I still remember how excited I was when I got picked for that
wildlife research project in the Grand Canyon a few years back.
I had just finished my biology degree, so getting hands on
experience tracking coyotes seemed like an amazing
opportunity. My 2 teammates, Dan and Jess,
felt the same way. We were all eager science nerds
ready for adventure when we arrived in Arizona and met our
park Ranger guide. He warned us that spending two
weeks camping deep in the Canyon wasn't for the faint of heart.
The remoteness meant we'd be on our own if any emergencies
happened to come up, but we assured him we were up to the
task. We set off on the long trek
down, lugging all our camping gear and research equipment.
On the first evening, we found a secluded site off the main
trails to set up our base camp. It took over an hour to get the
tents pitched and our supplies organized as dusk fell over the
Canyon walls surrounding us. We were all tired from the hike,
so after a quick dinner we turned in early.
The night was calm and surprisingly quiet, with just
the occasional hoot of an owl or rustle in the bushes.
Nothing alarming. I remember falling asleep fast,
worn out from the day's exertions.
Sometime later, I woke up to strange noises right outside my
tent. At first I thought it was just a
raccoon or coyote sniffing around our food bags, but when I
quietly peeked out the tent flap, I couldn't see any
animals. The moonlight only revealed the
rocky Canyon terrain. The grunting and odd sniffing
sounds faded away, so I assumed it was nothing.
I settled back down and quickly dozed off again.
I was startled awake again later that night by the sound of heavy
footsteps tramping around the campsite.
The crunching gravel and twigs snapping under foot were
unmistakable. I quickly unzip the tent flap
again, peering outside in the dim moonlight.
I couldn't see anything, but the footsteps continued, pacing in a
circle around us. I woke up Dan and Jess to make
sure they heard it too. There's something big walking
around out there, I whispered loudly.
Dan mumbled that it was probably just a curious coyote wandering
near the food bags. As I had previously suspected,
however, the footsteps did sound too loud and heavy for a coyote.
We all stayed silent, listening to whatever was outside
methodically making its way around the tent.
The footsteps halted right outside, and then we heard loud
sniffing, like some huge animal inhaling and catching our
scents. I don't think a coyote would be
so bold, I whispered. I was frozen, wondering if I
should yell to scare it off. Suddenly, a low, guttural growl
rumbled just outside the tent fabric.
It sounded like a bear's growl, but deeper, more throaty.
We all exchanged panicked looks in the darkness.
This was definitely no coyote. I stumbled to grab my flashlight
while Jess found the bear spray. As I fumble to turn on the
flashlight, something heavy pressed against the tent.
Sharp claws began to violently scratch the fabric right near my
face, shredding holes in the nylon.
I fell backward in terror. We yelled at the top of our
lungs, hoping to startle whatever beast was attacking our
shelter. The scratching ceased as our
shouts echoed off the Canyon walls, but before we could sigh
in relief, the entire tent started to shake violently.
Something was grabbing the roof now, thrashing it back and forth
with incredible force. Dan, Jess, and I screamed as
loud as we could, pointing our flashlights all over the place.
Suddenly the assault stopped, and in the flashlight beams we
saw a large, shadowy figure scampering away from the mangled
tent entrance. My hands trembled uncontrollably
as the three of us scanned our surroundings with the lights,
but the beams of light only caught empty terrain.
Whatever had stalked our camp was gone as quickly as it came.
We huddled together, listening intently for any sign it had
returned, but the night was silent once again.
None of us dared leave the shredded tent to investigate
further. Exhausted and horrified, we
eventually fell into a fitful sleep again, hoping the creature
was gone for good. But the next morning would bring
a whole new level of fear and confusion.
When morning sunlight finally filtered into the ravaged tent,
we debated whether we should step outside to assess the
damage. That thing could still be
lurking nearby, waiting for us to emerge, but we knew we
couldn't hide in the tent forever.
After hearing no sounds for several minutes, I slowly unzip
the flap, or rather what was left of it.
The three of us cautiously stepped out together, bear spray
and flashlights raised. We swept through the campsite,
bathed in harsh morning light, searching for any sign of that
creature. The camp area looked utterly
trampled, with torn up dirt, scattered equipment, and
scratches gouged into the ground.
Large, unfamiliar prints we couldn't identify marred the
landscape, but we saw no beast insight.
The area reeked of a strange, musky odor that I couldn't
place. Whatever had attacked us was
massive and powerful, definitely no coyote, and probably not a
Mountain Lion. Dan wanted to just pack up and
hike back to the rim immediately, but the researcher
in me needed to examine the prints and damage while it was
all still fresh. What exactly had we heard and
seen? Jess offered to stand watch with
the bear spray while Dan and I followed the prints.
They led right up to my mangled tent entrance before
disappearing into the bushes. I paused there, shining my light
on the flattened brush. Something caught my eye.
Several clumps of thick, grayish hair snagged on the shrub stems.
Without a word, I pointed at the Hare meeting Dan's equally
alarmed gaze. We clicked off our flashlights
as the sun climbed higher into the sky.
We then backtracked out of the brush, deciding we'd seen enough
the campsite needed to be vacated.
Now. I couldn't believe we'd come
face to face with something so enormous and strong and unknown.
A coyote or a cougar just did not match the havoc and prints
we'd found. The footprints didn't resemble a
bear's either. All I knew for certain was that
we needed to get out of the Canyon.
The sun continued to rise over the Canyon rim, but we already
had our backpacks loaded up to hike out.
None of us felt safe staying another second as we rapidly
took down what remained of the ravaged campsite.
The surrounding wilderness remained eerily silent.
No bird calls or scampering wildlife sounds that you'd
normally expect at dawn. Just tense and heavy.
Quiet. Once we were all set, we
cautiously followed the bizarre tracks back into the woods,
attempting to glimpse where the creature had gone, but the
jumbled Prince disappeared just 20 yards in, with no trace of
our Night Time Stalker. Had it left the area, or was it
camouflaged and waiting, unseen in the shadows?
We couldn't shake the feeling. Its eyes still followed us,
despite no evidence of it nearby.
I nervously eyed each shrub and thicket as we hasten through the
brush. My imagination conjured up the
beast crouching behind every rock and tree, but there was
nothing there when I looked, Though we found no other trace
of it so far, We still needed to leave.
