In the 90s, when I was growing up, we didn't have all the
distractions that kids have today.
Our generation had to make up our own things to do, and more
often than not, that meant going outside, going hunting, or
inventing games. Our parents encouraged us to be
outdoors and living in a small town.
There was no shortage of outdoor activities to indulge in.
But one activity that almost everyone in our town partook in
was riding some type of ATV or dirt bike.
For me, this became one of my most cherished pastimes.
I was just seven years old when fate intervened.
A man on the highway was selling a YZ80, and for me it was like
discovering buried treasure. All I could think about was
sitting on that dirt bike and riding it all day around my
neighborhood. But my dad had reservations.
He believed I was too young to handle such an incredible
machine. It took weeks of relentless
pestering, but my unyielding determination ultimately
convinced him to buy it for me. I couldn't contain my
excitement, however. The truth was I had no idea how
to ride a dirt bike at the time. The first time I got on that
machine, I popped the clutch, executed an unintentional
wheelie, and flipped the bike. This incident did nothing to
inspire confidence in my father, but with time I honed my skills
and became proficient at riding this machine.
Thankfully, I had access to an open field where I could perfect
my skills. As my friends learned about my
dirt bike, they started taking me to various trails around our
town and it gradually became one of our favorite pastimes.
We would do this almost every single day after school, and
it's a childhood memory I still hold dear.
Among the places we explored, there was one particular spot
called Emmons. I never knew the person behind
the name or why it was called that, but what mattered was an
old, abandoned house situated deep within the woods.
This mysterious house had been there for as long as anyone
could remember, and it was surrounded by a network of
thrilling trails featuring hills, creeks, and wide open
stretches where you could really push your machine to its limits.
Most of the time there were two or three of us riding together,
but occasionally I would venture out on my own.
I had embarked on solo rides several times before, but one
day would etch itself indelibly into my memory.
On that day, I couldn't go riding right after school.
I had some homework that needed my attention, and I couldn't
ride until it was done. It was already 6 in the evening
when I finally set out. Thankfully it was summer and
darkness wouldn't fall until around 8:30.
My dirt bike didn't have any lights, so I knew my ride
couldn't be too long. Nevertheless, Emmons was only
about 5 minutes from my house. The moment I hopped onto my
machine, a smile crept across my face.
I adored that dirt bike. It was my pride and joy.
After fueling it up and giving it a once over, I put it in
neutral, kicked the bike to life, and felt the exhilaration
course through me. A few days earlier I had broken
my clutch cable, so I had to give the bike a push, jump on,
and throw it into gear. It was a maneuver I had
perfected, and I was quite adept at it.
My dad had ordered the replacement cable, but it hadn't
arrived yet. I set off into the trails with
enthusiasm, tearing through the paths for about an hour, not
encountering a soul. It seemed like everyone had
other plans that day. Deep within the woods, there lay
an open field about four or five acres in size, enclosed by a
rusty, mostly intact fence. The quietness in the air struck
me as odd, considering the noise my dirt bike generated, but I
dismissed it, attributing it to my own noisy presence.
Feeling the call of nature, I decided to stop on the trail and
relieve myself. My racing bike lacked A
kickstand, so I leaned it against a fence post.
As I was in the midst of my business, I noticed the eerie
silence around me, an unusual contrast to the revving engine
moments earlier. But I brushed it off, assuming
it was my imagination. Then, about 50 or 60 yards away,
I heard rustling. I glanced in that direction, but
saw nothing initially, so I chalked it up to a squirrel,
common in these woods. However, as I finished up, an
inexplicable sense of anxiety washed over me and the
atmosphere grew heavy, as if unseen eyes were fixed upon me.
I scanned my surroundings but saw nothing.
My bike was just a few feet away and I began walking towards it.
With each step, I distinctly heard another step behind me.
The realization sent shivers down my spine.
I was certain someone was following me at this point.
Fear gripped me and I was uncertain about what to do next.
My only thought was to run to my bike, jump on it, and make a
quick getaway. It had to be a seamless maneuver
since my bike lacked a clutch and I had to kick start it, push
it, and throw it into gear all at once, Gathering all the
courage I could muster, I sprinted towards my bike in one
fluid motion. I leaped onto it, kick started
it, and shoved it into gear. The footsteps continued behind
me relentlessly, echoing my every move.
I knew whatever was back, there was only a few yards away.
As I speed away, a sudden breeze grazed my back, as if something
had taken a swipe at me and narrowly missed.
My heart raced and I could feel my pulse pounding in my temples.
Though I never saw anything, the sense of urgency to escape those
woods was overpowering. Finally, I reached the road,
stopped my bike and tried to collect myself.
It took several minutes, but as I did, a blood curdling scream
pierced the air. It started softly, but
crescendoed into a deafening roar, reverberating through my
chest. Without hesitation, I revved my
engine and raced home as fast as I could.
It was a long time before I mustered the courage to return
to those woods, and when I did, it was always with friends by my
side. That day, that dreadful
encounter in the woods remained etched in my memory, a haunting
reminder of the unknown lurking in the depths of the forest.
It was around November of last year, when I had just moved to
Washington State. Being new to the area, I found
myself drawn to the woods. So when a few friends of mine
who were avid forest enthusiasts decided to Take Me Out to a
secluded spot, I thought, why not?
I need some time away from work. I managed to get the weekend
off, packed my bag, cleaned my rifle, and headed over to my
friend's house. We ended up about 25 or 30 miles
away from the Canadian border, deep within a forest that seemed
to stretch endlessly. I was enthralled by the
wilderness, as my home state didn't have anything quite like
this. There were six of us in total,
along with two dogs, a Labrador and a Rottweiler.
Each person was armed with either a hunting rifle or a
shotgun, and they all had a handgun except for me.
We parked our cars on a tiny dirt Rd. likely used by game
wardens or Border Patrol, and hiked about four miles into the
woods. By this time dusk was setting in
and we decided to build a fire right away so we could set up
our tents. Two of the group and one of the
dogs went out to gather firewood while the rest of us started
setting up the tent. A massive 6 to 8 person one
November in this region could be quite chilly, but we managed to
set up the tent in about 15 minutes.
