I was a 24 year old woman, half Cherokee from Georgia when this
eerie incident occurred. My fiance and I lived on a
sprawling farm in Maryland. Even though we didn't make much
use of the land itself, we rented a small house on the
property, granting us the freedom to explore the vast
grounds at will. At the time, I was only 19 and
the sole residents of our cozy cottage were my fiance, our cat,
and our loyal Pitbull. Our cat was a bit of a lunatic,
a barn cat I had rescued because I couldn't resist helping
animals in need. Our Pitbull, on the other hand,
was a sweet, cuddly, albeit easily spooked, 75 LB dog who
was afraid of her own shadow. Our farm was nestled on
approximately 20 acres of land and our driveway stretched
nearly half a mile, ensuring we were far from any other people
except for our landlord. The first part of our journey
home involved traversing about a mile through open farmland,
followed by a brief stretch of forest and then roughly half a
mile through tall wheat fields before finally entering the
solid forest for another couple of miles.
Now that you have an idea of the lay of the land, let's delve
into the eerie encounter. It all began like any other
typical weekday evening. My fiance and I returned home
from our respective jobs to our comfortable cottage, eagerly
greeted by our frantic dog Harley, who was desperate for
her evening walk. I changed into my walking attire
and asked my fiance to join me, but he declined, mentioning a
sighting of a coyote near our house and suggesting it might
not be a good idea tonight. Coyotes, as you may know, are
primarily scavengers, especially on the East Coast, so I wasn't
too concerned. Plus, I was more than capable of
defending myself. I jokingly called him a puss and
told Harley that we would be just fine without him.
With a chuckle, I left the cottage, embarking on our walk.
Harley and I headed down the long driveway as we usually did. 00:02:24,160 The sun was setting, casting a
chill October air around us, rustling the tall corn stalks
that flanked our driveway. At this point in the year, the
corn had grown to about 6 feet tall, making it impossible to
see through. I figured my fiance was probably
just trying to scare me, since there was no way he could have
seen a coyote in this field. Harley relished her time tearing
through the corn stalks, and I knew that despite her cowardly
nature, she would quickly Alert me to any danger.
By the time we reached the end of the driveway, the sun had
disappeared and the moon shone high above the fields, providing
just enough light to forego the use of my flashlight or Harley's
collar light. We turned left onto the road and
ventured into the first section of the field, which was planted
with soybeans. These were relatively short
plants, and other than a few deer in the distance, there was
nothing alarming to be seen. We relaxed and enjoyed our
stroll through the cool evening air, playing fetch with a stick
as we went along. As we approach the first small
section of trees, Harley suddenly stopped and nudged my
leg, signaling that something was amiss.
It wasn't a coyote or a deer. Instead, it was a rabbit that
had been struck by a passing car and was struggling to survive.
Reluctantly, I knelt down and use my knife to end its
suffering. Adhering to the lessons my
family had taught me, I felt a mix of sadness and relief.
Suspecting that the wounded rabbit might have attracted the
coyotes. With heavy hearts we continued
our walk, passing into the next field which was filled with
wheat ready for harvest. The wheat was tall, making
visibility challenging, but the area was quiet and Harley seemed
calm. I assumed the coyotes had moved
on, if they had even been there in the 1st place, and now on to
the chilling part you've been waiting for.
We rounded the corner of the field with wheat on our left and
a dense forest on our right. The air suddenly grew still, as
if it had gone stale. Harley moved closer to me.
Then I heard rustling in the wheat field.
I spotted three tails circling back towards the forest.
Coyotes, I thought. Eastern coyotes are relatively
small individually, but in a pack they can become more
daring. Harley raised her hackles and I
shouted. Get out of here.
Go on, bugger off as loudly as I could.
The coyotes scattered into the trees and I decided to turn
around and head back, not wanting to risk walking into a
dark forest with a pack of coyotes and a skittish Pitbull.
As we turn to leave, I heard rustling in the wheat again, but
this time Harley was standing perfectly still, fixated on the
grain. I whistled for her to come to me
using that high pitched, ear piercing 2 fingered whistle that
usually snapped her out of any trance.
To my surprise, my whistle was returned from somewhere inside
the wheat. It sounded very human, but not
quite right. Against my better judgement, I
mumbled something, though I can't recall exactly what I
said. To my astonishment, my words
were echoed back to me. The creepy silence was
punctuated only by our breathing.
And then the rustling began anew.
Fuelled by fear and curiosity, I turned on my flashlight, shining
it across the wheat field. In the eerie glow, I spotted a
pair of animal eyes, green with a yellowish hue in their
reflection. But the eyes weren't connected
to what I expected. Instead, a sight that defied all
logic greeted me, A young girl no older than 14 or 16, crouched
amidst the wheat. She appeared to be wearing deer
skin or fur, as she was otherwise naked.
Her thin, pallid form seemed as if it had never seen sunlight,
and her tangled hair was adorned with wheat and leaves.
Under different circumstances, I might have called her beautiful,
but at that moment she was nothing short of terrifying.
We locked eyes and seconds stretched into minutes.
The tension hung in the air until the unmistakable howl of a
coyote erupted from the forest. Both of us snapped our heads
toward the sound. Simultaneously and without
warning, the girl bolted through the wheat toward the noise.
Harley instinctively took off towards our home, and I followed
closely behind. We didn't stop running until we
reach the safety of the driveway, where I halted, not
wanting my fiance to know that I was fleeing from something.
The distant howling persisted as we continued our brisk pace back
towards the cottage. We finally reached the safety of
our cottage without any further incidents, and I chose not to
share the harrowing encounter with my fiance.
I couldn't bear the thought of him going out there with a gun.
The girl had not harmed me, and I didn't feel it was right to
hunt her in the middle of the night.
A few weeks later, I was awakened by the eerie sound of
coyotes howling near our cottage.
It was unusual, and I couldn't help but wonder if that
mysterious girl was among them. As time passed, I started to put
that unsettling night behind me, even entertaining the idea that
I had imagined the whole encounter.