Sure, it sucked, not knowing where our stalker might be, but
we didn't really have another choice.
We swiftly headed back up the Canyon, away from the creature's
domain, Or so we thought, Miles of strenuous hiking past in
intense silence. None of us wanted to acknowledge
just how close we'd come to being torn apart in our sleep.
I kept glancing back behind us, certain each rustling Bush or
scurrying lizard was our pursuer returning.
But the Canyon remained empty and still.
Finally we emerged, sweat soaked and exhausted, back at the
populated Canyon rim where we'd started.
As we gave statements to the puzzled Rangers, I noticed Dan
and Jess avoiding mentions of anything besides a rogue bear
harassing us. Maybe they thought it sounded
insane, maybe they feared we'd be ridiculed, but I just
couldn't shake the certainty that we'd escaped something
frightening, something unknown in those Canyon woods.
And if there was a next time, it might not end as well.
Back at our Arizona motel that evening, I still felt rattled
and unnerved. Dan and Jess seemed ready to
forget the whole ordeal and enjoy the hotel amenities, but I
couldn't get the image of that giant creature out of my mind.
We'd escaped something extraordinary, so I pressed the
Park Rangers around there for any other reports of something
bipedal and wolf, like roaming the inner Canyon.
But they laughed it off, insisting it must have been a
curious bear. Part of me wondered if they knew
more than they let on. Perhaps they ignored the weird
and frightening in their park, but mostly the Rangers seemed
oblivious. With no definitive explanation
from the experts, I turned to the Internet to research what we
might have seen Massive prints, Gray hair, heavy musky smell,
and hunched, bipedal movement. These sounded like traits
ascribed to mythic creatures like werewolves or dog men.
I dove deep into the old Native American legends about
skinwalkers that supposedly still lurked in remote areas.
But were they real? The logical part of my mind
resisted belief in paranormal creatures stalking moonlit
forests. But when I recalled that
trembling shadow receding from our flashlight beams, my logic
failed. Something had been watching us,
something that walked on two legs and left Prince no coyote
could. Its yellow eyes were seared into
my memory in the following weeks.
The questions gnawed at me even as we wrote our sober scientific
reports, omitting that fateful night.
Had some local legend come to life under the full moon?
Was there any validity to the tales of beasts lurking in
overlooked places in the wild? I'm not sure if we truly
stumbled on a monster or just an odd wolf of some sort, but I'll
never set foot in those Grand Canyon woods again, that's for
sure. Whatever roamed there wasn't
meant to be seen by human eyes. Our flashlights might be the
only things that saved us that night.
This terrifying incident happened approximately 17 years
ago, when I was just eight years old and my younger brother, Max,
was 5. Max had always been an unusual
child, unafraid of the dark and seemingly impervious to the
fearsome scenes in scary movies. I had attempted countless times
to startle him, hiding around corners and jumping out as he
passed, but he would only laugh it off.
His fearlessness puzzled me. Our family had recently moved
from the town to the countryside earlier that year, thanks to our
dad's career in stock trading, which involved a mix of business
calls, Internet work, and occasional trips to the city.
Although I couldn't fully comprehend his job at that age,
I was thrilled to move to a larger and more open house in
the rolling hills of the Midwest.
Max and I love the outdoors, especially in the fall when the
grass turned golden and crispy. I enjoyed rolling down the
hills, feeling the crunch of the grass beneath me.
However, my mom was less enthusiastic about my grass
covered returns. Max had his own daring pursuits,
including climbing trees, something I could never muster
the courage to attempt due to my fear of heights.
I would watch him from below, making sure he didn't take any
dangerous falls. Those initial months in our new
home were idyllic, but everything changed with the
arrival of winter. As winter settled in, Max's
behavior began to shift. He woke up in the mornings tired
and sluggish, a stark contrast to his usually energetic self.
He started staying closer to the house, and our tree climbing
adventures came to a sudden halt.
Most notably, he developed an aversion to bedtime and a fear
of the dark, or perhaps the night itself.
It was heartbreaking to witness such a dramatic change in my
once adventurous and cheerful brother.
As the winter months passed, Max's condition worsened and our
parents grew increasingly concerned.
They tried adjusting his diet, thinking it might be a
deficiency in vitamins or minerals, but trips to the
doctor and blood tests confirmed that he was physically healthy,
Something was clearly troubling Max's mind.
I would repeatedly ask him what was wrong, imploring him to
share his fears, but he would only shake his head and mutter
nothing. During this period, I also
approached my parents with a request to switch rooms with
Max. My motivation was partly due to
the inconvenient location of my room farther from the bathroom
we shared, and partly because I preferred the view from Max's
window, which faced the woods rather than the empty field
outside mine. My mom agreed to the room swap,
with the condition that Max and I both consented.
Excitedly. I ran to Max and proposed the
idea. His initial expression was one
of boredom, but then he hesitated and eventually nodded
in agreement. I hurriedly informed my mom of
our decision, and with her blessing we proceeded to swap
sheets and blankets, but not the entire beds.
That night, as I settled into my new room, I turned on the night
light and crawled under the covers.
Staring out of the window, I noticed the absence of curtains
or blinds. I had insisted on this
arrangement, wanting to always see the outside, and Max had
followed suit. The moonlight outside provided
just enough illumination to make out the swaying branches and
trees in the nearby woods. I watched the night time foliage
until I drifted off to sleep. I awoke suddenly in the middle
of the night, finding myself on my back with the night light
turned off. One of my parents must have come
in and switched it off to save electricity.
The moonlight filtered into my room, allowing me to see my
surroundings. I turned on to my left side, my
favorite sleeping position, and was about to close my eyes when
I glanced out of the window again.
This time, something was different.
There was more than just the tree line outside.
There was a dark figure standing at the window, peering in my
breath caught in my throat. My eyes widened and my mouth
opened in shock. The creature outside resembled a
dog, but it was unnaturally tall, with front paws that
looked eerily like human hands, complete with claw like nails.
It had dark Gray fur covering its body and a long snout,
ending in a shiny black nose. For several seconds, it and I
locked eyes, a petrifying standoff.
