When I was about 12 years old, I embarked on my bi yearly
pilgrimage to visit my beloved grandparents who resided in
upstate New York. I cherish these visits and
yearned for more time with them. Their home was nestled in a
region that has since undergone development, but back then it
was a quaint enclave comprising just a few houses scattered
amidst islands of woods. Between these woods, vast
farmland stretched as far as the eye could see.
The local wildlife was diverse, A tapestry that included deer,
black bears, porcupines, and a medley of other creatures.
I was well acquainted with these animals, encountering them on a
weekly basis, and there was no mistaking them for what I was
about to witness on that fateful day.
On this particular visit, I found myself with my cousins,
and together we embarked on an adventure to an old Willow tree
that we had transformed into a makeshift treehouse.
Our playful escapades were punctuated by the anticipation
of Thanksgiving dinner, which lay ahead.
Armed with a pair of binoculars, we played lookout, scanning the
surroundings for any intruders who might dare to approach our
beloved Willow tree. The older members of our group
didn't take this Sentinel duty too seriously.
After all, we were just kids having fun.
Nevertheless, we kept a vigilant watch, ensuring our sanctuary
remained free from unwanted guests.
It was during this innocent game that I saw something I hadn't
been actively searching for. It was a creature standing at a
mere 4 feet in height with a humanoid form.
At first, I couldn't believe my eyes.
I thought perhaps it was a figment of my imagination.
So before sharing my discovery with anyone else, I asked for
the binoculars. I peered through them expecting
to see a cluster of leaves or a tree limb, but what I saw defied
explanation. It was a creature that I could
only describe as a bizarre amalgamation of a werewolf, a
dog and a man. A corgi like creature.
As I continued to observe it through the binoculars, I
noticed details that sent shivers down my spine.
The creature was less than 25 feet away from our vantage
point. Its body was covered in fur, and
beneath it I could discern well defined muscles.
The creature's chest rose and fell with each breath, a rhythm
that appeared both natural and predatory.
Its mouth was a gape, revealing a set of menacing teeth that
protruded ominously. Still, I grappled with
disbelief, thinking that fear was clouding my judgement.
Seeking confirmation, I turned to my oldest cousin, who also
peered through the binoculars. His confirmation sent a chill
through me. We decided not to disclose our
discovery to our younger cousins, fearing they would
panic and flee. We remain frozen in our tree
house, not daring to move while the creature fixed its gaze upon
us. Time seemed to stretch on
endlessly as we maintained our silent vigil.
The sun began its descent in the sky, casting an eerie light over
the scene. Finally, the spell was broken by
the sound of my grandmother's voice calling us for dinner.
Boys, time for dinner, she called out.
We sat there, torn between the safety of the tree house and the
warmth of our grandmother's home.
Eventually, we realized that the presence of an adult offered us
an opportunity to escape. We all silently agreed that it
was time to make a run for it, not because of dinner, but
because an adult was present. I mustered the courage to
announce. All right, everyone, run for the
front porch in unison, We dashed for safety, making it inside the
house. My cousin, who had also
witnessed the creature, was deeply disturbed by the
encounter. He hardly ate anything during
Thanksgiving dinner, his mind preoccupied with the enigmatic
being we had seen. We were safe inside.
But our fear was far from over. As we sat at the table, my
grandmother inquired about the whereabouts of her binoculars.
It was then that we realized just how terrified we were.
We had left them out there, exposed to whatever entity had
been watching us. To this day I remain haunted by
the memory of that day, uncertain if it was a product of
fear driven imagination or if I had truly glimpsed some
adolescent dog man lurking in the woods.
My name is Ryan and I live in a pretty rural area of Maryland.
My life is a mix of crazy and full of insane and scary
stories, many of which I hope to share on this channel.
I've always harbored a deep desire to be a park Ranger, a
profession that aligns perfectly with my love for nature fishing
and traditional bow hunting. But I also have a very indoor
side to me, and I thoroughly enjoy playing video games with
my friends. Now let me take you back to the
summer of 2019. It was a hot and humid day and I
live not too far from a large patch of woods near a rather
substantial Creek. My younger brother and I
frequented this place during the summer months to trap minnows
and crawfish and just to have some good old fashioned outdoor
fun. However, on that particular day,
I felt an overwhelming sense of unease when my brother asked if
I wanted to go to the Creek with him.
You know that gut instinct when something just doesn't feel
right, even if you can't put your finger on it.
That's the feeling I had at that very moment, but against my
better judgement, I brushed it off and agreed to go with him.
I grabbed my trusty leather travel bag, my micro fishing
pole, our house keys, 2 crawfish traps, a fixed blade knife, bug
spray, and some hand wipes to keep the muck off our fingers.
As I was about to leave my room, something compelled me to grab
my Longbow, an intricately handcrafted piece that had cost
me a small fortune. It was surprisingly sturdy,
built for the wilderness, and although I initially hesitated,
that nagging gut feeling pushed me to take it with me.
My brother noticed my Longbow as I stepped outside and he asked
if I needed any broad head arrows.
I assured him that I was just practicing and told him not to
worry. I could see the unease in his
eyes, but I loved my brother dearly and wanted to reassure
him. I promised to be careful, and
even offered to let him have a go at shooting it, which seemed
to put his mind at ease. We made our way up the dirt path
toward the woods, a not so long walk where you could always see
the forest and hear the rustling of leaves and the chirping of
birds. These sounds usually provided
comfort, but halfway to our usual spot, my brother pointed
out that it had become eerily silent.
I took a moment to listen, and he was right.
There wasn't a single sound, just a deafening silence that
seemed to stretch throughout the forest.
My gut feeling was now turning into a confirmed sensation of
unease, and my brother looked increasingly nervous.
My Longbow hung over my shoulder, offering some
reassurance, and my brother, eager about the prospect of
shooting it, asked me how many arrows I had brought.
I took this opportunity to fabricate a story about having
the perfect spot to shoot while setting up the crawfish traps.
We eventually reached the Creek and I instructed my brother to
set up the traps, handing him the crawfish traps and some raw
chicken I had packed. However, I use this time to
survey the area. Thick foliage surrounded us on
all sides, and there was no sign that anyone had been here in a
very long time. Then I heard a noise to my left,
a sound like a massive branch snapping in two.
My attention snapped away from the Creek, and I scanned the
area, but there was nothing there.
