I believe there's something the government is hiding from us,
something in the national and state forests.
I believe I've seen exactly the abominations that they hide.
It's not as safe in the woods, at least certain parts as they
say. If you find yourselves in the
worst parts, you might be haunted.
This is my story. When I graduated high school, I
wasn't exactly sure what I wanted to do out of school.
I decided to take a break and figure life out for a while.
This gave me plenty of free time to go out and do what I loved
most, which was hunting. I grew up hunting and fishing my
whole life. Starting at a very young age.
I would follow my father into the woods with a rifle taller
than I was, fighting through the pine boughs as they whipped back
at me from my father pushing through them.
I've seen countless animals in the wild and I've been taught
what to look for, listen for, and smell for.
I grew up in the woods. It's second nature to me.
My house abuts a state forest an hour and a half away from the
White Mountain National Forest. The forest surrounds a bald
mountain with an abandoned fire tower at the top.
Because of my property's location to the forest, the
wildlife around my house was always plentiful.
Most of the time, when I wanted to go hunting, I would just step
out the back and hunt on the old logging roads that intersected
the forest like a giant cobweb. I knew the region well, and I
was always wary of staying off the protected land.
As it was illegal to hunt on. I didn't want to risk forfeiting
my greatest pastime. I always tended to stay away
from the border, though. It always gave off a weird aura,
like there was a dark haze staring right at the property
line. Looking into the forest, it
always seemed like it would swallow you up.
The canopy seemed thicker due to its old growth.
The trees immense and gnarled, dotted with disease and fungus,
making it so the light barely made it through the dense leaf
layers, casting discolored shadows that danced and crept
along the forest floor. The brush was entangled within
itself like barbed wire. Not only was it physically
impregnable, but visually it was like looking at a wall.
All you could see was a few feet into the undergrowth, only able
to pick up glimpses of movement, never really able to focus on
what you might have seen. But no matter how thick it was,
I always felt like something was watching me from there.
I never felt at ease whenever I was within eyesight of that
forest. Now deer season up here starts
in the late fall for muzzle loader and later for rifle.
Still being earlier in the season, I had a muzzle loader to
go out with. For those who don't know what a
muzzle loader is, it's basically a musket.
You have to ramrod, powder and ball down the barrel.
Then you have to set a primer in the breech to be able to set off
the gun. This was all I carried into the
woods. Traveling light was always a
good bet, especially if you're dragging a dead weight behind
you. It was the first big snowfall of
the year and with it comes a nice change of pace.
Because of the fresh snow, you can track deer very easily.
All you had to do was come across some tracks.
I was taught the best way to go about this was to cover as much
ground as possible. I hopped into my car that day,
hitting the back roads. I was slow rolling with my
window down so that my breath wouldn't fog up the glass.
I kept an eye out for any disturbances in the freshly
fallen snow. I drove for hours looking for
tracks and I didn't see any. I figured all the deer had
bedded down. Perhaps the weather made them
not want to move as much. I was about to call it quits
when I turned down the last Rd. on my usual route.
There in the snow crossing the road, were deer tracks.
Finally, I thought I got out of my car to investigate further.
The tracks were spread out and left a deep impression, meaning
it was a decently sized deer, likely a buck.
I followed the tracks to the edge of the road and looked
where they wandered off to. I realized they were going the
wrong way, straight into the state forest.
Now, since this wasn't the main entrance to the forest, there
were no signs except for one old, tattered, washed out,
posted sign barely visible. Usually I would have passed up
the opportunity, but this season had just been a bust.
I had several game cameras out in my usual spots with no signs
of life, and I hadn't seen any other signs until that day.
Seeing this fresh sign made me Mull over my options.
I really wanted a chance at this deer.
In my naivety, I thought of excuses.
I could tell anyone who confronted me with a few cheap
explanations concocted. I decided to give it a shot.
I would park on the other side of the road, not to mention it
was a very rural Rd. No one should be back here
anyway, I told myself. It was decided.
Then I pulled off to the side of the road and prepared to go out
and track this deer. I got out, put on my camouflage
and sprayed myself down with scent neutralizer.
If I happen to come up wind, my scent would be masked.
I also dipped a rag in some doe estrus and had it tied up to my
boot so I could drag it behind me.
I would leave a scent of my own that no self respecting buck and
rut could resist. I then grabbed my muzzle loader,
put in a primer and stuffed a few extra rounds of powder and
primers into my pocket. I headed out and started to
track this deer, walking extremely quietly.
Every step was a calculated 1, the less noise the better.
As I watched the ground, I noticed it was starting to snow
again. You could hear the snow
crackling as it landed, the edge of my vision being washed out by
the flakes. Luckily it wasn't enough to mask
the tracks I was following, but it was just enough to hinder my
senses. I figured this would allow me to
close the distance on the deer even further.
The perfect storm was coming together.
The environment was perfect to hunt.
I felt in my element. I started down the tracks once
more, following the trail deeper into the Bush, enveloped in the
mindset of a hunter, stopping, listening, looking, then a step
forward, rinse and repeat. As I went along the tracks, I
noticed something the deer seem to be speeding up.
The tracks became elongated. The well defined hoof prints
started to drag into the snow, strides becoming farther and
faster than less. Carefully placed in lieu of
speed, it started as a trot, then developed into a full on
bounding. If I had to guess, something may
have spooked it and I began to worry that I'd given myself
away. I was upset.
The snow around my collar melted as I got red in the face.
I needed to sit for a moment. Think of how I messed up this
hunt. I picked a tree and sat against
it so I could break up my silhouette.
I sat there for a while, letting myself cool off.
I replayed my walk into the woods, analyzing every little
thing I did. The weather hadn't stopped, and
soon I was covered in a dusting of snow.
As I sat there, I began to hear something.
I strained my ears to listen over the snow that settled on my
coat. The falling snow had a deafening
silence to it, but I could definitely hear something.
Movement from my left, the faintest crunching of snow and
the snapping of frozen underbrush.