The trio that went to gather wood still hadn't returned, so
we decided to start a fire with some branches we found around
the campsite. As we were getting the fire
going, we began to hear crashing noises coming from the woods as
if someone was sprinting towards us.
The two guys who had gone to gather wood came rushing back,
their eyes wide with fear. The Labrador was with them, but
the Rottweiler was nowhere to be seen.
They began to explain that they had seen one of our friends out
in the woods, acting strangely. They tried to approach him, but
every time they got close he would move away.
At one point he simply vanished and then reappeared not ten feet
behind them. They mentioned a terrible stench
of rotten meat and spoiled milk that seemed to surround them
during the encounter. They tried asking him what was
wrong, but he didn't respond. Suddenly, he bolted into the
woods and the dog chased after him, barking frantically.
Soon, both the man and the dog disappeared from sight.
The terrible smell persisted, accompanied by eerie giggling
sounds. We were all disturbed by this
bizarre story, but we initially thought it might be some
elaborate prank. However, our concern grew when
we realized that the missing dog hadn't returned either.
We began to worry about the situation, but decided to stay
put. By this point, the sun was
dipping below the horizon, so we built up the fire and brought
out some Coleman lanterns. We huddled together, eating Mr.
ES with our firearms close at hand.
About 15 minutes after darkness fell, the remaining dog, the
Rottweiler, suddenly perked up and started growling
aggressively. The stench returned and the guys
were not exaggerating about how terrible it was.
The forest began to groan and creak and we could hear branches
and leaves snapping around the perimeter of our campsite.
The atmosphere was tense and the sense of dread intensified.
The dogs barking grew more frenzied.
So one of the guys, Sean, stood up and fired 3 rounds of
buckshot randomly into the woods.
A horrifying otherworldly screech echoed from the darkness
and rapidly moved away from us, taking the foul odor with it.
We waited for about an hour on high alert and then decided to
try and get some sleep. Two people would keep watch at
all times. I was on the 1st watch with
another guy named Victor. The Labrador was still nearby
and we kept a close eye on the surroundings.
The first two hours passed without incident as we woke up
Sean and Jim for their watch. I couldn't shake off the eerie
feeling that something was very wrong.
It wasn't long before I woke up to that nauseating smell once
again, and Sean was shouting loudly.
Victor and I hurried outside to see what had happened.
Sean was scanning the edge of the woods with a spotlight,
desperately calling out Jim's name.
I asked what had occurred, and they explained that they had
been sitting there when they heard one of our friends calling
to them from the woods. The dog had growled and rushed
toward the sound, and Jim followed after the dog
disappearing into the woods. Sean had been yelling for him
when he heard Jim begin to speak, but he was abruptly cut
off. Fear gripped us all and we
couldn't leave Jim out there, so we decided to venture into the
woods to find him. By this time, the foul stench
had returned, making most of us feel queasy.
We pushed on because we were determined to locate our missing
friend. We found some of Jim's tracks,
but lost the trail when they suddenly stopped, leaving no
other footprints. Leading back in the direction he
had come from. The situation grew even more
unsettling. Suddenly, one of the guys at the
back of our group stopped and made a strange noise before
yelling in anger. We all rushed over to see Jim
standing about 20 feet away. However, he was standing
unnaturally, and something about him felt profoundly wrong.
We approached him cautiously, asking if he was OK and if he
needed help. He just stood there with a blank
expression, slowly nodding yes. It was clear that something was
terribly amiss. Laughs and jokes circulated
among the group, except for Jim, who remained eerily silent.
It was hard to believe that he had only been out in the woods
for less than a day, considering his strange behavior back at the
camp. We tried to lay him down, but he
adamantly refused, choosing to remain outside by the fire.
A few of us went to sleep while Sean, Victor, and I stayed up to
keep an eye on Jim as we observed him.
We noticed bizarre jerky muscle spasms and movements that sent
shivers down our spines. It seemed like there was
something seriously wrong with him.
Jim remained mostly silent and slow to respond to us, except
when it came to food. We offered him an MRE, but he
only ate the meat from it. Afterward, he got up and began
to move awkwardly, suggesting that we join him in the woods to
gather firewood. Despite the darkness, the ample
firewood we had collected earlier, and the presence of a
large campfire, his request didn't seem all that strange at
the time. He gave a peculiar shrug before
walking off strangely into the woods.
We were on guard, but didn't attempt to stop him.
A few minutes later, Sean got up and went into the tent for
something, leaving me outside with Victor.
That's when the dreadful smell hit me, like a sledgehammer
making me gag. Simultaneously, I started
hearing strange gibbering and giggling, a chorus of madness
that sent chills down my spine. I had never felt so terrified in
my life, and it was clear that Victor felt the same way.
Sean came out in time to hear the disturbing sounds clearly.
He rushed back inside the tent to wake everyone up.
He froze at the tent flap, his face draining of color as he
muttered curses under his breath.
His alarmed reaction stirred the rest of the group, and we all
awoke in a panic. I couldn't understand why he was
cursing, but it certainly had the desired effect of waking
everyone up. As we counted heads to ensure
everyone was present, Sean's face grew even paler.
He stammered. Where's Jim?
It was then that we realized something was horribly amiss.
The gibbering grew louder and a cacophony of nonsensical sound
seemed to echo through the woods.
Jim's voice called out to us from the darkness, pleading for
help, but his words were off key and interspersed with unsettling
giggles. We decided to stoke the fire,
turning it into a blazing inferno, and turned all the
lanterns to their brightest setting.
We clutched our weapons, ready to defend ourselves.
We stayed huddled around the fire until the first light of
dawn began to breakthrough the trees.
As soon as there was enough visibility, we extinguish the
fire, packed our belongings and made a hasty retreat towards our
vehicles. The ominous giggling and
nauseating smell returned as we hastily left the campsite.
Upon reaching our cars, we were met with a horrifying sight.
Scratches covered the vehicles, most of the windows were smashed
and the seats were shredded beyond recognition.