At this point, fear was beginning to creep in, and I
pulled out an arrow, knocking it on the string of my bow.
The woods seemed oddly dark, as if it were already evening,
despite it being only 12:30 in the afternoon on a warm, sunny
summer day. My hands began to tremble and I
was about to call out to my brother when I saw it.
At first it appeared like a massive black and brown mask
that blocked out the sun, but as I focused I realized it was fur
and what I was staring at seemed to be a creature standing on two
legs, resembling A distorted mix between a dog and a wolf.
Its eyes were bright green, almost hypnotic, and I could
make out every terrifying feature clearly.
It stood at an intimidating 6 feet 10 inches tall with a snout
filled with dripping saliva covered teeth.
Its mouth was partially open, revealing a large tongue covered
in drool, as if it viewed me as its next meal.
The creature was covered in dense brown fur, matted and
seemingly impenetrable. It had claws, but its paws
resembled more of human hands than the typical paws of a dog.
Its ears were perked up as if it were listening intently to the
sound of my heart pounding in fear.
I was paralyzed with terror, unable to move.
It felt as if those bright green eyes were drawing me in.
The creatures very presence was surreal and I couldn't
comprehend what I was witnessing.
My bow provided some comfort, but I was still frozen in fear.
My brother interrupted the standoff by yelling that he had
found a strange pile of bones in a small cave near the Creek on
the other side. My heart sank as the realization
struck me that this beast was real and if I didn't get out of
there, my brother and I might become the next pile of bones.
In a panic, I shouted for my brother to grab my bag and we'd
leave the traps behind, returning for them later.
He called up, asking if everything was OK and I lied,
saying yes, but that a friend had invited us over for a
sleepover and he was coming to pick us up.
My brother grabbed the bag and sprinted up the hill.
My eyes had momentarily drifted away from the creature when I
looked up, but it had vanished. I ran after my brother and
together we dashed out of the woods.
All the while I could hear something rustling in the
foliage to my left, and the fear that the creature might be
following us consumed me. We made it out of the woods in
record time. I quickly texted my friend Dave
asking if I could come over. He agreed and inquired if I was
all right. I told him that I was, but that
I'd explain everything later. Dave picked us up at a local gas
station and as soon as my brother hopped out of the car, I
launched into the terrifying tale.
To my surprise, Dave didn't laugh or dismiss my story as a
mere fabrication. Instead, he looked at me
seriously and shared that his father had experienced the exact
same thing 13 years ago. I was in shock, but also
relieved that someone believed me.
We grabbed some burgers, went to Dave's place, and while watching
a movie, we started researching the strange creatures we had
encountered. It turns out there's a creature
known as Dog Man. As we delve deeper on YouTube, I
found your channel just creepy and decided to share my
harrowing experience in the hope of finding answers.
And just to add those crawfish traps, I never went back to
retrieve them. I always thought that moving to
a new place was supposed to be an adventure, something out of a
storybook where every corner held a promise of excitement.
But as our car rolled to a stop in front of the old house in
Louisiana, all I felt was a sense of dread.
It was nothing like our home in Oregon.
I missed the rain already, the way it sang me to sleep and the
green, green world it nourished. I miss Dad.
The house loomed in front of us, its walls tired and peeling like
it was trying to shrug off its own skin.
Mom said it was a fresh start, but all I could see were the
shadows clinging to the eaves. Jamie, my little sister, was
asleep with her head against the window, clutching the baseball
bat Dad had given her. I guess she was trying to find
some comfort in it. We're here, Mom announced with a
forced cheerfulness. Her eyes had that far away look
they got whenever she talked about the future.
I wondered if she was seeing the same house I was.
As we unloaded our lives from the back seat of the car, I
couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
The house had a strange echo to it, a hollow sound that made our
footsteps seem like intruders. The old wallpaper in the living
room twisted in odd shapes. Mom joked it was just the heat
warping it, but I wasn't so sure.
There was something unsettling about it, like the walls were
trying to crawl away. Our first dinner in the new
house was a quiet affair. We sat on the floor, cross
legged, eating takeout because the kitchen was still a maze of
unpacked boxes, the sunset outside casting long shadows
through the windows. It was a different kind of
sunset here, the light harsh and unyielding, unlike the soft
dusks back in Oregon. After dinner, Mom suggested we
sit on the back porch. The air was thick with the heat
and the hum of mosquitoes. The trees at the edge of our
backyard stood still, as if too tired to dance in the breeze.
Jamie and I sat with mom, watching the sky change colors.
It was then I realized, that this was home now.
The thought made my chest tight. The rustling in the grass made
us all turn. A man was walking towards us.
His shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows.
He had a friendly smile, but his eyes were like those of a cat.
Curious and a bit unsettling. Bill, Hi.
Come join us. Mom greeted him, her voice a bit
too bright. Bill was the man who had sold us
the house. He had a Louisiana lilt to his
voice that made his words roll like slow, moving water.
His eyes lingered on me and Jamie a bit too long for
comfort. Hey there, girlies, he said with
a chuckle. That night, as I lay in my new
bed, the house creaked and groaned around me.
The room felt too big, too empty.
The cross hanging between mine and Jamie's bed seemed to watch
us. Jamie, brave as ever, kept her
eyes on the door until sleep took her.
I turned my back to the room, trying to ignore the feeling of
eyes on me. Sleep, when it finally came, was
restless and filled with dreams of rain and green fields, a
world away from the crawling walls of our new home in
Louisiana. The sun was already high in the
sky when I woke up the next morning, its rays fighting their
way through the old lace curtains of our bedroom.
Jamie was already up, probably exploring the house or the yard.
I lay there for a moment, listening to the unfamiliar
sounds of our new home. The creeks and groans of the old
house seemed to carry secrets of their own.
I wandered into the kitchen, where Mom was humming as she
unpacked a box of dishes. She seemed more at ease here,
but I couldn't shake off the unease that clung to me like the
Louisiana humidity. The house felt like a stranger,
one that wasn't particularly happy to have us.
Morning, Kenna. Mom greeted me, her smile a
little too bright. Sleep well.
I just shrugged. How could I tell her that every
little noise in the night made my heart race?
That I felt eyes on me even when I was alone?