Something was coming my way. My heart skipped a beat.
I instantly started to sit up. Probably a deer.
Probably the deer I've been tracking.
I was hoping it had circled back to get up wind, believing me to
be a doe from the rag I'd tied to my boot.
The view I had from my spot wasn't the best.
Several trees were in the way, but it was good enough to get a
shot. I tried to stay as still as
possible. Too much movement could spoil
the hours I've been out. My anticipation was killing me.
I couldn't wait to see it. The second seemed like hours,
anticipation, shooting a jolt down my spine, making me sweat
From the white curtain of snow that made-up the edge of my
vision. I could see branches, starting
to give glimpses of antlers. This deer was a prize.
I could barely see anything, but I could already count at least
eight points. Standing high off the ground, I
picked up and steady my muzzle loader on my knee.
I wanted to wait for it to come closer so I could make a more
decisive shot. My heart pounded.
I was raging with buck fever, adrenaline coursing through me.
As I waited, I was practically vibrating with excitement.
It wandered closer and closer into view, and with each step it
came closer, I realized something.
It was dragging its back leg. It was already injured.
I could hear it raking the ground with its leg, pulling
leaves and debris along with it. Wait a minute.
No, it wasn't its leg. My blood ran cold, stomach
turning in knots. This thing wasn't a deer.
In fact, I'd never seen anything like it.
I wasn't sure what it was. My excitement turned into fear.
It was like I turned into a scared little boy again, afraid
of what might be under my bed. I could sense malicious energy
coming off the thing. It wasn't right.
It couldn't be real. Whatever it was, it didn't seem
of this earth. It was unholy, as if sent
straight from hell to torment us.
I froze up, my only hope being that the snow had fallen enough
to blend my form into the landscape.
I could now see it more clearly. It did have antlers, but it was
no deer. It's back was to me, hunched
over and it was dragging something.
It was dragging the poor thing. It was dragging the thing that
had brought me here in the 1st place.
The body of the deer I believe I was tracking it was eviscerated,
gored and slashed about, ribs splintered and twisted.
It was dragging it from its hind leg.
Its other legs snapped and splayed about.
The side of its head was completely caved in.
This deer hadn't just died, it had died in anguish.
I watched as this beast heave the deer through the woods,
leaving a trail of blood and bile as it went.
It stood on a powerful yet thin frame, emaciated but strong.
The tendons flexed under its skin as it walked.
It was as if the skin was the only thing holding it together.
Its spine and ribs were exposed in spots like the flesh was torn
from its body but never healed. Perpetually rotten.
You could see the shoulder blades and muscles contort as it
pulled what remained of the deer along.
Then, with one arm still on the deer, it wheeled about.
It was grotesque, covered in patchy fur and flesh.
Its claws were long and dripped with flesh and blood.
As my eyes followed the outline of its lean body, I took notice
of its head. It didn't have a face.
Rather, there was just a skull, none of which was recognizable.
There was no skin left to it, just miscellaneous pieces of
shredded, shrivelled flesh. It had no nose or ears, just
holes where they used to be. The teeth were prehistorically
jagged and vicious. The eye sockets were so deep you
could not see past the brow. The only reason I knew it had
eyes was a small white glint off of them from the little light
that could make it through the overcast sky.
This abomination had no place on this planet.
My fear turned to rage watching it.
I wanted it dead. I felt instinctively that it
didn't belong in this world. I tightened my now frigid hands
around my muzzle loader. I contorted my body to look down
the sights and I took aim at this thing.
I aimed right for the chest. I squeezed the trigger and the
black powder fizzled and exploded out the end of my
barrel, the effect blocking my view for a moment.
When the smoke wafted away, I watched in terror.
The thing rolled around on the ground, scratching and grabbing
at its back and chest with its claws, leaving gashes and cuts
through its exposed bone, tearing away at its own skin.
It staggered up, writhing. Then it screamed, making the
trees drop, the snow clinging to their branches.
The scream was shrill and hollow, sounding like every
dying animal. At once it horrified me.
I could then see that my bullet had broken right through a rib,
and I swear I could see through the hole the bullet bored into.
I watched as the monster's head darted frantically scanning its
surroundings and snapping its jaws, saliva spilling from its
snout. Something in me thought this
probably wasn't the first time it had been shot.
It looked around, crazed, trying to find its assailant.
Then I heard something. It was smelling the air.
After a few breaths, it stopped. It slowly craned its neck until
it looked right at me. I watched its head as it looked
down to my boots, My freaking rag.
I'd forgotten all about it as I was observing this monster.
Now it felt like it was waiting for me to make the first move.
It screamed again, opening its huge mouth, revealing rows of
needle like teeth and spitting blood as it did.
I had been found. I sprang up.
The snow that had once hit me burst.
As I turned and ran, I saw there was a dense pine thicket not too
far from there, so I ran and ran as fast as I could.
As I did, I heard it screaming from behind me.
I then heard something smack through the branches above my
head. I ducked just in time to see the
carcass of the deer spinning over my head.
It had made contact with a tree to my right.
I heard a sickening pop as the spine of the deer broke from the
force of the impact. The creature screamed again.
I could then feel the impacts of its strides as it ran after me.
My lungs were on fire as I pushed myself deep into the pine
boughs, not caring about anything except wanting to get
away from this thing. I could hear it crashing through
the brush, the relentless pursuit echoing in my ears.
My heart pounded in my chest as I realized it was gaining on me,
the adrenaline surging through my veins.
Without a second thought, I ripped the rag from my boot and
flung it as far away from me as possible.
My feet carried me forward, desperately searching for a big
enough tree to hide behind. I finally found refuge behind a
massive tree, my back pressed firmly against its rough bark.
Panic course through me as I fumble with my muzzle loader,
hastily loading it with powder and a bullet, then slamming a
new primer into the breech. The thicket around me seemed to
explode with an eruption of snow and snapping tree limbs.
My hands trembled and I dropped my ramrod, not daring to make a
sound. My eyes locked onto the creature
as it bent over and licked the ground where my rag had landed.
