It was a hot summer night and I couldn't believe we were
actually doing this. We were heading to Payne Rd. a
place that everyone in North Carolina whispered about.
The stories were all kind of scary and honestly, I was a bit
scared too, but I didn't want to show it in front of Angel and
Robert. Are you sure about this?
I asked as we drove closer to our spooky destination.
The car's headlights barely cut through the thick darkness of
the rural Rd. leading to the infamous bridge where it all
happened. Come on, it'll be fun.
Don't you want to see if the stories are true?
Robert replied from the back seat, his voice full of
excitement and a bit of mischief.
Angel just smiled at me from the passenger seat, her eyes
sparkling with curiosity. The legend said that a long time
ago a man named Edward Payne did something terrible on that
bridge. They said he hurt his family and
other people really badly, all to make some evil spirits happy.
Now people said that the bridge and the road were haunted by
those spirits. As we drove, the road got
narrower and darker. There weren't any St. lights and
the trees loomed over us like giant shadows.
My hands were a bit sweaty as I gripped the steering wheel
tighter. Finally we saw the sign.
Edwards Rd. This was it.
I turned down the road and my heart started to beat faster.
We drove for a while, the car's engine rumbling quietly in the
still night air. The road was bumpy and seemed to
go on forever. Let's stop on the bridge and
turn the car off. Angel suggested.
When we finally reached the old bridge, it was a part of the
game. According to the stories, if you
turned your car off on the bridge, it wouldn't start again
because the ghosts were holding it back.
I parked the car right in the middle of the bridge and turned
off the engine. We sat there in silence,
waiting. One minute, 2 minutes, Nothing
happened. The only sound was our breathing
in the distant call of an owl. This is BSI said, feeling a mix
of relief and disappointment. See, there's nothing to Before I
could finish, Angel reached over and turned the key in the
ignition. The car made a clicking sound,
but it didn't start. She tried again, still nothing.
My heart dropped. Was the legend true?
Maybe it's just the car. I muttered, trying not to sound
scared, but my voice shook a little.
Robert laughed from the back. Or maybe it's the ghosts.
He joked, but I could tell he was a bit nervous now too.
After a tense moment, I put the car in neutral and we all got
out to push it. It rolled forward slightly, and
when I tried the ignition again, the engine roared to life.
We all jumped back in, not wanting to stay a second longer.
As we drove away from the bridge, I tried to laugh it off.
See no ghosts, just a little car trouble.
But deep down I wasn't so sure. The lights on the dash flickered
oddly as we drove away, and the air felt colder.
I glanced in the rear view mirror, half expecting to see
something or someone sitting in the back seat.
We decided to go further down the road, ignoring the uneasy
feeling in our guts. I didn't know it then, but the
night was far from over. Our adventure on Payne Rd. was
just beginning and things were about to get a lot scarier.
As we drove deeper into the night, the eerie feeling we had
on the bridge didn't go away. In fact, it got worse.
The road twisted through dark woods that seemed to watch us as
we passed. I kept driving, trying to focus
on the road ahead, but my mind was stuck on the bridge and the
car not starting. Let's turn around and go back.
Angel suddenly said. I was surprised because she
seemed the bravest out of all of us earlier.
Really. You want to go back there?
I asked, my voice a little shaky.
Yes, I feel like we missed something.
Let's just take one more look. She insisted.
Robert agreed, and even though every part of me screamed to
just go home, I turned the car around.
We were heading back to the bridge.
As we approached I felt a knot in my stomach.
It was like something was pulling us back, something
strong and not very nice. We parked near the bridge again,
but this time we didn't turn off the car.
We just sat there, staring at the dark Rd. that crossed over
the Creek. That's when we saw it.
Right in the middle of the bridge was a perfect circle.
It looked like it was glowing faintly, a soft white light that
didn't make any sense. What is that?
Robert whispered. I don't know, but I'm going to
find out. Angel said before I could stop
her. She got out of the car and
started walking towards the circle.
Angel, wait. I called out, but she didn't
stop. It was like she couldn't hear
me. Robert and I looked at each
other scared but knowing we couldn't leave her alone out
there. We got out and hurried after
her. As we got closer the air felt
cooler and the silence louder. My heart was pounding so hard I
could barely hear anything else. Angel reached the circle and
stood right in the middle of it. She looked back at us, her face
pale and her eyes wide. It was like she was seeing
something we couldn't. Guys, I think we should go.
Robert said, his voice barely a whisper.