We needed the cars to run, so we hastily toss the keys into the
ignition. We breathed A collective sigh of
relief as the engines roared to life.
Without a second thought, we piled into the vehicles and
speed away, leaving behind the nightmare in the woods.
For months we avoided discussing the eerie events that had
transpired, and most of us couldn't bring ourselves to
admit that it had happened. One of the guys later confided
in us that he had seen Jim standing at the edge of the
woods, staring at us as we departed, a twisted grin on his
face. I believed him, and that
experience left me with an unshakeable belief that I had
encountered something sinister, a skin Walker.
It's a memory that will haunt me for the rest of my life, and
I'll never venture into the woods so far from civilization.
With just a handful of friends again in the summer of 2015, I
found myself on a mission to hunt coyotes for their prized
fur. Armed with my basic AR15 rifle
that I had acquired inexpensively, I admired how it
slung comfortably over my shoulder.
I attached a sling point to the barrel, securing it, messenger
bag style around my neck, and hopped onto my dirt bike.
The cabin on the mountain awaited a remote sanctuary where
my journey would begin. As I approached the cabin and
parked my dirt bike, I sensed an eerie presence lingering in the
air. I had been baiting the woods
with squirrel and rabbit guts to attract predators, but to my
surprise, all the bait had vanished.
An unsettling feeling gnawed at me.
The neighbor who lived just down the road had also departed in
his car, leaving me alone, deciding to investigate the
woods. I couldn't shake the sensation
that I was not alone. Every step I took seemed to be
echoed by another, as if unseen eyes were watching my every
move. I glimpsed A shadowy figure in
the distance, it's silhouette resembling a stick figure.
I waved hesitantly, and it slipped behind a tree.
Dismissing it as a trick of my imagination, I retreated to the
safety of the cabin inside the cabin.
I opted to sit down and indulge in some drinks while I
contemplated my next move. The distant yelps of coyotes
filled the air, signaling their presence.
I readied my rifle, preparing to confront a few of these cunning
creatures. Sitting on the porch with the
lights turned off, I waited patiently, but nothing crossed
my path. The yelping gradually evolved
into distant cries for help. My attention shifted to the
neighbor's house, which stood in complete darkness.
It suddenly struck me that he had left, but the cries for help
persisted. Fear gripped me as I realized
that he might have encountered trouble, perhaps a leg injury,
in the woods surrounded by coyotes.
Determined to help, I ventured into the woods following the
dirt bike trail. The cries grew louder, leading
me deeper into the forest. Without warning, I encountered
AU shaped dip in the trail, and instead of hitting the brakes, I
coasted down it. As I descended, I heard an
anguished cry for help right in front of me.
Panic surged through me and I desperately tried to steer away.
In the chaos, my dirt bike flipped and my memory grew hazy
as I briefly lost consciousness. Regaining awareness, I found
myself trapped beneath the overturned dirt bike.
Panic set in as I realized that my left leg was pinned beneath
the heavy machine. My attempts to free myself were
futile, as though the dirt bike had suddenly gained 100 lbs.
The sling around my neck reminded me of my rifle and I
dragged it within reach even though my arm was bleeding.
As I assessed the condition of my rifle, I noticed damage to
the handguard and a cracked stock, but it still seemed
functional. With 30 rounds at my disposal, I
had to endure the night or hope that someone would find me.
I sat in the eerie silence of the forest, my fear intensifying
with every passing moment. Suddenly, a shuffling sound
nearby shattered the silence. The atmosphere grew thick with
tension. As I strain to locate the
source, the cries for help resurfaced, drawing nearer,
uncertain whether to respond or remain silent.
I listened to the approaching shuffling.
It was getting closer, and something loomed over the dirt
bike. I averted my gaze, unable to
look directly at the unknown presence, but before I could
react, it grabbed my face, rendering me helpless.
My mind raced, searching for the trigger of my rifle, but it was
a futile endeavor. Slowly it moved my head to face
it, and what I saw chilled me to the bone.
The figure was grotesque, resembling a crack addled Gollum
with a mutilated face, sunken cheeks, and hollow eyes.
Its breath was a noxious stench that filled my nostrils, searing
into my memory. Panic surged as I felt the flash
hider of my AR15 bump against something jolting me back to
reality. I screamed with all my might,
and it screamed back. I pulled the trigger repeatedly,
the deafening gunshots ringing in my ears.
It seized my hair and began bashing my head against the
ground, all while the rifles deafening report continued.
Finally it rested the gun from my grasp and pummeled me with
it, all the while howling and torment.
My vision blurred and I felt the brink of unconsciousness
approaching. Just when I thought it was over
I heard a sound louder than the creatures screams.
In a moment of sheer terror I watched as its head seemingly
exploded. My gun lay a mere 10 feet away,
and a brilliant light drew nearer.
My world faded Into Darkness as I heard someone scream my name,
urging me to hold on. When I regained consciousness, I
found myself in a hospital bed, my head stitched up, inquiring
with my neighbor about that fateful night, I received an
unexpected response. He simply claimed it was a bear,
a common sight in those parts. Yet deep down, I remained
unconvinced that a bear had been responsible for the harrowing
ordeal I had endured. A couple of nights ago,
something chilling happened to me at Stallsoft Park, a location
I frequent for some late night solitude.
Let me provide some context. First, this park is situated
within my city, covering approximately a square mile in
total area mostly dominated by dense forest.
There's a playground on the northern end adjacent to the
street, and the park is situated on an elevated hill with the
forest sloping down to a Central Valley.
The playground is bordered by woods on two sides, and the
swing set where I was perched sits about 10 feet from the
fence separating the playground from the forest.
I often visit this park between 9:00 at night and midnight to
relish the serenity of being the only person in the area.
It's not that I dislike kids or crowded places, but I find
solace in the quiet of the night.
On the particular night in question, I estimate it was
around 11:00 PM when I first heard shuffling noises coming
from behind the fence. This was not unusual, and
initially I paid little attention to it.
Approximately 5 minutes later, the shuffling sound returned,
but this time it had an eerie, almost human like quality.