But then, about a month later, while driving home from work,
something made me slam on the brakes in the darkness of the
road. A pair of eyes reflecting green
and yellow met mine in the headlights.
It was a large coyote, and for a brief moment our gazes locked.
Then it's swiftly darted into the woods.
I know it sounds insane, but I can't help but wonder if that
coyote was her, the enigmatic girl from that night in the
wheat field. I live right next to a Navajo
reservation, and over time I've formed close bonds with many of
the people there who are my age. We spend our days like ordinary
teenagers, hanging out, playing games and sharing stories.
One of my best friends lives less than a mile away from my
house, making it a short 30 minute walk.
I've made this trip countless times, and it's become a
familiar routine. I know the faces and the places
along the way, so there's usually No Fear or unease.
However, there's a patch of forest about halfway to my
friend's house that has always been a little unnerving.
It's strange because every time I enter that part of the woods,
there's an eerie sensation of being watched.
At first I tried to brush it off as my mind playing tricks on me,
but it happened so frequently that it became impossible to
ignore. One day I ended up spending more
time at my friend's house than I had intended, and by the time I
left, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, casting long
shadows. I reached the dreaded stretch of
forest just as the last traces of daylight disappeared.
A shiver ran down my spine as I prepared to venture into the
darkness. Around 10 to 15 steps into the
forest, the silence was shattered by the unmistakable
sound of a tree branch snapping. It was the type of sound that
instantly alerts you to the presence of someone or something
nearby. My heart raced and I was
paralyzed with fear, unsure of the best course of action.
Should I run? Should I turn and Sprint back to
my friend's house? Panic, nod at me in a trembling
voice. I whispered hello.
My voice cracked as the word escaped my lips, and I couldn't
fathom why I had spoken, but there it was, hanging in the
air. I strained my ears, desperate
for any response. My heart sank when a distorted
version of my own voice echoed back, mimicking my greeting.
Hello. My breath quickened and my heart
threatened to burst from my chest.
I felt a surge of dizziness wash over me.
Hello. I stammered again, but this time
the voice did not come from my own mouth.
It was as if someone or something else was using my
voice. It echoed around me, seemingly
from all directions. Hello, hello, hello.
I tried to stop it, to regain control over my own voice, but I
couldn't. The repeated hello surrounded
me, trapping me in a nightmarish echo chamber.
The forest, once filled with the sounds of nature, had fallen
eerily silent, devoid of its usual chorus of bugs, frogs, and
crickets. I stood there, terror gripping
me, waiting for what would happen next.
Then it mimicked back my voice. Once more, I had reached my
breaking point. Summoning every ounce of
strength, I forced my legs to move and I began to flee.
But just as I did, a rustling in the bushes to my left stopped me
dead in my tracks. I watched in horror as a deer
head with colossal antlers emerged from the foliage.
It stood on 2 legs, a grotesque and unnatural sight.
Without a second thought, I sprinted out of those woods,
setting a personal record for my journey home.
When I finally reached my house, I said nothing to my mother.
I went straight to my room and lay down, replaying the chilling
encounter in my mind. My mother entered at some point,
asking if everything was OK. I replied with a half hearted
yes, not daring to reveal the terrifying events of that
evening. I couldn't bring myself to tell
her. Perhaps I feared how she would
react. Instead, I picked up the phone
and called my friend, recounting the harrowing experience in
every detail. He reacted with alarm, urging me
to remain vigilant and not respond to whatever was out
there. He advised me to call him the
following day, promising to explain more and mentioning that
he needed to speak to his grandfather urgently.
That night I couldn't sleep. I lay awake listening to every
Creek and Russell, my mind haunted by the echoes of hello.
Sometime around 3:00 AM, the atmosphere shifted.
The night sounds dwindled to and scary silence, and my heart
began to race. I lay there, pulling the covers
over my head like a frightened child unable to move.
Then it came. After a seemingly endless
silence. That chilling voice.
Hello. It was all I could manage to
say. But this time it responded by
mocking the very word I had uttered in the woods.
It called my name Amy, in the haunting voice of my mother.
It beckoned me. Amy, come here.
The same phrases repeated relentlessly throughout the
night, driving me to the brink of insanity.
Morning finally broke and the torment ceased as the sun's rays
pierced through the darkness. Exhausted and sleep deprived, I
fell into a fitful slumber. When I woke up around midday, my
friend called and told me he had spoken to his grandfather, who
explained that I was dealing with creatures known as Flesh
gates or possibly a skinwalker. These beings were evil witches
who used dark magic to transform into animals and other entities. 00:13:45,480 It seemed that one of these
creatures had caught my scent and had become fixated on me.
It was now attached to me like a curse I couldn't escape.
My friend warned me that it would always follow me and I
would have to be constantly vigilant.
That night the nightmare continued, scratching noises on
my window. A low, ominous hum and the
relentless repetition of my name and my mother's voice tormented
me. It desperately tried to lure me
outside or convince me to open the door, but I clung to my
sanity, refusing to give in. Now I feel like I'm going
insane. I don't know what to do.
Will it forever lurk in the shadows, stalking me?
The thought is unbearable and I fear that I may never find peace
again. Back in October of 2020, I
worked as a kennel technician at my local animal shelter.
My job was to clean up after the animals feed them and ensure
they had access to fresh water. Each week, two Co workers were
paired together and sent to clean the different animal rooms
in the shelter. This week it was my turn to
clean the outdoor kennels and I was joined by my friend, whom
I'll call R As we prepared to start our duties, I asked R
which side do you want, The one facing the wooded area or the
one facing the parking lot? I already knew the answer.
The side near the parking lot, R replied.
The wooded side gives me the creeps.
I chuckled and said I know, just figured I'd ask.
Anyway, we went our separate ways, each armed with cleaning
supplies to begin our tasks. I started by opening the doggie
door to let all the dogs into the indoor part of the kennels
and then closed it behind them. Next, I began collecting toys
and water buckets from the kennels.