Then the creature began to move. Its paw like hands trace the
edges of the window sill, as if feeling for something At the
bottom. Its hand stopped and it tugged
upward, forcefully attempting to open the window.
Panic surged through me as I realized it was trying to gain
entry into my room. Though I desperately wanted to
scream or flee to my parents room, I found myself paralyzed,
unable to do anything but watch in horror.
The creature continued to fiddle with the window from the
outside, and I silently prayed that it would give up and go
away. I could hear the window shaking
under its efforts, and my fear intensified.
After what felt like an eternity, the creature finally
gave up with an audible huff. It turned away from the window,
revealing its heavy footsteps as it walked on two legs, much like
a person, but emitting heavy thuds that made it sound much
heavier than my dad. As the creature disappeared into
the darkness, its footsteps gradually fading, I gathered
enough courage to spring out of bed.
I dashed to Max's room, attempting to be as quiet as
possible despite the panic coursing through me.
I opened the door and crawled into bed beside him.
As I turned to him, I was startled to see that he was wide
awake, tears filling his eyes. Before I could utter a word, Max
began apologizing repeatedly, saying I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm
sorry. I couldn't comprehend his
apologies at first, but then the realization hit me like a ton of
bricks. Max had been visited by this
creature at his window ever since winter began.
He had felt guilty about it and didn't want me to be in the same
room, but the fear had finally driven him to agree to the room
swap. I didn't blame him.
For a second I understood that he hadn't wanted me to be in
danger. Morning eventually arrived
without any further incidents, but now both my brother and I
were in on this terrifying secret.
We knew that our parents wouldn't believe us if we simply
told them about the creature we had seen.
They would dismiss it as nightmares or simply kids being
kids. However, I had a plan.
My dad had a strong aversion to spiders, a fact I knew well.
That night, before my parents went to bed, I collected the
biggest spiders I could find and kept them in jars throughout the
day. When the time came, I discreetly
placed them in my parents bed. It wasn't dangerous to them.
I made sure of that. My intention was to startle my
dad awake with the spiders. Sure enough, I succeeded.
My dad screamed when he felt the spider crawling on him, and in
the commotion I managed to escape the room without him
realizing what I had done. After dealing with the spiders,
he decided to sleep on the couch for the night.
I felt guilty about it, but this was just the beginning of my
plan. After waiting for about 10 to 15
minutes to ensure my dad was asleep, I placed the last spider
I had right on his face. As the spider's legs tickled his
skin and woke him up, I hurriedly returned to my room.
My dad screamed once more and this time there was no doubt he
was thoroughly awake. The poor spider had become a
necessary sacrifice to ensure that my dad would see the
creature. My dad came rushing down the
hallway towards my room, open the door, and check to see if I
was awake. I pretended to be asleep and he
jostled my shoulder. He then suggested that I sleep
with my brother for the night. Without offering any
explanation, I agreed and went to Max's room.
Max's room was closer to the bathroom and the rest of the
house, making it the logical choice for my dad.
As we settled into Max's room, we waited in silence, uncertain
of what would happen next. We must have fallen asleep while
waiting. When we woke up, it was our
parents who gently picked us up and carried us to the car.
We were still groggy, but we knew why we were leaving.
Our parents told us a white lie, explaining that we were leaving
because of a spider infestation. Max and I pretended to believe
them, but deep down we knew the real reason.
We moved in with our grandparents until our parents
managed to sell the house and find a new place for us to live.
Max no longer had to sleep in that room, and we slowly began
to put the traumatic experience behind us years later after I'd
moved out. I couldn't resist the urge to
ask my dad about that fateful night.
I wanted to know why he had decided to wake us up in the
middle of the night and move us away from that house.
I reminded him that I knew it wasn't just about spiders, as he
had initially claimed. With a reluctant expression, he
finally admitted that he had seen it too.
The creature at the window, the dog like being standing on two
legs trying to get inside. He confirmed that he had indeed
seen it, and it explained Max's sudden change in behavior.
My dad expressed his relief that he had made the decision to move
us away from that house as soon as possible.
He wished he had done it sooner. With that confirmation, I knew
that what Max and I had seen was real, and our unconventional
plan to make my dad see it too, had worked.
I reassured my dad not to feel guilty about it.
We were all scarred for life by the experience.
It was a chilling reminder of what could have happened if I
hadn't switched rooms with Max. That night, at 19 years old, I
moved away to the city for college, a decision dictated by
the university's requirement to live on campus.
At the time, it was a condition I didn't mind, as it led me to
meet my roommate, John. We quickly formed a deep
friendship, united by our shared interests and hobbies,
especially our penchant for smoking up.
Unfortunately, our campus didn't allow us to indulge in the
devil's lettuce, so we often embarked on nighttime escapades.
In John's old Nissan, our favorite destination was a
series of old back roads several miles away from campus.
Along those winding paths, there was one peculiar spot that
became our secret sanctuary. A single street light stood,
casting an eerie orange glow, seemingly forgotten in the midst
of these desolate roads. It was an odd sight, but it
provided the perfect backdrop for our late night smoking
sessions. John and I would park there for
hours, engrossed in conversations that ranged from
childhood stories to our limited work experiences.
My own stories were scarce, considering my only job at the
time was working at Starbucks. One evening, while we were deep
in conversation, John posed a question that would forever
change our lives. Dude, what was the craziest
order you've ever gotten at Starbucks?
He asked as he took another toke from our joint.
Bro, I've only been there for about 3 months now, I replied,
shaking my head with a smile. Ah, come on, you've had to have
had an annoying order by now, right?
At least one? He insisted.
I pondered for a moment, my thoughts moving at a snail's
pace. Finally, a peculiar memory
surfaced. Well, there was this one drive
through order where a guy ordered just two shots of
espresso and eight times whipped cream.
John held in the smoke and looked at me with the biggest
WTF face he could muster. What's even the point of that?
He managed to say. I chuckled, recalling the
absurdity. I don't really know.
Better yet, when the guy pulled through, he wasn't wearing
anything but boxers. John burst into laughter.
Now that's something I can agree with.