Breakfast was a quiet affair. Jamie chattered about the
backyard in the woods, her eyes bright with the thrill of new
adventures. She was always the brave one,
unafraid of the unknown. I wished I could borrow some of
her courage. After breakfast, I decided to
explore the house. The living room still had boxes
stacked in corners, and the old wallpaper seemed to move in the
corner of my eye. I knew it was just a trick of
the light, but it made my skin crawl.
It was in the afternoon when Jamie told me about the dog.
Man. We were sitting in our room,
trying to make it feel like ours.
Her voice was a whisper, her eyes wide and serious.
I saw him last night, she said outside our window.
He was watching us. I felt a chill run down my
spine. Jamie.
There's no such thing as the dog, man.
I tried to sound confident, but my voice trembled.
Jamie just nodded, but I could tell she didn't believe me.
She was convinced of what she saw, and deep down, a part of me
feared she might be right. Life in Louisiana was different.
The days were hot and long, and the nights brought little relief
from the heat. I found myself missing Oregon
more than I thought I would. I missed the rain, the cool air,
and most of all, Dad. One day, while exploring the
neighborhood, I met Jake, a boy about my age who lived a few
houses down. He was quiet and had a kind
smile. We quickly became friends, often
sitting by the river, talking about everything and nothing.
He made Louisiana feel a little less foreign, but the nights
were still hard. The house seemed to come alive
in the dark, it's creaks and groans more pronounced, and
every night Jamie would watch the door, her baseball bat,
clutch tightly in her hands. Then one night, I woke up to
find Jamie's hair cut short, jagged and uneven.
She was crying, her eyes wide with fear.
He did it. She sobbed.
The dog. Man, I didn't know what to
believe anymore. Fear settled in my stomach like
a heavy stone. There was something wrong with
this house, something very wrong, and I was afraid that we
were not alone in it. It had been a few weeks since we
moved into the house, and every day seemed to bring a new,
unsettling experience. Despite my growing unease, I
tried to make the best of our situation, spending time with
Jake and trying to ignore the creeping dread that filled the
house at night. But everything changed the night
Jamie disappeared. That evening had started like
any other. Mom was working late again, so I
made dinner for Jamie and me. We ate in silence, the empty
chairs at the table a stark reminder of how much our family
had changed since moving to Louisiana.
After dinner, Jamie went outside to play.
I watched her from the kitchen window, her blonde hair catching
the last rays of the sun as she ran towards the woods.
I wanted to call out to her to tell her to stay away from the
trees, but I held back. She needed this freedom, even if
it scared me. I was washing the dishes when
darkness fell. The house seemed to sigh as the
light faded and I felt the familiar knot of fear in my
stomach. I called out for Jamie, but
there was no response. Panic surged through me as I ran
outside, searching the yard and then the edge of the woods, but
Jamie was nowhere to be seen. I shouted her name until my
throat was raw, the only response the echo of my own
voice off the trees. The woods seemed to stare back
at me, dark and impenetrable. My mind raced with terrible
possibilities. Had she fallen?
Had she gotten lost? Or worse, had the dog?
Man, I forced myself to stop thinking about it and went back
inside to call Mom when she arrived.
Her face was a mask of fear and determination.
Together we combed the woods, calling Jamie's name and trying
to ignore the growing sense of dread as the hours passed.
With no sign of Jamie, our neighbors began to join the
search. Flashlights pierced the
darkness, casting eerie shadows among the trees.
The local police arrived, their questions a blur as I tried to
keep the panic at Bay. The search continued throughout
the night, but as dawn broke, there was still no sign of
Jamie. Mom was inconsolable, her face
pale and drawn. I felt numb, the reality of the
situation too much to bear. Jamie, my brave little sister,
was gone, and I had no idea if we would ever see her again.
The days that followed were a blur of police interviews,
search parties, and whispered conversations among the
neighbors. Rumors began to circulate about
the Dog Man, about other missing children, about the dark history
of our house. I tried to shut it all out,
focusing instead on the memories of Jamie's laughter, her
fearless spirit, her love for adventure.
But as each day passed with no news, those memories became a
source of pain, a constant reminder of what we had lost.
I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't escape the feeling that
I had failed my sister. I should have protected her,
should have been there for her. And now, because of my fear and
inaction, she was gone. In the depth of my despair, I
made a decision. I would find Jamie no matter
what it took. I would face my fears, confront
the dark secrets of our house, and bring my sister home.
The thought was terrifying, but it was all I had left.
A flicker of hope in the overwhelming darkness.
The days after Jamie's disappearance were the longest
of my life. The house felt emptier than
ever. It's silence, a constant
reminder of her absence. Sleep was elusive, and when it
did come, it brought nightmares filled with shadows and
unidentifiable whispers. I was exhausted, both physically
and emotionally, but I couldn't stop.
I had to find my sister. One night, about a week after
Jamie vanished, something changed.
I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, when I heard a
faint scratching at the window. My heart raced as I forced
myself to look. There, in the moonlight, stood
the dog man. His figure was imposing, his
presence both terrifying and mesmerizing.
His eyes glowing in the dark, seemed to beckon me.
I knew it was crazy, but something inside me urged me to
follow him. I slipped out of bed, careful
not to wake Mom, and quietly made my way outside.
The dog man waited, his gaze never leaving me as I
approached. A sense of calm enveloped me.
This creature, this figment of Jamie's stories, was leading me
somewhere. I didn't know why, but I trusted
him. We walked in silence, the dog
man leading me deeper into the woods.
The night air was cool and the forest seemed alive with unseen
eyes watching us. But I wasn't afraid.
The Dog Man's presence was comforting in a way I couldn't
explain. After what felt like hours, we
reached a clearing. The Dog Man stopped and pointed
to the ground. There, partially covered by
fallen leaves, was a small tattered piece of fabric.
I recognized it instantly. It was from Jamie's favorite
shirt. Tears filled my eyes as I picked
it up, a mix of hope and fear coursing through me.
The dog man gestured for me to follow him again, and we
continued our journey through the woods.
Eventually we reached a house I had never seen before.
It was old and run down. It's blue paint peeling and
windows boarded up. The dog Man stopped and pointed
towards the house, his gaze intense.
I understood this was where Jamie was.
This was the end of our journey. I approached the house, my heart
pounding in my chest. Every instinct told me to run,
but I couldn't leave without knowing if Jamie was inside.
I found a door, and taking a deep breath, I opened it.
The inside of the house was dark and musty.
