There's a hidden lake a short walk away from my house in
Parsonfield, Maine. I've been going fishing there
for as long as I've lived here. It's hidden away from any roads
or houses, offering perfect privacy, and I'm usually the
only one out on the lake fishing.
In fact, I leave my kayak in the same spot by the lake whenever
I'm not using it. It's easier than lugging the
thing back and forth from my house to the lake.
I leave it leaning up against a huge tree every time.
The kayak is heavy enough not to fall over from a windstorm or
anything, and I also keep it covered to prevent critters from
taking refuge inside. It was a warm summer evening.
I had been out on the lake for about an hour and had already
caught a few trout which I'd thrown into the cooler.
It was dusk at this point, and the little bit of light left in
the sky was disappearing behind the trees.
I was planning to bring it in soon, but just then I heard
sounds from the edge of the lake.
I turned and saw someone standing at the edge of the
water, tipping a barrel of some kind over pouring its contents
into the lake. It looked like they were
polluting the lake with something.
I took it upon myself to yell out excuse me, what are you
doing? The person looked up at me and
then ran into the woods with the contents of the barrel still
pouring into the water. I looked more closely at the
liquid being poured out. It looked like a dark red
liquid, though it was dark out, so I can't say with 100%
certainty that it was red, but it was very dark.
I felt a sense of unease creep up throughout my body.
I decided I wanted to leave. As a big nature guy, seeing
people littering or polluting the environment makes me sick.
I genuinely couldn't resist shouting something at that
person, but I didn't feel comfortable here any longer.
I planned on reporting this to the Department of Environmental
Protection. I paddled the kayak back to my
usual spot, took all of my gear off the kayak before pulling it
out of the water, and as I was putting the cover over the
kayak, I heard one single snap of something not far away, like
the crunch of something under a person's shoe.
I turned and was about to say who's there, but I decided
against it. I finished covering the kayak
quicker than I ever had before. I didn't even bother standing it
up to lean on the tree this time.
I left it on the ground, picked up my gear and cooler, and
started quickly walking out of the woods and out to the road,
which led to my house. It was only a couple of minutes
of a walk and I was back home. I kept looking over my shoulder
the entire time though, thinking someone was behind me.
I put my gear in the shed real quick, then went inside.
I never locked the door so quickly.
I was genuinely spooked. I rinsed off the trout and put
them in the fridge, planning on cooking them tomorrow.
Tonight I just heated up some leftovers as the food was in the
microwave. There was a knock at my front
door. The fear and dread that I was
feeling the entire walk back to the house returned in an instant
and my suspicion that I was being followed home was
basically confirmed. I mean, who else would be
knocking on my door this late? My lights were on, my car was in
the driveway. Whoever it was knew I was in
here. I had all the shades closed,
though, so nobody could look inside.
They knocked on the door again. The microwave beeped as the
timer hit zero. I'm sure whoever was outside
heard it. All the windows were cracked
open. A moment later.
There was a knock now on the window and a man's voice said
through the window. Excuse me, I think you saw me at
the lake earlier. I just like to explain myself.
There was absolutely no chance I was opening the door to this
person for them to stalk me to my house.
Told me this was a dangerous person.
They repeatedly knocked on the window and kept yelling hello
through it. I decided to acknowledge him now
that he was getting more aggressive.
I yelled yo leave or I'll call the police.
I intended to either way, but it was still a threat to get him to
leave. The man responded calmly, now
saying Sir, if you could just open the front door I'll explain
everything to you. I repeated my threat and I
didn't hear his voice again. At this point I shut and locked
every window in the house and turned on the ACI also made a
report to the non-emergency police number detailing both the
barrel being dumped into the lake and the man coming to my
house. I also made an online report
with the Department of Environmental Protection.
Making these two reports honestly made me feel a little
better about going to sleep that night, but thank God I'm a light
sleeper in the middle of the night.
Like 2 AMI heard a crash from downstairs.
I immediately sprang out of my bed and grabbed my Glock from
the closet. I heard someone's attempt at
quiet footsteps coming up the creaky wooden steps.
I had my Glock loaded in hand as I stood behind my dresser right
by my closet aiming at the door. I heard very slow creeping
towards my door. My bedroom door is closest to
the stairs, so it was naturally the first door that they would
approach, and sure enough, I heard the doorknob slowly press
down, and then the door pushed open.
I saw nothing but the man's silhouette enter the room.
I flicked on the lamp next to me so he could see my gun, and I
screamed. Get on the ground now.
He raised his hands in the air and seemed for a second to be
motioning for me to calm down. He had a small blade in his
hand. I told him to drop it, but then
he said calmly I'm leaving and he turned and ran for
downstairs. I yelled at him to stop, but he
clearly took the chance on me being too afraid to pull the
trigger. I heard him leave through the
front door. I ran downstairs to lock the
front door right away and then called 911.
My living room window was shattered.
Glass was all over the floor. I kept my sight on that broken
window until the police officer showed up.
I had to explain that I already made a non-emergency report of
what happened earlier in fear of waiting too long by morning for
the barrel to be gone in the darkness.
I went with two of the officers who showed up to my house to
where I saw that man dumping the barrel into the lake.
But after 20 minutes of walking around looking for it, it was
gone. The man must have made sure not
to leave it behind. I gave my best description of
the man to the police for their report.
The man was a short, bearded white man with a receding
hairline and glasses, wearing a black flannel shirt and black
pants. After the police left, I stayed
in the living room all night with my gun next to me watching
TV. No way in hell was I going to
sleep with a broken window and some nut job out there.
At dawn, my brothers came over to help me fix the window.
My brother Dale stayed at the house while my other brother and
I went to Home Depot to get the window and parts.
Dale stayed at the house with me for a few nights till things
cooled down. My not so wild theory is that
the barrel contained human remains, possibly dissolved in
some kind of acid. Why else would that man follow
me home and then break into my house to potentially murder me?
Trust your gut if something feels wrong, I knew if I opened
my door to that man, something terrible might have happened to
me. It was just another ordinary
Friday. Or so I thought as I lounged in
our living room, the sunlight lazily stretching across the
floor, our house nestled on the edge of dense woods, always felt
like a haven away from the bustling town.
My brothers Drew and Jake were upstairs, lost in their world of
video games, their shouts and laughter occasionally drifting
down to me. Michael, the eldest, was
supposedly in charge, but he was more absorbed in his phone
conversation with his girlfriend than in any of us.