I hate pants, man. Annoying to take off and
annoying to put on. He handed me the joint and I
nodded in agreement. Then the tranquility of our
secret spot was shattered. Something massive brushed
against the car, causing it to shake.
I clung to the seat with my free hand, locking eyes with John.
We both fell silent, instinctively scanning the side
and rear view mirrors. On my side, I saw a large, hairy
black shape. It was vigorously rubbing its
body against the rear Fender, creating a jarring motion.
It was enormous, easily the size of one of us, and strong enough
to rock the car. I likened it to videos I'd seen
of bears rubbing themselves against objects to scratch their
itchy spots. That's what I assumed it was.
Dude, there's a black bear over here.
Scratching his hip on the car, I said to John, my voice
trembling. Quit joking, dude, what the heck
is that? John leaned closer to the side
view mirror without lowering the window.
I'm telling you, John, it's a freaking black bear.
John slowly raised himself from his seat to get a better angle.
Holy crap, dude, this is the closest I've ever been to a
bear. Do you think we should drive
away? I asked nervously.
I don't know. I don't know.
Maybe we should just wait it out.
I mean, we don't have any food. I don't think he wants in here.
I think he's just itchy. So there we sat, paralyzed by
fear, watching the black, hairy creature continue to scratch
itself. However, animals often prolong
their seemingly normal actions. We found ourselves in a surreal
situation as the supposed bear continued scratching itself on
the car for the next 12 minutes. Throughout that time, we were
too afraid to make any sudden moves, believing that any
movement might provoke the creature.
As it turns out, our fears were unwarranted.
Instead of attacking us, the creature did something even more
bewildering. It stood up on two legs.
Bears are known to stand on two legs as well, but this creature
was different. Its slender, angular body and
short torso were in stark contrast to its long, seemingly
muscular legs. Its legs bent backward and even
its fur couldn't hide their unusual length.
I stared up at its head, which now towered 7 feet in the air
just above the car's height. It's pointed ears and dark eyes
caught my attention. In fact, its eyes were the only
visible feature, as they reflected the orange light from
the street light. At this point, it was clear that
this creature was unlike any bear we had ever encountered.
Without warning, the creature raised its upper limb, not using
it to stand but to gnaw at its elbow region.
This action reminded me of my old dog scratching his leg by
rapidly chomping his teeth on the spot.
Everything about this creature resembled a dog or a canine,
except for its bizarre body shape.
Its snout and perky, pointed ears completed the eerie image.
I didn't dare look over at John, but his silence told me that he
too had witnessed the creatures transformation.
We remained motionless, not even daring to breathe, as the
creature continued its strange behavior.
It eventually slapped its other arm onto the car's roof,
seemingly using it for balance. The rapid scratching and gnawing
stopped abruptly, replaced by an unbearable metallic sound that
reverberated through the car, sending shivers down our spines.
It was as if nails on a chalkboard had been amplified
tenfold. John and I instinctively covered
our ears, but John, in his discomfort, let out an
involuntary curse. His curse was a grave mistake as
it drew the creature's attention to our car.
I watched in horror as John's gaze shifted from me to the
passenger window beside me. Simultaneously, the scratching
and gnawing ceased. I realized what had happened.
The creature had heard John's expletive and turned its focus
to us. My heart raced as I contemplated
whether to heed John's silent plea not to look.
Curiosity, however, got the better of me.
I tore my eyes away from John and turned my head ever so
slowly. The sight that met my eyes made
my heart stop. The creature outside had bent
down, bringing its face and head level with the passenger window.
Its eyes were mere inches from the glass and it was staring
directly at me. The chilling realization struck
me that this creature had been watching us from behind.
Before I turned. It had not looked at John, the
source of the sound. It had been fixated on me.
I stared into those dark, unfeeling eyes, and in return
the creature sniffed at the glass, seemingly satisfied.
Then it began to walk away with long, confident strides,
effortlessly crossing the 9 1/2 foot wide Rd. in just two steps,
Its arms ending in long swinging claws moved in harmony with its
legs, creating an uncanny and inhuman, yet strangely human
like gait as it vanished into the tree line.
Bathed in darkness, John took decisive action.
He slammed his foot on the accelerator and we raced away
from the street light, leaving behind the eerie orange glow.
The only light guiding our way was the Crescent moon.
Not a full moon, but enough to cast a haunting shadow over our
encounter. We returned to our campus,
barricading ourselves in our dorm room, where we stayed up
all night debating and discussing what we had just
witnessed. The creature had been unlike
anything we'd ever seen or heard of before, and that single
incident haunted my nightmares for weeks to come.
However, for John, it sparked a desire to explore those back
roads even further, and somehow, against my better judgement, I
let him talk me into it. A few months after the first
incident, I'd finally gathered the courage to go back.
Or perhaps it wasn't courage at all, but rather the relentless
peer pressure from John. He kept pestering me, asking,
Dude, would you go back with me, please?
We have to see that thing again. Despite my nightmare since that
fateful night, he just wouldn't let up.
In the end, I gave in. John was my only friend and a
part of me, worried about what might happen if he went alone.
There was no telling what a creature of that shape and size
would do to a man, so we started going back to that same spot
under the one street light, smoking as we used to.
Weeks turned into months, and then a year passed by without
any strange encounters. John had given up hope of seeing
it again, attributing the first encounter to some bizarre
coincidence or shared hallucination, but for me, I
knew it had been real. I didn't believe in shared
hallucinations. The next encounter came about 2
1/2 years later. While we were driving through
the back roads in John's car, we weren't at that section with the
single street light. This time it was a new moon
night and John had failed to replace his left headlight,
making it difficult to see with only one working headlight.
As we navigated the bends and curves, John suddenly slammed on
the brakes. I heard his cursing and realized
he had almost hit something. When we came to a stop, I could
only see one leg in the darkness, but as I focused more,
the entire outline of that familiar, dreadful creature
became clear. I couldn't be certain if it was
the same one as before, but it was undoubtedly the same type of
creature we had seen those years ago, and once again it was
staring at us. This time it seemed upset, as if
it knew we had nearly hit it. Its lips curled up, revealing
sharp teeth reminiscent of canines.
There was something eerie about the way only 1/2 of its face was
illuminated by the car's headlight, with its teeth
reflecting the light. I whispered to John urgently.
