they closed the road off about 20 years earlier, but
no one knows why, He said. There were rumors that people
had died back there, and even the cops wouldn't drive down it.
The road itself had gotten bumpy over the years, with dips and
occasional branches lying across its width.
My headlights shone up ahead only about 40 to 50 feet,
revealing the autumn colored leaves on branches overhanging
the path. Mixed in with some evergreens.
The darkness outside of the cone of light cast from the car was
deep and foreboding, and the woods were thick and cluttered
with vines, bushes, and various brush, all casting twisted black
shadows onto the trees and litter behind them.
The girls held our arms and cuddled closer, mildly
intimidated by the spooky setting.
At one point on a straight section of the road, I briefly
turned off the headlights for a laugh.
The girls howled almost in unison for me to turn them back
on. My bud and I chuckled out loud
and I promised not to turn them off again.
I drove at a steady 10 mph only because the bumps were too
serious to comfortably handle any faster.
I rounded a corner to the left when we all saw two red lights
up ahead. They seemed like they were
reflecting the headlights of my car rather than being self
illuminating. I stopped to get a better look
before going on. Was this the eye shine of some
animal? They seem too far apart for
that. I proceeded cautiously.
When we got about 50 feet from the lights, the body of the
thing the lights were attached to faded into view from the
thick darkness. Behind it was an old car.
The rear reflectors were the source of the red lights we saw.
It was a dark blue sedan with its paint chipping off, a good
bit of rust, and lots of leaves on its trunk and roof.
The rear window was covered in dust and as I steered to the
left side of the road to go around it, we could see that so
were the windows to the doors, but we all noticed that the
driver's window was down about halfway.
I slowed down a little as I crept past The abandoned car
looking over the interior couldn't be seen through the
dust caked windows as the inside of the driver's seat came into
view through it's half open window, a sense of dread and
anticipation swept through us all.
The steering wheel was in view when my buddy spoke up to assure
everyone not to worry, they wouldn't close the road without
getting everybody out of here first.
They were comforting words and of course he was right.
No need to worry. But as the headrest to the
driver's seat came into view, we all stared at it anyway,
transfixed and tight with suspense.
The dust on the window prevented us from being able to see
through it clearly, so all we could make out was a sliver of
the interior. At first glance it seemed the
seat was empty, but then I noticed just above the top of
the partially rolled down window you could see something on the
back rest of the seat. It looked like dark hair on the
top of someone's head who had slid down in the seat, but it
was just an inch or so and it was dark, so it could have been
something else. One of the girls asked if that
was a person. No one answered her because we
weren't sure. I had come to a complete stop so
we could look at it a little longer and try to figure it out.
Out of habit, I glanced in my driver's side rear view mirror
and noted the dim red glow of my brake lights on the brush to the
side of the road and on the dirt.
But something was off. I could see a dark bulge to the
side of the car. It was protruding outward from
the rear bumper. It seemed to be right up against
the car, but it was too dark to make out any details.
Then it moved. There was someone there,
crouching. I looked with more focus to try
to make out what it was. When the brake lights revealed
an opening mouth and the appearance of a set of teeth and
long canine fangs, my heart started racing and my hands were
trembling. I started to move forward to get
past the car, saying nothing so as not to alarm the others.
I kept 1 foot on the brake to keep the brake lights on.
As I watched it in the mirror. As I pulled forward, it stood
up. Its body was wide and thick.
It stood on 2 legs and was humanoid in its basic structure.
It had large hands with thick claws at the end of each finger.
It was covered in hair, except for its chest, which was
reminiscent of a gorilla's chest.
Its head was exactly like the head of a bison, only with thick
fangs and an angry grimace on its face.
It even had horns. It stood there as I drove off.
No one else had seen it. With a wavering voice, I asked
my buddy to have the bolt cutters ready.
I said we needed to get out of there fast.
He suggested we turn around, but I informed him that there wasn't
room on the road for that and I wasn't going back that way no
matter what. I increased my speed and held it
there, even though the bumps were making the passengers
angry. My buddy could tell something
was wrong. He asked me if I saw something
else besides the possible man in the car.
I replied only to tell him to have the bolt cutters ready and
to work as fast as he could. When we got to the Northgate up
ahead, there was a small opening in the trees to the left and as
we passed it, a dark figure on all fours ran towards the car
from the clearing. It slammed into the driver's
side door hard, making a loud boom and pushing the car
sideways about half a foot. The girl screamed.
I put the pedal to the floor. I checked the rear view and the
thing was on all four sideways in the road.
It looked up towards us and then gave chase as we speed along the
road. We passed an old police car off
to the right in a ditch. The driver's side door was open
and several of its windows were broken.
Around the next bend in the road there was an old station wagon.
The windows were all broken on this one and it was positioned
sideways across the road, almost blocking our way.
Inside we could see the decayed remains of a family, mom and dad
in the front seat with skeletal smiles and two teenage kids in
the back, both rotted and mummified.
The girls were in full freak out mode and my buddy was now
holding the bolt cutters up as if to use them as a weapon if
need be. I was banging over the bumps and
the beast was pounding on the trunk as it tried to catch up.
We had the gate insight when I realized that this wasn't going
to work. It would be upon us by the time
my buddy could get the chain cut.
There were no other side roads and not enough room to turn
around. The gate was far too sturdy to
bust through with the car. When I stopped, it was going to
break a window and at least one of us was going to get hurt.
There was no way around that. Now I had to make a choice.
A choice I hope none of you will ever have to make.
A choice I have to live with for the rest of my life.
Later, a man in a black suit would show up at the Sheriff's
Office and I'd be released. No sign of me having been
arrested could be found in the public record.