However, as I worked, an eerie feeling washed over me as though
someone or something was watching me.
I turned around quickly, but there was nothing there.
I think ours ghost stories about this place are getting to me.
I mumbled to myself. I grabbed my water hose and
began washing out the kennels, but the unsettling sensation of
being watched persisted. Eventually, I turned off the
hose and set it down, realizing that everything had gone eerily
quiet. Even the dogs that usually
filled the air with their barking had fallen silent.
Being from the South, I knew that the sudden silence of the
woods signaled the presence of a dangerous predator nearby.
I looked up towards the woods, and my heart skipped a beat.
There, peeking out from behind a tree, was a creature that defied
all logic. It stood at least 8 feet tall,
and its odour was a repugnant mix of wet garbage and rotting
food. The creature was shockingly
thin, its skin stretched tautly over its skeletal frame.
Its eyes glowed with a malevolent yellow light,
seething with anger and hatred. Fear coursed through my veins
and every fiber of my being urged me to run, but I found
myself paralyzed, unable to will my legs to move for what felt
like an eternity. I locked eyes with this
grotesque being, engaged in a chilling stare off.
It was only when I heard ours terrified scream that I snapped
out of my trance like state. Without thinking, we both turned
and bolted towards the safety of the shelter.
Inside, we stopped to catch our breath, and our still trembling
looked at me. I noticed you had gotten quiet
and went to check to make sure you were all right.
She stammered, relieved that R had intervened.
I replied. I'm glad you did.
I don't even want to think about what would have happened if you
hadn't. We both understood that we would
have to explain to our boss why we hadn't finished cleaning the
kennels, but we also knew that if we told her the truth, she
would think we were crazy. So we decided to claim that a
bear had been lingering dangerously close to the
shelter. Our boss quickly switched our
duties with the two men cleaning the cat rooms, unaware of the
true terror we had encountered that day.
However, the bizarre events were far from over.
In the days following our encounter with the creature,
three dogs from the outdoor kennels mysteriously
disappeared. These kennels were designed to
be escape proof, and what was even stranger was that there
were no paw prints to be found. Instead, there were strange deer
prints leading from the woods to the kennels.
We couldn't help but wonder, was this creature a skinwalker?
Had it stolen? Those dogs?
And, most haunting of all, what would have happened if R hadn't
decided to check on me that day? Would I still be here?
Or would I have become another victim of the enigmatic and
malevolent entity lurking in the woods?
The sky over our small town stretched wide and unblemished,
the kind of big Montana sky that made you feel both insignificant
and free. Amy and I had settled here for
that very reason. The open spaces, the quiet
streets, our house, a modest two-bedroom with a red door,
stood as a testament to our simple, uncluttered life.
I loved the way the evening sun cast long shadows across our
front yard, the way the air smelled of pine and distant wood
smoke. I was sitting on the porch, a
cold beer in hand, when the news broke.
The television in our living room hummed quietly, the voice
of the news anchor sharp and urgent, slicing through the
stillness of the evening. A security malfunction at the
nearby Deer Ridge Correctional Facility, he was saying, has led
to a mass escape of inmates. His tone was grave, eyes
piercing through the screen as if delivering a personal
warning. Amy joined me on the porch, her
brow creased with worry. Do you think we should leave?
She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
I could see the fear in her eyes, the unspoken what ifs
hanging between us. I pondered for a moment,
watching the sun dip lower in the sky.
We'll be fine, I said, more to reassure myself than her.
They'll round them up soon enough.
It was the kind of blind optimism that had always guided
me, the belief that things would work out, because they usually
did. Over the next couple of days,
the town transformed. The usual bustle slowed to a
crawl. People stayed indoors, eyeing
each other with suspicion. Amy and I decided to follow
suit, stockpiling canned goods and bottled water, boarding up
the windows. It was surreal, like preparing
for a storm that might never come, but in the back of my
mind, a small voice whispered warnings.
We spent the evenings huddled in the living room, listening to
the police scanners and the occasional update from the news. 00:21:02,640 The list of escapees was a roll
call of the desperate and dangerous.
I tried to hide my concern, but Amy was more perceptive than she
let on. As night fell, a sense of unease
settled over the house. The boarded windows cast deep
shadows and every Creek and groan of the old structure
seemed amplified. Amy and I sat in silence, lost
in our own thoughts. The reality of our situation
hung heavy in the air. 17 men, unpredictable and possibly
violent, had vanished into the wilderness and our town, by
sheer proximity had become the center of a manhunt.
The news anchors. Dramatic voice echoed in my mind
as I double check the locks on the doors.
Stay indoors, stay vigilant. He had said it was advice we
intended to follow. But as I lay in bed that night,
listening to the wind whistle through the cracks in the window
frames, a deep, unsettled feeling took root in my gut.
It was the kind of feeling that said trouble was closer than you
thought, the kind of feeling I had learned to trust over the
years. And when the first unfamiliar
voices drifted through the night air, mingling with the rustle of
leaves and the distant hoot of an owl, I knew our decision to
stay had been more than just optimistic.
It had been a gamble, and as the sounds outside grew closer, I
couldn't help but wonder if we had just lost.
The night air was thick with tension, the kind that makes
your skin crawl and sets your nerves on edge.
Amy and I sat in the darkened living room, the only light
coming from the dim glow of the scanner casting eerie shadows on
the walls. Every sound seemed amplified,
the silence between us heavy with unspoken fears.
It started with a rustling outside, like footsteps
crunching on dry leaves. I held my breath, listening
intently. The house, usually a haven, felt
like a trap now, each Creek and groan, a potential harbinger of
doom. Did you hear that?
Amy's voice was a whisper, her hand gripping mine tightly.
I nodded, my eyes fixed on the shadowy window.
Stay here, I said, my voice barely audible as I moved
cautiously towards the door. In that moment, I remembered a
line from an old Western I'd watched as a kid.
Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway.
Funny how things like that come back to you.
I peered through the peephole but saw nothing but darkness.
The rustling had stopped, replaced by a suffocating
silence. I turned back to Amy, about to
suggest it was nothing, when a sudden crash shattered the
stillness. It sounded like it came from the
back of the house. Without a word, we both knew
what to do. We had discussed a hiding spot
when we first moved in, half jokingly, never thinking we'd
actually use it. The crawl space beneath the
floor was cramped and dusty, but it was hidden and hopefully
safe. We moved quickly, silently
lifting the carpet in the living room to reveal the small hatch.
As I pried it open with trembling hands, I could hear
the sound of our front door being forced, the wood
splintering under brute force. Amy climbed into the crawl space
first, her face pale in the dim light.
I followed, pulling the Hatch closed behind us, the darkness
enveloping us like a suffocating blanket.
We lay there, our breath shallow, listening to the chaos
unfolding above. Footsteps thundered across our
living room, heavy and erratic. Voices, rough and menacing,
echoed through the floorboards. I could feel Amy's body tense
next to mine, her fear palpable. The intruders moved through the
house with purpose, their presence and invasive violation
of our sanctuary. I heard them rummaging through
our belongings, the sound of breaking glass and the
occasional curse. It was surreal, listening to
strangers destroy the life we had built, powerless to stop
them. The worst part was not knowing,
not knowing who they were, what they wanted, or how long they
would be there. Every second felt like an
eternity, each noise a potential precursor to discovery and
violence. As the night dragged on, the
initial shock gave way to a numbing terror.
Lying in the dark, hidden yet exposed.
Amy and I clung to each other, our world reduced to the small,
claustrophobic space that was both our sanctuary and our
prison. The reality of our situation was
stark and brutal. We were at the mercy of escaped
convicts, our home no longer our own, our fate uncertain.
And as the night wore on, with the sounds of destruction and
menace just feet above us, I realized that fear was not just
an emotion. It was a living, breathing
entity, and it had taken up residence in the very heart of
our home. The darkness in the crawl space
was suffocating, A tangible presence that seemed to press
down on us. Amy's hand was cold in mine, her
grip tight with fear. We lay there motionless, barely
daring to breathe as the sounds of the intruders echoed through
the floorboards above us. It was a nightmarish Symphony of
footsteps, muffled voices, and the occasional clatter of our
belongings being tossed aside. Time lost meaning in that
cramped darkness every second stretched out laden with dread.
The floor above us creaked under the weight of the intruders, a
constant reminder of the danger just inches away.
I kept replaying our decision to stay, wondering if our defiance
of logic and reason had brought us to this end.
Then the inevitable happened. The sound of footsteps
approached the spot where we hid, a slow, deliberate pace
that set my heart racing. I could almost feel the presence
of the Smoking Man and his accomplice, Samuel as they
hovered above us. The floorboards groaned under
their weight, a mocking chorus to our silent prayers.
In that moment, I thought of every decision that had LED us
here, of the life Amy and I had built and the future we had
planned. It all seems so distant now,
like a dream fading upon waking. Fear had a way of stripping
everything down to the raw, primal need to survive.
Just as the dread became almost unbearable, something
inexplicable happened. A light, bright and blinding
flooded the crawl space. It was like nothing I had ever
seen, a pure white light that seemed to come from nowhere.
And everywhere at once I heard a commotion above shouts of
surprise and fear. The light was disorienting,
casting strange shadows and making it impossible to see
clearly, but it brought with it a sense of surreal calm, a
momentary respite from the terror.
The light persisted, and in its glow I felt a strange sense of
detachment from the situation. It was as if we were observers,
removed from the danger that had been so imminent.
The sounds from above grew distant, muffled, as though the
light had created a barrier between US and the intruders.
Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the light was gone,
leaving us in darkness once more.
But the atmosphere had changed. The house was silent.
The oppressive presence of the men above seemingly vanished.
Amy and I stayed in the crawl space, not daring to move, not
knowing if the danger had truly passed or if this was just a
brief lull in the storm. The silence stretched on, a
stark contrast to the chaos that had rained moments before.
Eventually, exhaustion overtook fear, and I felt myself slipping
into a fitful, uneasy sleep, Amy's hands still clutched in
mine. The night's events felt surreal,
a nightmare that had intruded upon reality, leaving us adrift
in its wake. As I drifted off, I wondered if
we would wake to find our world unchanged, or if the nightmare
would continue with the dawn. But in that moment, trapped
between fear and exhaustion, the future was a distant concern.
All that mattered was the here and now, the darkness and the
faint, steady pulse of Amy's hand.
In mine, dawn broke with a hesitant light, filtering
through the cracks of our boarded windows.
The night's terror seemed to recede with the shadows leaving
behind a heavy silence. Amy and I emerged from the crawl
space stiff and disoriented, the events of the night hanging over
us like a bad dream. The house was eerily quiet, a
stark contrast to the chaos of the night before.
We moved through the rooms, the normalcy of our home a bizarre
contradiction to our frayed nerves.
Everything was as we had left it, no sign of the intrusion
that had turned our sanctuary into a House of horrors.
The sound of sirens in the distance brought a rush of
relief. We were no longer alone, no
longer left to fend for ourselves.
In the aftermath of the inexplicable events, the police
arrived in a flurry of activity, their questions a barrage that
we struggled to answer. We were hiding, I told them, my
voice hoarse with fatigue. There were men in the house.
They found us, but then there was this light.
The officers exchanged skeptical glances as I recounted the
story. Their doubt was a tangible
thing, filling the room with an uncomfortable tension.
Amy stood beside me, her face pale, her eyes haunted by the
memories of the night. The police searched the house,
their thoroughness a stark reminder of the seriousness of
the situation. But they found nothing.
No signs of forced entry, no evidence of the violence we had
described. It was as if the night's events
had been wiped clean, leaving no trace behind.
You're sure you saw what you saw?