It was clearly tracking me, getting closer with every step.
Each footfall reverberated through the trees, and I could
hear the eerie wheezing as it expelled air from its lungs.
The creature came closer, its presence growing ever more
menacing. It found my discarded rag and
let out a deafening scream that sent shivers down my spine, the
sound echoing relentlessly in my head.
It thrashed through the surrounding area, clawing and
digging in its furious pursuit. There was no doubt in my mind
that nothing would stop it. Panic set in as I weighed my
limited options. Bullets had proven ineffective
against this monstrosity, and it appeared insatiable.
My only choices were to hide or run, but I couldn't afford to
get turned around in this dense forest.
I had to make it back to my own tracks, to the road, to my car,
and then get the hell out of there.
It was my only chance. As the creature continued to
dredge through the snow, I lined up my shot, my heart pounding
like a drum. I had to make this shot count.
I aimed for its chest as its head moved too swiftly and
unpredictably. With trembling hands, I squeezed
the trigger and bolted from my cover, throwing my ramrod aside
Without a second thought, I backtracked through the Pines
and brush, following my old footprints in a desperate
attempt to evade the relentless pursuit.
My face and hands were soon cut up from the whipping branches,
and my legs burned from the relentless Sprint.
I could hear it wailing behind me, the sound of it tearing at
its own flesh as it pursued me with unrelenting determination.
As I ran past the tree that had been splattered with the gore of
a deer, a grim reminder of the horrors of this forest, I
finally spotted the embankment leading to the road.
My lungs were on fire, my throat parched from the dry winter air,
but I pushed on, adrenaline fueling every step.
I climbed the hill, my foot getting momentarily stuck in the
snow, but I tore it free and reached my car, throwing myself
into the driver's seat with a frantic urgency.
I fumble for my keys, dropping them in my panic.
I feared that at any moment I would be yanked from the car
through a broken window. Finally, I managed to insert the
keys into the ignition, and my car roared to life.
Without hesitation, I glanced out the window, but the creature
was nowhere. Insight.
Instead, a pair of fogged up headlights approached a green
pickup truck with an emblem on the door.
It was the game warden out on his rounds, still shaken from my
ordeal. I struggled to find the right
words. Great weather for tracking, I
managed to mumble. He nodded, seemingly oblivious
to the horrors I had just experienced.
Oh yeah, it is, isn't it? Well, be careful out there and
make sure to stay on that side of the road.
He pointed to the opposite side, his tone oddly casual.
Absolutely understood. I replied, my mind still
reeling. He rolled up his window and
continued down the road, leaving me frozen in my seat.
Snow blew into my car, feeling like pinpricks against my face
as I stared out past the road. I thought I saw it, a dark
silhouette standing against the snow in the overgrowth.
Its gaze never wavered, locked onto me as if trying to consume
my very soul. Without hesitation, I floored
the gas pedal. Speeding home, I kept the wood
stove stocked and the coffee brood, unable to sleep until
pure exhaustion overcame me. Yet even in my fitful slumber, I
saw that terrible face haunting my dreams.
It didn't end there. Months later, after the snow had
melted, my dog found a boot along the tree line, miles away
from where my terrifying encounter had occurred.
It was the same boot I had lost that day, and it had somehow
ended up back at my house. All my possessions, including my
hat and my damaged gun, had been thrown onto the wood line.
It was as if the creature was taunting me, tormenting me,
playing with my fear. I became terrified of hunting
alone. Every time I looked at that
forest, I could sense its presence lurking in the shadows,
ducking behind trees. It's abysmal eyes seem to follow
me everywhere. My lights didn't reach.
I couldn't shake the feeling that it was taunting me.
Trying to lure me back into the depths of the forest late at
night, I would occasionally hear it's piercing screams, the sound
of it pacing just out of my sight, clacking its jaws.
I lived in constant fear of a horrific death, torn apart by
something that should not exist. I began to wonder about the game
wardens cryptic warning it's too dangerous anyway.
Did he know what was happening in those protected forests?
Were they harboring creatures that defied the natural order?
Perhaps the fire towers weren't just looking for fires and the
Ranger stations weren't mere tourist traps.
I couldn't help but believe that there were those who knew about
these otherworldly beings and studied them in secret.
I had come to realize that we were not the apex predators we
once thought we were, and in this world there were things we
could never hope to understand. When I was young, my dad had a
ritual of taking me fishing at dawn.
It didn't matter if I was a whiny 5 year old.
He had a special way of calming me down.
He'd hand me a doughnut on a fishing line and I'd be
entranced watching the sugary treat Bob on the water surface.
It surprises me that I still vividly remember those moments,
given that one particular fishing trip turned into a
terrifying experience for a child of my age, perhaps even
for a six year old. Our fishing day began early in
the morning when the world outside was still draped in
darkness. My dad meticulously packed all
our fishing gear and we headed out to the pier.
The pier was conveniently located right outside a hotel,
and it was my dad's favorite spot because it was usually free
from the crowds that sometimes disrupted the peaceful ambiance
of fishing. While we usually encountered one
or two early risers like us, this time was different.
There were quite a few people present, four or five I reckon,
who I assumed were college kids. They were outside laughing and
chatting, probably fuelled by some liquid courage, and they
seem to be enjoying the serene moment just as much as we were.
What transpired later that morning was not my dad's wisest
decision, but he assured me he'd be back in an instant.
He needed to grab a hook quickly from the car, and he pointed out
that the gutting knife was right there if I ran into any trouble.
Looking back, I realized that it was far from ideal parenting,
but at the time I was a nervous kid who didn't know any better.
As my dad left, the atmosphere grew more tense.
The young adults were becoming rowdier and I became vigilant,
my eyes darting between them and the exit.
Then suddenly the distant wail of an ambulance siren pierced
the air. One of the guys turned to look
behind him and callously said your dad just got run over by a
truck. The girl with them chastised
him, saying stop it, you're so bad, while another guy erupted
into laughter as if it were the funniest joke ever told.