I had to sign a paper preventing me from talking about what
happened for the rest of my life or face A10 year prison sentence
and a $10,000 fine. My father received a new car as
a gift from an anonymous stranger.
The parents of the other three passengers who were with me also
received anonymous compensation. But even now, years later, I
still wake up in a cold sweat. At night.
I can still hear their screams. Late one night, in the quiet,
dimly lit shopping center of Glendale, Colorado, I found
myself stepping out of a Walgreens.
The clock on my dashboard blinked 11:15 PM as I ventured
into the almost deserted parking lot.
Sparse streetlights cast eerie pools of light amidst the
darkness. Little did I know that this
ordinary night would soon transform into a nightmare.
As I ambled through the lot, an inexplicable wave of terror
washed over me, sending shivers down my spine.
Panic gripped my heart, and I felt an overwhelming sense of
dread that I couldn't quite explain.
I began to scan my surroundings, frantically searching for any
sign of danger, but there was nothing to rationalize my fear.
Hastening my steps, I reached my car, flung the door open,
ignited the engine, and hastily maneuvered out of the parking
lot onto the desolate St. Almost miraculously, the ominous
sensation dissipated as soon as I left the vicinity.
Perplexed and shaken, I pondered what could have triggered such
an intense fear within me. I retraced my steps, mentally
exiting Walgreens, scrutinizing the parking lot, walking toward
my car, and finally opening the car door.
I had examined my surroundings diligently, desperately
searching for A cause, but nothing and no one had drawn my
attention. Nevertheless, the fear had
vanished as swiftly as it had come, leaving me to wonder about
the inexplicable source of my dread.
The following night, my work concluded at 10:30 PM, and as I
headed towards my car once more, the terror returned with a
vengeance. This time, I scrutinized my
surroundings more carefully. As I reached the edge of the
parking lot where the path led to the street, I finally saw it.
A man positioned about 10 yards to the right, near another
store. He was leaning over a trash
receptacle, his body hunched as if he were violently I'll.
The sight of him sent a shock of terror coursing through my
veins, and without hesitation I leaped into my car, turned the
key and speed away from the parking lot in a frantic frenzy.
What was it about that man that filled me with such an
overwhelming fear? What had he been doing that I
interpreted as menacing, threatening or life threatening?
The feeling of impending doom was undeniable, but the reasons
remained elusive. The subsequent night brought the
same routine. Work late, exit Walgreens and
experience a surge of terror. This time I decided to
investigate further. Instead of heading to my car, I
turned left and approach the man, studying him closely.
As I drew nearer, I watched him with heightened scrutiny, yet
there was no noticeable movement behind the trash receptacle that
obscured his actions. Approximately 40 or 50 feet
away, I heard a peculiar sound and unsettling labored
breathing. My steps faltered as I drew
within 5 feet of him, my heart pounding in my chest, frozen in
fear, I gazed up at this towering figure.
He stood at an astounding height, perhaps 7 feet or more,
and his emaciated form had long, spindly arms that reach down to
his knees. He wore black pants and his
head, crowned with long Gray hair, seemed eerily human.
However, his Gray skin and pale, seemingly blind eyes made him
anything but ordinary. As he slowly straightened
himself, blood oozed from his mouth, coating his lips and
dripping onto his attire. An unsettling smile spread
across his face, revealing blood stained teeth.
The image was a horrifying tableau that held me captive in
a nightmare I couldn't escape. Paralyzed with terror, I stood
there, unable to move as the grotesque being continued to
lick the blood from his lips. He never uttered a word, his
silence amplifying the terror that had taken hold of me.
Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the spell broke and I
regained control of my body. Without a second thought, I
pivoted and sprinted to my car, the engine roaring to life as I
speed out of the parking lot and towards the safety of my home.
In the aftermath of this haunting encounter, question
swirled in my mind. Had I imagined it?
Was it a mere illusion, or had I truly witnessed something beyond
comprehension? The answer was chillingly
straightforward. What I had experienced was
undeniably real. Yet the nature of the creature
remained an enigma. Was it a man, a beast, or
something from another dimension or realm altogether?
I couldn't provide definitive answers, only describe the
visceral sensations of fear and impending peril that course
through me that fateful night. In hindsight, I can attest to
the undeniable reality of the encounter, the palpable fear,
the sense of physical threat, and the surreal image of a tall,
emaciated figure covered in blood with a chilling smile.
Whether it was human or something otherworldly, I may
never know, but one thing remains certain.
The horrors of that night were real.
In the heart of my town, nestled within a shroud of eerie
whispers and unsettling legends, there exists A mysterious lake,
a place that has cultivated a dark reputation over the years.
The debate surrounding this enigmatic body of water is as
heated as the summer sun that blazes overhead.
Some contend that those who find their tragic demise in its
depths do so by their own choosing, while others argue
that the lake itself possesses an ominous power that lures
unsuspecting souls to their watery graves.
Though the lake bears a proper name, it has long been forgotten
by the townsfolk, who now simply refer to it as Dead Lake.
The Dead lake draws people in like moths to a flame, a dapper
post office clerk once confided to me during a chance encounter
at a local bar. It's like that Japanese forest.
Some people drowned there, and then it's sort of created a
Streisand effect where other sad people would go there to pass,
mused A wispy university type at a quaint cafe.
It's the devil. It's always the devil proclaim
my Aunt Shirley, a staunch believer that anything beyond
the church's walls was the nefarious handiwork of Satan
Incorporated. Though their tales carried an
air of the supernatural, I was skeptical of their claims.
In fact, I had ventured to swim in Dead Lake countless times,
and I found it to be a rather charming spot.