You need to keep going. Do you want me to hit that
thing? No, no, no, he replied loudly.
We need to go around it, we need to get home now.
He nodded, and we both looked back at the creature before John
lifted his foot off the brake. The strange beast in front of us
suddenly darted off, disappearing into the dark part
of the road, but I knew it hadn't left because I could
still hear it's frantic, heavy footsteps on the left side of
the car, in the dark part of the road that we couldn't see.
I tried to get John's attention, urging him to step on the gas,
but he seemed panicked, scanning the dark part of the road with
his eyes. He wanted to locate it before
accelerating, displaying an odd mix of fear and curiosity.
Those footsteps outside suddenly stopped, and we waited in tense
silence, straining our ears for any sign of the creature.
I continued, pleading with John to just drive away, as he was
the one who had insisted on coming back here in the 1st
place. But then the unthinkable
happened. The back door handle lifted and
the door started to open. I called out to John, pointing
towards the back seat, horrified at the thought of that thing
crawling into the car with us. Finally, he snapped out of his
stupor and slammed his foot on the gas, lurching the vehicle
forward. The back door slammed shut and I
scanned the back seat to ensure nothing had entered with us.
John drove as fast as he could, given the one working headlight
and the tricky bends and turns. I glanced at him and saw
something out of his window, a reflection of two beady black
eyes from the lights on the car stereo.
The creature was giving chase, running on all fours just
outside John's door. Staring into the window, I tried
to say something, but John interrupted me.
I see it camper out of the corner of my eye.
I can see it right there without warning.
He turned sharply to the left and I felt 2 bumps as something
tumbled and rolled under the car's wheels.
At the same time, the creature's eyes disappeared from the side
of the car. John had run it over and without
stopping to check if it was gone or dead, he kept driving down
the road until we saw the lights of the city.
When we made it back to campus, we ran like mad back to the
dorms. I couldn't shake the eerie
thought that the creature might still be out there waiting for
us to leave the car. Fortunately, that was just fear.
Talking back inside the safety of the dorm, we looked at each
other and burst into relieved laughter.
Dude, you freaking ran it over, I said to John.
I know man. That's all I could think of
doing at the moment. If I had gone any faster, we'd
have ended up in a ditch, or worse, he explained.
I sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted.
What do you think it was, John? This was the same question we
had asked each other after the first incident.
I'd always said I didn't know because I genuinely didn't.
I was about to give the same answer, but before I could, John
said. Werewolves can't really exist,
right? That thing looked like some sort
of rendition of a werewolf. I looked at John, taken aback by
his sincerity. I looked down, thinking.
I wanted to say he was right. It did look like a werewolf, but
mythical creatures like that weren't supposed to exist,
right? I mean, they can't exist, I
began, But before I could finish, John interrupted.
But there we were, having narrowly escaped something that
looked exactly like 1. Whatever it was.
Camper, I'm sure this time it was real.
I nodded in agreement, feeling a mix of exhilaration and fear.
Something about escaping such a dangerous encounter was both
terrifying and thrilling. After that incident, we never
saw it again. John channelled his obsession
into online research, delving into stories and sightings of
creatures like the Dog Man or the Beast of Bray Rd.
I took a different approach. I wanted nothing more to do with
it. I wanted to forget and move on,
keeping my story to myself. But the human mind has a way of
keeping traumatic memories fresh, making them vivid and
unforgettable, so I've never truly forgotten about it.
The only relief I find now is sharing my story with people in
person, though most don't believe it.
Occasionally I meet someone who's open to believing me, and
it makes me feel a little less crazy.
To anyone else out there who's seen something similar, know
that you're not alone. There are strange things in this
world, things that aren't supposed to exist.
The first time I laid eyes on the Adirondack Mountains, it was
like stepping into another world.
Coming from the city's relentless buzz.
The stark contrast wasn't just refreshing, it was almost
surreal. My great aunts invitation to
spend time at their condo near North Creek, overlooking the
fabled Mount Gore, was an offer I couldn't refuse.
I remember the day I arrived like it was yesterday.
The condo, aptly named The Summit, sat nestled in a
picturesque spot that offered a commanding view of Mount Gore.
From here, the mountain stood like a silent Sentinel, its
slopes once bustling with skiers, now eerily quiet.
The towns around here, they told me, were shadows of their former
selves. Once thriving on the logging
industry, they now languished, scattered with for sale signs
that spoke of better days long past.
As I unpacked my things, my mind was a mix of excitement and
curiosity. My great aunt and uncle,
seasoned dwellers of these parts seemed to blend into the
landscape, their faces etched with lines that mirrored the
rugged terrain. My second cousin, or was it
third family trees, always baffled me.
Was a welcoming presence, his knowledge of the local lore both
fascinating and unsettling. Our first evening took us to a
local restaurant boasting an outstanding view of Lake George.
The lake, with its calm waters cradled by the mountains, was a
sight to behold. Boats bobbed gently on the
surface and parasailers dotted the sky, painting a serene
picture. It was there, while perusing the
menu, that my gaze fell upon an old painting hanging on the
wall. The scene was disturbing.
Figures lying motionless on the ground, a child running towards
a house, a woman in the doorway and an odd figure on all fours.
The painting, I guessed, dated back to the 1700s or 1800s, and
it held a macabre fascination for me.
Was it just a painting or a window into a forgotten story?
That first night back at the condo, I found myself alone in
the living room. The others had retired early,
leaving me with my thoughts in the flickering light of the TV.
I scrolled through Twitter, half watching the screen, half lost
in the quietness that the mountains offered.
Around 9 PMI decided to open the windows.
The night was overcast, the stars hidden, but the darkness
of the mountains had its own beauty.
As I sat there, immersed in the tranquillity, something caught
my eye Across the street, Next to the dense tree line, a large
dark shape emerged. At first I thought it was a
trick of the light, but as it stepped into the faint glow of
the street lamp, my heart skipped a beat.
The creature, whatever it was, stood at least 7 feet tall.
It's billed, reminiscent of a bodybuilder, but it was the head
that sent shivers down my spine, like a German shepherd, only
much, much larger. Covered in thick, dark fur, it
moved with a grace that belied its size.