I'm Sophie by the way, 16 now, but was 14 at the time, with
long mocha brown hair streaked with fawn highlights and deep
black eyes. I'm the only girl among my
brothers that day. I was dressed casually in a
white long sleeve square shirt and dark Gray sweatpants, a
typical outfit for a relaxed day at home.
As I scrolled through my phone, a sudden knocking sound from the
sliding door leading to the porch made me look up.
I frowned, peering through the glass, but saw nothing.
Assuming it was just a branch or some animal, I shrugged it off
and returned to my phone, but the knocking persisted, more
insistent this time. Curiosity piqued, I paused,
setting my phone aside. The woods were usually our
playground, familiar and inviting, but something felt off
that evening. The sun was beginning to dip
below the trees, casting long shadows that turned the familiar
into something more sinister. Probably just drew.
Trying to scare me, I muttered to myself as I stood up.
I wasn't easily frightened, but the emptiness of the house, save
for the distant noise of video games, made me feel unusually
alone. Michael's voice, a muffled
murmur from his room, didn't offer much comfort.
Approaching the sliding door, I hesitated, my hand hovering over
the handle. The knocking had stopped, and
for a moment I considered calling Michael, but pride and
the residual bravery from countless afternoons playing in
those woods kept me from shouting for help.
I slid the door open, just a crack, enough to peek outside.
The cool evening breeze brushed against my face, carrying the
earthy scent of the forest. I listened, holding my breath,
but heard nothing over the rustling leaves.
Hello. My voice was a cautious whisper,
half hoping for no response. Silence greeted me, and I pushed
the door a little wider, stepping onto the porch.
The wood felt cold under my feet, the usual comforting
creaks now sounding ominous. I scanned the tree line, my
heart thumping in my ears. That's when I saw it, a figure
partly obscured by an old gnarled tree.
It was just standing there, eerily still.
The figure was dressed in a black hoodie and ripped blue
jeans, and for a split second I thought it might be one of my
brothers playing a prank. But then the figure moved, or
rather shifted in a way that seemed unnatural.
In the fading light, I couldn't see a face, just the dark hollow
where it should be. A chill ran down my spine, and
the woods suddenly didn't seem so inviting.
My mind screamed to run, to call out for Michael, but my feet
were rooted in place, as if the cold had seeped into my bones.
The figure took a step forward, and that broke the spell.
I stumbled back, slamming the sliding door shut and locking
it. My heart raced as I backed away,
eyes fixed on the figure that now seem to have disappeared as
I retreated to the safety of the couch.
I tried to convince myself it was just my imagination, spurred
by the shadows and solitude. But the fear had settled in a
stark reminder that the woods, as much as they were our
playground, held secrets in their depths.
And tonight, it seemed one of those secrets had come knocking.
There I was, back on the couch, clutching my phone with shaking
hands. Every nerve in my body was on
edge, alert to every sound, every shadow that moved across
the room. Michael's voice still drifted
from upstairs, but it sounded so distant, almost like it was
coming from another world. Drew and Jake's game noises had
faded into a background buzz. My heart thumped painfully
against my ribs as I tried to convince myself that what I'd
seen was just my imagination. I couldn't sit still.
The image of the figure by the tree haunted me, pulling
together every ounce of courage I had left.
I decided I needed to know if it was real or just a trick of the
light. You're being ridiculous, Sophie,
I whispered to myself as I stood up.
The safety of the brightly lit room beckoned me to stay, but
the unanswered questions pushed me towards the door again.
Slowly, I edged toward the sliding door, my fingers
trembling as they reached for the lock.
The click of the latch seemed louder than usual.
In the quiet of the evening, I slid the door open just a crack
again, peering out into the twilight that had now settled
over the woods. Taking a deep breath, I stepped
out onto the porch. The cool air of the evening was
a sharp contrast to the warm safety of the house.
My eyes darted around, searching for any sign of movement.
Then, out of nowhere, the figure emerged from behind the tree
closer. This time, the sight of the
white smiling mask sent a bolt of fear straight through me.
It wasn't a brother's prank. This was something else,
something sinister. Before I could process it, the
figure dashed toward me with alarming speed.
My breath caught in my throat and instinctively I turned to
run, but it was too late. I felt a harsh grip on my hair
pulling me back. A scream tore from my lips, loud
and desperate. Suddenly, a gunshot shattered
the night. The grip on my hair loosened and
I stumbled forward, freed. I didn't stop to look back.
As I sprinted towards the house, another gunshot rang out,
echoing through the woods, followed by a pained scream from
behind me. As I slammed the sliding door
shut, locking it behind me, I saw Michael on the porch,
shotgun in hand. He was breathing heavily, eyes
scanning the dark for any more threats.
Sophie, are you OK? He called out, his voice filled
with concern. I nodded, unable to find my
voice, my whole body shaking. Michael stepped back inside, his
presence A comforting shield against the horror.
Outside. He locked the door and turned to
me, his expression a mix of anger and relief.
I heard you scream. I got there as fast as I could.
Did he hurt you? No, I'm OK, I managed to say, my
voice barely above a whisper. We both knew I was shaken but
physically unharmed. We didn't speak much after that.
The sound of police sirens filled the air.
Minutes later, as our parents arrived home, the night turned
into a blur of questions, lights, and the comforting
embrace of my mom. Four months later, the news
reported the capture of the masked figure linking him to
serious crimes. As I watched the report, a chill
went through me. Remembering the close call, I
wondered about the randomness of his choice, why he had appeared
that evening, and what might have happened if Michael hadn't
been there with his shotgun. The thought was chilling and
even now I shudder to think how differently it could have ended.
The pre dawn air was crisp as I zipped up my jacket, the chilly
breeze sneaking under my skin as if it was checking my resolve.
Today wasn't just any fishing trip, it was another chapter in
a family tradition that felt as old as the mountains surrounding
our little town. My brother Matthew, our friends
Rich, Jeff and Monty and I gathered by the docks where our
boat bobbed gently in the water, eagerly awaiting its passengers.
The sky was still a deep Navy, stars twinkling like the last
embers of a dying campfire. There was a sacred silence about
the Marina at this hour, broken only by the soft clunk of gear
being loaded and the distant call of a waking seabird.