My first thought was the possibility of a Mountain Lion,
even though I'd never encountered one in this park
before. Mountain Lion warnings were
posted in the area, but they generally don't pose a threat to
humans unless provoked. Still, I remained vigilant.
My next thought was that it might be a creeper, and I
mentally prepared to jump off the swing and make a dash for my
car. While mulling over my options, I
strained my eyes to peer at the fence that night.
The moon wasn't providing much light, but it's faint glow
allowed me to see movements, especially of something as large
as a human or animal. As I contemplated my next move,
I heard a sound that can only be described as a low moaning
growl, which persisted for about 5 seconds.
What puzzled me was that the source of this eerie
vocalization seemed to be right at the fence, just 10 feet away
from where I sat. What should have been my cue to
leave turned into a moment of stunned paralysis, and I
continued swinging for another 30 seconds or so.
Then things took an even stranger turn.
As I swung back and forth, I caught sight of a flashlight in
the distance near the point where the playground met the
street, roughly 60 to 70 feet from me.
Obstacles like play structures obscured my view, but I assumed
it could be a police officer, considering the park was
technically closed due to the ongoing pandemic.
However, I'd swung at parks after hours in the past, and the
police had never bothered me. The person with the flashlight
gradually approached, moving at an angle toward me.
Imagine the area as a clock with me at six, and he started at 12,
moving towards 7. To my right, about 10 feet from
the swing set and in the opposite direction of the fence,
there was a 20 by 20 metal overhang with a fishnet pattern
table for picnics. I hopped off the swing and
crouched behind it, which in the darkness of night provided
surprisingly effective concealment.
I watched as the person drew closer, though the visibility
was incredibly poor, I could make out that he was dressed in
a manner reminiscent of a character from the TV show
Supernatural Baggy pants, a vest, and the familiar duck bill
hat. That lid sold.
He seemed to have objects strapped to his arms and legs,
but I couldn't discern any more details.
In his hand he held a flashlight aimed at the ground, and on the
other hand there was some kind of stick or baton.
The whole situation was bizarre, and I couldn't shake the feeling
that I might be in danger. It struck me that if this person
saw me swinging alone at midnight, he might consider me
an easy target. With that thought, I decided
that if he came any closer, I would make a run for the far
fence leading into the forest. I knew the woods like the back
of my hand, having frequented them since I was a child.
Even in complete darkness, I could navigate them well enough
to hide if necessary. I crouched behind the table and
watched as the person briefly stopped, then continued walking
towards the entrance of the forest.
This marked the end of our eerie encounter.
I waited in silence for a few minutes before attempting to see
if I could still spot him, but he had disappeared into the
depths of the forest. Reflecting on the events of that
night, I couldn't be certain if the strange noise I had
initially heard and the flashlight wielding individual
were connected. I knew what mountain lions
sounded like and the only other wildlife in the park were deer,
squirrels and insects. The idea of a skinwalker or
something supernatural crossed my mind, but it was all
speculation. There was no distinctive smell,
and although the person dressed oddly, I didn't get an
overwhelmingly sinister vibe from him.
Furthermore, I doubted the park's size was sufficient to
house a creature of such lore. As I pondered these bizarre
events, I couldn't help but wonder if this mysterious figure
was hunting something else entirely and I was merely an
unsuspecting observer in the shadows.
The possibility lingered in my mind, leaving me with more
questions than answers. Had I encountered A skinwalker
or someone on a quest to confront one, I couldn't say for
certain, but that night at Stall Soft Park had left me with an
eerie and unshakable sense of unease.
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I'm 22 years old, a college senior hailing from the quiet
corners of Connecticut. My semi rural residence lies
about 20 minutes away from the closest supermarket and fast
food joint I study in Washington DC, but not in the upscale
neighborhoods you might have heard about.
I'm nestled in a part of town where substance abuse issues are
prevalent and the police presence is more reassuring than
troublesome. Let me clarify one thing.
I'm not some muscle bound freak. I stand at six one and weigh 240
lbs. Mostly muscle.
Sure I could drop a few pounds, but who doesn't have their
vices? I enjoy the occasional smoke,
drink, and indulgent meals. It's all part of the college
experience. As the diligent student I am,
I've chosen a real major accounting.
I even scored an internship at a mid size PR firm, crunching
numbers and raking in a respectable $20 per hour.
College isn't cheap, so I also moonlight as a pizza delivery
guy after the office closes. The pizza place where I work
isn't exactly gourmet and it's delivery radius is absurdly
large, around 20 minutes from my home and just 5 minutes from the
beach. My house lies north of the
pizzeria, and we deliver even farther N, which takes an
additional 50 minutes. Currently I'm typing this tale
at work, stealing moments between scrutinizing the fine
print on our client contracts to ensure we charge them every last
penny. Believe me, they'll do
everything to shortchange us anyway.
The farther N you venture from the pizza place, the more rural
and isolated the landscape becomes.
On this particular night, I found myself working until
closing time around 9:45. PMI was in the back, dutifully
folding pizza boxes when the counter girl approached me with
a delivery slip in hand. She mentioned that the customer
who placed the order had sounded strange on the phone, as if
speaking through a fan or cupping their hands around their
mouth. They were also making gurgling
noises. My Washington, DC experiences
immediately conjured images of substance users.
Given our neighborhood's reputation, however, it was more
likely to be someone who had over indulged in benzos around
here. I took a look at the delivery
address and I admit I was a little annoyed.
It was practically in the middle of nowhere, and the last thing I
wanted was a long drive. Moreover, the order was bizarre.
The customer had requested a large pizza loaded with
anchovies, ground beef, ham, sausage, pepperoni and various
other toppings totaling a whopping $15 in extras.
I went back to the counter girl to confirm, and she admitted
that she wasn't entirely sure as she had some difficulty
understanding the caller given her age around 16.
I cut her some slack, thinking she might have been daydreaming
during the call. No harm in double checking, so I
decided to give the customer a call back.