I fumble for a light switch, and when the lights flickered on,
the sight before me took my breath away.
There, in the corner of the room, was Jamie.
She was tied up, but alive. I rushed to her, tears streaming
down my face as I united her. Jamie.
Jamie, you're OK, I sobbed, holding her tightly.
Jamie was weak, but managed a small smile.
I knew you'd find me, she whispered.
We didn't waste any time. I helped Jamie to her feet, and
we hurried out of the house as we stepped outside.
I turned to thank the dog man, but he was gone, vanished as
mysteriously as he had appeared. We made our way back home, the
first light of dawn breaking through the trees.
My mom was overjoyed to see Jamie holding her close, as if
she would never let go. The police were called and they
quickly swarmed the house we had just escaped from.
It turned out to be the home of Bill, the man who had sold us
our house. The police found evidence of his
crimes and he was arrested shortly after.
He was responsible for Jamie's kidnapping and, as we later
learned, much more. As for the dog man, I never saw
him again, but I knew he was real.
He had led me to my sister, had guided me through the darkness
to bring her home. I didn't know why he had chosen
to help us, but I was eternally grateful.
Jamie's return brought a sense of relief and joy to our home,
but it was bittersweet. We had been through so much,
seen the depths of darkness and come out the other side.
Our lives would never be the same, but we were together, and
that was all that mattered. The days following Jamie's
rescue were a whirlwind of emotions and events.
Relief and joy at having my sister back clashed with the
horror of what had happened. Our house, once a symbol of our
new life in Louisiana, now felt tainted, a constant reminder of
the nightmare we had endured. The revelation of Bill's crime
sent shock waves through our small community.
The man we had known as a friendly neighbor was unmasked
as a monster. It was almost impossible to
reconcile the two images. The police investigation
revealed the depth of his depravity, and he was swiftly
brought to justice. But even with Bill behind bars,
a sense of unease lingered. Mom was different After Jamie's
return, the strain of the past weeks had taken its toll, and
she seemed to age overnight. But there was also a new
strength in her, a determination to make things right for us.
She was more present, more involved, and I could see her
making an effort to rebuild the shattered pieces of our family.
As for Jamie, she was quiet. The bubbly, fearless little
sister I knew was now more reserved, her smiles fewer and
far between. The ordeal had left its mark on
her, and I often caught her staring into space, lost in
thoughts I couldn't begin to understand.
But she was alive, and she was safe.
That was all that mattered. In the midst of it all, Dad
arrived. Seeing him step out of his car,
looking tired and worn, was like a bomb to my soul.
He enveloped us in his arms, and for the first time in weeks, I
felt a sense of safety, of normalcy.
We were a family again, broken, but together.
The decision to move back to Oregon was unanimous.
Louisiana, with its sweltering heat and haunting memories, was
no longer home. We needed to start over, to find
our way back to the life we had lost.
Packing up the house was therapeutic, in a way.
Each box we filled a step towards our new beginning.
Leaving Louisiana was bittersweet.
As we drove away, I couldn't help but look back at the woods,
half expecting to see the dog man watching us.
But there was only the dense greenery.
Silent and still, I wondered about him, this mysterious
guardian who had appeared in our time of need.
I would probably never understand why he helped us, but
I was grateful he had saved Jamie and in doing so, saved all
of us. The journey back to Oregon was
long, but it gave us time to reflect, to heal.
We talked, laughed, and even cried together.
It was a cathartic experience, shedding the weight of the past
as we move towards our future. Arriving in Oregon was like
coming home. The familiar sights and sounds
were comforting, a reminder of simpler times.
We had been through a nightmare, but we had emerged stronger.
Our bond as a family was unbreakable, forged in the fires
of adversity. As I settled into my old room, I
realized that this was a new chapter for us.
We had faced the darkness and come out into the light, and
though the memories of Louisiana would always be with us, they
would not define us. We were survivors and we would
move forward together. The first light of dawn was just
breaking over the horizon as my brother Mark and I loaded up the
last of our gear into the old Chevy.
We've been planning this hunting trip for months, eager to escape
the bustle of Grand Rapids and lose ourselves in the wilderness
near the Canadian Michigan border.
There's something about the quiet of the woods, the
simplicity of a cabin that always brought us back to our
roots. Mark, three years my junior,
shared my love for the outdoors, a passion inherited from our
father. He had this infectious
enthusiasm about him, always the 1st to rise and the last to call
it a night. I was more reserved, preferring
the silent contemplation that came with watching a sunrise.
We made a good team, balancing each other out.
The drive up north was a familiar 1:00.
We'd made similar treks with our dad when we were kids, but this
was our first time heading to this particular cabin.
The roads became narrower, the signs of civilization scarcer as
we ventured further into the wilderness.
It was just us, the truck and a winding Rd., framed by towering
Pines and occasional glimpses of a waking wildlife.
Arriving at the cabin was like stepping into a postcard nestled
in a clearing surrounded by dense forest, it stood humble
yet inviting, with a small porch and a chimney that promised cozy
evenings. We quickly unloaded our gear,
eager to settle in and start our adventure.
The cabin inside was rustic and unpretentious, wooden floors, a
stone fireplace, and a couple of well used arm chairs.
It smelled of Pinewood and had a comforting lived in feel.
We spent the rest of the morning unpacking, setting up our gear
and planning our hunting routes. After a light lunch of
sandwiches and coffee, we set out for our first hunt.
We moved through the forest with practiced ease, attuned to the
sounds and movements around us. The hours passed by marked only
by the occasional call of a distant bird or the rustle of
leaves under foot. We didn't talk much.
We didn't need to. The silent understanding between
us was enough. As the day wore on and our game
bags remained light, I couldn't help but feel content.
It wasn't just about the hunt, it was about being here, away
from the noise, surrounded by nature's grandeur.
We headed back to the cabin as the sun began its descent,
painting the sky in shades of orange and purple.
Tired but fulfilled, we decided against cooking and opted for a
quick trip to town for some supplies and a hot meal.
I'll go, I volunteered, eager for a short drive and maybe a
chat with some locals. Mark, looking equally weary,
agreed to stay behind and freshen up.
The drive to town was peaceful, a chance to reflect on the day
and enjoy the solitude. The town, a small collection of
buildings and a general store, was quiet, the kind of place
where everyone knows everyone. The store clerk, a friendly
woman in her 50s, chatted amiably as I picked up some
groceries and a couple of cold pops.