I was just a very anxious 5 or 6 year old and I didn't know how
to react. I was torn between running to
find my dad with the only exit right by these strangers, or
grabbing the nearby knife just in case they posed a threat.
Time seemed to stretch on endlessly, although in reality
only a few minutes had passed. The tension hung in the air like
a heavy cloud. Relief washed over me when I
finally spotted my dad walking back towards me.
I could have burst into tears right then and there.
My dad approached, still holding the bloodied gutting knife he
had used earlier on a fish. He asked me what was wrong,
concern etched across his face. With trembling words, I
recounted what the man had told me about him being run over my
dad's knuckles tightened around the knife now stained with fish
guts. As he approached the group of
young adults, he confronted them, demanding.
What the hell did you say to my daughter?
The man who had spoken to me was now visibly panicked, and the
others with him seem to sober up instantly in a chorus of nervous
apologies, they stammered. We don't want any trouble.
Without a second thought, they hurriedly gathered their cooler
and practically ran away. In hindsight, I should have been
more worried about my dad's reaction, not knowing if he
might actually harm those young adults.
However, in that moment, all I felt was an overwhelming sense
of safety and gratitude. I truly believed I was the
luckiest and safest kid in the world, with a dad who would go
to great lengths to protect me. The hills near my home have
always held a special place in my heart, a rugged wilderness
where I spent years traversing through the woods, learning
every Ridge and valley by heart. But after the bizarre event that
unfolded 2 falls ago when I was out hunting alone, I don't know
if I'll ever see those familiar mountains the same way again.
I had just turned 50 at the time, but I was still in good
enough shape to handle long hikes at high elevations.
It was early one Saturday morning in October when I headed
out for a remote valley where I knew I could usually bag an elk
that time of year. The journey was only about a
four mile trek from the Dirt Rd. where I parked my truck.
As I hiked along, I couldn't help but relish the stunning
scenery in the crisp fresh air. After a couple of hours of
hiking, I reached the valley and found a perfect vantage point to
sit quietly and watch for any signs of movement.
Around noon, my patience paid off as I spotted a decent sized
bull elk grazing near a stream. I lined up my shot carefully and
took it. The animal went down instantly
and thankfully, painlessly. With that task accomplished, I
made my way down to field dress the elk.
It took a while to break down the carcass, and by the time I
had it prepped and ready to carry back, it was late
afternoon. I loaded up my pack with some
meat and antlers, hoisting the rest onto my shoulders.
Now came the tedious part, hauling the massive thing out
through the mountains back to my truck.
Despite the strain on my joints, I didn't mind the hard work.
I followed the valley downstream, winding my way up
over ridges towards home. The sun gradually sank towards
the peaks as I hiked, and I expected to reach the Dirt Rd.
in another hour or so. However, the terrain soon began
to look unfamiliar, and the path I was following seemed to Peter
out. I must have wandered off course
a bit in the dense woods, but I wasn't too worried at first.
I chose a new direction, heading downhill where I hoped the road
was. But after another 30 minutes
with no sight of the road or familiar landmarks, I started to
feel uneasy. The shadows grew long and the
temperature dropped as I stopped to get my bearings, finally
letting go of the elk. It had become too much for me to
handle. As I didn't expect the journey
back to take so long. I now had no idea which
direction I had come from and which way I needed to go.
Every outcropping and tree looked identical, as if the
mountains had subtly shifted. While I wasn't paying attention,
I kept pressing onward, expecting to see the road and my
truck just ahead around every bend.
But the dusk settled Into Darkness, and still my
surroundings remained foreign, a sense of surreal confusion set
in. I had walked this area most of
my life, yet now it was like an endless, ever shifting maze.
Exhausted from hauling the elk and hiking all day, I decided my
only option was to keep moving and look for some sort of
shelter. I trudged on through unfamiliar
gullies and drainages that seem to double back or lead in
circles. As I stopped to catch my breath,
the silence of the night in the mountains felt heavy and
ominous. I shook my head, telling myself
that this was ridiculous, that I just needed some daylight to get
my bearings again. But doubt and dread gnawed at
me, telling me I was trapped in some bizarre spiral to wander,
lost forever. I pushed on for what felt like
hours in the cold darkness. Finally, I stumbled upon a small
cave and collapsed inside. I was far too tired to continue
with my emergency kit. I managed to create a small fire
before passing out from exhaustion.
When I woke up, pale dawn light was glowing at The Cave
entrance. I expected to see unfamiliar
terrain, but to my astonishment I recognized exactly where I
was. This cave was less than half a
mile from the dirt road, and my truck disoriented.
I hurried outside. I covered the short distance to
the road in under 20 minutes, reaching my untouched truck
filled with overwhelming relief. I drove home in a stunned daze,
worried about my wife, Jenny, who must have been beside
herself with worry having been gone overnight when I had
promised to return before dark. When I pulled up to the house
and raced inside, calling her name, Jenny appeared confused
but also relieved. She asked if everything was all
right. I stammered, trying to explain
what had happened, that I had somehow gotten lost in the woods
and had to sleep in a cave overnight.
But Jenny seemed perplexed. She explained that I had been
gone for only a couple of hours. I looked at her, bewildered.
Hun. You left just a couple of hours
ago. Are you OK?
Look, it's 8:00 AM right now. Remember, you left at 6:00 AM to
get an early start. What?
What do you mean? I couldn't believe it.
Her smartphone showed yesterday's date, or rather,
today's date. That couldn't be right.
Then I remembered that my truck radio displayed the date on its
screen. Without a word, I rushed outside
to check. Sure enough, it matched my
wife's phone. I refused to accept it.
I told myself I must have gotten the dates mixed up somehow,
although that didn't explain my wife's belief that I had only
been gone for a couple of hours. Just then, there was a knock at
the door. I looked out the nearby window
and it was my neighbor, an avid hunter like myself.
We often discussed our kills and outdoor activities.