Thanks to the macabre legend that clung to its waters like a
shadow, I often had the lake entirely to myself in moments of
jest. I would even imagine myself as
the Queen of Dead Lake, swimming amidst the memory of those who
had perished there. It was all of course, a rabies
ridden bunch of Hoo Ha's in my eyes.
In our small uneventful town where conversations rarely
strayed from the monotonous routine of the factory on Grover
St. or the local bar known as Ducks owned by a man known as
Duck. Though he never referred to
himself as such, adding a layer of small town peer pressure to
the establishments name, Dead Lake was an ever present source
of intrigue. As Halloween approached, the
legend of the lake was rekindled with fervor.
Every conversation seemed to revolve around it, cautioning
against nocturnal visits, daytime excursions, or any
interaction with the lake whatsoever.
Tales of spirits walking on its surface, a blasphemy in the eyes
of my Aunt Shirley, who firmly believed it to be the work of
the devil. Trademark of Satan Incorporated
abounded The lake was deemed cursed, double cursed, and then
allegedly subjected to triple curses by witches and Satanists
who sacrificed babies beneath the ominous glow of the blood
moon. All this spooky talk ignited an
audacious idea within me. What if I went for a midnight
swim on Halloween eve? If Dead Lake was more than just
a lake, then this would be the time to uncover its secrets.
Perhaps a part of me yearned for the unknown, even entertained
the notion of escaping the monotonous tedium of our small
town through a mysterious, watery demise.
With no pressing matters on the horizon, I resolved to carry out
my plan on that spine tingling October day.
I informed my parents that I would be trick or treating with
friends well into the late hours of the night in our town.
Even high schoolers resorted to dressing up and seeking candy as
a form of entertainment, a convenient alibi.
Clad in mundane attire adorned with glittering horns atop my
head, I playfully informed my parents that I was masquerading
as the devil, sticking my tongue out and forming horn symbols
with my hands. They chuckled at my antics but
warned me to avoid my Aunt Shirley, whose religious fervor
would necessitate 6 months of church attendance to appease.
To be fair, my alibi was not entirely fabricated.
I ventured out around 7:00 PM and met up with two friends,
Sarah and Jake, who were dressed as Red Riding Hood and the Big
Bad Wolf, respectively. We roamed the town, engaging in
the time honored tradition of trick or treating.
As the hours passed, our candy bags grew heavier and Jake
produced 1/2 bottle of whiskey pilfered from his father's
stash. We imbibed it in large swallows,
chasing the acrid taste with candy to mask the flavor in a
comfortably buzzed state. I bad Sarah and Jake farewell
around 11:00 PM, informing them that I was heading home, all the
while intending to make my way to Dead Lake without their
interference. I arrived at Dead Lake a short
while before midnight. The silvery moon cast an eerie
glow upon the water, it's reflection shimmering in the
gentle ripples that traverse the surface.
Naturally, I was alone, and my sweat soaked body eagerly sought
respite from the heat of the night.
The whiskey's warmth still coursed within me, and with
nothing but candy to temper it, the buzz persisted.
I consulted my watch, the digital display reading 11:58
PM. Swiftly I shed my clothing and
descended into the water with anticipation.
Initially, the experience felt rather ordinary.
There was no immediate sense of foreboding, though the Halloween
ambience permeated my thoughts. My mind conjured images of cheap
store bought witches and bed sheet ghosts with eye holes,
moth chomped in a feeble attempt at spookiness.
The lake itself seemed unremarkable, its modest size
enticing me to swim to its center and back.
Perhaps, I mused, being surrounded by the impenetrable
darkness at the lake's heart would provide a glimpse into the
sinister legend of Dead Lake. As I swam an unusual sensation
course through the water akin to an imperceptible current gently
pulling me toward the lake's depths, I attributed it to the
lingering effects of the whiskey and continued my journey.
After all, currents were the whims of the vast ocean, not a
concern in the confines of a small town lake.
Upon reaching the lake center, I allowed my legs to dangle
beneath me, their languid movements keeping my head above
the inky surface, I rotated to survey my surroundings, half
expecting a miraculous encounter with the divine.
However, no such revelation awaited me.
Though I harbored no expectations, a sense of
disappointment still gnawed at me.
I resolved to swim back to shore and head home, savoring the
candy as I went, hoping to wash away the whiskey's acrid taste.
But then, after a few strokes, something peculiar occurred once
more. The mysterious force, which I
had dismissed as a mere current, intensified its grip, pulling me
downward. It wasn't just my legs this
time, it was my entire torso. It was as though the lake itself
sought to submerge me. Panic began to creep in.
Had my inebriation been more severe than I had realized?
Was this the grim reality of Dead Lake, a place where
intoxicated souls met a watery demise?
However, my resolve as a strong swimmer compelled me to press
on. Not 50 feet from the shoreline,
I found myself dragged beneath the surface.
I could feel no physical entity clutching at me.
It was as though the very water possessed A malevolent intent.
In mere seconds, I was submerged to a depth of at least five
feet. Panic intensified as I struggled
to discern which way was up. The inexorable force tugged at
me, urging me to gaze downward as I propelled myself upward.
Or perhaps it was downward. I followed the unseen beckoning.
What I beheld in the murky depths of the lake defied
comprehension. The lake bed, bereft of rocks,
aquatic vegetation or fish, was instead littered with faces,
hundreds if not thousands of them, tightly packed together,
their wide black eyes appearing on the brink of bursting open.
The Crimson hues suffusing the water lent the faces a grotesque
shade of purple, as if they teetered on the precipice of
life, their mouths agape, struggling for breath in an
agonizing silence. I couldn't tear my gaze away.
All those faces stared at me with 1000 jet black eyes.