It sniffed around the empty condo across from ours, its
movements deliberate, almost curious.
I watched, frozen, as it turned and disappeared back into the
forest. That night I lay in bed, the
image of the creature etched into my mind.
Was it real, or just a figment of my imagination, spurred by
the haunting painting in the legends of the mountains?
I couldn't be sure, but one thing was clear.
Mount Gore held secrets and I had just scratched the surface.
The days following my arrival at Mount Gore unfolded with a
deceptive calm. The mountain air was crisp, the
skies a clear blue, and the dense forests seem to whisper
ancient secrets. I spent my time exploring the
surrounding trails and getting to know the small town of North
Creek. Each evening, as we return to
the summit, the condo felt more like a home, and the unsettling
feeling from my first night began to fade.
It was on the 4th night, however, that everything
changed. The evening had been uneventful.
After dinner, my great aunt and uncle retired early, leaving me
to my own devices. I decided to stay up, lounging
in the living room with a book I'd found on local folklore.
The stories were a blend of native legends and tales of
settlers, each steeped in the mystique of the mountains.
As the clock struck midnight, a subtle change in the atmosphere
caught my attention. The wind had picked up outside,
bringing with it a chill that seemed to seep through the
walls. I felt a sudden urge to look out
the window, and what I saw froze me in my tracks.
There, in the dim light of the moon, was the creature again.
It was closer, this time standing at the edge of the
forest that bordered our condo. Its eyes, reflective in the
moonlight, were fixed on something.
In the distance, I could see its chest rising and falling with
each breath, the fur on its back bristling in the night air.
My mind raced with questions. What was this creature?
Why did it keep appearing near our condo?
The stories in the book lay forgotten on my lap as I
watched, captivated and terrified.
The creature then did something that sent a shiver down my
spine. It turned its head and looked
directly at me. Our eyes met for what felt like
an eternity. In that moment, I saw a deep
intelligence in its gaze, something far beyond animalistic
instinct. Then, as quietly as it had
appeared, the creature turned and vanished into the forest.
I was left staring at the empty space where it had stood, my
heart pounding in my chest. I spent the rest of the night
awake, every sound from the forest magnifying my anxiety.
As dawn broke, I found myself questioning the reality of what
I had seen. Was it just a product of my
imagination, fueled by the eerie tales of the region?
But as I sat there in the early morning light, looking out at
the peaceful mountain landscape, I couldn't shake the feeling
that there was something more to Mount Gore, something ancient
and hidden. I knew then that my time here
would be anything but ordinary. The mountains held a mystery and
I had unwittingly become a part of it.
Days at Mount Gore rolled by like clouds over its stoic
peaks. The initial shock of my
encounters with the mysterious creature began to dull.
Smothered under the weight of daily routines and family
bonding, the mountain, with its silent majesty, seemed to scoff
at my urban bred anxieties. I tried to convince myself that
the creature was just a figment of my overactive imagination, a
city dwellers response to the untamed wilderness, We spent our
days hiking through the dense forests, fishing in the clear
streams and sharing stories with the locals.
The beauty of the landscape was undeniable and the simple
pleasures of mountain life were slowly seeping into my bones.
My great aunt's laughter, my great uncle's wisdom about the
land and my cousin's endless enthusiasm for outdoor
adventures brought a comforting rhythm to our days.
Yet as the sun dipped below the horizon each evening, a niggling
sense of unease crept back into my mind.
I found myself glancing over my shoulder on twilight walks,
peering into the shadows that stretched from the trees.
The creatures image haunted my dreams, its glowing eyes and
imposing figure a stark contrast to the serene daytime scenery.
One evening, as we gathered around a crackling fire, my
great uncle shared tales of the mountains, history.
He spoke of settlers, harsh winters, and the resilience of
those who called these mountains home.
His stories were mesmerizing, yet I couldn't help but notice
the omission of any tales resembling my nocturnal visitor.
The thought of bringing up my experiences lingered on the tip
of my tongue, but I held back, fearing their reactions.
As the days passed, the dichotomy of my experiences grew
more profound. By day I was a part of this
vibrant natural world, but by night I felt like an intruder, a
stranger to the mountains, darker secrets I couldn't shake,
the feeling that there was a hidden depth to Mount Gore that
few were Privy to. It was on one such night, lying
awake in my room that I heard it, a distant, haunting howl
that seemed to resonate through the valley.
It was a sound that seemed both ancient and otherworldly, a call
that spoke of wildness and freedom.
My heart raced as I wondered if it was the creature, its voice
echoing through the night, reminding me of its presence.
The following days were a blur of inner conflict.
The charm of the mountain life was undeniable, but the shadow
of my encounters loomed large. I found myself torn between the
desire to explore further and the instinct to leave the
mysteries of Mount Gore undisturbed.
As our time at the condo neared its end, I felt a growing
apprehension. The peace and tranquility of the
mountains had been a bomb, but the unanswered questions about
the creature gnawed at me. I realized that my experience at
Mount Gore was not just a vacation.
It was a journey into the unknown, a confrontation with
the wild that lay just beyond the reach of civilization.
And as the last night approached, I couldn't shake the
feeling that the story was far from over.
As the days at Mount Gore dwindled to a close, a palpable
tension clung to me like the morning mist that wrapped around
the mountain peaks. Despite the comforting routine
of the past days, the looming shadow of the creature haunted
the fringes of my thoughts, an unspoken fear that I dared not
voice to my family. The final night arrived with an
uneasy stillness. The forest, usually alive with
the nocturnal chorus of wildlife, was eerily silent.
This absence of sound was more unnerving than any howl or
rustle in the underbrush. I lay in my bed, staring at the
ceiling, the darkness outside my window feeling like a tangible
presence as I lay there. The haunting stillness was
shattered by a subtle yet unmistakable sound.
A soft crunch of leaves, a gentle thud against the earth.
My heart raced as I realized something large was moving
outside. The memories of my previous
encounters with the creature flooded back, each detail vivid
and terrifying. Summoning courage.
I edged toward the window, peering through the glass.
I saw it again, the creature, its imposing form illuminated by
the moonlight. It was closer than ever before,
lurking at the edge of the woods, its eyes seeming to scan
the area with purpose. My breath caught in my throat as
I realized it was looking for something or someone.