When I answered the door, he said something that sent shivers
down my spine. Hey there, saw you this morning
driving out with your elk in the truck window, but then you came
back about two hours later. Did you forget something?
Hope your wife's OK. He had just corroborated my
wife's explanation without even being prompted.
I once again stood there in shock.
A sudden realization struck me like a bolt of lightning.
The meat I had kept in my pack would confirm that I had been
out there, that I had indeed shot that elk, and that I had
dragged it for hours. What I experienced did happen.
I rushed back to my truck without a word, grabbed my pack
and tore it open. My heart pounded as I grasped
for some rational explanation. Had I somehow imagined the long
lost night? It couldn't be?
Every memory in vivid detail, remained sharp.
I wouldn't forget being lost in the woods, aching and exhausted,
having dragged that elk for hours.
The meat in that pack may have vanished, but my sore muscles
weren't a product of my imagination.
None of it made sense. I went back inside and told them
both I needed some rest. That's my story.
All I know is that something is in those mountains, manipulating
time and space for whatever reason.
For a period, I was trapped alone in a twisted night, and
I'm just thankful it let me go. After that event, I changed my
hunting grounds and I never went back out there.
Could you imagine returning to a place that might take you again?
What if I'm trapped in that loop forever?
Next time, Whatever it may be, I can't shake the feeling that I'm
slowly losing my grip on reality.
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www.magicmind.com/justcreepy. For the next 10 days with my
code just creepy 20, I had always been captivated by the
allure of the great outdoors and the breathtaking beauty of
nature. So when I first heard about
Yosun National Park during my upbringing, I knew deep down
that I had to experience it for myself.
With excitement coursing through my veins, I meticulously packed
my gear and embarked on a hiking and fishing expedition to
explore the park's crystal clear streams, towering trees and awe
inspiring scenery. Hours into my hike, I found
myself immersed in the sights and sounds of the lush forest,
relishing the tranquillity it offered.
However, as I continued along the trail, I began to sense that
something was amiss. The familiar markers that had
guided my journey seemed to vanish, and I couldn't discern
any signs or indicators to retrace my steps.
Panic gradually took hold of me as the realization settled in.
I was lost. I attempted to backtrack, but
the dense forest offered no clues, and the disorienting
wilderness made it impossible to discern One Direction from
another. A growing sense of dread gnawed
at my core. The forest appeared to close in
around me, trees drawing nearer, casting eerie shadows and
enveloping me in a shroud of darkness.
The babbling brook that had previously been my companion now
faded into a distant murmur, leaving behind an unsettling
silence that only amplified my fear.
After what felt like an eternity of wandering, I stumbled upon a
clearing in the woods. At its center stood an old
weathered cabin. It appeared abandoned, with
cobwebs clinging to the dusty furniture and an unmistakable
musty odor hanging in the air. It was evident that no one had
set foot in this cabin for quite some time.
With trepidation, I decided to make camp inside the cabin for
the night, hoping to regain my bearings and find my way out of
the forest come morning. I counted myself lucky to find a
relatively dry spot and managed to start a fire in the
fireplace. As the warmth of the flames
enveloped me, a sense of relief washed over my anxious soul.
However, as night descended upon the forest, my newfound sense of
safety would prove fleeting. The silence was unnerving and
strange noises emanated from outside the cabin, faint but
unmistakable. The sounds of something moving
walking around the cabin's perimeter sent shivers down my
spine. Twigs snapped, leaves rustled,
and I tried desperately to convince myself it was just an
animal, but the immense fear in the pit of my stomach refused to
be quelled. As the night wore on, the
mysterious noises grew more frequent and pronounced.
It was as though an unseen presence was toying with me,
playing mind games and disrupting any hope of rest.
Each time I believe the disturbances had ceased and
tried to close my eyes. They would return louder and
more intense than before. Eventually the noises ceased
altogether, leaving me in an even more unsettling silence.
My unease lingered and I came to a difficult decision.
I couldn't stay in the cabin any longer.
I had to find my way out of this forest as soon as possible.
Stepping outside, I spotted a figure in the distance among the
trees. It loomed dark and tall.
It's gaze fixed upon me. I froze, locking eyes with the
figure, which then seemed to vanish into the forest.
My heart raced as I sprinted in the opposite direction,
desperate to escape this nightmare.
Yet the forest felt alive all around me, as though it
conspired to keep me trapped within its depths.
More strange noises, more shadowy figures in the distance.
I was living a waking nightmare. The night seemed endless, my
body weary, but I pressed on. Finally, I stumbled upon a river
and decided to follow it. It was my last hope, my beacon
of salvation. The river proved treacherous,
its rocks slippery, and I fell repeatedly, bruising my knees
and scraping my hands. But I couldn't relent.
I had to keep moving. After what felt like an
eternity, I caught a glimpse of a faint light in the distance.
Hope surged within me as I rushed toward it.
As I drew nearer, I realized it was a campsite, with tents set
up and the warm glow of a campfire.
Gasping for breath, I stumbled into the camp and the campers
looked at me in astonishment. They were a group of three
friends who had been exploring the park for days.
With empathy etched across their faces, they listened intently to
my harrowing tale. Their concern was palpable, and
they offered me a hot meal and a place to rest for the night.
By the campfires comforting warmth, the tension in my body
began to dissipate. If only slightly.
Grateful for their kindness and the safety of their company, I
felt a glimmer of relief. The following morning I joined
their group, determined to find my way out of the forest.
They were experienced hikers who knew the park well, and their
guidance was invaluable as we hiked for hours.
The relief washed over me with every step, and we inched closer
to the park's entrance. Emerging from the forest, I
looked back at the towering trees and dense undergrowth.
The fear and uncertainty of the previous night seemed distant.
Like a fading dream vanquished by the morning light, I thanked
the group profusely for their assistance and embarked on a
long journey back home. As I drove away from Yosun
National Park, my thoughts were filled with the strange
occurrences of that fateful night.