A primal instinct, a need to breathe, surged through my
subconscious, but I couldn't avert my eyes from the ghastly
tableau before me. Time seemed to hang in the
balance as my lungs grew heavy with the pressing need for
oxygen. It was a relentless battle
within me, torn between the imperative to breathe and the
magnetic pull of the horrifying spectacle.
In the end, the involuntary need to survive prevailed and I
gasped for air, but the two conflicting desires intertwined,
and I drew in the Crimson water instead.
Panic erupted within me as I struggled to discern which way
was up as I sank deeper into the abyss.
Then I felt myself rising, my limbs propelled by a force
beyond my control. When I broke the surface, I
found myself once more in the black, tranquil waters of the
lake. I coughed up water and mucus,
desperately gasping for air as I swam toward the shore.
My muscles ached and my strength waned, but I managed to pull
myself onto dry land. I sprawled on my stomach,
coughing up a vile mixture of water, mucus and bile.
Attempting to regain my composure after my lungs were
sufficiently cleared, I heaved and expelled the remnants of the
whiskey that had plagued my stomach.
It was a far from graceful moment.
Once my legs regained their strength, I trudged my way home.
I slept for a full 12 hours, dismissing the night's events as
a bizarre alcohol induced hallucination.
It all seemed like a distant, nightmarish memory, something I
had done while inebriated and only half recalled.
Perhaps it was a momentary lapse of sanity or a manifestation of
psychosis. However, from that night
forward, every time I closed my eyes, I was plagued by dreams of
water. Water that was tinted, a deep,
malevolent red water that ensnared and pulled me
relentlessly, refusing to let go.
In some instances, I awoke in the middle of the street,
precisely halfway between my home and the lake, a
disconcerting phenomenon that became increasingly frequent.
I live in constant fear that one day I will awaken from one of
these nightmarish dreams, only to find myself submerged in the
red waters of Dead Lake once more.
The faces, those ghastly, suffocating faces, will greet me
with their unrelenting gaze, and I will succumb to the watery
depths, my desperate cries drowned by the silent chorus of
1000 eyes. Nobody will know where I have
gone, and the whimsical legend of Dead Lake will persist among
the superstitious residents of this town.
Perhaps another bored teenager will, like me, challenge the
confines of small mindedness and venture to unlock the Lakes
mysteries. If Dead Lake is destined to
become my final resting place, all I can do is sound a warning
to others. Do not go to Dead Lake not
merely due to the fanciful tales spun by the townsfolk, replete
with colorful exaggerations of its malevolence.
Do not go there, for the reality that awaits is far grimmer and
more dreadful than any myth could ever convey.
It is not worth the risk to find out.
We grew up in the heart of New England, nestled by the side of
an ancient forest that held secrets whispered through
generations. Whenever we ventured into the
woods, Mom enforced 3 strict rules Stay on the path, Always
keep moving, Never stop, never approach the tall, emaciated
trees. In my early years, we lived
closer to downtown and rarely ventured near the forest.
However, when my parents split up, we moved in with Nana, who
lived alone by the edge of the woods, a place now considered a
primeval forest untouched by time.
The original settlers of New England had cleared most of the
old growth forests, but pockets like these remained shrouded in
mystery and age. By the time I reached my teenage
years, my friends began to explore the woods.
They indulged in adolescent vices, beer, weed, fishing, and
hunting. I, on the other hand, stayed
away, driven by an inexplicable fear that you will soon
understand. Our move to Nana's house came
when I was 8. Although she had suffered
strokes that limited her speech, she remained resilient and
independent. Her house was bordered by the
woods, and to catch the school bus we had to trek through them,
a quarter mile journey that unfolded the beauty of nature,
especially in the fall. The path paralleled A narrow
river where Beavers sometimes played and the mornings offered
sightings of deer, Canadian geese, and foxes.
But as we left each day, Mom's words rang in our ears.
Stick to the path, keep moving, and for the love of God, stay
away from the skinny trees. But why only the skinny trees?
For years, we remained ignorant. As I strolled along, I pondered
the concept of skinny trees. Were they simply young trees, or
could some ancient trees remain thin?
When you're a child, such questions can captivate your
mind. Sometimes lost in daydreams, I'd
unconsciously slow down, edging closer to the slender trees
along the path's edge, only to be jolted back to reality by
Mom's warnings. Stick to the path and keep
moving. After weeks of living with Nana,
she managed to utter some cryptic advice as if she had
been carefully considering her words.
Don't go near the branches, she muttered as Mom handed us our
lunches and ushered us out the door.
My younger sister, a year my junior, had a different
approach. She trusted Mom and Nana
implicitly. To her, they possessed vital
knowledge, and obeying their warnings was enough.
She didn't delve into the mysteries, but my curious mind
couldn't resist. Nana herself was an enigma.
Her difficulty in forming words contrasted sharply with her
razor sharp mind. It created an unsettling
atmosphere, one filled with unspoken secrets.
Nana's family traced back to the Mayflower, and while she wasn't
religious, there were certain things she knew how to make a
soothing hot toddy, cultivate tomatoes in the shade, and avoid
attracting the attention of the skinnies.
What's a skinny, you may wonder. Even now, I can't say for sure.
Mom and Nana were tight lipped about them.
Mom initially dismissed them as mere legends, but Nana broke
that silence. Looking back, I believe they
kept the skinnies hidden from me because they feared my curiosity
might lead me to seek them out despite the terror they
inspired. So what are these skinnies?
They are towering, emaciated creatures with supernatural
patience. Descriptions vary, but I was
told they could be three to four times taller than a man, yet
much thinner. When they stand still, they
resemble slender poles, a fraction of the width of a
telephone pole, except they aren't straight, instead bent
toward a thin tree used as their camouflage.