I dialed the number but it rang and rang, reaching 510-2030
times without an answer. I hung up and tried again only
to hear the number you have dialed does not have a voicemail
box that has been set up yet. Goodbye.
My manager, not wanting to waste any more time, decided to make
the pizza as ordered and we would figure it out from there.
Reluctantly, I took on the delivery.
As I drove to the customer's location, I put on some dubstep
music and revved up my turbo subi.
For those unfamiliar with rural areas, you should know that a
winter drive through the woods can be quite eerie.
It's an environment where absolute silence rains broken
only by the occasional rustle of something larger than a cat
moving through the underbrush. So there I was, speeding toward
the address. In this chilling silence, after
what felt like an eternity, I reached the location.
There were a few houses on the street, each sitting on about 5
acres, so they were quite spread out.
I was searching for number 1134, but I passed 1130, drove through
a long stretch of empty road, and then found 1144.
Frustrated and puzzled, I realized I must have missed it.
I called the customer's number again, and this time I heard a
strange buzzing or humming sound coming from somewhere outside my
car's stereo. It grew louder and louder until
I couldn't stand it any longer, fearing for my speakers.
At that point, my car windows were fogging up from the tension
in the air. I pulled over between two of the
houses and rolled down the windows, only to be hit by an
overwhelming odor of decaying trash reminiscent of driving
through Newark, NJ. It was so foul that I couldn't
bear it. I shifted my car into gear and
started driving toward the next house intending to knock and ask
if they had made a mistake with the order over the phone that
would have been a reasonable explanation for these bizarre
circumstances. As I approached the end of the
driveway I noticed a pole with a light on top of it.
The plan was to pull into this houses driveway, clarify the
order, and hopefully put an end to this unsettling situation.
I was about 100 feet away when I spotted someone stepping out of
the darkness and into the light at the bottom of the driveway.
My initial reaction was relief, thinking it must be the
customer. However, the man standing under
the light didn't fit the typical mold of a customer in need of a
pizza delivery. He was eerily calm, wearing a
massive I'll fitting black coat that made him appear even larger
than his towering stature, though he was probably 5 inches
shorter than me. I couldn't see his face properly
at first, but I grabbed the pizza and got out of the car,
preparing some change in case he paid in cash.
Hey Sir, sorry about the wait and all the phone calls.
The delivery is pretty far, I began, but there was no
response. It was then that I realized I
should be watching him more closely.
The red flags were stacking up, including the repulsive stench
that hung in the air. It didn't make sense.
It wasn't trash day. I moved the pizza to the far
side of the car roof to distance myself from it and squinted at
the ticket, trying to decipher the order.
Still no response from the man. At last, I gathered the courage
to study him more closely. The guy was enormous, had no
shoes on, wore ripped jeans with stains covering every inch and
his face. His eyes seemed sunken in, and I
couldn't even discern the pupils.
They were like bottomless black craters.
I started feeling increasingly uneasy.
Between the noxious smell, his odd head movements, and those
unsettling eyes, my anxiety was mounting.
He was still motionless, not responding to my presence.
So I stood there frozen, my gaze locked on him.
His head was bobbing from side to side, but it wasn't fluid or
natural. It was more like a car door that
stops halfway and requires another push to close properly.
This strange head movement continued for about 10 seconds,
intensifying my unease. I was getting increasingly
uncomfortable when, in the midst of this bizarre encounter, I
noticed that the man was smiling.
It was a chilling, unnatural smile that sent shivers down my
spine. I hadn't paid much attention to
his mouth before, but now I couldn't look away.
He continued to smile with that eerie grin, and as I stared, I
heard him speak. Can you please come get this?
Also, I think you might have dropped your phone or something
when you were hiding a body or whatever in the woods, I
stammered nervously. I was still clinging to the hope
that this man had taken too many pills and was simply having a
strange interaction. To my astonishment, his mouth
opened and his head stopped. It's erratic movements.
He uttered a word that sent a chill down my spine.
What? His voice was strained,
fragmented, and disjointed, almost as though he was trying
to say something else but couldn't.
I was stunned and baffled by his response.
What? I repeated, my voice shaky.
It was his, he replied, and the word sounded disjointed and
unnatural, as though he were struggling to communicate.
My heart raced as my mind went into OverDrive, trying to make
sense of the situation. His what?
I managed to utter, my anxiety mounting.
The man, still not moving from his spot, repeated.
The phone was his phone's, not his anymore.
I was trembling now, feeling a sense of impending danger.
The words he spoke made no sense, and his demeanor was
increasingly unsettling. In one jerky motion, he
propelled himself closer to my car, and I could hear his voice
change, as if it was coming from a different source entirely.
Go away. Stop following me, I will call
the police, he said, still not moving.
His mouth, and his voice took on a completely different tone, one
I had never heard before. Fear gripped me like a vice, and
I finally found my voice. I'm going to call the cops, man,
if you don't just get out of here, I shouted, panic
overtaking me. That creepy smile widened on his
face, but he didn't move his mouth.
Instead, I heard him speak again, this time in a voice that
sent shivers down my spine away. Stop, police.
I couldn't take it anymore. I had to escape this bizarre and
terrifying encounter. Without further hesitation, I
shoved the pizza toward him and made a hasty retreat to my car.
I didn't even bother closing the door properly.
I just needed to get away from this stranger.
My heart was pounding and I speed down the road, leaving
everything behind the pizza, the car door slightly ajar, and my
fear stricken thoughts. I drove about 80 mph for 1/4 of
a mile, then abruptly executed AU turn.
I didn't want to get any more lost in this unfamiliar area
with that eerie man still lurking around.
I quickly returned to the spot where I had left him, only to
find that he had vanished into thin air.
As I finally reached the end of the road, preparing to merge
onto the main road, I instinctively glanced right to
check for oncoming traffic. What I saw froze my blood.
The man's face was just inches away from mine, mere inches from
my car window, his eyes boring into mine.
I turned left as fast as I could, my heart racing leaving
him behind. Back at the pizza place, I was
shaking uncontrollably. I did something I never did
while working. I lit up a cigarette,
desperately trying to calm my nerves.