I couldn't shake the feeling that something sinister lurked
within the forest. The memory of that night haunted
me, plaguing my dreams. Yet despite the fear and
uncertainty, I knew that I would return to Yosa National Park one
day. The irresistible allure of its
beauty and the magnetic pull of the wilderness were simply too
strong to resist. Besides, I had to retrieve my
camping gear eventually. It was the early autumn of 1973
in East Texas, somewhere deep within the heart of the big
thicket area just north of Beaumont.
The clock had struck late on a Friday night when my family and
I finally arrived at a secluded hunting cabin nestled in the
wilderness. The cabin was to be our home for
the weekend, a place where my stepfather and uncle could
pursue their passion for hunting while the rest of us sought
refuge in the tranquillity of nature.
I, being the curious teenager I was, had come along for the
adventure. Our arrival had been delayed as
each of us had to finish our respective work obligations that
Friday evening. Consequently, it was well past
11:00 PM when we arrived at the cabin.
The night had blanketed the world in an inky darkness, but a
solitary light attached to a power pole offered a feeble
glimmer of civilization. With a light, misty rain
beginning to fall, we hurried inside the cabin, grateful for
its shelter. The cabin's interior was
unremarkable, a simple rectangular shape with the main
area in the middle housing the kitchen and a small sitting
area. Bunk beds were placed at both
ends of the cabin. My younger brother E and I chose
the room on the right side, where a set of bunk beds was
conveniently located next to a window.
Our parents selected the rooms at the opposite end of the
cabin, and soon enough we all succumbed to the embrace of
sleep. Around 1:00 in the morning, my
brother's piercing scream shattered the stillness of the
night. Startled, I bolted upright in my
top bunk, frantically searching for the source of his terror.
He had been yanked away from his bed and now stood at the edge,
fixated on the window. The window was large enough to
be visible from both bunks, and as I looked in that direction I
caught a glimpse of movement beyond the glass, a silhouette
brown and furry. My heart pounded in my chest as
I tried to make sense of the unnerving sight.
I swiftly retreated back under the covers of my bunk, only to
be confronted by an even more horrifying image.
There, in the dim light filtering through the window, I
came face to face with a monstrous creature.
It had large, haunting eyes and a snarling, upturned face.
It's dangerous teeth bared in a menacing grimace.
Terror seized me as I realized this beast was staring directly
at us. It quickly moved away from the
window, but the memory of its malevolent visage was etched
into my mind. I couldn't contain my fear, and
soon my stepfather and uncle were at our door, their faces
etched with concern. We could hear the creature
outside it's unearthly scream sending shivers down our spines.
The pole with the light began to shake violently, casting eerie
shadows, and then it abruptly flickered and died.
The cabin was plunged Into Darkness as the power went out.
My uncle and stepfather wasted no time.
They grabbed their rifles and ventured outside, believing it
to be a bear. However, moments later they
returned, locking and barricading the door behind
them. Their faces were ashen, and they
did their best to calm us down. We huddled together in the
living area, my aunt desperately trying to convince us that it
was just a bear, likely for the sake of us children.
As I lay there pretending to be asleep, I couldn't help but
overhear my uncle whispering to my stepdad.
There's no way that was a bear. Morning finally arrived and we
hastily packed our belongings, eager to leave that dreadful
place. One of the cars we had driven, a
Pinto, bore the evidence of an unsettling encounter.
The right front corner panel was dented, as if something massive
had pressed its weight upon it, and smudges marred the
windshield, as if some monstrous entity had leaned in to peer at
us from within the car. We ventured outside and found
indistinct tracks in the mud, their outlines blurred by the
persistent rain. My brother and I followed the
tracks to the back of the cabin, where we examine the area near
the window. The cabin was perched on a
slant, with one side significantly lower than the
other, sloping down the hill toward the driveway.
For any creature to have reached the window, it would have had to
stand over 8 feet tall, an astonishing height for a bear.
My dad shook his head and muttered.
If that was a bear, it had to have been colossal.
With no desire to linger, we all piled into the cars and departed
that eerie cabin in the woods. The journey home was marked by
tense silence, the memory of that night's terror haunting our
thoughts, leaving us all on edge, unable to shake the
feeling that something otherworldly had crossed our
path that fateful night in the big Thicket of East Texas.
I had always dreamt of going on a fishing trip to the Florida
Keys, so when my buddies invited me to join them on a weekend
adventure, I jumped at the chance.
We arrived at our rented house on the water's edge on a Friday
evening, ready to spend the next two days chasing after some big
fish. We were all incredibly amped up
for the adventure that awaited us.
The house was a charming old beachfront cottage.
It's peeling blue paint telling tales of countless summers past.
It boasted a wrap around porch that faced the water, and inside
it had three small bedrooms, a cozy living room, and a fully
equipped kitchen. As we stepped inside, we
couldn't contain our excitement, but what really had us thrilled
was the discovery that we had a dock in the backyard with a
small motorboat tied to it, which was perfect for our
fishing expedition. The first day unfolded
seamlessly. We woke up early, geared up, and
headed out to the ocean. Within just a few hours we had
reeled in some decent sized fish.
Satisfied with our catch, we decided to head back to the
house to cook our bounty and rest up for another day on the
water. As night descended upon us,
things began to take an eerie turn.
Sitting around the campfire, we heard strange noises emanating
from the nearby woods. Something was moving around out
there, but in the darkness we couldn't discern its form.
We shrugged it off, attributing it to local wildlife or fauna,
and retired to bed, still riding the waves of our excitement.
The following day, however, the atmosphere had shifted.
It was hard to put my finger on it, but something felt
different. The water was choppier, the sky
overcast, and an eerie silence seemed to hang over everything.
It was as though the world itself was holding its breath.
We began fishing, but I couldn't shake the feeling of unease.
The water had turned murky and dark, as if it were hiding some
dark secret it didn't want to reveal.
Nevertheless, we pressed on, hoping to catch something big.
That's when everything took a terrifying turn.
My friend Jack suddenly yanked on his fishing line, prompting
all of us to rush over to see what he had hooked.