Returning to the cabin, the sky had darkened to a deep blue, the
first stars beginning to twinkle.
Little did I know, as I turned onto the Cabins Rd., that the
peaceful end to our day was about to be shattered by
something inexplicable, something straight out of a
nightmare. The drive back from town was
quiet, the kind of silence you only find in deep woods after
sunset. The darkness was thick like a
blanket thrown over the world, broken only by the narrow beam
of my trucks headlights. I was thinking about the simple
dinner I picked up how it would hit the spot after a long day in
the woods. Mark, my brother.
He gets kind of ornery when he's hungry, and I was looking
forward to seeing his face light up when I walked in with the
food. As I neared the cabin, something
felt off. The shadows seem deeper, the
night more oppressive. I've spent enough time in the
wilderness to trust my instincts, and right then they
were screaming that something wasn't right.
My grip tightened on the steering wheel, the comforting
weight of my hunting knife in my boot suddenly very present in my
mind. And then I saw it.
A figure, large and looming, silhouetted against the dim
light of the cabin window. My first thought was Mark, but
this figure was too big, too bulky to be him.
My heart started to race. A bear.
Maybe it wasn't unheard of in these parts, but something about
the way it stood upright on 2 legs sent a shiver down my
spine. Without thinking, I angled the
truck towards the figure, flipping on the high beams.
The light hit it full on, and for a moment time stood still.
What I saw in that beam of light was something I'll never forget,
something that defied explanation.
It wasn't a bear. It was a monster, something out
of a child's nightmare, standing on two legs over 7 feet tall.
It had the body of a man, but the features of a wolf.
Its coat was a dark, mottled brown, shaggy and wild.
Muscles rippled under its fur, its chest broad and heaving.
The arms were long, ending in hands or paws with vicious
claws. Its neck was thick, leading up
to a head that was all wolf snarling mouth, sharp teeth, and
eyes that glowed in the headlights like coals.
My mind raced, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
A werewolf that was the stuff of legends, not the reality of a
hunting trip in Michigan, But there it was in front of me, as
real as the truck I was sitting in.
The creature turned to face me, and for a moment we locked eyes.
There was intelligence there, and anger, a primal fury that
seemed directed right at me. I felt my body freeze, a primal
fear taking hold. Then, with a snarl that sent ice
through my veins, it turned and bounded off into the woods,
moving with a speed and agility that seemed impossible for
something its size. I sat there for what felt like
an eternity, my heart pounding in my chest.
Finally, I snapped out of it. Mark was alone in the cabin,
possibly unaware of the horror that lurked just outside.
My protective instincts kicked in, slamming the truck into
gear. I tore up the driveway, my mind
racing with fear and confusion. What the hell had I just seen,
and what did it want with us? I slammed the truck to a stop,
gravel crunching under the tires, heart pounding in my
chest like a frantic drum. The cabin loomed ahead, dark and
silent, a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling inside me.
Fear gripped me, but it was fear for Mark, alone and unaware of
the nightmare that had just unfolded before my eyes.
I barely remembered getting out of the truck, my actions driven
by adrenaline and the primal need to protect my brother.
The night was silent, oppressively so, as if the
forest itself was holding its breath.
I clutched the mag light like a lifeline, its beam cutting
through the darkness as I sprinted to the cabin door,
shouting Mark's name. The door flew open, and there he
was, looking bewildered and annoyed, his face lit by the
warm glow of the cabin's interior.
What the hell, Jake? He started, but his voice
trailed off when he saw my face. He knew me well enough to see
that something was seriously wrong.
Something's out there. I gasped out, my breath ragged.
We need to leave now. I expected resistance questions,
but Mark just nodded, A testament to the years we'd
spent relying on each other. We moved quickly, grabbing our
rifles and anything else within reach.
The weight of the rifle in my hands was a small comfort, but
against what I'd seen, I wasn't sure if it would be enough.
We burst out of the cabin, the cool night air hitting us like a
wave. The forest was a wall of
darkness, impenetrable and menacing.
Every shadow seemed like it could be hiding a monster, every
rustle in the trees, a signal of an impending attack.
We made a beeline for the truck, our steps heavy and hurried.
That's when we heard it, a growl, deep and guttural,
resonating through the stillness.
It was close, too close, and it sent a shiver down my spine.
Mark and I exchanged a glance, a mix of fear and determination in
his eyes, mirroring my own. We reached the truck, throwing
our gear into the back and clambering inside.
Mark shown his mag light into the trees, searching for any
sign of the beast, but it revealed nothing.
The forest had swallowed it up, as if it had never been there at
all. I started the truck, the engine
roaring to life, shattering the eerie calm.
We peeled out of there, the cabin receding into the night.
Behind us, my mind was racing, trying to process what had
happened, what we had seen. As we drove, I told Mark
everything. The figure at the window, the
confrontation in the headlights, the creatures monstrous
appearance. He listened in silence, his face
a mask of concentration. When I finished, he didn't speak
for a long time. Finally, he said.
I think we saw a werewolf, Jake. I wanted to laugh, to dismiss it
as impossible, but the image of the beast was burned into my
mind. Undeniable and terrifying.
We drove back to town in silence, the night pressing in
around us, a sense of unease lingering in the air.
What had we encountered? Was it really the stuff of
legend, a creature out of a fairy tale?
Or was it something else, something unexplained and
equally terrifying? One thing was for sure.
Our quiet week in the wilderness had turned into something we'd
never forget. The first light of dawn was
creeping over the horizon when Mark and I finally saw the
lights of town. We hadn't spoken much since
leaving the cabin, each of us lost in our own thoughts, trying
to make sense of what we've seen.
My hands were still shaking on the steering wheel, the
adrenaline slowly ebbing away, leaving a cold, hollow feeling
in its wake. We decided to wait until
daylight to go back for our things.
Neither of us said it, but the unspoken truth hung heavy
between us. We were scared to go back in the
dark. We found a motel on the
outskirts of town, the neon sign buzzing a welcome that felt
jarringly out of place. That night sleep was a stranger.
My dreams were haunted by glowing eyes and monstrous
shadows. I kept waking up, expecting to
find the creature looming over me.