I nodded, feeling the same fear. I reached out and grabbed
Angel's arm, gently pulling her away from the circle.
Let's get back to the car now. I said.
We all rushed back to the car, jumped in and I hit the gas.
The car moved forward and as we left the bridge behind, I didn't
dare look back. As we drove away, the tension in
the car was thick. Nobody said anything for a few
minutes. Then Angel's phone, which was
lying on the dashboard, started to make weird noises.
It was like a high pitched screaming mixed with static.
She grabbed it trying to make it stop, but the noises only got
louder. It won't turn off.
She yelled over the noise. Finally, after what felt like
forever, the noises stopped as suddenly as they had started.
Angel dropped the phone like it was hot, and we all breathed a
sigh of relief. I don't know what just happened,
but I don't think we should ever go back there.
I said, and for the first time that night, nobody argued with
me. We drove in silence, each lost
in our thoughts, wondering if we had really seen what we thought
we'd seen or if it was all just our imagination.
But one thing was sure, none of us would ever forget what
happened on Payne Rd. I was a private detective in
Michigan for four years following a long career in law
enforcement. Ironically, it was during what
was intended to be 4 short, quiet years that I encountered
my most frightening and disturbing case.
Our agency received a call from a woman who suspected her
husband of having an affair. She said she knew he was lying
when he claimed to be working late, but essentially said she
couldn't deal with the emotional stress of personally uncovering
the affair, if one was indeed taking place.
That's where I came in. If the client's husband was
engaged in an extramarital affair, then it was my job to
compile as much photographic evidence as possible before
presenting said evidence to the client.
On the surface, it was pretty standard private investigator
work, the kind of thing that makes up about 30 to 40% of all
our time. But in actual fact, it was one
of the most disturbing and mystifying events of my entire
career. So as I've already touched on,
the client had already done some of the preliminary work herself.
She was fine with him working late, and at first she was proud
of him for sacrificing his time for the good of their children,
but her real suspicions began when they're rather active love
life petered out before dropping off completely.
Her husband then started to act increasingly withdrawn and
seemed disinterested in pretty much anything that wasn't work
related. She said that she tried talking
to him, but he just brushed the whole thing off as if she were
simply imagining things. Then an incident where he proved
a little overprotective of his cell phone proved to be the
final straw. The client's husband seemed to
descend into a minor panic at the prospect of her gaining
unfettered access to it. Since she couldn't gain access
to any of his devices, she decided to check in with his
place of work to see if he really was working late.
When she found out that was a lie, she attempted to follow him
one evening after he clocked out of work, but when she saw him
driving toward the city limits, she didn't have the nerve to
follow him. Her husband didn't work late
every night so we had to wait for a call from the client, but
when we did, I got into position and then tailed him after he got
out of work at around 5:30. Just like his wife had said, he
drove miles towards the city limits and then drove a few more
miles out into the country before turning down a dirt Rd.
I didn't immediately follow him. That's not something you'd ever
do during a covert pursuit, not unless it was a life or death
kind of situation. If the dirt Rd. had a dead end,
I could possibly give myself away.
So the thing to do was to keep going, pull over and then use
Google Maps to see where the road LED.
According to Google, the dirt Rd. led to two places, the first
being the next stretch of Hwy. over and the other being some
kind of industrial facility. At first I figured the whole job
had been a complete false alarm because if he was driving out to
some industrial site it was most likely work related, right?
But just to be certain, I started looking into the company
that owned the site and how it might be related to the
husband's employment. Figuring I might as well since I
was pulled over and had my phone in hand.
I saw that the site in question, according to Google, was
permanently closed. While that didn't mean the
husband was there for legitimate reasons, it did raise my
suspicions a little. So instead of just sitting there
and peering at satellite images from 2013, I decided to double
back, turn down the dirt Rd. I'd seen the husband go down,
and then go check out the industrial compound for myself.
I pulled up outside the gates only to see a very derelict
looking place, all rusted shipping containers and falling
down warehouses. Again, it didn't preclude the
possibility that the husband was professionally involved in some
way, but I still didn't know if he was actually there.
I couldn't see his car and for all I knew he'd carried on down
the dirt road to that other stretch of Hwy.
I'd have to tail him again to get a concrete idea of where he
was going, but luckily that's exactly where the guy was
headed. Next time I tailed him, he
turned down the dirt road and I followed at a distance.
Then when we got to the chained up gates of the derelict
industrial compound, the husband stopped his car and then got
out. Just as I rolled past him.