One of the officers asked, his tone implying doubt.
I nodded, frustration mounting. I know what we heard.
I know what we saw, but there was nothing to corroborate our
story. No footprints, no fingerprints,
no broken windows. The house stood as a silent
witness, offering no clues to the nightmare we had endured.
As the police left, their skepticism lingered.
A new weight added to the burden we already carried.
The town, once a place of comfort and community, now felt
isolating the stairs of our neighbors, a reminder of our
unverifiable tale. Amy and I tried to piece
together what had happened, to make sense of the senseless.
But the more we talked, the more the details seem to slip away,
like trying to hold on to water. The bright light, the sudden
silence, the absence of any evidence, it all defied
explanation. The following days were a blur
of confusion and disbelief. Friends and family offered
support, but their concern was often tinged with doubt.
Whispered conversations and sideways glances followed us in
the streets. Our credibility questioned our
sanity, a topic of hushed speculation.
We clung to each other, the only two people who knew the truth of
that night. But even our shared experience
was not immune to the corrosive effects of doubt.
Questions gnawed at us, the what ifs and the maybes eroding the
certainty we once held. As I lay in bed each night, the
darkness of familiar presence, I wondered if we would ever find
answers, or if the mystery of that night would remain A
haunting enigma forever etched in our minds.
The terror had passed, but it's echoes lingered, a haunting
melody that played on in the quiet moments, a reminder of the
night when our world had turned upside down, days turned into
weeks, and the autumn leaves began their slow, inevitable
descent to the ground. The world moved on, but for Amy
and me, time seemed to stand still, trapped in the shadow of
that fateful night. We tried to reclaim the rhythm
of our old lives, but the melody was off, the notes discordant.
Our house, once a haven of love and laughter, now felt like a
stage where a sinister play had unfolded.
I found myself staring at the floorboards, half expecting them
to creak under unseen feet, the memories of that night lurking
just beneath the surface. We talked about it over and
over, turning the events around in our heads like puzzle pieces
that refuse to fit. The lack of evidence, the
incredulous looks from the police, the whispered doubts of
our friends. It all compounded into a heavy
silence that hung between us. I took to wandering the streets
of our small town, the crisp air, a small comfort against the
turmoil within. The townsfolk, once friendly and
open now, offered cautious smiles, their eyes holding
questions they were too polite to ask.
The rumors and theories had spread, the story of our
delusion a topic of hushed conversation.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long
shadows on the pavement, I ran into Sheriff Holden.
He stopped me with a tilt of his hat, his eyes kind but wary.
Everything all right? He asked, his voice tinged with
an unspoken question. I nodded, the words catching in
my throat. Just trying to make sense of it
all, I admitted. He looked at me for a long
moment, his gaze thoughtful. Sometimes there's no sense to be
made, he said, his voice low. Sometimes things happen that are
beyond our understanding. I pondered his words as I walked
home, the sheriff's tacit acknowledgement a small balm to
my weary soul. It was a recognition of the
unknown, a concession that not everything could be explained
away by logic and evidence. Amy and I found solace in each
other, our shared experience, a bond that no one else could
understand. We spent nights talking,
speculating on what might have happened, on what the light
could have been. But there were no answers, only
more questions. Gradually we began to accept the
ambiguity of it all. The human mind craves closure, a
neat ending to every story. But life isn't a neatly scripted
narrative. It's a series of events, some
explainable, some forever shrouded in mystery.
As the seasons changed in the first, snowflakes began to fall,
blanketing the world in a pristine white, we found a new
sense of peace. The memories of that night would
always be there, lurking in the back of our minds, but we chose
to look forward, to embrace the unknown with a sense of wonder
rather than fear. In the end, we realize that some
things are beyond our control, beyond our comprehension, and
that's OK. Life is a tapestry of
experiences, some bright and clear, others dark and obscure.
It's the not knowing that makes the journey worthwhile, the
uncertainty that gives life its flavor.
And so we move on together into the future, whatever it may
hold, carrying with us the memories of a night that changed
us forever, a night that reminded us of the fragile,
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Just creepy 20. I can still feel the chills
running down my spine when I think back to that terrifying
experience, the one that has made me vow never to go hiking
alone again, the memory haunts me and it's as vivid as if it
happened yesterday. It all began when I was dating a
guy named Brian. We'd been together for about 6
months and shared a love for outdoor adventures.
Hiking, kayaking, exploring the wilderness.
It was our thing. One sunny Saturday morning, we
decided to explore a new State Park, a place neither of us had
been before, located about 40 minutes outside the city.
We got a late start that day and didn't arrive at the park until
close to noon. The weather was perfect, with
the sun casting its warm glow over the landscape.
We stopped by the small park office to grab a trail map where
the Ranger enthusiastically highlighted a supposedly amazing
Six Mile loop that led to a breathtaking waterfall overlook. 00:39:57,240 With our boots laced and
hydration packs secured, Brian and I set off on the adventure.
We were in high spirits, chatting away and admiring the
beauty of the natural world around us.
The trail began wide and well marked, but gradually it started
to climb uphill. After about 45 minutes of
hiking, we reached an unexpected fork in the path that didn't
match anything on the map. We deliberated on which
direction to take and eventually Brian suggested going left.
Since we could faintly hear the sound of rushing water in that
direction, which we assumed was the waterfall we were so eager
to see, as we continued on the left path, it became narrower
and less maintained, with thick foliage closing in on either
side, obscuring our view. About 20 minutes later, I
started to feel uneasy. I couldn't shake the feeling
that we had chosen the wrong direction.
When I voiced my concerns, Brian brushed them aside, reassuring
me that we were on the right track and that we might even
stumble upon something better than the waterfall.
Suddenly the woods around us became incredibly dense, and we
pushed through thick vegetation for several minutes.
When I finally emerged from the tangle of greenery into a
clearing, my heart sank. Brian was nowhere to be seen.
I called out for him, but there was no response.