They can remain motionless for hours, with only their eyes
occasionally blinking, and they watch with unyielding patience.
Skinnies appear humanoid, arms, legs, faces, but their ability
to blend into the texture and shape of the tree they hide
against is akin to an octopus. They move from one tree to
another only when they're certain they're unseen.
Mom and Nana were terrified of the skinnies because of the mark
of death. According to legend, if a Skinny
touched you, you were marked for a swift demise, a death
sentence. If you venture too close to the
Skinny trees along the path, a Skinny could reach out with its
elongated slender arm and touch you, sealing your fate.
As long as you kept moving and stayed vigilant, you were safe,
not because they were slow, but because they abhorred being
observed. Once I discovered the existence
of skinnies, my curiosity pushed me to inquire with classmates at
school. Initially, no one had heard of
them, and I dismissed them as mere tales.
Then I encountered Lazarus. Laz was a loner, not because he
was an outcast, but because he exuded an aura of strength.
No one dared cross him. He was the type of kid who had
it all figured out. The 1st to own a dirt bike in
our small town. Laz was usually engrossed in
comic books and approaching him was met with indifference.
However, I couldn't resist asking him if he'd heard of
skinnies Lowering his comic book.
He gave me a wry smile mixed with a frown.
I've heard of them. Scene one, too.
My jaw dropped in astonishment. Without waiting to confirm if we
were Speaking of the same creatures, I asked where he'd
encountered them. Where else?
He replied. In the woods.
Laz described how he had gone fishing and felt an ever
intensifying sensation of being watched, something more than
mere observation. It was hunting.
He stayed still, fearing it might be a big cat or a bear
that would charge if he moved. Minutes turned to half an hour
and he decided to leave. But right before he did, he saw
it against a skinny Birch tree bending one way, then the other
stood the towering entity. At first he couldn't comprehend
what he was looking at due to its immense height.
However, the vertical lines etched into the tree weren't
natural. He noticed the creatures, knees
resembling knots in the tree at eye level.
As he looked further up, he discerned spindly fingers,
gnarled shoulders, and an almost indiscernible face.
He had to squint to confirm it was indeed a face.
Just when he thought it was a carving on the tree, the
creature blinked its eyes. Laz panicked, slid down the
riverbank and into the muddy water, drifting away, leaving
his fishing rod behind. Laz's story didn't unfold in a
dramatic manner, It was just the two of us talking.
When he finished, he returned to his comic book as if I hadn't
been there. I walked away stunned.
Skinnies were real, but what about the kiss of death?
That had to be pure superstition, right?
The idea of Skinny's bestowing death with a kiss seemed like
nonsense meant to scare children.
What purpose would such an axe serve for these creatures,
assuming they were real? So on a sweltering Saturday
morning, I undertook extra chores for Nana, earning her
favor. At lunchtime, drenched in sweat
and exhaustion, I gathered the courage to ask her about the
kiss of death. She shook her head sadly, but
offered no further explanation. Several weeks later, in late
August, when the woods teamed with undergrowth, my sister and
I embarked on our familiar journey to the bus stop.
My sister adhered to the rules strictly stay on the path, keep
moving, avoid the skinny trees. I followed the rules too, but I
couldn't help scanning our surroundings closely.
Suddenly, a chilling cry pierced the air.
We froze. The source of the noise was
close, too close for comfort. We looked around, our eyes
scanning the woods. The cry echoed again.
I sensed my sister moving away, though I couldn't see her.
My attention was drawn to a cluster of pine trees.
There I spotted the source of the distress.
A fox had trapped a rabbit in its jaws, and the rabbits.
Cries echoed through the forest. Desperation seized me and I
clapped my hands to startle the fox.
It worked. The fox released its prey.
However, I assumed my sister was right behind me, witnessing the
rescue. Instead, when I turned around,
she was standing on the opposite side of the path, next to a
tall, dark, skinny tree. She had missed the rabbit's
liberation. I gasped, urging her to return
to the path. She obeyed, but she rubbed her
shoulder and looked puzzled. What happened?
I asked. Something touched me, she
replied. I was rendered speechless,
haunted by the implications of her words.
Throughout the remainder of our journey to the bus stop, I
watched my sister like a hawk, silently vowing to protect her
from any harm. Until that moment, I had seen
her as a nuisance, but now I realized I never wanted any harm
to befall her. Later at home, I contemplated
sharing the incident with Nana, but I hesitated.
Perhaps I should have. Maybe something could have been
done. A few weeks later, on a fateful
Saturday, my sister was in a car with her friend's mom on route
to the mall. It wasn't the mom's fault, but a
pickup truck ran a stop sign, causing an accident.
Most occupants sustained minor injuries, but my sister hit her
head and died instantly. In the days that followed, I
revisited the topic of the kiss of death with Nana.
She simply shook her head in sorrow, offering no further
insight. Driven by an overwhelming urge
to understand, I turned to Laz at school.
Even he seemed reluctant to share.
But my despair must have swayed him, for he took me aside.
He explained that the kiss of death was how Skinny's
reproduced. If someone was marked for death,
their demise was all but inevitable.
Upon death, their spirit returned to the forest, to the
very spot where they were marked.
A transformation occurred. They became a skinny.
That moment was the catalyst for a growing idea within me.
I would see my sister again. I believed.
I knew where to find her. I had always been a staunch
skeptic when it came to the supernatural or anything that
defied the realm of the ordinary.
However, my unwavering disbelief was shattered into 1000 pieces
when a series of chilling events unfolded, revealing a
nightmarish truth I could no longer deny.
It all commenced innocently enough.
A curious pattern that I initially dismissed is just
another idiosyncrasy of my husband, Jack.