I glanced at Matthew as he meticulously arranged the
fishing rods and tackle boxes. His movements were methodical, A
ritual honed by years on the water.
John, grab the cooler, will you? He called out.
Without taking his eyes off his task.
I hoisted the cooler into the boat, the cans inside clinking
together, a sound synonymous with our trips.
It wasn't long before Monty cracked open a beer, the hiss of
the can opening, breaking the morning stillness.
He offered a cheeky grin and a shrug.
Never too early, right? I chuckled, shaking my head.
You'd start with coffee if it came in a can.
As we set off, the engine hummed beneath us, cutting through the
still waters as we left the Marina behind, the eastern
horizon bled into orange and pink hues, painting a promise of
the day to come. Rich and Jeff were already
swapping stories from last year's trip, each tale taller
than the last, their laughter mingling with the rumble of the
engine. Fishing had always been more
than just a pastime for us. It was a lifeline, a way to
reconnect with something ancient and elemental.
My father had introduced me to it when I was no more than knee
high to a grasshopper, and I knew one day I'd pass these
stories and skills down to my own kids.
We heading to the usual spot? Rich asked, his voice cutting
through the wind. Yeah, I replied, nodding to
Matthew, who was at the helm. The Cove should be perfect
today. The journey to the Cove was a
ritual in itself. We travelled past familiar
landmarks, each a marker on our shared memory lane, the jagged
outline of Gray Peak, the swoop of the valley where we'd camped
one wild summer, the secluded beaches that had witnessed our
youthful escapades. As the light grew, the world
came alive around us. The water shimmered under the
sun's first rays, turning from black to a deep, mesmerizing
blue. Gulls danced above us, their
cries a soundtrack to our expedition.
Matthew steered the boat with a steady hand, his eyes scanning
the horizon. He had always been the cautious
one, his respect for the water ingrained deeper than any of us.
As the boat cut through the mist that was beginning to rise off
the water, I felt a familiar thrill.
This was freedom, the kind that only came with being surrounded
by nature, with lines cast into the endless blue waiting for
life to tug back. We anchored in the Cove, the
water around us calm and inviting.
The dense forest surrounding the Cove stood watch like ancient
guardians. I stepped off the boat, my feet
finding the familiar firmness of the deck.
Here we are, boys. I announced, a wide grin
spreading across my face. Let's catch some memories, and
with that we cast our lines into the water, the day's adventure
just beginning to unfold. The day wore on, the sun
climbing higher, its warmth belying the cool touch of the
breeze that skittered across the water.
We had settled into our spots around the boat.
Each man lost in his own rhythm, casting, reeling.
The laughter and stories continued with Monty's early
beer now a memory shadowed by several more.
As the afternoon began its slow descent towards evening, Rich
hooked something substantial, his rod bending in an impressive
arc. Now that's what I'm talking
about, He shouted, the strain evident in his voice as he
fought to bring in his catch. We rallied around him, cheering
him on. The camaraderie during moments
like these was what fishing was really about for us.
It wasn't just the fish, it was the shared struggle, the
collective triumph. Yet as Rich finally hauled A
sizable Pike onto the deck, the mood began to subtly shift.
The sunlight seemed to falter. A cloud passing over the sun,
perhaps, but then it didn't pass.
The light dimmed strangely, and I felt a prickling sensation on
the back of my neck. Looking around, I noticed a
dense fog rolling in from the open water, enveloping us in a
thick white shroud. Ever seen fog roll in this fast?
Jeff asked, his tone tinged with unease.
Matthew, peering into the encroaching mist, shook his
head. It's not natural.
This Cove, maybe, he murmured, more to himself than to any of
us. There was a wait to his words, a
recognition, perhaps, of something beyond our
understanding. The fog was relentless.
Within minutes it felt like we were suspended in a cloud, the
shore and the surrounding waters swallowed whole by the white.
The jokes died down and a silence took their place, each
of us alone with our thoughts as the visibility dropped to near
nothing. I think we should try to get a
signal out, let the families know we might be late, I said,
breaking the silence. The practicality of the
suggestion was a thin veil over my growing concern.
If this fog didn't lift, navigating back would be more
than tricky. It could be dangerous.
Rich nodded, and so did Jeff. Their faces taut with concern.
Let's get to shore. Maybe higher ground will give us
better luck with the phones, Rich suggested.
We pulled the boat closer to the shore, the motor low, almost
whispering against the thick fog.
I grabbed the emergency flares from under my seat, a precaution
I felt in my bones we might need.
We made our way to the water's edge, the boats secured as best
we could. The shore was eerie, the trees
looming out of the mist like spectres.
We used our phones as torches, the beams feeble in the
oppressive fog. The ground under foot was soggy.
The air filled with the smell of earth and decay.
It was a smell I associated with the forest, yet now it seemed
foreboding. As we moved through the woods,
the fog seemed to thicken, and an unsettling quiet enveloped
us. No bird called, no insect
chirped. It was as if the forest itself
was holding its breath, then cutting through the silence.
A clicking sound started up, rhythmic and sharp.
It seemed to come from all around us.
We stopped listening, the sound growing in intensity, as if
something or someone was signalling.
I exchanged a glance with Rich and Jeff, the same thought
mirrored in their eyes. Turn off the lights, Rich
whispered, his voice barely a breath.
We clicked off, our phones standing in the dark, our hearts
pounding. The clicking stopped abruptly,
replaced by a heavier silence, one filled with anticipation and
dread. We were not alone in the
darkness. We stood motionless, our breath
shallow, barely whispering through the thick air of the
forest. The silence after the clicking
noises stopped was more terrifying than the sound
itself, the kind of silence that isn't empty but full, charged
with the presence of whatever had been making those noises.
My mind raced, every Horror Story I'd ever heard about these
woods crawling back into my memory.
Rich's hand on my shoulder was the only thing that kept me
grounded. His grip was tight, a silent
message that said we need to move.
But carefully we started back, each step deliberate, avoiding
twigs and leaves that might betray our presence.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
Each beat a loud echo I feared would give us away.
We hadn't gone more than a few yards when the underbrush
rustled violently. A Primal Scream shattered the
stillness close enough to make me jump.
The forest no longer felt like just a mass of trees and fog.