It was inexplicable. Just moments ago, he had been
right beside me. I began to retrace my steps,
growing more anxious with each passing 2nd.
How could he have disappeared so quickly ahead?
The trail forked again, and neither branch looked familiar.
I called Brian's name again, but my voice echoed back at me in an
eerie silence. I chose one of the paths,
selecting it blindly, just hoping to find my way back to
the main trail. However, as I continued to walk
for several minutes, the surroundings became less and
less recognizable. That's when the fear began to
set in the realization that I was genuinely lost and utterly
alone in the wilderness. The day was wearing on and the
sun was slowly descending through the dense canopy of
trees. I desperately searched for any
trail markers or intersections to help me regain my bearings.
My heart pounded, and the dimming woods filled with
strange and unsettling sounds. I could have sworn I heard
footsteps crunching, leaves some distance behind me at one point,
but when I paused to listen, the sound abruptly ceased.
Exhausted and out of water, I took a break.
Sitting on a fallen tree, my head in my hands on the verge of
tears. I had no idea where I was just
then. A snapping twig jolted me
upright, and my breath caught in my throat.
I scanned the woods around me, my eyes wide with fear.
Then I saw it, a silhouette of a tall lone man standing
motionless among the trees about 100 feet behind me.
Brian. I called out, but even as the
words left my lips, I knew it couldn't be him.
The figure was too tall, and something about the shape didn't
match Brian at all. Why would Brian ignore my calls? 00:43:12,560 Panic surged through me and I
grabbed the biggest stick I could find, shouting.
Stay away from me. The man didn't move.
He just stood there, blending into the shadows, watching me
with an eerie stillness. I had no idea who he was or what
he wanted, but I wasn't willing to wait around and find out.
Clutching my makeshift weapon, I took off running again Every few
yards I glanced back, but the man had vanished from sight.
I ran until my lungs burned, finally collapsing in a small
clearing. I was drenched in sweat and
trembling with fear. I knew I couldn't keep wandering
aimlessly in the darkening woods.
As the sun sank lower, I tried to gather my thoughts and come
up with a plan. Should I continue trying to find
my way back, or should I attempt to make some kind of shelter for
the night? I had no idea where the trail
was, and I had no way of knowing if that man was still tracking
me. One thing was clear, I needed to
leave those woods immediately, sitting there alone.
As the shadows grew longer, I knew I had to keep moving.
I took a deep breath, stood up, and looked around for any sign
of which way to go. In the distance, I thought I
could hear the faint sound of traffic from a highway.
If I could just follow that sound, it might lead me to a
road, to people, to civilization.
I started walking quickly toward the noise, praying that it
wasn't just my imagination. My heart leapt with every snap
of a twig and rustle in the brush.
Was that strange man still tracking me?
What did he want? I pressed on through the
thickening darkness, the woods alive with sinister sounds,
screeching birds, skittering animals in the underbrush,
creaking branches. I kept glancing behind me, but I
saw nothing but endless trees. Finally, the distant traffic
noise grew more distinct, and my spirits soared.
I felt like I was close to escaping this nightmare.
Just as I picked up my pace, a figure suddenly stepped out from
behind a tree directly in my path, only about 30 feet ahead.
I screamed as the tall silhouette blocked my way.
It was that man, the same one I had seen before.
Somehow he had caught up to me. As he took a step closer toward
me, I could now see his features in the fading light, and they
made my blood run cold. His face was horribly
disfigured, with scarred and twisted flesh that looked like
it had been burned and was shiny.
He had stringy hair hanging over a cloudy eye, but as one good
eye was fixed intensely on me as he approached, I froze, gripping
my stick weapon, debating whether to run or try to defend
myself. The man's mouth, partly obscured
by an unnatural bulge on his cheek, curled into a sinister
grin in a deep, raspy voice. He spoke.
What's your hurry? Stay awhile.
His tone sent a wave of terror through me, and every instinct
screamed at me to get away from this deformed threat.
As the man closed the gap between us, I swung my stick at
him with all my might. He lurched to the side to avoid
it, then lunge toward me. Without thinking, I turned and
sprinted away, weaving through trees and underbrush.
I could hear the man crashing through the foliage behind me,
letting out an awful gurgling yell.
He sounded enraged that I had slipped away.
I pushed my aching legs as hard as they could go, but soon his
heavy footsteps seem to be gaining ground.
I risked a glance back only to see the snarling, melted face
even closer behind me. Suddenly I broke through the
trees into a clearing. Right there in front of me was a
parking lot and a road filled with cars.
The highway, I had heard An overwhelming relief washed over
me at the sight of other people. I raced right into the lot
toward a family who is packing up their vehicle.
They looked startled as I ran up to them in a panic, gasping for
air, trying to explain the dangerous man who was chasing
me. The father and teenage son
scanned the tree line, then quickly ushered me into their
SUV, locking the doors. The son called 911 while the
parents tried to calm me down and offered me some water.
I could hardly speak. My hands were shaking
uncontrollably as my panic slowly began to recede.
We watched the woods for any sign of that man waiting for the
police to arrive. Soon, flashing lights cut
through the dark parking lot as a patrol car pulled up.
An officer came to the SUV and I recounted what had happened.
Through panicked sobs, she went to search the woods while her
partner took my statement, but there was no trace of the
terrifying man. The police drove me to the
nearby station, where they pieced together that I had
stumbled out of Ridgeview State Park and had wandered over 7
miles from the main trailhead. A call went out to the Park
Rangers, who eventually contacted Brian.
When he made it back to the parking area, he was a mess,
having been just as lost and freaked out while wandering
alone. After we got separated,
reuniting with Brian at the station, he frantically
apologized to me for insisting on continuing down the wrong
path. When I told him about the
disfigured man I had seen, he comforted me, assuring me that
everything was all right now, but that chilling image that
face still haunts my nightmares. I'll never know if that man was
some deranged predator lurking in the woods or just a realistic
figment of my terrified mind. Either way, the ordeal left me
with a lingering fear of trails and trees, a fear that closes in
on me if I'm not right by someone's side.