For weeks, Jack had been rising from our bed at the stroke of
midnight, slipping away into the quiet darkness without
explanation. At first he'd mumble something
vague about needing fresh air, and I, nestled in the comforting
cocoon of our shared history, didn't think much of it.
We all have our quirks, after all, But the insidious change
began to gnaw at the edges of my consciousness last night.
It all came crashing down around me.
The eerie events of that fateful night shattered my illusions.
I awoke with a start. The room bathed in the haunting
glow of the moon. The clock on the night stand
cast its accusatory red digits. 12:15 AM Panic coursed through
me as I stepped into the living room, driven by the gnawing
dread that something was terribly wrong.
There on the sofa sat Jack, an eerie silhouette against the
darkness, his eyes once warm and familiar.
We're now hollow and lifeless, like twin abysses, devoid of any
human essence. Fear crawled up my spine as I
called out to him, my voice trembling like a leaf in a
storm. Jack, are you OK?
The words escaped me in a quivering breath.
Slowly, he turned his head to face me, and an unsettling grin
slithered across his lips, revealing teeth that seemed
unnaturally sharp like the fangs of a predator.
I'm fine, dear, he replied, but his voice carried an unsettling
mechanical tone. Every fiber of my being screamed
that something was profoundly amiss.
This man before me, the love of my life, my partner for years,
was no longer the person I knew. He rose from the couch and moved
past me with an eerie fluid grace, heading towards the
bedroom. My heart raced, pounding in my
chest like a drum. I followed him, unable to quell
my growing unease in the dimly lit bedroom.
He stood before the mirror, his reflection A grotesque
distortion of reality. His eyes were two Obsidian
voids, and his skin seemed to ripple as if something
malevolent pulsed beneath the surface.
A gasp escaped my lips and I recoiled, my fear intensifying.
He turned to me once more, that disconcerting smile never
faltering. You should go back to bed, dear.
Nothing to worry about. But how could I go back to bed
when everything I knew was unraveling before my eyes?
I couldn't ignore the eerie truth that my husband had
transformed into something utterly alien.
I had to know what was happening the following night.
I pretended to be asleep, my mind racing with fear and
curiosity. At the stroke of midnight, Jack
rose from our bed with silent precision.
Clad in my coat and shoes, I trailed him, careful not to make
the slightest sound. He moved with an eerie grace,
one I had never seen in him before.
Down the desolate streets leading me into the heart of
darkness, I kept my distance, hiding in the inky shadows as he
arrived at an old, crumbling building on the outskirts of
town. The place had always emanated an
aura of malevolence, an eerie presence that I could never
quite put my finger on. Jack entered the building, and
after a moment's hesitation, I ventured inside.
What I witnessed within those walls would haunt my nightmares
for all eternity. The interior was shrouded in
shadows, dimly lit by an ethereal, sickly glow.
A group of figures surrounded him, towering, grotesque beings
with pallid, almost translucent skin and eyes that glimmered
with an otherworldly malevolence.
My breath caught in my throat as I watched in paralyzing horror.
They seem to meld with Jack, their forms contorting and
merging until he was no longer recognizable as a human being.
It was as if he was being absorbed into their sinister
collective, consumed by their malevolent essence.
The terror that gripped me was inescapable, and I knew I had to
escape. Slowly, I backed away, my heart
pounding in my chest. I managed to return home
undetected, but the memories of that nightmarish encounter were
etched into my mind forever. The following morning, Jack
returned to our bed, seemingly oblivious to my discovery.
I understood that I could no longer coexist with this
abomination. Masquerading as my husband, I
packed a bag, leaving behind the life we had built together,
vowing never to return to that accursed house.
Now I live in perpetual fear, forever haunted by the specter
of their malevolent presence. I constantly glance over my
shoulder, aware that they may be watching, lurking in the
shadows, waiting for the opportune moment to reclaim me.
Whatever had happened to my husband, that dreadful night had
transformed him into something beyond comprehension, something
monstrous, And now I am plagued by the chilling suspicion that
perhaps he had never been truly human at all.
This morning, as I cowered in my unfamiliar apt, I heard a knock
on the door. An indescribable dread gripped
my soul, and I approached the entrance with trepidation.
When I opened the door, I was confronted with a vision that
would haunt my nightmares for all eternity.
Standing before me was a figure that bore the exact likeness of
my husband, Jack, or at least the man he used to be.
He wore the same clothes, had the same face, and yet I knew it
was an impostor. His eyes, once a warm and
inviting shade of brown, were now nothing more than empty,
soulless voids. He regarded me with a gaze that
sent shivers coursing through my very core, a perverse mimicry of
the affectionate glances he used to bestow upon me.
I missed you, honey, please come home, he uttered, his voice
devoid of any warmth or emotion. Terror surged through my veins
like a relentless tide as I slammed the door shut, locking
it with trembling hands. That thing may have assumed my
husband's appearance, but I was acutely aware that it was no
longer him. Whatever had transpired, that
sinister night had transformed him into something else
entirely, something grotesque and malevolent.
And now it seemed that this abomination had followed me,
lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to
reclaim its prey. I live in constant dread,
knowing that the entity wearing my husband's face is out there
watching and waiting. I can only pray that whatever it
is, it never finds its way back into my life, or worse, into my
new found sanctuary. The memory of my husband's
ghastly metamorphosis and the terror in those empty, soulless
eyes haunt me each passing day, a chilling reminder that some
secrets are best left buried in the abyss of the unknown.