It felt alive, hostile, run. Rich, hissed, the urgency clear
even in his whisper. We turned and ran, the scream
morphing into a cacophony of rustling and stomping as if a
whole troop was on our heels. I fired the flare gun without
thinking, aiming it blindly behind us.
The flare arced into the sky, its red glow casting a
momentary, eerie light over the forest.
The sight, it revealed, was something out of a nightmare.
Figures more than a dozen clothed in what looked like
tribal garb, some brandishing what appeared to be Spears.
Jeff stumbled, his foot catching on a root.
He barely cried out, muffled as his face hit the dirt, but Rich
was there in an instant, hauling him up with an arm around his
waist. We didn't dare to look back
again. The image of those figures was
enough to fuel our desperation. The boat was our only sanctuary,
and it had never seemed so far away.
The forest seemed to fight against us, branches slapping
our faces, roots tripping us. But fear is a potent motivator,
and fear had us in its grip. We burst through the tree line,
panting and disoriented. Matthew, start the engine, I
screamed, my voice hoarse. Matthew, who'd been waiting
anxiously, wasted no time. The engine roared to life just
as we leaped onto the boat, pushing off from the shore with
whatever we could grab. The figures emerged at the
water's edge, silent now, watching as we put distance
between us and them. I fired the last flare towards
the shore, more to see than to scare them.
As the light pierced the fog, the group at the shore stood
motionless. A final image burned into my
memory before the light died and darkness reclaimed them.
We didn't speak much after that. What was there to say?
The fog eventually lifted as the night wore on, revealing the
familiar stars overhead, but the darkness inside us remained.
We took turns keeping watch until the sun rose, though I
doubt any of us really slept. Monty, oblivious, had missed
everything, and part of me envied his ignorance.
As we headed back to the Marina at first light, the world looked
different. Or perhaps it was us who had
changed. The water lapped quietly against
the hull, an ordinary sound in what now felt like an
extraordinary world. The echoes of the night's terror
lingered, a reminder that some places, some mysteries are
better left untouched. This story happened to me when I
was 16 and the experience still gives me chills to this day.
I found myself going out a lot more on my mountain bike.
I was getting bored of cruising around the streets, so I wanted
to go out for a Trail Woodland bike ride.
I had never been to Lee Woods before then, and personally I
don't think I will ever go alone again.
After some research into different areas, Lee Woods
seemed to be the best bet. Living only a couple of miles
away was a nice bike ride. Upon arriving it looked very
peaceful and I was almost in a dreamlike state by my first look
at the place. For a woodland area in England,
let alone Bristol, it was amazing.
Going into the woods. I remembered seeing different
colors at the start of each trail, signifying difficulty for
bikers and length for walkers. Don't take my word on that bit.
I still have no clue what they mean, honestly.
So I decided to go down the blue colored trail to see what was
down there. Finding it exciting, I decided
to go down the harder trail. Now here's where it starts to
get weird. I began having this weird sort
of vision. Looking around as if I were
being swallowed by the woodland, everything felt like it was
getting bigger and further away. I brushed it off, but it turns
out I lost track of time. I got lost in the trail.
Keep in mind I am very observant and aware of my surroundings.
I then came to a strange opening.
I could go left in the rough direction of the way out or
right deeper into the woods. Being me, I decided to go deeper
into the woods. I came to a weird little trail
that just had dodgy written all over it, metaphorically
speaking. I went against my gut feeling of
turning back and went down there.
I came to a point where the trail continued but it was
getting very dangerous, the trail being too bumpy for me to
even walk down. I then turned back but for a few
minutes before turning back. I do not know why, but I was
just standing still staring down the trail.
I felt like I was being watched from all angles even though it
would be near impossible to have that many eyes surrounding me in
that area. I got nervous and began walking
back up the hill as I was too tired to ride.
At this point, keep in mind my bike tires are completely solid
with no punctures, slow punctures, or even anything
wrong at all. Upon getting back to the spot
where I originally went on to the trail, that weird loss of
time thing began. It felt as if the whole path had
stretched by a half a mile, as if the woodland was moving.
I began walking up the path, feeling that same eerie
sensation of being watched as I did beforehand.
This time it felt a bit more sinister.
It felt as if something were about to happen, bearing in mind
I had not seen a single person. Now since I went down that first
trail, I will explain the scenery before continuing.
It is a long path, a slightly steep hill to my left, a narrow
river to my right, maybe 4 feet deep and four feet wide, with
bushes on the other side of the river and the odd tree.
Every now and then, upon getting about 1/4 of the way up the
slowly inclining path, I heard a woman crying behind a tree up
ahead. I started slowing down my
walking pace to try and get a look behind the tree.
But the whole time I was thinking to myself, why would
someone jump across to cry behind a tree?
So I edged closer to the river to look behind to see if the
person was OK. Also because many people go to
Lee Woods to commit suicide. So I was hoping that maybe I
could help this person, but you guessed it, there was no one
there and the crying stopped A bit weirded out.
I just slowly turned away and started walking again a bit
quicker as I was unnerved. I have had a few paranormal
experiences before this, but not in a place like this, never in
the woods usually it was in a house or some sort of building
so this was new to me. I had this sudden shiver as I
was walking maybe a minute or so later only a couple of meters
away where I heard the crying. It started again, but this time
it was opposite me across the river.
I did not bother looking, I just started going again in a bit of
a jog. As I got faster I heard the
bushes rustling as if something was following me.
Upon hearing this I speed up and the crying became more and more
hysterical. Bear in mind my bike was fine
before this moment in time. I thought to myself, F this I am
gone. I tried to hop on my bike with
the adrenaline that was rushing through me and I came to an
almost sudden stop. My back tire of my bike had
become completely flat out of nowhere, so I had no other
choice but to Sprint with my bike and pray for the best and
that I do not trip or end up having to throw it and run
faster. With the crying person still
close to me and keeping up, I was running faster and faster,
praying I just get off this path that I was on.
I had that feeling of wanting to cry because I could not actually
do anything to help the situation or get out of it any
faster. After what felt like an hour but
was probably only 5 or 10 minutes, I could see the car
park. The crying had stopped following
me and getting closer and started moving back down to
where I first heard it. I sprinted out into the car
park. I must have been as white as a
sheet of paper and hysterical with my breathing and wheezing
as multiple people in the car park turned to look at me like I
was crazy. I saw the exit sign out of the
car park and ran towards it and whilst doing so I noticed my
bike was moving a lot smoother. I could not believe that my bike
tire had suddenly regained all of its air.