Mark seemed to fare no better, his face drawn and tired in the
morning light. We attended a small church
service that Sunday. Neither of us was particularly
religious, but right then we needed something to cling to,
some semblance of normalcy. The sermon was about facing your
fears about the unknowns in life.
I couldn't help but think about the irony.
After the service, we drove back to the cabin.
The daylight made everything seem less threatening, but the
memory of that night was still fresh, casting a dark shadow
over the beautiful landscape. We packed up quickly, not
speaking much. The cabin felt different now,
tainted by the terror of the previous night.
On our way out, we stopped by the owner's place to drop off
the keys. I hesitated, then decided to
tell him about what we'd seen. His reaction was a mixture of
skepticism and concern. He assured us he'd never heard
of such a creature in these parts, but there was something
in his eyes, a flicker of something unspoken that made me
wonder. The drive home was long and
quiet. Mark and I talked a little about
what we do next, but mostly we were lost in our own thoughts.
I kept replaying that night in my head, trying to make sense of
it. Was it really a werewolf, some
undiscovered creature, or just a trick of the light in an
overactive imagination? I knew one thing for sure.
The wilderness had changed for me.
I used to find peace and solace in its solitude.
Now it felt like a place of hidden dangers, of mysteries
better left undiscovered. I made a silent vow to myself,
Never again would I venture into the woods, alone or unarmed.
When we finally pulled into my driveway, it was almost a
relief. The familiar sights of home, the
sounds of the neighborhood. It was comforting.
But even then, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had
shifted inside me. That encounter at the cabin had
changed something fundamental. I no longer viewed the world in
quite the same way. The wilderness had always been a
place of beauty and mystery. Now it held a sense of
foreboding, a reminder that there are things out there
beyond our understanding, lurking in the shadows.
I've always been the kind of guy who doesn't scare easy.
My name's James, by the way. I'm 26, kind of buff, and I've
seen stuff that would make most people run the other way But me.
I stand my ground. That's why what happened in
Mount Poconos still sends shivers down my spine.
I'll never forget it. It all started when I drove up
to Jason's place. He's my buddy, known him for
ages. His house in Mount Poconos isn't
your typical mountain cabin. It's modern, with big glass
windows and all the latest tech. Jason loves his gadgets almost
as much as he loves his booze. That weekend was supposed to be
like any other. We plan to drink, laugh, and
maybe go ice fishing if we felt like braving the cold.
But as soon as I stepped into his house, something felt off.
I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was like a voice in the
back of my mind whispering. Be careful.
I tried to shake it off as Jason handed me a shot to a great
weekend. He toasted.
Normally I'd be Downing shots with him, no questions asked,
but that night I hesitated. It was weird.
I've never been the superstitious type, but there
was this gnawing feeling in my gut, warning me to take it easy.
Everything OK, James? Jason asked, noticing my
hesitation. Yeah, just not feeling 100%.
I lied, forcing a smile. Stomach's acting up.
He laughed it off, but I could tell he was puzzled.
Jason knows I'm not the type to back down from a drink.
I excused myself to the bathroom, hoping to clear my
head. The bathroom window looked out
into the dense forest surrounding his house.
It was pitch black out there, except for something that made
my heart skip a beat. 2 glowing blood red eyes staring back at
me from the darkness. I froze.
What the? I muttered under my breath, not
believing what I was seeing. For a second I thought it was
some trick of the light, but those eyes, they felt alive
watching me. I backed away from the window,
my heart pounding. I didn't tell Jason about it.
He was already getting into the party spirit, and I didn't want
to be the buzzkill. Plus.
Part of me wondered if I was just seeing things, but deep
down I knew it was real. The rest of the evening passed
in a blur. I drank a bit, but my mind kept
going back to those eyes. When Jason suggested we head out
for ice fishing, I wasn't sure it was a good idea, but he was
already grabbing his gear, excited to show me his latest
fishing gadgets. Come on James, it'll be fun, he
slurred a little too drunk for my liking.
I nodded, trying to seem enthusiastic, but inside I was
on high alert. Something was out there in the
woods, and I had a feeling it was watching us, waiting As we
stepped out into the cold night, I couldn't help but feel like we
were walking into something we weren't prepared for, but I
pushed those thoughts aside. After all, I was James.
I don't scare easy, or so I thought.
Loaded up with our fishing gear, Jason and I stepped into the
chilly night air of Mount Poconos.
I could see my breath forming, little clouds in the freezing
air, a stark reminder of how cold it was going to be out
there on the ice. I had this heavy feeling in my
gut, the kind that tells you something's not quite right, but
I brushed it aside, figuring it was just nerves.
Or maybe the fact that Jason was a bit too tipsy for my liking.
The woods around Jason's place were dense, the kind of dense
that swallows sounds and makes everything feel closer than it
actually is. As we trudged through the snow,
the only sound was the crunch of our boots breaking the crisp
white surface. I couldn't shake the feeling
that we were being watched. It was so quiet.
Too quiet, like the forest was holding its breath.
Man, it's dead silent out here, I said, trying to make light of
the eerie calm. Jason, fumbling with his fishing
gear, just grunted in agreement. He was more focused on not
tripping over his own feet. The deeper we got into the
woods, the more I felt it, like eyes were on us, tracking every
step we took. I kept glancing over my
shoulder, half expecting to see something lurking in the
shadows. But there was nothing, just the
endless stretch of trees and darkness.
We finally found a decent spot near a frozen pond, far enough
from Jason's place to feel like we were in the middle of
nowhere. Jason set up his fishing gear
with clumsy hands, and I helped him drill a hole in the ice.
All the while I couldn't shake the feeling of unease.
It was like something out there was just waiting for the right
moment. You sure you're OK, James?
Jason asked, noticing my distracted look.
Yeah, just not used to it being this quiet, you know?
I replied, forcing a smile. We sat in silence for a while,
fishing lines dangling in the icy water.
Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves made me tense
up. I kept telling myself it was
just the wind or some small animal, but deep down I knew it
was more than that. It wasn't until Jason stumbled
and fell, spilling his can of beer on the snow, that I
realized how drunk he really was.
He laughed it off, but I could tell he was struggling to keep
it together. Maybe we should head back, man,
I suggested. You're pretty wasted and it's
freezing out here. Jason looked up at me, his eyes
glassy from the alcohol. Yeah, maybe you're right.
Let's pack up. As we gathered our things, I had
this sudden chill run down my spine.