Wherever that place took me when I was lost, it's a nightmare I
can never quite wake up from, always feeling that malicious
presence just behind me in the shadows.
Camping used to be one of my favorite family activities,
getting out into nature, cooking over the fire and telling
stories under the stars. What's not to love?
My wife Amy, and I took our son Ryan camping every chance we got
when he was growing up. But ever since what happened
that weekend at the State Park when Ryan was 14, I don't think
I'll ever be able to enjoy it the same way again.
It was early October, perfect weather for camping before it
got too cold. We drove up to one of our
favorite spots, Ridge View State Park, on a Friday afternoon.
Our campsite was in a more secluded part of the park,
surrounded by towering Pines. After setting up the tent and
getting a fire going, we cooked hot dogs for dinner.
Ryan was excited when the sun went down.
I told him some spooky stories about monsters in the woods.
He was at that age where scary stuff was thrilling rather than
really frightening. Afterwards, we all turned in for
the night, exhausted from the drive in the set up.
The first night, sleeping outdoors is always the best, so
peaceful and quiet tucked away in the tent.
The next morning we made pancakes over the fire for
breakfast. As we ate, a park Ranger came by
to welcome us to the campgrounds.
He was an older guy, wiry with a big mustache.
After some friendly small talk, he told us to be sure to store
all food properly at night, as bears had been active lately.
We assured him we had a bear proof container that we always
used when camping. After the Ranger left, we headed
out on a hike. Amy is a bird watcher, so she
brought her binoculars and field guide to spot species.
We saw kingfishers, Robbins, Finches and more over the next
few hours. Ryan did complain a bit about
being bored, but I could tell he was enjoying himself too.
Back at our site in the late afternoon, we played card games
and read magazines. As dusk fell, I noticed a man at
the site across the road from us.
He would glance over more and more frequently as the night
wore on. He looked to be around my age,
in his 40s, kind of rough and grizzled.
He was drinking a beer and smoking while poking aimlessly
at his fire. I tried to shrug it off, but
something about the way he was watching us creeped me out.
I made sure to usher Ryan into the tent once it got dark, so
that he was out of view. Amy and I stayed by the fire
until almost midnight, chatting and gazing at the stars, before
finally turning in. Sometime later, I awoke suddenly
to noises outside the tent, twigs snapping, leaves rustling. 00:51:55,960 I lay still, straining to
identify these sounds next to me.
Amy and Ryan remained fast asleep, more crunching footsteps
seemingly right near the tent wall.
Adrenaline began to pump through me as my mind went to the worst
possible scenarios. A rabid animal, A psycho killer,
The creepy camper from earlier. Moving slowly as to not make
much noise. I reached for my flashlight,
which was nearby. I flipped it on and swept the
beam around the interior. Nothing inside.
The crunching footsteps continued, definitely circling
just outside the nylon walls. Taking a deep breath, I unzip
the tent flap as quietly as I could.
I stuck just my head out, prepared to face some wild
animal snout to snout, But instead the light revealed the
man from the other site now squatting just feet away, his
back facing me. With the light at his back, the
man whipped around. Suddenly, for a split second, we
locked eyes, my blinding flashlight beam illuminating his
face. I saw this wild glassy look in
his eyes before he snarled like some animal and lunged for me.
I fell backwards into the tent, screaming for Amy and Ryan to
get out as the man scrambled to get through the tent entrance.
Amy was awake instantly, grabbing Ryan and pushing past
me out of the tent. I kicked wildly at the man, now
halfway inside our tent, aiming for his face.
My heel connected with his mouth and I heard him cry out.
Finally I wriggled away, ripping open the tent and bursting
outside. Amy and Ryan were already
sprinting for the main side area.
I grabbed my keys and a knife, slicing at the tent material as
the man emerged from within. He came at me again, blood now
dripping from his split lip. I managed to evade his grasp,
then turned and ran. After my fleeing family.
We called for help and within moments other campers emerge
from their tents. I yelled out that a man was
trying to attack us and pointed to where he was now.
I saw him disappearing into the trees beyond our now destroyed
tent. The camp hosts called 911 while
checking that we were all unharmed.
The other campers searched the area but found no sign of the
attacker. The paramedics arrived shortly
after, along with the police who took our statements.
We elected not to stay another night, instead driving to a
nearby hotel where I could hardly sleep.
We left the following day even more exhausted.
Amy and I both had been shaken to the core.
That feeling of security camping had always given me was gone.
Ryan especially was quiet on the drive home.
He's 19 now, but hasn't gone camping since then.
And to be honest, it took me quite a few years to feel
comfortable camping again. Being out in the wilderness,
once so peaceful, now seems full of unseen dangers lurking in the
dark. Who knows who or what might end
up at my tent door next time? The night had draped a heavy
shroud of darkness over my home, casting long, eerie shadows that
danced on the walls as I stirred from my slumber.
A harmless thought crossed my mind.
The pizza box was too big to fit in the fridge.
It was a trivial concern, but it occupied my thoughts as I reach
for the last sip of water on the night stand beside my bed.
The water was refreshingly cold, soothing my parched throat, but
it left me wanting more. I couldn't ignore the persistent
image of that obnoxious pizza box still sitting on the stove,
a reminder of last night's indulgence.
Carefully, I rose from my bed, leaving my son, who had migrated
to my wife's side during the night, sound asleep.
He had taken refuge in her space, convinced he had seen a
lurking monster in his room, my wife had sought solace in our
son's room to escape my incessant snoring.
These thoughts filled my mind as I approached the assortment of
water glasses on the night stand, placing tonight's refill
among them, but my gaze was inevitably drawn to the kitchen
where the pizza box SAT. I tiptoed across the dimly lit
room and opened it stealthily, akin to a thief operating under
the cover of night. My fingers snatched a slice
laden with sausage, and I intended to savor it briefly
before returning to bed along with another sip of water.