The creatures gaze suddenly fixed on my window and for a
brief, horrifying moment, our eyes met.
In that instant I saw not just a wild animal, but a being with a
deep, almost human like intelligence.
It was as if it recognized me, understood my fear.
Panic surged through me as I ducked away from the window.
My mind raced with questions. What did it want?
Why was it so drawn to this place?
To me, the weight of its gaze lingered, a heavy burden that I
couldn't shake off. I spent the night in a restless
vigil, every Creek of the condo, every whisper of the wind
heightening my anxiety. The creature's presence felt
like a dark cloud over the mountain, a hidden danger
lurking in the beauty of the wilderness.
As dawn broke, bringing light to the landscape, the creature was
nowhere to be seen. The forest regained its usual
sounds, the birds chirping, the leaves rustling as if the
night's events were just a bad dream.
But the memory of the creatures gaze, it's almost human.
Intelligence remained etched in my mind.
We packed our things in silence, the usual end of vacation
chatter replaced by a heavy quiet.
As we locked up the condo, I couldn't help but feel a sense
of relief, a longing to return to the safety of the city, away
from the mysteries and dangers of Mount Gore.
As we drove away, I looked back at the mountain, its peaks
shrouded in mist. I knew that the experience would
stay with me, a haunting reminder of the untamed,
mysterious forces that dwell in the heart of the wilderness.
Mount Gore had revealed a sliver of its hidden depths to me, a
glimpse into a world where man is not the dominant force and
some mysteries are better left unsolved.
I've always thought there's something different about
growing up in a small town. You know, one of those places
where everyone knows everyone and the biggest event of the
week is the high school football game.
That was my world, a tiny blip in the vast Midwestern
landscape, surrounded by fields that stretched out like an
endless sea of green. I guess you could say I found my
place in that little world, splitting my time between the
drama club and the Academic Bowl team.
Tonight was one of those nights that seemed like any other, but
now I can't help but feel it was the beginning of something
otherworldly. We had just wrapped up another
late night drama practice. The play was at the end of the
week and Mr. Thompson, our ever patient drama teacher, was
determined to iron out every last kink.
You're all doing great, Mr. Thompson said, clapping his
hands together. Just a few more rehearsals and
we'll have this play in the bag. His words were meant to be
encouraging, but I could see the exhaustion written all over my
friends faces as the others started packing up.
I checked my phone for the time it was already past 10.
I quickly gathered my things, eager to get home and dive into
bed. Living 15 miles outside of town
meant I was always one of the last ones to get home.
I didn't mind it much, though. The quiet drives under the
starry sky were something I had come to cherish, especially on
nights like this, when the moon hung full and bright, casting a
ghostly glow over the fields. I was about to head out when
Kelsey, an upperclassman who lived a couple of miles from me,
called out. Hey, need a ride?
She asked, swinging her car keys around her finger.
Thanks, Kelsey, I replied, relieved.
I didn't drive yet, so hitching rides was my only ticket out of
walking miles in the dark. The drive started off as usual,
with Kelsey filling me in on the latest high school gossip.
I wasn't much for gossip, but I appreciated the company.
The night was exceptionally beautiful, with only a few
clouds dotting the sky. As we turned onto the gravel Rd.
leading to my house, I couldn't help but gaze out the window,
lost in the tranquil beauty of the moonlit fields.
That's when I saw it. Something large and white darted
past my window so fast I barely had time to register it.
I bolted upright in my seat, my heart pounding.
Kelsey, noticing my sudden movement, asked what's up?
Peering into the darkness where the blur had disappeared.
I stammered. I I just saw something huge dart
by the window. I pointed to the passenger side,
my eyes wide with a mix of fear and curiosity.
Kelsey glanced in the rear view mirror and then back at me, her
expression one of amused skepticism.
Probably just an owl, she said, rolling her eyes.
Yeah, sure, an owl, I muttered, not convinced I knew the
wildlife around here, and whatever I saw was way bigger
than any bird native to our area.
But arguing about it seemed pointless, so I kept quiet, my
eyes scanning the dark fields for any sign of the mysterious
creature. The rest of the drive was
silent, the only sound being the crunch of gravel beneath the
tires. I couldn't shake off the feeling
that something was off, that what I saw was more than just a
trick of the light. Little did I know, that was just
the beginning of a night that would forever change how I saw
our sleepy little town. As Kelsey's car hummed along the
Gravel Rd., the night seemed to wrap around us like a dark
blanket. The moon, almost full, hung low
in the sky, casting eerie shadows across the fields.
I tried to shake off the uneasy feeling from earlier, but it
clung to me stubbornly. Kelsey seemed oblivious to my
growing anxiety, her mind probably wrapped up in whatever
pop song was playing softly on the radio.
I, on the other hand, couldn't stop glancing out the window
half expecting to see that mysterious white blur again.
You're awfully jumpy tonight, Kelsey remarked, her eyes
briefly meeting mine before returning to the road.
Just tired, I guess. I lied, not wanting to admit
that I was spooked by what could have easily been a trick of the
light or my overactive imagination.
We drove in silence for a while, the only sound being the gravel
crunching under the tires. I found myself staring out into
the darkness, searching for something, anything, that could
explain what I had seen. Suddenly Kelsey let out a
piercing scream, jolting me from my thoughts.
My heart raced as I turned to her, expecting to find something
terrible, but she was staring straight ahead, her hands
gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white.
What's wrong? I asked, my voice barely above a
whisper. Kelsey didn't answer.
Her eyes were wide with fear, fixed on something in front of
us. Following her gaze, I saw it, a
flash of Gray and white darting from behind us, moving
unnaturally fast. Before I could even process what
was happening, a huge wolf like creature appeared on the road
ahead. It was unlike anything I had
ever seen, massive and menacing with fur that seemed to shimmer
in the moonlight. Kelsey slammed on the brakes and
the car skidded on the loose gravel.
I braced myself, certain we were going to collide with the
creature, but then, to our utter horror, it stood up on its hind
legs. It was a surreal, terrifying
sight. The wolf, or whatever it was,
reached out with what looked like human hands, complete with
claws, and grabbed the cattle guard on the front of the Jeep.