I could see him watching me out of my rear view, just standing
next to his car, still as a statue, and he waited until I
was way down the dirt track before he moved again.
I managed to hover at the very end of the track long enough
where it met the highway that I caught a glimpse of the client's
husband driving his car into the derelict industrial complex.
Then, when I circled back to take a look, the chain on the
compound's gate had been locked again, but when I peered past
its iron bars, there were no parked cars anywhere to be seen.
I did a brief check of the fencing around the compound and
found it all so rusty and dilapidated that breaking in
would be relatively easy. Obviously we were in touch with
the client at every stage of the investigation, but as you can
probably guess, she wanted to know what was in that compound
just as much as I did. Or, more accurately, she wanted
to know what her husband was doing there if he wasn't working
in some capacity. The client was still insistent
on getting conclusive evidence, or at least proving once and for
all that her husband wasn't being unfaithful.
As a private detective, I had something of an advantage in
this situation. When I was a cop, there was no
way that I could just force my way onto private property like
that unless I could handle the whole heap of trouble that would
be headed my way if I was caught doing so.
But as a private investigator, the worst thing that could
happen on the legal side of things anyways would be getting
charged with trespassing by some cops.
This obviously gave me a lot more operational maneuverability
and meant that I could get into the compound and finish the job
without having to worry about getting my ass fired.
I didn't try to break into the compound until I'd received
implicit instructions from the client.
After all, a risk was still a risk, and I didn't want to take
one unless I absolutely had to. But once we got the OK and a
call saying the husband was working late again, I readied
myself to collect the conclusive proof that the client was paying
us for. I repeated the process of
following the husband from his place of work to the abandoned
industrial site. But then instead of immediately
following him to his apparent destination, I continued down
the highway for around 10 to 15 minutes before doubling back
towards the site. Whatever he was doing and
whoever he was doing it with, I wanted to catch them in the act.
You know, not walk in on them setting up or just talking or
whatever and potentially jeopardize the entire
investigation. It'd be a delicate operation,
but it also perfectly illustrates why I was so
reluctant to let go of my vocation even after the standard
retirement age. While many of my peers were
content to move down to Florida Keys and spend their twilight
years just fishing, I knew right from the second I even heard the
word retirement that I'd miss the adrenaline rush that came
with the sharp edge of detective work.
I guess what I'm trying to say is I was actually pumped to
break into that site, track down my target and catch him in the
act. Not so much out of any ill
feeling towards him, I just wanted to get to the bottom of
this mystery. As I said, I waited around 20 to
30 minutes before parking my car on the dirt road, and then I
searched for the weaker section of the fence that I'd spotted on
my first time around. Then, after getting inside and
armed with a flashlight, a video camera, I set about searching
the derelict industrial site for any sign of the client's
husband. The place was huge, blocks and
blocks of old warehouses and what appeared to be abandoned
manufacturing facilities, but the gaps between them were wide
enough to drive a vehicle down, and eventually I came across a
group of them all parked outside of this one Greystone building
that looked different from the others.
At this point I switched on the video camera, making sure to get
a shot of the husband's vehicle along with its plate.
But just as I got the shot, I started to hear something real
faint at first, but it got louder and louder as I
approached the building. It was the sound of something
crying out, and it sounded like pain, but it sounded muffled
too, like either they were gagged or someone was covering
their mouth with a hand. At that point, I slid my
flashlight back into the holster on my belt and then grabbed my
pistol instead. My heart rate was beginning to
pick up, and although I wouldn't say that I was scared, I was
extremely apprehensive. Like I said earlier, I thought
the job was going to be your basic tail them and tape them
kind of deal. So to hear those screams was to
realize that this wasn't your basic private investigator work
at all. This was something different.
I remember creeping towards the front doors to the big concrete
building and thinking to myself, this is a real dumb idea.
There was a good chance that I'd be outnumbered and possibly
outgunned too, God forbid. But the prospect of abandoning
whoever was in there screaming, that was something I couldn't
allow myself to do. I guess more out of practice
than principle, but still, I couldn't just walk away.
So I opened up the door, crept inside and carried on walking
very gently towards the source of the screaming, which appeared
to be inside a room down a dusty, dark corridor.
There was a pattern to it too. The screams would start up these
skin crawling growls and yelps, then they die off again.