But as we peered closer, we were horrified to discover that it
wasn't a fish at all, it was a human hand.
Panic surged through us and we quickly reeled in the line,
hoping it was just a bizarre fluke.
However, as we continue to fish, more and more human remains
surfaced bones, limbs, and even a skull.
Fear gripped us, and we knew we had to get out of there and
alert the authorities immediately.
But as we attempted to start the boat's engine, in a cliche and
horrifying twist, it wouldn't start.
We were trapped on the boat with this gruesome discovery, and
there seemed to be no way out. Then the nightmare escalated.
A figure emerged from the water slowly making its way toward us.
It was a man, or at least it had once been a man, but now he was
covered in seaweed and algae, his eyes cold and lifeless.
He began climbing onto the boat, and we stumbled back in sheer
terror. Desperation and fear overtook us
as we fought to defend ourselves.
We used our fishing rods and anything we could find to poke
and prod the man, but he was relentless.
His movements were unnatural, his attempts to bite us with his
sharp, broken teeth relentless. It became clear that this was no
ordinary man. He was some kind of creature
from the depths of the sea. We tried to reason with it, to
plead for our lives, but it was too late.
The creature was upon us, attempting to tear our flesh
with its menacing claws and jagged teeth.
It was like a nightmare brought to life a creature straight out
of a horror movie reminiscent of the creature from the Black
Lagoon. I can't explain how we survived
that day or how we eventually made it back to shore.
One of us managed to get the boat's engine started, and we
used every ounce of strength and determination to escape the
clutches of that monstrous creature.
After returning to shore, we secured the boat, locked all the
doors and windows, and tried to make sense of the harrowing
encounter. Upon further research, we
discovered a series of disappearances in the area and
reports of encounters with similar creatures from the deep.
While some dismiss it as a local urban legend, I know the truth.
I know what I experienced, and no one can convince me
otherwise. The memory of that terrifying
encounter will never fade from my mind.
I was just 16 years old, living in Alabama, and like any typical
Southern stereotype, I had a deep passion for hunting.
Nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened during my hunting
trips, but this particular occasion would forever haunt my
memories. My dad, a former hunting
enthusiast, used to take me with him on our private property when
I was just a little boy. However, one day he abruptly
stopped hunting, taking down all the stuffed deer heads and
skulls that adorned our home and even attempting to sell his
guns. Fortunately, my mother convinced
him to let me have one of the guns, a bolt action rifle with a
thermal scope. Once I was deemed responsible
enough to handle it, I couldn't fathom why my dad had suddenly
quit hunting. But I would soon discover the
reason during the chilling events of my story.
My first solo hunting expedition took place when I was around 13
years old. I had previously accompanied my
best friend and his dad on hunts, but this time I yearn to
venture into the woods alone. My dad's old camouflage
treehouse still stood deep within the woods, but my neglect
had caused it to deteriorate over the years.
Determined to carve my own path, I decided to create a ghillie
suit inspired by the camouflage used by military snipers.
I had been playing a lot of Call of Duty, and the idea of
becoming a master of concealment fascinated me.
A ghillie suit consisted of attaching various natural
elements like leaves and grass to clothing to blend seamlessly
with the surroundings. In the fall season, I scavenged
dead leaves and fashioned A ghillie suit out of my dad's old
hunting clothes. By the time I was 15, my
homemade ghillie suit had earned me a nickname at school Bush
Boy. Excitement surged through me as
I envisioned myself aiming my rifle at a magnificent buck,
hoping to bring back a worthy trophy.
My girlfriend, Mary, although not enthusiastic about hunting,
was always curious to see what I brought home for dinner on the
evening of the fateful hunt. I set out around 7:30 PM on a
Saturday. Little did I know that this
decision would lead to a terrifying encounter.
Armed with my dad's rifle, a hunting knife, a shovel, a
flashlight, and a small first aid kit, I ventured into the
woods. I Facetimed Mary before
immersing myself in the hunt, our playful banter filling the
pre hunt ritual, I marked my equipment against a nearby tree
with a neon pink ribbon, ensuring I wouldn't lose them if
I made a successful kill. I carefully selected a concealed
spot, lay down, and readied my rifle, all while maintaining
radio silence with Mary. Time crawled by as I waited, my
gaze fixed on the woods. After what felt like an
eternity, a massive buck emerged from the brush around 20 yards
away. The creature appeared unusually
tall and malnourished, with Milky white blank eyes that sent
a shiver down my spine. Rationally, I assumed it was
blind, which made it even more crucial to remain motionless as
it's heightened sense of hearing could easily detect any slight
movement. I aimed my rifle with precision,
even though my thermal scope inexplicably failed to pick up
the creatures body heat. The forest had fallen into an
eerie silence, amplifying my unease.
With bated breath I pulled the trigger, the gunshot momentarily
illuminating the pitch black surroundings.
I waited for the telltale thud of the deer dropping to the
ground before rising victorious. However, my excitement was short
lived as I approached the spot where I'd left my equipment.
The injured deer now still needed to be put out of its
misery. As I move toward it, I made a
horrifying discovery. The deer stood on its hind legs,
and its front legs resembled human hands, stained with blood.
Frozen in terror, I watched as the creature opened its mouth,
revealing sharp, carnivorous teeth.
It emitted A ghastly, otherworldly screech that
sounded like a blend of a young woman's scream and a mountain
lion's roar. The creature transformed,
scuttling toward me on all fours like a spider.
My survival instinct finally kicked in, and I bolted toward
home. Leaving behind my father's
precious rifle and gear, the creature pursued me
relentlessly. It's screech haunting my every
step. Through sheer panic, I managed
to reach the safety of my house, slamming the door with such
force that the entire structure shuttered.
Peering out the window, I saw nothing but an empty backyard
bathed in porch light. The not deer had vanished,
leaving me in a state of profound disbelief.
With trembling hands, I meticulously secured every door
and window in the house. Exhausted and terrified, I stood
at the back door only to hear my dad's voice from behind.