The vehicle jerked back a foot or so before coming to a
complete stop, frozen in place. I stared at the creature in
shock. Its chest was too wide, too
muscular to belong to a normal wolf.
Its eyes, a piercing yellow, seemed to bore into us.
Then, in a moment that felt both terrifying and surreal, the
creature smiled, a chilling, knowing grin that sent shivers
down my spine. It let go of the cattle guard,
leaving deep scratches in the metal, and began to circle the
Jeep. It moved on, its hind legs, arms
swaying slightly in a way that was eerily reminiscent of a
human's gait. The creature stopped once at the
back of the vehicle, and then again by my side.
It peered in through the window, its yellow eyes meeting mine,
and I felt a chill unlike any other.
Then, with a powerful leap, it landed on top of the Jeep,
causing the vehicle to rock. Moments later, it jumped off on
the driver's side and took off towards town.
Kelsey and I sat in stunned silence, unable to comprehend
what we had just witnessed. It was a moment before either of
us could speak, our minds racing to make sense of the impossible
for a few heartbeats after the creature disappeared into the
night. Kelsey and I just sat there,
frozen, the car idling in the middle of the gravel Rd.
The eerie silence that followed was almost as terrifying as the
encounter itself. My mind was racing, trying to
make sense of what we had just seen.
It was like something straight out of a horror movie.
But this was no movie. This was real, and it was
happening to us. Kelsey was the first to break
the silence. Did you see that?
She whispered, her voice trembling.
I could only nod, still too shocked to form words.
The creature, the thing that stood like a man but was clearly
not human, had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, but
the image of it was burned into my mind.
It was like a wolf, I finally managed to say.
But not not a normal wolf. The creature had been massive,
its fur a mix of Gray and white that seemed to shimmer in the
moonlight. But what was truly unsettling
was how it stood upright on its hind legs, with hands that
resembled those of a human but with claws that were
unmistakably predatory. And those eyes?
Kelsey added, shuddering. They were like nothing I've ever
seen. The creature's eyes had been a
piercing yellow, glowing in the dark, and when it looked at us,
it was as if it could see right into our souls.
We both knew what it looked like, what it resembled, but
saying it out loud seemed absurd.
Werewolves were the stuff of legend, of folklore and horror
stories. They weren't supposed to be
real, and yet what else could explain what we had just seen?
The drive to my house was mostly silent, both of us lost in our
own thoughts, trying to process the encounter.
Every rustle in the bushes, every shadow cast by the
moonlight made me jump, half expecting the creature to
reappear. But the rest of the journey was
uneventful, and we soon arrived at my house.
Kelsey stopped the car in front of my house and we sat there for
a moment, neither of us eager to step out into the night.
Do you think we should tell someone?
I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Kelsey shook her head. And say what?
That we saw a werewolf? No one would believe us.
They think we're crazy. She was right, of course.
What we had seen was beyond belief, and trying to explain it
to someone else seemed impossible.
So we just keep this to ourselves?
I asked the weight of the secret, already feeling heavy
for now, Kelsey replied. Maybe maybe we can figure out
what it was, do some research or something, but for now we keep
this between us. I nodded, understanding the
gravity of what she was saying. We were in this together, bound
by a shared experience that was too bizarre, too frightening to
share with anyone else. With a final glance at the dark
field surrounding my house, I stepped out of the car and
quickly made my way inside. That night I lay in bed, staring
at the ceiling, the image of the creature haunting my thoughts.
It was a long time before sleep finally claimed me, and even
then my dreams were filled with yellow eyes and shadows that
moved in the night. Lying in bed that night, my mind
was a Whirlpool of fear and confusion.
The image of the creature standing upright with those
haunting yellow eyes replayed over and over in my head.
I tossed and turned the comfort of my own room, now feeling
foreign, as if the shadows themselves were hiding secrets.
The next morning, I met Kelsey at school.
We exchanged a look that spoke volumes, a silent agreement to
keep last night's events between us.
School went by in a blur, my thoughts consumed by the
creature. I found myself jumping at the
slightest noises, my skin prickling with unease.
Kelsey seemed just as distracted, her usually bright
eyes clouded with the same fear that gripped me.
We spoke in hushed tones during lunch, away from prying ears.
Have you looked it up? I asked tentatively, referring
to our unspoken agreement to research what we had seen.
Kelsey nodded, her fingers fiddling with her food.
Yeah, but there's nothing. I mean, there are legends and
stories, but nothing real. Nothing like what we saw.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of whispers and stolen
glances. We were like Co conspirators,
bound by a secret too wild to share.
I could tell Kelsey was as eager as I was for the day to end, to
escape the suffocating normalcy of school life that now felt so
trivial. After school, I found myself
drawn to the local library, scouring through books on local
legends and wildlife, but nothing I found matched our
experience. The logical part of me wanted to
dismiss it as a trick of the light, an animal we couldn't
properly see in the dark. But another part, a deeper, more
primal part, knew what we had seen was real.
That night, as I lay in bed, the fear began to morph into
something else, a kind of resolve.
I couldn't let this go. I needed to understand, to find
some sort of explanation for what Kelsey and I had witnessed.
It wasn't just curiosity. It was a need to make sense of
the world again, to reassure myself that there was an order
to things, even if it was one I didn't fully understand.
Days turned into weeks, and the memory of that night began to
fade, softened by the mundanity of everyday life.
Kelsey and I spoke less and less about it, the unspoken agreement
to keep our secrets still holding strong.
But the experience stayed with me, a constant reminder that the
world was bigger and stranger than I had ever imagined.
Years later, I found the courage to share the story with others.
Most didn't believe me, chuckling it off as a wild
imagination or a misunderstanding.
But every once in a while I'd see a flicker of doubt, a hint
of fear in someone's eyes, and I'd know they understood.
They knew, as I did, that the world holds mysteries, creatures
of legend and lore that lurk just beyond our sight in the
shadows of our seemingly ordinary lives.
So now I tell my story, not in search of belief or validation,
but as a warning. Be careful.
Especially on moonlit nights on lonely gravel roads.
You never know when you might encounter something that defies
explanation, something that reminds you just how little we
know about the world we live in.