It was solid again as it was before the unnerving crying
person shenanigans. I jumped on my bike and got away
from Lee Woods as fast as I could and I've never gone back.
Every person I tell this story becomes more reluctant to go
there with me. The thing that makes this story
so scary to me is that I have Irish heritage and in Irish
folklore there is a demon that we call the Banshee.
She is seen in Woodlands next to rivers and lakes washing blood
off clothes. It is said that if you see her
washing blood off clothes, the person who owns those clothes
will die. Alternatively, if you hear her
crying, it means death. I cannot remember the meanings
exactly of the deaths, but it means either you or a loved one
will die. Since 2018 I have lost my aunt,
two of my best friends and a dog.
Lee Woods is no joke. There are many stories that have
come out of Lee Woods too. You can read online about them.
Search up Lee Woods. It is rated the 87th most
haunted place in the UK according to High Pop.
It is a popular spot in Bristol for suicides.
Or it was at least. Even the ghost of Isimbard
Kingdom Brunel has been spotted there looking over the
suspension bridge which he designed.
I may submit some more stories soon as I have a couple more
experiences I've had over the years.
Something is following me. I swear I can hear them at night
outside my tent. I embarked on this solo seven
day hike and it wasn't until the third day that I noticed
something amiss. When I woke and exited my tent,
my small makeshift camp looked as if it had been ransacked.
My supplies were scattered and the small fire pit I made had
been destroyed as though a large beast had stepped on it.
The scariest part was the footprints left behind.
They were all over my camp. They circled the tent dozens of
times and seemed to come to rest at the door before heading away
into the woods. I hadn't heard anything while I
slept and assumed it was just some other hikers playing a
trick on me. After gathering my scattered
supplies, I started back down the trail.
The hike I was on was remote and technically difficult, a
challenge even for the most seasoned hikers, which made me
confused. Why would experienced hikers do
something like that to my camp? Most hikers take this sport
seriously. Ruining supplies could quickly
lead to death from exposure. That day I hiked long and far,
taking switchbacks and pausing for minutes at a time to watch
the trail behind me. The mountain was empty.
I even removed some of my footprints in the dirt, hoping
to make it harder to track me. That night, I packed all my
supplies into my tent and waited.
Certain that no one would have been able to follow me, I
gripped my flashlight in one hand and lay down in my sleeping
bag, waiting for a sound or noise out of the ordinary.
That's when I heard it. A twig snapping, a rustle of a
Bush, a rock being kicked and rolling across the ground.
Tension shot through my body and I froze, unable to move.
My original plan was to rip open the tent door and shine.
The light in my would be Stalker's face, but the sounds I
heard made me lock up. These weren't the sounds of
humans. I saw no lights and heard no
boots. Instead it was the shuffle of
something beastial, perhaps a large bear or a Wolf Pack.
Suddenly the sounds grew closer, and I thought it had to be more
than one animal circling the tent, pawing at the ground,
breathing heavily and hoarsely. A small sound coming from the
back of a throat sounded like a throaty, demented version of a
laugh. Yuk Yuk was the noise they made
as they circled the tent, never coming close enough to touch or
even graze it. Fear struck me hard and fast,
and my first reaction was to curl up in my sleeping bag as if
hiding from the world was the ultimate defense.
Like a little kid defending himself from the monsters under
the bed, now I was protecting myself from the monsters outside
my tent. The motion outside the tent
exploded as the pace increased. The demented laughing was now
coming from all sides, and I covered my ears, trying to block
out the noise before it drove me mad.
Then, like a breeze in the wind, they were gone.
The sound slipped away into the night and the torment stopped.
My breath fell from my chest in what felt like minutes.
I was terrified, and rightly so. Being alone on this mountain was
always a bad idea. Hikers went missing here all the
time. I had just assumed they were
inexperienced and got lost. But now I knew it was something
more. Something terrifyingly real.
I didn't sleep that night. I just lay awake, unable to
leave the tent for fear of their return, for fear that they were
waiting out there quietly for me to slip up and leave When dawn's
rays crested the hill to the east and bathed my tent in God's
eternal light, I prayed for the first time in years.
Normally I'm not one for religious zealotry, but I fell
to my knees in that morning light and begged with tears in
my eyes for any of the gods to save me, to take me from this
mountain. But nothing responded to my
desperate plea. Now I felt truly alone.
The camp was a mess. The ground was torn up by dozens
of odd footprints. They overlap so much that I
couldn't get an accurate shape to 1:00, but they were deep
prints indicating weight. Larger than a dog, at least, I
said to myself as I traced my fingers in one of the prints.
I glanced around the camp and saw the Prince leading off back
down the mountain. The way I had come, I was
already more than halfway through the hike and it would
take longer to go back the way I had come.
Once I reached the peak, I could make my way down the opposite
side and to the parking lot where my truck was.
By my calculation, it was around three more days.
Two more nights I could make it. I hiked hard and fast that day
and made great time. The mountain ended in a plateau
and I rested for only a moment. Normally I would spend the day
at the top, find a nice place to camp and bask in the world from
my seat up high. Today I left instantly glancing,
only for moments to check my path.
I could see my truck far below in the parking lot.
The way down was a rocky path that normally I wouldn't
attempt, but this was an emergency.
The sun was getting low and I needed to find a place to camp.
As I reached the edge of the woods I paused, watching the sun
as it fell faster and faster. A small clearing layout before
me. Full of long grass.
To my back were tall, sturdy trees with lots of branches and
odd angles, as if they were protecting me from the beasts
that lurk behind me. I decided to set up my tent in
the clearing a few feet from the trees next to a fallen tree with
its large mass of roots exposed to the night sky.
I kept looking over my shoulder as I worked, knowing these
creatures only came at night. Sweat beaded down my neck and I
took a moment when I was done to drink and eat quickly from my
pack. I gathered a large amount of
wood from the trees and used some of my emergency lighter
fluid to start a large cooking fire outside the tent, with
enough wood to burn for hours. An idea struck me while I ate
and watched the trees. Taking my flashlight and gear I
made for the trees and climbed high up among the branches.
I found a secure spot where I could sit comfortably, and
better yet, where I could watch my tent.