When I walked through the front door, the counter girl informed
me that the man from the open space house had called back.
She said. He claimed I had forgotten some
food, but he had only ordered a pizza, hadn't he?
I was on the verge of tears as I glanced at my phone, which had
been thrown around the car during my frantic escape.
There were 14 missed calls from the same number.
I listened to the voicemails, but all of them were empty
except for the last one. In that final voicemail, all I
could hear was ragged breathing and those same low grunting
sounds that the man had made earlier.
I couldn't hold back my tears any longer.
I sat there for 10 minutes attempting to regain my
composure. Then I remembered the change the
man had left on the roof of my car.
I mustered up the courage to step outside and shine a
flashlight on my car's roof. It was covered in a thick,
viscous, foul smelling substance that resembled copper.
I gagged and heaved, and as I inspected further, I found the
quarters he had left surrounded by the same repulsive goop.
They were stuck to it, along with what appeared to be a small
chunk of soft tissue. I couldn't believe what I was
seeing. Panic surged through me and I
rushed back into the pizza place.
My nerves were shattered as I asked the counter girl to call
the man's number again. She made several attempts, but
the phone consistently went straight to voicemail.
The next morning, I handed the mysterious number over to my
uncle, a police captain in a nearby town.
He informed me that it was a burner phone paid for in cash,
making it nearly impossible to trace.
The phone was now turned off. Ever since that night, I've been
sleeping with the lights on, haunted by the eerie encounter
in the woods and the unsettling stranger who seemed to defy
explanation. My name's Ellie.
Last year, my friends James, Peter, and I decided to go
camping in the woods near my house.
We live in a small town called Supply, NC.
The first day went by like any other camping trip.
We arrived at the pond, unpacked our gear, set up our camo, and
lit a fire to kick things off. The second day is when things
started to take a strange turn. After waking up and enjoying a
joint, we decided to go fishing by heading about half a mile
through the woods to reach the nearby river.
As we walked there, James pointed out some peculiar
footprints on the trail. Now I consider myself a hunter,
and the deer around these parts aren't much larger than a Great
Dane, but these tracks were different.
They were by pedal, which was downright weird.
Curiosity got the best of us, so I knelt down to examine those
tracks more closely. They were almost as big as my
hand, and I had never seen deer tracks that massive.
We continued down the trail, discussing the unusual tracks as
we made our way to the river. Once we reached our usual
fishing spot and cast our lines, everything seemed normal.
For about an hour we managed to catch 5 decent sized red drum
and with excitement we packed up to head back to camp.
However, our excitement quickly turned to dread when we heard a
blood curdling scream that seemed to go on for an agonizing
15 seconds. It was distant, so I brushed it
off, suggesting it was probably just a Panther or something,
since there had been Mountain Lion sightings in the area.
Returning to our campsite, we noticed that the same peculiar
tracks we had seen earlier now surrounded our tents. 3 enormous
claw marks adorned the outside of one of our tents.
I began to suspect that someone might be playing a prank on us,
as some of our friends knew we were camping here.
We decided to stoke the fire and make breakfast, trying not to
let unease creep in. The rest of the day passed
relatively peacefully. We took leisurely walks, went
swimming, smoked a few more joints and engaged in casual
conversations, all while savouring the final days of
summer. When night fell, we retreated to
our tents. I woke up to the sound of that
same horrific scream from before, but this time it was
much closer. Fear gripped me as I grabbed my
Mossberg 500 shotgun and cautiously emerged from my tent.
James and Peter were already outside their tents, wide eyed
and terrified. I asked if they heard it, and
James affirmed that they did, explaining that it had been too
unsettling to ignore. I threw some logs onto the fire
and we huddled together, straining our ears to pick up
any unusual sounds. Then, as if the forest itself
had fallen silent, the sounds of birds, bugs, and rustling leaves
ceased. Heavy footsteps started to
encircle our camp and we exchanged nervous glances but
couldn't spot anything in the darkness.
Moments later, a massive figure stepped into the light cast by
our campfire. It was so enormous that it
defied any logical explanation. Even I, standing at six three,
felt dwarfed by it. Initially we thought it might be
a person, but it was simply too big and appeared almost solid
white. Its body resembled that of a
man, but instead of a human head it wore a grotesque deer skull.
As this enigmatic creature drew nearer, I could no longer
contain my fear and fired 3 slug rounds into its chest.
The creature halted, seemingly unfazed, and locked its hollow
eye sockets on to me. In a moment of desperation, I
urge James to retrieve the car keys from my tent.
The creature shifted its attention to Peter and I fired a
fourth round into its stomach. It responded by fixing its eerie
gaze upon me and bizarrely seemed to smile.
Panicked, we sprinted for the car, keeping our eyes on the
creature as I aimed my gun. Once we had all clambered into
the vehicle, James revved the engine and speed down the
narrow, winding dirt trail. We must have been going at least
60 mph when Peter suddenly screamed.
In the same instant the SUV was jolted to the side.
I peered out the rear window and saw that the creature was still
in pursuit. Effortlessly keeping pace with
us, James did something almost superhuman to coax even more
speed out of the car. When we finally reached the main
road, we knew we were safe. We kept driving, not stopping
until we were far away from that horrifying campsite.
Since that night, we have not ventured out camping again, and
I'm not sure if we ever will. Until now, we hadn't shared our
encounter with anyone, but I've been listening to your channel
for the past three years. I thought maybe someone else had
experienced something similar in this area.
My father told me a story once, and I'll never forget it for a
few reasons. I think it's the first story he
told me as a child. It's also the story of how my
grandfather died. But honestly, that isn't the
reason. You hear stories on TV or
sometimes overhear something in a public place.
People talk about ghosts and aliens, and you think to
yourself, that isn't real, they're making it up, or they're
mistaken, or they're crazy. Something like that.
You just can't believe it until something happens.
Something that brings it all together, connects the dots in a
way that you didn't think of before.
Maybe it happens to you, or maybe you hear the same story
again and again, happening to different people.
It doesn't take long for the world to become a bit bigger
than you thought. As I said, this is a story my
father told me, but I never believed it, even though he
swore up and down that it was true.