I want to preface this by saying that what I'm about to recount
might sound unbelievable, but it's a story that I've carried
with me for a while now. It all happened back in 2017
when I was 25 years old and I was on a camping trip with my
friends Jay, John, and Alyssa in the Colorado Rocky Mountains
National Park. We were all outdoors enthusiasts
and we had been looking forward to this getaway for quite some
time, but little did we know that this trip would turn into a
nightmare that would haunt us forever.
I'd heard all the stories about people going missing in national
parks, but what we experienced was something entirely
different. Our journey started in Berks
County, Pennsylvania and it was a grueling 3 day drive to reach
the Rockies. We endured long hours on the
road, staying in rundown motels and surviving on sketchy gas
station food. Finally, we arrived at the
National Park, but the cold was more intense than we had
expected. We were well prepared with extra
clothing and supplies to keep us warm in the harsh climate.
Everything seemed normal as we started our trek into the
mountains. Aside from the occasional chilly
breeze, however, things took a disturbing turn as night fell
upon us. We established a base camp about
15 miles deep into the Rockies, where we gathered around a
campfire to cook some food. It was during a late night
bathroom break that I felt an overwhelming sense of unease, a
feeling that we were not alone. It gripped me even before my
foot touched the ground. It was as if some invisible
force was warning me, but I didn't want to alarm my friends,
so I kept it to myself. As the night wore on, that
unsettling feeling lingered, but seemed to ebb away.
I returned to my friends who were already indulging in drinks
and food. Fortunately, the night passed
without incident and we all went to sleep.
However, around 2:37, AMI was abruptly awakened by an intense
sensation of being watched. It was an indescribable feeling,
like when you stare at someone and they suddenly turn to meet
your gaze. I cautiously unzipped my tent
and peered outside, but I saw nothing unusual.
My friends were all inside their tents, seemingly asleep.
I crawled back into my sleeping bag, trying to shake off the
unease, and eventually drifted back to sleep.
The next day seemed ordinary at first.
The sun was shining, but we noticed that it had snowed
lightly overnight. I tried to rationalize my
earlier feelings, attributing them to the mountainous terrain
and wildlife. However, something felt off.
The silence was deafening. In the woods you expect to hear
the sounds of nature, but it was eerily quiet and it sent shivers
down my spine. I turned to Jay, who had been
drinking since noon, and asked if he noticed the unusual
silence. He jokingly suggested that I was
seeing monsters referencing some of my past Cryptid encounters.
My friends Jay and Alyssa were more open minded about such
things, but I didn't want to spoil the mood with spooky
stories, so I brushed it off. We continued our journey deeper
into the park and all was well until night time.
John was intoxicated, having pitched his tent haphazardly by
then. It was around 6:00 PM and we
were far from our starting point.
Jay and Alyssa, Jay's girlfriend, and I set up our
tents and started a fire to cook dinner.
As I was outside tending to the fire, I decided to take a walk.
Alone. I left my shotgun behind with
Jay, telling him to use it if necessary.
I ventured out enjoying the solitude and the setting sun,
but the earlier unease still gnawed at me.
After an hour, I realized that it was getting dark and I should
head back to camp. However, the feeling of being
watched returned, intensifying with each step I took.
It was as if an invisible presence was stalking me despite
my discomfort. I pressed on, hoping it was just
my imagination. But after an hour of walking, I
decided to turn back. The sense of being watched was
overwhelming and I couldn't shake it.
I retraced my steps and soon returned to camp.
Alyssa had woken up. John and Jay and Alyssa were in
their tent trying to relax. I joined them, relieved to be
back at camp. We all shared a meal, laughing
and enjoying each other's company.
For a brief moment, everything felt normal again.
As we finished our meal and prepared to sleep, John
mentioned that he needed to use the restroom.
I made a jest about there being no bathrooms in the wilderness
and he walked away towards the trees.
A short while later, I found myself alone outside, tending to
the campfire and lost in thought.
That's when the feeling of being watched returned with a
vengeance. It was so overwhelming that I
couldn't ignore it. I called out for John, but there
was no response. I shouted louder, but still
nothing. Anxiety gripped me as I realized
something was terribly wrong. I didn't want to alarm Jay and
Alyssa, so I decided to search for John myself.
I followed the direction he had gone, yelling his name and
scanning the surroundings. It felt like an eternity, but I
couldn't find any trace of him. Finally, I stopped and looked
around more carefully. The eerie silence was back and
it was now unsettlingly quiet. It was the kind of silence that
you'd expect when predators were lurking nearby, but this felt
different. I returned to camp and found Jay
and Alyssa in a state of panic. They claimed to have seen a 13
foot tall monster staring at them from the tree line about
200 yards away. Alyssa had sprinted back to camp
and the snow had started to fall heavily.
I immediately grabbed my shotgun, ensuring it was loaded
with the special dragon breath style shells my cousin had given
me. I instructed Jay and Alyssa to
stay close together and handed Jay a cast iron sheet for
protection. I emphasized that they shouldn't
break the line we formed and that they should run to the car
as fast as possible, leaving me behind.
They were reluctant to leave me, but I convinced them it was the
safest option. They took off running and I
watched them go, my heart pounding with fear for their
safety. I stayed behind to confront
whatever was out there, my shotgun at the ready.
As I waited, the snowfall intensified, making it even
harder to see, but that feeling of impending danger grew
stronger. Suddenly I felt a force graze
past me, and before I knew it, an enormous icicle, about 3 feet
long pierced the air. It missed me, but served as a
warning. I looked around frantically and
spotted John's lifeless body, an icicle protruding from his neck.
It was a gruesome sight, and I couldn't fathom what kind of
creature could inflict such damage.
My mind raced with thoughts of cryptids and mythical creatures,
and I remembered hearing about something called a wug in recent
stories, but this was far from its usual territory.