For an hour I sat in terrified silence, my heart beating out of
my chest as I tried to calm myself.
Maybe they wouldn't come tonight.
Maybe I had made it far enough away that they wouldn't be able
to find me. That's when the noise started, a
twig snapping the rustle of a Bush behind me, the careful
steps of something coming closer and closer.
I hugged tightly to the tree, keeping myself hidden from sight
below. My eye was on my tent, making
sure that whatever was doing this to me tonight, I would see
them in the fire light of my camp below.
The grass below. My perch was now covered in
darkness, but I could hear something moving in the grass.
I held my breath, hoping to avoid detection.
The creatures move past me with no hesitation.
I watched as shadows moved in the darkness below, too many of
them to count in the poor light. They surrounded the tent and
fire, silent as they moved. When one of them made that same
noise from the back of their throat.
Huk Huk it went, and as if on signal, the campfire was
scattered. Lit logs rolled and flew away as
if something had swatted it with a giant hand.
I could see bits of brown fur in the descending fire light.
A large muscular paw, a hind leg, all covered in the same
brown fur. Once the dark fell, they began
their pacing, tearing up the ground around the camp, their
back of the throat laughing, and I could hear my tent tearing
deep, growls of inhuman noise and heavy breathing for hours.
They never left. They searched the same ground
over and over again, as if blind until an hour before dawn.
They quietly slunk away, back up the mountain towards the peak.
I hadn't slept at all again, and was feeling exhausted.
My legs felt weak, and I slid down the last few feet of the
tree, landing hard on my back. I lay there breathing heavily as
the morning sun bathed me in warm life saving light.
My tent had been shredded to pieces and I now had no doubt in
my mind that they were hunting me.
Blood was on the ground beside the fire where it looked like
something had happened. Maybe the creatures had a fight
amongst themselves during the night.
I sighed, examining my tent, dropping the piece of it I held.
I turned and made my way down the rocky trail.
Gone were the lush trees and long grass of the peak and once
more I plunged into the rocky and steep trail to the base.
The trail was slow going as I climbed down rock faces and had
to backtrack several times to find a different path down.
I could not spend one more night in this place.
Far below I could see my old red pickup in the parking lot within
my vision, but still so far away.
If I had a base jumping kit, I could be down there in minutes
instead of hours at various spots I had to anchor with ropes
that have been placed by previous climbers.
I praised them and their families with good fortune as
this put a large distance between me and the beasts.
I travelled through the day and resolved myself to continue
through the night. With no tent or cover, I would
be torn to shreds by the beasts. As the sun began to set, I
doubled my pace. I knew somewhere along here was
the repel site, a place with hundreds of feet of strong rope
for you to descend. The final drop after that is a
short 5 minute walk to the truck.
I couldn't find the repel spot. I knew it had to be around here
somewhere, but I seemed to be lost.
I had seen the repel spot from my truck, but now that I was on
the mountain I could have missed it in the dusk's light.
I knew I had to backtrack slightly and made my way back up
the mountain. Fear struck me again, knowing
the beasts were coming. As I climbed, I saw a bright
green rope hanging from a series of anchors in the rock.
I attached my harness and walked backward off the rock.
This is something I had done dozens of times, and I made good
time. Halfway down I rested for a
moment as the sun set behind me. That's when I felt it.
Something pulling on the rope above it jerked and began
swinging side to side. I dropped slightly before I felt
something pulling me back up the mountain.
I began to rappel with increased fervor and drop down the
mountain faster than I ever had before.
I reached the bottom but noticed the rope had shortened around 20
feet and was slowly getting higher.
The ground below was rocky and rough, but I had no choice.
I unclipped myself from the line and dropped quickly to the
ground. I landed awkwardly on a stone
with my left leg and felt my ankle twist awkwardly.
I screamed out in pain as my leg burned.
Despite this, I smiled. I had escaped.
The beasts weren't going to catch me now.
I could see my red pickup truck down the hill and rose to my
feet. The pain was intense, but I kept
going, knowing this was my only chance behind me.
I heard the impossible, the sound of rocks being scattered
as something heavy landed. I dared not glance over my
shoulder, but doubled my pace. I could hear heavy breathing and
movement behind me. A small glade of young trees lay
directly in front of me, and I ducked into the thin branches
for any sort of cover from the relentless pursuer.
Yuk Yuk came from behind me and I froze, letting the foliage
cover my body from sight. I barely dared to breathe as I
heard the branches snapping around me.
I could smell the foul breath of the beast as I crouched in a
thin shield of branches and foliage.
A poor armor indeed. Heavy breathing came closer and
closer to me until it was right beside my ear.
The back of the throat laugh came out right beside my ear,
making fear shoot up my spine, paralyzing me to the spot.
This was it, The end. Whatever this creature was, it
was going to kill me. I chanced a glance in its
direction and stared right into its repulsive face.
It bore A resemblance to a shaved wolf with its skin pulled
back, a large mouth filled with rows of dangerously sharp teeth,
and a large brown nose, like a dog's saliva dripped from its
open mouth as it breathed in air and ragged breaths.
The oddest part was its eyes. They were all white and filled
with clouds, almost as if the creature was blind.
I sat perfectly still as the creature was within feet of me.
It had a hunched back, almost human, but it moved on all fours
like an animal. The creature smelled at the air
briefly before growling and moving away through the foliage,
making the Huk Huk sound as it left, as if it were mocking my
fear of it. The creature couldn't see.
I assumed it reacted to movement, sound or smell,
perhaps all three. As the creature moved away, I
quietly limped in the opposite direction, towards my truck.
Finally I was in the parking lot and into my truck.
I locked the doors behind me and lay down on the seat, breathing
for a moment, planning my next move.
With a jerk, I started the truck and my old faithful girl turned
on in a single stroke. I flicked on my headlights as my
heart stopped. In front of my truck was a dozen
or so of the beasts, all crouched over their eyes, a
Milky pale unseeing as my headlights hit their eyes, The
beasts changed. They covered their eyes in pain
and I put the truck into drive. As I stepped on the gas, I
realized my mistake. The fire that one night in the
tree, the way they attacked it With a smash, I felt one of them
ran into my tailgate. I speed off down the road,
swerving to avoid them. In my rear view mirror.
I could see them chasing me down the dark mountain Rd. and I
speed up, keeping ahead of them. My ankle throbbed painfully, but
I felt nothing as my adrenaline peaked again and again as my
fear warped into new things by the moment.