He asked if I had seen it, and I struggled to respond,
attributing the encounter to a grizzly bear before retreating
to my room. Haunted by the memory of that
creature, Mary awaited me in my room, offering comfort and
concern. Reluctantly, I recounted the
night's events, referring to the creature as the not deer.
I suspected my ghillie suit had saved me, making me nearly
invisible to the creature. While lying on the ground,
however, I harbored no illusions that I had seen the last of it.
The following evening, my parents were out, leaving Mary
and me home alone. It was around 9:00 PM and we had
just finished dinner, the tranquil sounds of crickets
outside serenading us. Abruptly, the world fell into a
stifling silence, and all nature's sounds ceased.
It was the ominous quiet that I now associated with the not
deer. Something stirred rousing Mary
from her slumber, and a rhythmic tapping resonated nearby, and
the tapping seemed to come from one of the windows facing the
woods. Mary and I exchanged nervous
glances as we listened, the tapping growing louder.
A voice eerily resembling Mary's but devoid of emotion urged me
to come outside. Mary's panicked whisper
confirmed it was not her, and I knew we were in grave danger, my
Glock in hand. I cautiously approached the
window. I glimpsed an antler like
appendage outside, and the tapping intensified with
adrenaline coursing through me. I opened fire, shattering the
window, and the creature emitted its horrifying screech once more
as it retreated into the woods. Mary and I fled to the attic,
where we waited in tense silence until my parents returned at
2:00 AM. My mother was understandably
furious about the shattered window, but my dad, seemingly
understanding, ordered a replacement.
Mary returned home, and we avoided discussing the
nightmarish events of those two nights.
It had been a year since that terrifying encounter, but I
continued to hunt. Now equipped with an improved
ghillie suit, I had retrieved my gear from the woods, but always
ensured that my targets were ordinary deer with body heat.
The creature I had encountered was something far more sinister,
an ancient spirit condemned to roam the earth, thirsting for
blood and hiding behind a disguise.
I had escaped its clutches twice, but deep down I knew it
would return, and I doubted I'd be as fortunate a third time.
It was a scorching, hot summer day, and I decided to escape the
suffocating city heat by retreating to the tranquility of
the local State Park for a day of fishing.
The thought of casting my line in the cool waters and basking
in the serenity of nature was too enticing to resist.
After packing my fishing gear into the back of my trusty old
pickup truck, I embarked on the short drive to the park filled
with eager anticipation. As I arrived at the park, my
initial impressions were ordinary enough.
The sun bathed the surroundings in a golden glow, and the gentle
breeze rustled the leaves in the trees.
However, something immediately caught my attention.
There, by the water's edge, stood a small group of people,
all appearing to be in their mid 20s.
What made them peculiar were the black robes they wore, each hood
obscuring their faces from view. It was an odd sight, but I
brushed it off, thinking that perhaps they were engaging in
some form of role-playing or a local event.
After all, people in the area often immerse themselves in
various eccentric hobbies. I continued on my way, heading
toward a secluded spot by the water where I intended to cast
my line. The fishing was excellent, and
the hours passed swiftly as I reeled in several fish within
the first hour. However, every time I looked up
from my angling, I couldn't help but notice that the group of
hooded figures had moved closer. They seem to be observing me
intently, their intent veiled by the obscurity of their robes.
As the day wore on, more and more people arrived at the park,
all dressed in the same black robes and hoods.
Their numbers swelled, and it became increasingly apparent
that their collective focus was fixated on me.
An eerie sensation crept over me, and I felt like I was being
watched with a scrutiny that went beyond curiosity.
It was unsettling, to say the least.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows
across the park, the group of hooded figures closed in once
more. They formed a circle around me,
effectively trapping me in place.
In the fading light. I could now discern their faces,
and they appeared strange and otherworldly.
Their eyes were dark and hollow, and peculiar markings adorned
their skin. My heart raced, and panic began
to set in as one of them stepped forward and spoke to me in a
low, hissing voice. We've been waiting for you.
You're the sacrifice. I tried to bolt to escape their
ominous presence, but they moved with an uncanny swiftness,
tripping me up and seizing me. They dragged me deeper into the
woods, their voices reverberating in my head like a
sinister chant. I was paralyzed by terror and
confusion, unable to comprehend the nightmarish situation
unfolding around me. Within the dense woods they had
erected A crude altar composed of stones and twigs.
They forced me onto it, and a searing pain shot through my
chest as they began to chant in an incomprehensible language.
It was as though I was immobilized, trapped by an
unseen force that rendered me powerless.
Abruptly, the chanting came to a jarring halt.
The group of hooded figures glanced up, terror etched across
their faces. A deep guttural growl emanated
from the depths of the forest, and my eyes locked onto a pair
of eerie, glowing eyes lurking in the darkness.
Panic spread among the cultists and they fled, leaving me alone
on the makeshift altar. I gazed upward, trembling, and
beheld A colossal nightmarish creature looming over me.
It's grotesque fur bristled with an unsettling intensity, and
it's razor sharp. Claws and teeth gleamed
menacingly. I realized with a sinking
feeling that the cultists had summoned this abomination,
intending to sacrifice me to it. The creature peered down at me,
it's hot, fetid breath washing over my face.
I shut my eyes tightly, resigned to my grim fate.
Instead of the anticipated end, I heard a deep, rumbling growl
when I dare to open my eyes once more.
The creature had vanished, leaving me bewildered and alone
in the desolate woods. Shaken to my core, I staggered
back to my car, my thoughts and turmoil as I drove away from the
State Park. A chilling realization washed
over me. I had unwittingly stumbled upon
a group of people worshipping something far beyond the realm
of human understanding. The grotesque creature had
likely been their deity, and I had miraculously escaped the
intended sacrifice. Why it spared me, I couldn't
fathom. The only explanation that
lingered in my terrified mind was that it had turned its wrath
upon its misguided followers, sparing me from a gruesome fate
that defied comprehension. If anyone possesses insights
into what I encountered that day, please, for the sake of my
sanity, share your knowledge.