I thought of my friend Sam White Owl, who had faced similar
creatures in the past. He had the scars to prove it,
and I wondered if I should contact him for advice, but at
that moment my priority was survival.
I heard Alysa screaming in the distance and I hurried back to
camp. Jay and Alyssa were terrified,
claiming they had seen the creature again.
The snowfall had intensified, but I knew I had to protect
them. I instructed them to run to the
car and didn't mention John's fate.
To avoid further panic as they fled, I remained behind, facing
the monster alone. The snow storm raged on and
visibility was limited. I remembered that dragon breath
rounds were effective against wugs, which were weak to fire.
I aimed my shotgun at the approaching creature, a behemoth
standing at least 13 feet tall, and fired.
The round struck its face and the creature burst into flames.
It let out a horrific screech and stumbled backward.
I fired again, hitting it in the chest, and it emitted another
agonized cry. I watched as it writhed in pain,
muttering something about a horrible death.
The creatures yellow eyes glowed briefly before it succumbed to
the flames and went still. I knew it was dead, and I
couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions.
I apologize to John for not being a better friend.
And I hoped he had found peace. I rejoined Jay and Alyssa at the
car as dawn broke and we drove away in silence.
They were shaken, and I couldn't blame them for not fully
believing my account of what had happened.
A year has passed since that night, and I finally told Alyssa
the truth about John. Jay and Alyssa eventually broke
up, and I haven't heard from Jay since.
The experience affected each of us differently, and I've
considered cutting ties with everyone involved.
I've also contemplated joining the group of people who hunt
down these creatures, hoping to make the world safer.
Whether you believe my story or not, just remember that there
are things lurking in the dark, watching and waiting.
Be safe out there for you. Never know what you might
encounter. I can't believe I'm sitting here
writing this at 3:00 AM, but I need to get this off my chest.
I don't know what happened to me and my friends, and it's been
eating at me ever since. Please forgive any grammar
mistakes, I'm just trying to make sense of it all.
Two days ago I was with my friends Jess and Andy at my
grandparents house while they were out of town.
I'm usually the caretaker of the house when they're away and my
friends wanted to hang out, so I invited them over.
After finishing my chores, I had this idea to take them to my old
hideout in the woods. I'd warned them that the woods
were off limits and my uncle would be furious if he caught us
there. Andy was hesitant, but
eventually they both agreed to come along.
I didn't force them. We were just a bunch of teens
looking for some adventure. We entered the woods and I
reminded everyone that it would be a challenging climb.
Jess pulled out her phone and started recording while Andy
expressed his unease. Still, with some convincing from
Jess, he decided to join us. Jess even jokingly screamed
bring it on. Little did we know her words
would come back to haunt us. As we venture deeper into the
woods. Andy suddenly stopped and
mentioned an eerie feeling. I brushed it off, thinking he
was just overthinking things. We reached my old hideout in a
few minutes, but Jess was getting loud and obnoxious.
I had to remind her to be quiet because of my uncle's strict
rules. Andy then asked if we could
leave because his back was bothering him.
We reluctantly agreed and started our way back, but right
then things took a horrifying turn.
I told them I didn't feel anything strange, but at that
very moment I saw an image that chilled me to the core.
It was a shadowy figure, about 6 feet tall, muscular, with
twisted horns, crawling on all fours.
I shared what I saw, and Jess immediately complained of a
sharp pain in her stomach. Collapsing to the ground.
Panicked, I looked at Andy, urging him to help me get her
back on her feet. She was conscious, but
disoriented. We started walking with her, but
after a few steps she regained consciousness and said I'm
scared. Then we heard a terrifying
scream from somewhere in the distance.
Without thinking, we sprinted back to the house.
Upon our return, Andy and I were freaking out, but Jess seemed
oddly calm, as if the terror had dissipated.
We asked her what was wrong, but she wouldn't respond.
After about 5 minutes, she started mumbling in a language I
didn't recognize. Definitely not English.
That was strange because I'd only ever heard her speak
English. Her mumbling soon turned into
eerie laughter. I told Andy to take Jess to the
car while I rushed inside to lock all the doors.
I secured the house and then sprinted back to my car.
Andy had Jess buckled in and I quickly got behind the wheel.
I accelerated, heading to my dad's house to grab some sage,
because at this point we were convinced that something was
wrong with Jess, something otherworldly.
I raced through back roads, realizing that the longer we
stayed in the car, the worst Jess's condition became.
She was unresponsive, catatonic, even.
We finally reached my dad's house and I ran inside to grab
the sage. I instructed Andy to take Jess
to the backyard to avoid prying neighbor's eyes.
I lit the sage and began smudging, reciting words like
this is her body, not yours. You need to leave.
I do not welcome you here. It took about 20 minutes, but
eventually Jess started returning to her normal self.
We asked her what happened but she claimed not to remember
anything and said she felt trapped.
About 6 or 7 minutes later my dad called to say he was on his
way home from work and offered to get us some dinner.
We started to calm down and for a moment it felt like nothing
had happened, but unfortunately that wasn't the end of the
story. The next day, Andy didn't show
up at school. I texted him to check if he was
OK and his response sent chills down my spine.
He said he was fine, but had experienced something that kept
him up until 3:00 AM. His mom allowed him to stay
home. Then he added.
I think a spirit attached itself to me, an evil one.
Jess also messaged me saying something felt terribly wrong at
her house. She sent a video of her walking
into her room, where the blinds were moving on their own,
objects were falling off shelves, and she was alone with
her family out. It was eerie.
I couldn't shake the feeling either, especially when I was at
my dad's house. My Guinea pigs were behaving
strangely, displaying more aggression towards each other
and even towards me. I couldn't explain any of it and
it was all driving me insane.