I turned around slowly, and there it was, the dog man,
standing not 50 feet away from us.
It was massive, easily over 10 feet tall, with those same blood
red eyes I'd seen earlier. It just stood there watching us,
it's breath visible in the cold air.
I felt frozen, not just from the cold, but from fear.
I had never seen anything like it.
It was like something out of a nightmare, but there it was, as
real as the trees around us. Jason, too drunk to fully grasp
the situation, mumbled something incoherent.
I grabbed him by the arm, ready to run, but the creature didn't
move. It just kept staring, its eyes
locked on ours. In that moment, I knew we were
in real danger, but I also knew we had to keep our cool.
Panicking would only make things worse, so with every ounce of
courage I could muster, I slowly backed away, keeping my eyes on
the dog. Man, it didn't follow, it just
stood there, a silent Sentinel in the night.
As we made our way back to the house, I couldn't help but feel
like we had just escaped something truly terrifying.
But the night wasn't over yet, and I had a feeling that
whatever was out there in the woods wasn't done with us, not
by a long shot. We stumbled back towards the
house, our fishing trip forgotten.
Jason was drunk, but even in his state I could tell he felt the
gravity of what we just seen. The dog, man, towering and
mysterious, had left an unspoken fear hanging between us.
I helped Jason along his steps, unsteady and slow.
My mind raced, trying to make sense of what we had
encountered. The creature was unlike anything
I'd ever seen, and believe me, I've seen some strange stuff,
given my family's background in witchcraft and the occult.
But this was different. It was real, and right there in
front of us, as we trudged through the snow, I couldn't
help but keep looking back. The forest was silent again, but
it felt like a deceptive calm. Every shadow seemed to move.
Every whisper of wind sounded like a growl.
I was on edge, my senses heightened to every little sound
and movement. James, what was that thing?
Jason slurred, breaking the silence.
I don't know, Jay, I really don't, I replied, my voice
barely above a whisper. The encounter with the dog man
was not just a moment of fear. It felt like a moment of truth.
There I was, a guy who never scared easy, faced with
something that shook me to my core.
It was a creature out of legends, something you hear
about in scary stories, but never expect to see with your
own eyes. As we neared the house, I
couldn't shake the feeling that we were being followed.
It was like the creature was watching us, ensuring we left
its territory. My mind raced with questions.
What did it want? Why didn't it attack?
Was it just curious, or was there something more?
We finally reached the safety of the house, the warmth inside a
stark contrast to the cold dread that had filled us outside.
Jason collapsed on the couch, still trying to process what had
happened. I sat down across from him, my
mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The dog man had been
intimidating, sure, but there was something else in its eyes,
a sort of understanding, maybe even a kinship.
It was as if the creature and I shared something in common.
Was it the curse my family carried?
The loneliness that seemed to follow me?
Or was it something else, Something deeper?
I spent the rest of the night awake, staring out the window
into the dark forest. The encounter had changed
something in me. I had always believed in the
supernatural, but facing it in such a tangible form was
different. It made me question my own place
in this world, the nature of the unseen and the mysteries that
lie hidden in the shadows. The Dog Man was more than just a
creature, it was a symbol of the unknown, a reminder that there
are things out there beyond our understanding.
And as I sat there, looking into the darkness, I couldn't help
but wonder if our paths would cross again.
But for now, all I could do was wait and watch the memory of
those glowing red eyes forever etched in my mind.
The weeks following our encounter with the Dog Man were
tough. I couldn't shake off the image
of those piercing red eyes and the heavy air of silence that
followed us back from the woods. It wasn't just a story or a
fleeting moment. It was a haunting experience
that lingered in my thoughts day and night, but the hardest blow
came six months later. Jason, my good friend and like a
brother to me, passed away. It was unexpected, a freak
accident that left everyone who knew him reeling in shock.
For me, it was more than just losing a friend, It felt like a
part of the curse my family always talked about.
The curse of loneliness that seemed to follow me around.
Jason's death left a void in my life.
We had shared so much, including that last, fateful adventure
into the woods. I often wondered if that night
had somehow foretold this loss. The encounter with the dog man,
the fear, the unspoken understanding, it all seemed to
weave into the tapestry of my destiny, a destiny marked by
solitude and the supernatural. I found myself withdrawing more,
my interactions with others becoming sparse and strained.
The encounter in the woods had changed me, made me more
introspective and wary of the world around me.
I was more attuned to the strange and unexplainable, a
byproduct of my family's legacy and that night's encounter
nights were the hardest. I'd lie awake, staring into the
darkness, half expecting those red eyes to appear at my window,
but they never did. The dog Man was a creature of
the forest, a Sentinel of the unknown that had crossed our
path. For reasons I couldn't fathom, I
spent a lot of time thinking about the creature.
What was it? A guardian of nature, A
spiritual being, or just a creature misunderstood and
shrouded in mystery? I felt a strange connection to
it, a kinship born out of our shared moment of silent
confrontation. It was as if we both carried
burdens too heavy to explain it, with its physical form and
primal essence, and me with my family's curse and the resulting
loneliness. The world seemed different now.
The lines between the natural and the supernatural blurred,
revealing a world that was much larger and more mysterious than
I had ever imagined. My experience with the dog man
was a gateway to this realization, A harsh but
necessary awakening to the complexities of existence.
In the end, I found a certain solace in my solitude.
It gave me time to reflect, to understand the deeper
connections between all living things and the mysteries that
bind us. My encounter with the Dog Man
wasn't just a story of fear and survival.
It was a story of understanding and acceptance.
So here I am, living each day with a new found respect for the
unknown. I've learned to embrace my
family's legacy, to accept the loneliness as part of who I am.
And As for the Dog Man, it remains A pivotal chapter in my
life, a reminder that there are things out there beyond our
understanding, waiting in the shadows, watching and existing
in a realm that occasionally, just occasionally, intersects
with our own. Seven years ago, my wife and I
made a life altering decision. We purchased a property that
stretched across 11 acres of dense woods in a remote corner
of northeastern Minnesota. Our land was nestled among vast
expanses of fields and forests totaling roughly 160 acres.
While the area wasn't densely populated, a fairly busy state
highway ran nearby. Housing developments dotted the
landscape, but they were several miles away.
Our immediate surroundings were a picturesque blend of farmland,
woods, and rivers, a place that felt both isolated and
enchanting. I should clarify that up until
that point, I had never believed in the supernatural.