It wasn't until I started clicking around the Internet
that I started to believe. I started to hear other stories,
just like the one my father told me.
It didn't take me long to believe in The Rake.
That's not what my father called it.
Of course, he's never used the Internet in his life.
He wouldn't know what the consensus has taken to naming
it. When he chose to call it
something other than it, he called it a skinwalker after an
old Navajo tale his grandfather told him.
But I'll tell you the story the way he told it to me.
We were out hunting one night, killing coyotes for 50 bucks a
skin. We lived on a dairy farm in
Ohio, and sometimes we'd kill a calf.
We do it every night because we needed the money.
Sometimes while we were out, we'd come upon a deer and kill
it. Our landlord didn't mind and it
could feed our family for a few nights and save us some money.
Anyway, we were done making our rounds and heading home walking
because we didn't have a car or a four Wheeler back then.
We'd cut through the woods and that's when we came upon it.
Blood everywhere, splattered on the trees, in the grass, in the
Creek, everywhere. At first we figured it was a
pack of coyotes. We'd seen it.
Sometimes they scavenge and then start hunting deer or cattle.
The worst was when they bred with feral dogs.
But this wasn't like that. When a pack of dogs, wolves, or
coyotes attack something, they do it right.
They'll pick off one that's weak, sick, old, or just small.
They'll hunt it, draw it into a corner someplace it can't get
out of, and then they'll run it right to the biggest one, the
alpha. And that deer will never see
that alpha. They might hear it, but it won't
see it. It'll just notice that its
throat is gone, and then it will drop dead.
It's quick, It's clean. That wasn't what happened here.
Something had run up on a den of deer.
Coyotes won't attack a den, and wolves neither, because they'd
get too much of a fight. There were three, I think 3
bodies just torn apart. You'd see a head here, a leg
there, a torso over there. Predators don't do that.
They don't leave behind scraps. What had done this hadn't done
it for food. It had done it for fun, but we
didn't know that. We saw a bunch of carcasses and
we thought it's something that we've got to take care of.
I remember my dad telling me to go home.
He thought it was a pack of feral dogs, but I wasn't leaving
him and I damn sure wasn't walking through 2 miles of woods
alone with nothing but a 22 and a pocket knife.
I was only 13 at the time, so a 22 rifle was about the only gun
I could reliably use. Dad had the shotgun, and he
wasn't going in there without it.
It took me a while to convince him, but finally we began
tracking whatever did that. It wasn't hard either.
We just followed the blood. Either that thing bled a deer
before it got away, or it dragged one for a mile.
I don't know. I know that I'd never seen my
dad scared before. That night we started hearing
noises. I've been in a lot of woods in
my life. I've been all over the world and
I ain't never heard noises like I heard that night.
I heard things screaming, deer, foxes, rabbits, raccoons and
birds. Just scared.
Now keep in mind this is maybe 12 or one.
Except for the fox and some birds.
Nothing was supposed to be awake, but they weren't just
awake, they were moving. I saw flocks of birds that night
fly straight into trees just trying to get out of there.
We came upon a pack of coyotes, nearly shot a couple, thinking
that it was what we were looking for, but then we saw that they
were running towards us. They ran right past us, didn't
even notice. And then some deer did the same.
And then some rabbits, squirrels, foxes, even a couple
of wild hogs. These things were supposed to be
eating each other, and the only thing they cared about was
getting out of there. We should have put it together
that maybe whatever we were tracking, it wasn't something we
were supposed to see, and it wasn't something we could kill.
I don't know why we didn't just go home.
I guess we were curious. I think that was my dad's
nature, to go toward trouble, to fight.
And knowing what I knew about what my father did during the
war, my nature was to stay close to him.
We finally get into an open valley.
It was normally a soy field, but it wasn't in season, so it was
just flat dirt. We saw the tracks then.
A lot of the animals fleeing the forest had paved over the land,
but where the deer blood was, nothing had taken a single step
like they were leaving it for us to find.
The tracks were shallow, whatever it was couldn't have
weighed more than £100, but that didn't mean much.
A bobcat weighing around 40 lbs nearly tore my damn throat out
once and all that means is that it's quick and it's hard to hit.
So we follow the tracks and it doesn't take long for us to find
where it is. There's this old schoolhouse
that sits on the top of the hill.
Half of it had been ripped out by a tornado and nobody lived
there, not for a long time. We caught homeless people in
there sometimes, or druggies looking for a safe place to
shoot up. We figured maybe that was it,
Maybe it was just some sick kid riding a high.
But we didn't think that for long.
We get within 50 yards and we hear this noise, a screeching
kind of sound. It was sort of made-up of two
different sounds, 1A high pitched screech and another a
low pitched growl. It was making both at the same
time. We get within 20 yards and we
hear the sound. I can remember thinking that it
sounded like paper being torn apart while someone was swinging
water in a bucket back and forth.
Now Dad looks at me, kneels down, and whispers I've got to
stay behind him because we're about to corner it.
Any animal will fight when it's cornered, especially when it's a
predator, but we can tell by the tracks that it's just one, he
tells me. It's probably a single feral
dog, probably rabid. The plan is to sneak up on it
while it's eating, shoot it, and then keep shooting until it
doesn't move anymore and then slit its throat.
If it gets to Dad, it's my job to shoot it or stab it to get it
off of him. So he walks up, and I'm right
behind him, just a tad to his side, so I can see what it is I
wish to this day that I hadn't. It was leaning over a carcass,
tearing off its flesh and throwing what it doesn't nibble
at its side. There's blood all over the
brick, glistening in the moonlight.
It's pale white, human looking, but not quite human.
It had arms and legs like a human, but it sat like a monkey,
hunched over. Its hands weren't normal.
It had long fingers with claws at the end, so we see that and
my dad hesitates. He wasn't about to fire on a
person, so he clears his throat to try to get it to turn around.
I swear to God, all the noise just ceased.
I ain't never heard true silence before that, and not after it.