The last thing I saw was their pale eyes in the darkness as I
turned the corner onto the highway.
By the time I saw other cars and people I knew I was safe.
I drove non-stop for hours until I made it back to my place.
The sun was just about to set as I locked the door behind me.
I breathed a sigh of relief and poured myself a glass of Scotch
to calm my nerves. I fell against my bed and took a
sip of my drink before I lay back in the blankets, exhausted
from my flight and the creatures chasing me.
I fell asleep in minutes. I woke in the middle of the
night to something outside my house.
It sounded like something rubbing up against my front
door. My heart froze as I thought of
what could be out there. A slight knocking at the door,
just loud enough for me to hear before a sound that chilled me
to my bones. A deep laugh coming from the
back of someone's throat. Yuk yuk, it went.
The humidity hung like a heavy blanket over everything,
clinging to my skin with a persistence that made sweat
beads feel like part of my shirt.
The old ceiling fan above did little more than stir the thick
air in our living room where I lay sprawled on the couch trying
to find some solace in the shadows cast by the half closed
blinds. Asher, my little brother, was
rifling through the freezer again, his hopes pinned on a
popsicle he wasn't supposed to have until his birthday,
Wednesday. 3 days too far for an almost 11 year old.
Hey Nick, can I have some of the popsicles please?
His voice broke through the fans.
Lazy drone. No, we have to wait until
Wednesday. I called back, not bothering to
lift my eyes from the cushion. But it's my birthday, so I
should be able to have one. Asher's tone carried that mix of
entitlement and annoyance that only younger siblings mastered.
Not your birthday till Wednesday, dude.
Plus mom and dad, said. I replied, my voice rising just
enough to match his irritation. It was just the two of us alone
until Sunday morning, while our parents were away on a business
trip. At 14, I was deemed responsible
enough to look after things, including Asher, which at times
like these felt more like a punishment than a sign of trust.
Asher slammed the freezer door and slumped onto the couch,
causing it to creak under his sudden weight.
I'm bored, he moaned, his body melting into mine as he
collapsed entirely. Yeah, OK, I literally don't
care. I shoved him off, needing my
space, trying to catch some elusive cool air.
He stood and wandered over to the glass sliding door, gazing
out with that look he got when he was plotting his next move.
Can we go look for snakes outside?
He asked, hopeful. You can.
I'm tired. I closed my eyes, envisioning a
quiet house just a few moments without the constant noise and
chaos of Asher's schemes. You're always tired.
He shot back before a sudden knock at the front door jolted
us both. Don't answer it, I muttered half
into the couch. Why, 'cause it could be a serial
killer waiting to make you his next victim, I said dryly,
though the banging persisted louder this time.
This is the FBI. Open up.
You're all under arrest. The muffled shout could only
belong to one person, Jacob. OK, open it.
I sighed, resigned to the interruption.
Asher flung the door open and in barrel, Jacob followed by
Trevor, our closest friends and fellow conspirators in most of
our childhood escapades. They looked like they'd run the
whole way here, their faces flushed and sweating as they
burst into our living room. Nick, you'll never guess what we
found in the woods. Trevor's eyes were wide, his
excitement palpable. We found an abandoned treehouse,
Jacob added, the words tumbling out between gasps for air that
got my attention. I sat up, despite the heat that
made every movement feel like wading through soup.
Where at? I asked, a spark of curiosity
flickering despite the oppressive heat.
It's further past the quarry, Jacob explained, his hands on
his knees as he tried to catch his breath like a 15 minute walk
past it. I want to go.
Please Nick, Let's go check it out.
Asher's voice was now filled with a giddy excitement, the
earlier annoyance forgotten. I looked at them, their faces
eager and expectant. Then at the clock, 3:16 PM,
nothing but time stretched out before us With a reluctant
shrug, I conceded. Yeah, all right, I guess.
Yes, Trevor whooped. All right, let's go quick.
They were out the door before I even stood up, their energy a
stark contrast to my languid pace.
But as I followed them out, the promise of an adventure, even a
small one, began to cut through the haze of the summer heat.
Maybe this was exactly what we needed.
A distraction. A mystery, something to break
the monotony of another sweltering day.
The ride was a slog. Each pedal stroke sent a hot
breeze swirling around my legs, a small reprieve from the
suffocating heat we cut through the back trails, the forest a
blur of greens and Browns, a stark contrast to the lethargic
pace of our small town life. My muscles ached with the
effort, yet there was something freeing about pushing forward
away from the stagnant air of the house.
Jacob and Trevor led the way, their bikes crunching over the
dirt and gravel, laughter trailing behind them like a
banner. Asher peddled furiously to keep
up, his earlier sulkiness replaced by a wide eyed
excitement that only the promise of an adventure could bring.
I trailed a bit, my mind wandering already dreading the
return trip under the even harsher angles of the late
afternoon sun. We reached the quarry, a gaping
mouth of exposed stone and echoes, and paused.
The place always felt like the edge of the world, a stark drop
into nothingness. But today it was just a
landmark, a signpost on the way to something potentially better.
The tree house isn't on the trail, Jacob said, wiping sweat
from his brow as he gestured towards a denser part of the
woods. His statement was an unnecessary
reminder of our detachment from the safety of familiar paths.
How the hell did you guys even find it?
I asked, curiosity piqued. Despite my efforts to remain
aloof. We were looking for new spots to
catch Water snakes. Trevor chimed in, already
hopping off his bike and heading into the brush.
His enthusiasm was contagious, even if the thought of stumbling
across snakes made my skin crawl.
We followed, the forest, closing in around us like a living
thing. Sunlight filtered through the
canopy and narrow beams spotlighting the rich, damp
earth and the debris of the forest floor.
It was cooler here, the air thick with the scent of Moss and
decay, a living, breathing world unto itself.
After what felt like an eternity of ducking under low branches
and stepping over roots, the trees opened up into a small
clearing. There, like a vision conjured up
from a boyhood dream, stood the tree house.
It was perched high in an old oak, the wood of the structure
bleached by the sun to a weathered Gray, making it almost
part of the tree itself. The craftsmanship was
undeniable. The treehouse had not just been
built, it had been crafted, each board and nail, a testament to
someone's dedication. Dude, this is freaking amazing.