I had never feared the wilderness or the great
outdoors. Of course, I maintained a
healthy sense of caution and respect for the region's
potentially dangerous wildlife, including giant bears, moose,
wolves, and other formidable creatures.
In fact, I was an avid hunter and Mountaineer, and I had spent
countless nights in the wild encountering and navigating
through various perilous situations.
Fear had never been my constant companion, but all of that was
about to change. After just a few weeks of
settling into our new home, the house and land we had purchased
had been abandoned for years due to foreclosure.
Restoring it to its former glory was no small feat, and the local
wildlife had grown accustomed to the absence of humans.
Black bears frequently sauntered through our yard at night, and
other woodland creatures regarded the area as their own
private highway. We even stumbled upon scattered
animal bones strewn throughout the woods, evidence of the
abundant coyote population. It was during one fateful night,
amidst A rainstorm, that I had my first unnerving encounter.
Concerned about a broken downspout that could potentially
flood our basement, I ventured outside around 10:00 PM,
equipped with a headlamp. Behind our house lay a
relatively large, swampy area that acted as a natural divide
between the woods. As I fiddled with the downspout
my back to the swamp, an inexplicable feeling of dread
washed over me. It wasn't the ordinary sensation
of being watched. It was something deeper, more
visceral. I forced myself to stay calm and
slowly turned to shine my headlamp toward the swamp.
What I saw sent shivers down my spine and shattered my disbelief
in the supernatural. Countless pairs of glowing,
reflective eyes stared back at me.
These were not the eyes of ordinary animals like deer or
raccoons. They varied in height, and when
I aimed my light where they should have been, there was
nothing but weeds and trees. Even when I turned off my
headlamp, those eerie eyes continued to glow as if
illuminated by an unseen light source.
They remained motionless, transfixed on me.
Panic engulfed me and I sprinted back into the safety of our
home, convincing myself that it was just deer or raccoons.
Later that summer, while sitting on our screened in porch that
partially faced the swamp and woods to the east, I was
startled by a peculiar commotion.
It was around 11:00 PM, and the sounds I heard resembled A
fierce battle between a bear and a cow.
There was a small farm southwest of our property, and I assumed a
cow had strayed into the woods, becoming prey for a bear.
It wasn't a scenario I'd ever encountered, but it seemed
plausible based on the unsettling sounds I heard.
A bear's roar followed by frantic cow mooing.
This disturbing Symphony persisted for over an hour,
etching A horrifying memory in my mind.
What chilled me even more was that the same unsettling
sequence of sounds occurred again the following summer.
However, I never ventured into the woods to investigate, as
that area didn't belong to us. A couple of years later, an
opportunity arose for me to purchase the adjacent 70 acres
to the West, which included more woods, tilled fields, lumber,
and ponds. During my exploration of this
new property, I ventured deep into the woods where I had
previously heard those disturbing sounds.
This area was consistently bizarre, and each hike revealed
something odd. Once, my son and I stumbled upon
an old game snare tied to a tree, its surface marred with
dried blood. On another occasion, we
encountered a century old tree whose trunk was entirely
ensnared by a barbed wire fence. Weaving in and out at various
intervals, there were tree trunks adorned with deep
scratches and claw marks, unlike anything resembling an antler
rub or typical bear markings. These findings were unsettling,
but I dismissed them as the quirks of nature, perhaps the
work of an unusually large bear. Dead animal bones were a common
sight, and even during the winter I discovered a couple of
deer legs snapped and stripped clean.
My sons frequently found animal skulls in this enigmatic area.
In my efforts to prepare for deer hunting seasons, I
installed tree stands and trail cameras in various locations,
including the hilly woods where I had heard the eerie sounds
years before. Strangely, unlike my other
cameras, this one never captured any images.
No animals, no movement, nothing at all.
My son also haunted in that spot and noted an unusual stillness
in the forest. He attributed it to a lack of
insects or other natural sounds. However, sporadically, the
forest would come alive again, as if something was entering and
leaving the area. He even mentioned hearing
strange footsteps on occasion. One day a few years ago, my son
ventured into the woods while I was engaged in forest management
activities. He thought he spotted me moving
quickly through the trees, but soon realized that the figures
clothing bore no resemblance to mine.
This person or thing appeared to have tunnel vision, walking in a
straight line without noticing my son's presence.
The sighting made no sense as the direction this figure was
headed LED only to deep ravines and an uncrossable river.
Despite an extensive search, I found no trace of the intruder.
They had either disappeared or been picked up by a road.
A perplexing mystery. Around the same time, my son and
his friend embarked on a late afternoon walk in the woods.
As dusk descended, they noticed a figure in the trees near one
of the hills in that forested area.
It began to approach them as they called out in greeting.
However, this entity remained silent and continued its
advance. Sensing something amiss, the
boys fled back to the house, recounting their encounter with
a tall figure, possibly 10 to 15 feet in height, with skinny
arms, dark, hairy skin, and peculiar ears reminiscent of a
German shepherd. It was emaciated, elongated, and
its appearance was so unsettling that they initially mistook it
for an animal. In my role as a protective
father, I decided to investigate further.
Worried that it might be a trespasser or something more
sinister, I followed the path they indicated, given that it
was winter and the ground was covered in snow.
However, when I reached the spot where they had seen the figure,
there were no tracks, no signs, nothing to indicate any recent
presence. It was as if the intruder had
left no trace, prompting me to believe that my son and his
friend had either fabricated the encounter or experienced a
shared hallucination. Despite my skepticism, both my
son and his friend remained adamant about what they had
seen, their fear undeniable. Even my wife, who had her own
unsettling experiences, refused to venture into that part of the
woods anymore. All these inexplicable events
and eerie occurrences seem to converge in one specific area of
our property. I find myself at a complete
loss, unable to decipher their meaning or connect the dots.
The strangeness of it all prevents me from discussing it
with anyone I know in the area. I continue my investigations,
but the mysteries persist. In my quest for answers, I
conducted Internet research and the term Dog Man surfaced as a
potential explanation. However, the circumstances of
these encounters do not neatly align with this classification,
leaving me bewildered and seeking resolution.
The swampy area near our property holds secrets that
elude understanding, and I remain determined to uncover the
truth, no matter how bizarre or unsettling it may be.