However, as I took my first bite, a calamity unfolded.
The toppings clung to the pizza slice for a mere moment before
sliding off, leaving behind a bare sauce soaked and far less
enticing piece of crust. Panic surged through me, and I
hastily grabbed a paper towel to salvage what I could.
I wiped my mouth, my heart pounding, and then took a moment
to regain my composure. It was then that I saw it,
standing eerily on the balcony. My body froze, my eyes locked
onto the enigmatic figure. The blinds were partially open,
providing just enough of a view. They had been remodeling the
balconies recently, and there were enough planks in place to
support something beyond the glass.
A figure 7 feet tall, maybe eight.
I couldn't be sure. Time seemed to blur as I stared
at it, unable to tear my gaze away.
My phone was in the bedroom, where it lay next to the growing
collection of water glasses. If only I had it with me, I
could call the police, but to do so I'd have to avert my eyes
from the grotesque entity on the balcony.
It stood there as though caught in the act, and I remembered how
long it had been since we last used the sliding door, how long
since we'd confirmed it was locked.
My thoughts flickered to my son and my wife, both sleeping in
rooms away from the living room, seeking refuge from the night
time disturbances. I considered screaming, but the
potential consequences silenced me.
We would all be overwhelmed by fear if I did.
Slowly, I ventured toward the balcony, my steps deliberate, my
trembling hand clutching the paper towel.
The details of the figure became clearer the closer I got.
Or perhaps it was the lack of details that unnerved me most.
Its long, spindly arms dangled awkwardly, a hunched back and
hair that hung in thin, ragged strands.
It was almost December, and yet it wore no clothes.
Why was it on my balcony? The figure seemed strangely
pleased to see me, as if this encounter were a pleasant
surprise. My heart raced and I could feel
the sweat collecting in my armpits.
A paper towel was my only defense.
No phone, no weapon. I stood there, locked in a
staring contest with the nightmare creature, desperate to
break the silence, I managed to choke out a single question, my
voice barely audible. What do you want?
Though I couldn't hear its response, it understood my
inquiry, its face drooped, sagging skin conveying its
thoughts. Its gaze shifted to my son's
room, then to the bedroom where my wife lay, and finally it
locked eyes with me once more. In that moment, my lip trembled
and I mouthed the word no. The figure took a deep breath
and leaned against the outer frame of the sliding door.
Its appearance grew increasingly unsettling The longer I stared.
It seemed to inflate its chest and puff out its thin skin
covered bones, attempting to intimidate me.
It opened its mouth to speak, producing no sound, but I
understood its intentions. Its words chilled me to the
core. I have all night.
I thought of my wife and son sleeping in their respective
rooms. I considered the consequences of
alerting them. It would only plunge us all into
fear and uncertainty. Trembling, I moved to the
balcony, my steps slow, my paper towel still clutch tightly.
I dared not look away from the figure.
It continued to mock me, sitting in an unnatural, dog like or
horse like posture. I sat on the carpet trying to
project an air of indifference while hiding my terror.
The creature appeared to be freezing, its thin skin clinging
to its sharp bones. It was chilly in the living
room, and I was only in my boxers, goosebumps forming on my
skin. We locked eyes, both of us
uncertain. If there were rules to this
bizarre encounter, could I look away?
Could I check if the door was locked?
I wasn't sure if I could stop it.
The thought of falling asleep or my family waking up sent shivers
down my spine. So I sat there, staring at the
figure trapped in the suffocating silence of the
living room. As time passed, the situation
grew more unsettling. Sometimes the creature pretended
to fall asleep, toying with my emotions, but the worst part was
when it allowed its facade to slip.
Whatever illusion concealed its true form twitched, revealing
something even more grotesque beneath.
Sometimes it showed me a flash of teeth and gore, like the
aftermath of a hit and run accident.
At other times it pressed itself against the glass, its body
contorting unnaturally as it attempted to frighten me.
Occasionally it transformed into a girl, her mouth frozen in a
soundless scream, or it had no eyes at all.
I continued to sit and watch, terrified to look away, afraid
of provoking its impatience. The hours ticked away and
agonizing slowness, and I had no idea when this nightmarish
encounter had begun, or when it would end.
The longer I stared, the more unsettling it became.
Sometimes it would feign sleep, as if trying to lull me into a
false sense of security, but beneath its skin, something
hideous lurked. Then, just as the first rays of
morning sunlight threatened to breach the room, the creature
let out a deliberate sigh, signalling the end of its visit. 01:02:19,440 It had run out of time.
It offered a single nod, a chilling congratulations, and as
it glanced at my son and wife in their respective rooms, it's
parting words sent a shiver down my spine.
You got lucky this time. In an instant it retreated its
limbs, carrying it back into the dark woods or whatever hell it
had emerged from. My body ached, and I was
drenched in sweat. I waited until the sun's gentle
rays illuminated the room, the only reassurance that I might be
safe. When I finally mustered the
courage to move, I checked the sliding door.
It hadn't been locked. After rectifying that oversight,
I cautiously inspected the front door.
Both the deadbolt and knob were secured, but it provided little
comfort. I couldn't shake the feeling of
unease in my trembling hand. I still clutched the paper towel
nearly disintegrated from my grip On the counter, the cold,
bare piece of pizza sat, the exposed sauce a haunting
reminder of the night's events. I disposed of both items in the
trash. Silently, I tiptoed into my
son's room and found my wife sleeping peacefully.
Returning to my own bedroom, I discovered my son sprawled on my
side of the bed. I downed a glass of water in one
gulp, the cool liquid offering some solace.
I placed the empty glass beside the others on the night stand
and slipped into bed beside my son, Praying not to disturb him. 01:03:49,960 I listened to his soft snores,
wondering if it was even possible to return to sleep or
if I would ever sleep soundly again.
The events of the night had etched themselves into my
memory, haunting me with the chilling realization that some
horrors could not be easily forgotten.