I couldn't keep the awe out of my voice as we stood there next,
craned, eyes wide. Haven't gone up yet, Trevor
said, a grin splitting his face. Wanted to get you guys first.
The ladder to the treehouse was a simple thing, nailed directly
to the trunk, the rungs rough and inviting.
It looked sturdy, but as I placed my hand on the bark to
steady myself, a wave of unease washed over me.
The tree felt off, the texture not quite right, like the hide
of an animal rather than the rough skin of a tree.
I pulled my hand back, trying to shake the feeling, but it
lingered, a whisper in the back of my mind that something was
not as it seemed. I glanced at Asher, who was
already bouncing on his toes, eager for his turn to climb.
Quit being such a baby, I muttered when he whined about
being tired, my voice harsher than I intended.
He was just a kid, excited and oblivious to the nagging doubts
that tugged at my instincts. But we were here, and curiosity,
that reckless driver, nudged us forward.
We'd come too far not to see the inside.
With a collective breath, we braced ourselves for whatever
mysteries lay nestled within the wooden walls above.
The latter groaned under my weight, each step up sending a
shiver through the ancient wood. Above me, the treehouse loomed
like a silent Sentinel, its windows dark and unwelcoming.
Now that we were this close. The excitement from the boys was
palpable, a stark contrast to the unease tightening in my gut.
Asher, you go first, carve our initials, Trevor said, handing
him the small army knife we'd brought along.
My brother's face lit up with the responsibility.
Eager to make his mark, he scrambled up the ladder, his
small frame disappearing into the shadows of the tree house.
The rest of us waited below next, craned, listening for the
sounds of his triumphant arrival at the top.
Minutes stretched on, the only sounds, the rustle of leaves and
the distant call of a crow. Asher didn't shout down to us,
didn't call out an excitement. A heavy silence settled over the
clearing, the kind that presses down, suffocating.
Hey, Asher, you good up there? Jacob finally called, his voice
betraying a hint of nervousness. No reply.
The unease I'd felt earlier morphed into real worry.
I'm going up, I announced, my voice more steady than I felt.
The latter felt even more unstable now, each step a test
of faith as I ascended into the unknown.
Reaching the top, I hesitated, peering into the dim interior.
The smell hit me first, a musty, earthy scent mixed with
something sour. I climbed in, my heart,
hammering in my chest. The tree house was empty, no
Asher, no sound of his laughter or the scrape of the knife
against wood. Just emptiness and that strange,
unsettling smell. Asher.
My voice echoed, slightly, sounding foreign in the enclosed
space. I moved deeper, my eyes
adjusting to the low light, scanning the room.
There on the floor was the knife, laid beside a small pile
of freshly carved wood shavings, but no Asher.
Panic clawed at my throat as I turned back to the entrance,
calling down to the others. He's not here.
I can't find him. What do you mean he's not there?
Trevor's face appeared below, confusion and fear, etching his
features. I climbed down, each step
heavier than the last, my mind racing with impossible
scenarios. We regrouped at the base of the
tree, the seriousness of the situation settling in.
He has to be here somewhere, Jacob insisted, his voice a mix
of desperation and command. He can't just disappear.
We spread out, calling his name, the forest, swallowing our
voices as if mocking our efforts.
Minutes turned into an hour, and then two, our initial panic
transitioning into a deep, cold dread.
We decided to go back, get help. Whatever had happened, whether
Asher had wandered off or something worse, we weren't
equipped to handle it alone. As we retraced our steps, I
couldn't shake the image of the empty tree house, that sense of
wrongness that had greeted me at the top of the ladder.
Something had happened here, something bad, And as the trees
closed in around us on the walk back, I felt the weight of
whatever secret the treehouse held, pressing down on us, As
oppressive and inescapable as the humid air that had started
our day. The ride back was a blur of
motion and emotion, each pedal stroke heavy with the weight of
what we'd left behind. The quarry passed by unnoticed,
the trees a mere green smear against the sky.
Fear had lent our legs a frenetic energy, but as we
neared the edge of town, reality began to set in, cold and
unforgiving. Asher was gone.
My little brother had vanished, and I was supposed to have been
watching out for him. We ditched our bikes outside the
local police station, the building a squat, unassuming
structure that suddenly represented a beacon of hope.
The officers listened with skeptical ears as we stumbled
through our story, words tumbling out incoherently about
the treehouse, the strange bark, the disappearance.
It sounded crazy, even to my own ears, but desperation edged our
voices. They organized a search party,
and we LED them back, retracing our steps with a growing sense
of dread. The forest seemed different now,
more menacing, as if it knew we were searching for answers it
had no intention of giving up. When we arrived at the clearing,
my heart sank. The treehouse was gone in its
place, a gaping hole in the ground, as if the earth had
swallowed it whole. The officers exchanged glances,
their faces a mix of confusion and suspicion.
I felt their eyes on me, the unspoken accusation hanging
heavy in the air. The search continued until
darkness fell, but there was no sign of Asher, no trace of the
treehouse, just a crater and a mystery no one could solve.
The ride home was the longest of my life, each turn of the wheels
a reminder of my failure. Years passed, but the shadow of
that day never quite left me. My parents grief turned into a
silent blame, and I couldn't face them, couldn't bear the
weight of their unasked questions.
I moved away, started a new life.
But the past was always there, lurking in the shadows of my
mind. Now, 17 years later, with a
family of my own, the memory had faded to a dull ache.
But this morning, as I stood at my kitchen window, coffee in
hand, a familiar shape caught my eye.
Far out in the tree line, past the family of deer grazing in
the early light, stood a tree house.
The same tree house. My breath caught in my throat, a
mix of fear and incredulity. Seizing me.
I set down my coffee, my mind racing.
It couldn't be but there it was, a silent Sentinel, watching from
the woods. Was it a warning, a reminder, or
perhaps a chance for redemption? I knew what I had to do.
As much as I feared what might await me, I owed it to Asher, to
my family, to face whatever secrets that Treehouse held.
This time I would not let fear stop me.
I would find answers, or I would find closure, but I would not
turn away. As I stepped outside, the chill
of the morning air felt sharp against my skin.
The forest seemed to watch, waiting.
With each step toward the tree line, the weight of years began
to lift, replaced by a grim determination.
Today I would confront the past. Today I would find out what
happened to Asher.