But for two seconds nothing. Nothing made any noise, which
made it all the louder when it turned around, made this shrill
cry and jumped on Dad, he got a shot off.
I think he missed it. If he hit the thing, it didn't
mind, but it was on him, tearing parts of him off.
I started shooting it with a 22 point blank, but it barely bled
the thing. I got off 5 rounds and then I
started hitting it with the gun butt.
It wasn't budging. It didn't even register that I
was there. It clawed at my dad, taking off
bits of his flesh. It started on his torso, ripping
off the skin and then it moved up.
It tore off his throat, his nose, his eyes.
It scalloped him. Then it started digging in and
ripping off the bottom half of his jaw, the little bones in
that tube in your neck, and then his ribs.
I don't exactly remember what happened, but somehow my dad's
knife ends up in the thing's shoulder and my dad ends up on
my back. I'm running, and by God, I'm
running faster than I'd ever run, before or after.
And I know it's following me. I end up back in the woods
opposite the ones we've been in. I'm heading towards my
landlord's house because it's half a mile away.
I can hear this thing screeching and moaning.
I hear the tree branches crack and get thrown around.
It sounds like someone taking an axe to every single tree I pass.
It's cracking so loud and often, but I just.
I'm not looking back. Finally, I trip into gravel.
I look up and there's my landlord and a bunch of his
buddies drinking around a campfire.
I scream and cry and they come over.
I'm telling them to call an ambulance and he looks at me and
I'll never forget what he said. What's that on your back?
He asked me. And just as he said it, he saw
one of those God awful flannel shirts my dad wore everywhere.
It was what was left of my dad, most of his head, his torso, but
nothing after the waist. Suddenly we hear it screeching
and he grabs me. My dad gets thrown in the ground
and I'm fighting him, crying because I think we can still
save him somehow. But my dad had been gone before
I even picked him up. He has to pick me up and throw
me inside before I come with him.
He and his buddies were all inside and they're locking doors
and getting guns ready. The landlord looks at me asking
what happened, but I just don't know what to tell him.
He pieced enough of it all together to understand that
there was something dangerous out there.
All the lights in the house are on and someone calls the cops.
He'll be there in 15 minutes. We look outside and we see it
walk in front of the fire. I don't know what it is, one of
them says It looks like an ape and suddenly something goes
through the window. We shoot at it, but it ain't the
thing. It's my landlord's dog.
Just the body though, not his head or legs.
We start pushing things in front of the door and windows when we
hear something in the garage. I remember one of his friends
saying that the doors were open and we hear metal and glass just
getting ripped apart. We put a couch and ATV in front
of the door to the garage. It banged around some more, but
then it got quiet. Not silent like it was before.
We could hear it move around some and the guys were talking,
making sure the guns were ready. Someone hands me a pistol and no
sooner did I pull the hammer back did we hear something
shatter upstairs. Then we heard it screech again.
Except now it was louder. And it didn't echo and fade out
because it was inside with us. We all rushed to the one door
leading upstairs, and we got to it just as that thing did.
It opened it just a bit, and four or five men just slammed
into it. It got its hands through.
Someone with a shotgun took care of that, put the barrel right up
to its wrist, and pulled the trigger, cutting its hand clean
off. That only made it angry, though.
It started pushing on the door, clawing.
We were on one side pushing as best as we could and it was on
the other doing the same. That wood just wasn't going to
hold. So someone tells us to keep our
heads down. Suddenly the top half of the
door is just gone. My ears are ringing and there
are splinters everywhere. Two or three of them just
unloaded on the top of that door.
I don't really know where it went after that.
The police showed up. I was still glued to that door.
What was left of it, and the sun was up before they got me off
it. They put me in a hospital for a
while and a lot of people talk to me, but I didn't talk back,
not for a long, long time. When we got back home I got a
job from the landlord working on the farm.
We didn't talk much, not about that thing.
But I signed up for the army when I was 19 and he sat me down
to drink some Scotch as a send off.
I asked him right away what the police told him.
The story they went with was a wild animal, probably a wolf, or
maybe a bear that had migrated north, or so they claimed.
My curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn't help but ask
my father how they could conclude that so confidently,
especially when they had the severed hand as evidence.
He looked at me, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and
disbelief, as if reliving the horrors of that day.
He stammered as he spoke, his voice barely a whisper.
That hand never made it back to the station, he confessed, his
words hanging heavily in the night air.
My heart raced as I leaned in, eager for more of the chilling
tale. The cop who had it in his car,
he continued. He wrecked and drove into a
tree. He died on impact, and the hand
was never found. The gravity of his words sank
in, and I couldn't help but wonder about the sinister forces
at play. A sense of unease crept over me
as I probed further. Seeking answers to the
unexplainable. I asked him how the authorities
could disregard such a bizarre occurrence, but his response
sent shivers down my spine. The cops, when they would
acknowledge the hand even existed at all, he whispered,
said that it simply was the paw of a bear that looked like a
human hand. I gulped, my mind, racing to
comprehend the unsettling details of this unsettling
mystery. I never ended up talking to that
landlord again, my father's grim words leaving an indelible mark
on my psyche. Rumors of his disappearance
while I was away at basic training swirled with the
police, chalking it up to him owing money to dangerous people
and simply running away. But I couldn't shake the feeling
that it wasn't that simple. As I sat there listening to my
father's harrowing account, I made a silent vow to myself.
I would never venture back into those woods, even if I had the
whole God damn U.S. Army at my back.
The story he'd shared about the creature, whether it was the
rake or a skinwalker, still left me unsure of what to believe.
Years passed, and when my mother passed away, my father seemed to
lose all sense of purpose. It was as if he felt he had
nothing left to lose. He disappeared into those
dreaded woods, and he never returned.
The FBI was called in, and they put on a show for everyone
involved, but I knew deep down that they weren't truly looking
for him, and they never did find him.
To this day, the mystery of those woods and the unexplained
horrors that lurked within them continue to haunt my thoughts.
My father's unsettling tale still echoes in my mind, leaving
me with more questions than answers and a lingering fear of
what may be lurking in the darkness of those unforgiving
woods.