In between the screams, I'd hear voices, some laughing, some
talking, and then the screams would start up again, just as
loud as before. I got closer and closer until
eventually I'm right outside the room the screams are coming
from. I took a breath, made sure my
pistol was locked and loaded, and then burst into the room
only to be greeted by something that looked like a scene from a
horror movie surrounded by 5 men. 1/6 had been tied to a
chair and by the looks of things, they had been taking
turns torturing him. He'd been stripped to his
underwear, had blood dripping from various cuts to his arms
and legs, and there were also what looked like burn marks all
over his body. The first thing I yelled was
state police don't move, and that worked like a charm.
Initially, I directed everyone who wasn't tied to a chair to
stand facing the wall, except one, whom I ordered to untie the
victim. I told him not to look at me,
but he didn't listen. And the second he saw my video
camera, he knew that I wasn't with the cops.
I mean, what kind of state cop works alone while carrying a
goddamn video camera of all things?
He might have figured out who I wasn't, but then again, I wasn't
the one with the gun pointed in their face.
The guy freed the captive victim from the chair, who was still
gagged and could barely walk. They were mumbling something
under their gag, something at the time I figured was either
thank you or some variation on that, but I told them to save it
until we were actually in the free and clear.
The last thing I told those sadistic strangers was that they
should stay put because anyone who came chasing after me would
most likely be shot by my backup officers who are currently
rushing to the scene. It was a total bluff, but only
one of them knew it for certain, and he appeared to have way more
sense than I gave him credit for because he stayed put with his
buddies and opted not to get shot.
All I remember feeling is relief that the group weren't heavily
armed or that a shootout hadn't erupted as soon as I'd stormed
the room they occupied. I still had no idea what was
going on at that point, but I knew it was some majorly bad
juju and almost certainly the doing of some organized crime
group, which meant that I wanted to get the hell out of there
with the victim as fast as humanly possible.
I got them to a hospital and stayed with them until the cops
showed up so I could give a statement on what had happened.
After that, it was time to talk to the client about what I'd
seen, which I can assure you was not an easy process.
I guess no one wants to find out that their spouse had been
taking part in the brutal torture of another human being
and that they're better off talking to a defense attorney as
opposed to the divorce kind. But in this case, the client
took it particularly badly. After that, she no longer
desired to retain our services, so we parted ways after sending
her a bill. I guess the reason that this one
stays with me so much is not because I walked in on something
so horrible. It's because I have no idea why
it was happening. To this day, I've never heard
anything about any Michigan torture case.
I don't even know if the husband ended up getting arrested.
All I know is that taking that job meant that I was in the
right place at the right time to save someone a whole world of
life changing torment. The moment I set my wheels on
the winding path leading into the Cascade Mountains, I felt a
weight begin to lift off my shoulders.
It's strange how the open road and untamed wilderness can
momentarily make you forget your troubles, even if those troubles
involve a failing marriage and the harsh memories of a second
deployment in Iraq. I drove my trusty 2000 Ford
F-150, a companion that had seen better days but was as
determined as I was to escape the noise of the world.
The closer I got to the mountains, the more the
landscape changed. The trees grew denser, the air
cooler and fresher, and the sounds of civilization faded
away. It was just me, my thoughts, and
the road. Turning off the highway onto an
overgrown path, barely noticeable from the road, I felt
a thrill of adventure. This road looked like it hadn't
seen visitors in years, exactly what I was hoping for.
The path was narrow and branches scratched against the sides of
my truck, as if warning me to turn back.
But I pressed on, driven by a need for solitude.
The road ended in a quiet field surrounded by dense woods with a
small stream meandering through the middle.
It was perfect. I parked my truck near the edge
of the field and stepped out into the cool air.
The silence was almost overwhelming, but it was exactly
the kind of peace I needed. Setting up camp didn't take
long. I unfolded my old camper shell
in the back of the truck, pumped up the inflatable mattress, and
threw some blankets on top. I gathered wood for a fire,
thinking of how the crackling flames would be my only company
tonight. Once the fire was going, I sat
back and cooked myself a decent meal of steak and potatoes,
something I hadn't done in a long time.
It felt good to take care of myself like this.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with
shades of orange and purple, I sat by the fire, a glass of
single malt Scotch in hand. I watched the flames dance and
listen to the gentle sounds of the stream out here, away from
everything. I could almost forget about the
stress of my job, the pain of my marriage falling apart, and the
chaos of life back at the base. It was in this moment, with the
stars beginning to peek through the darkening sky, that I felt
good for the first time in a long time.
It was just me and the wilderness, and it felt like I
had the whole world to myself. I savored my Scotch, each sip
warming me against the cool night air.
But the peace didn't last. Later, as I settled into my
makeshift bed in the back of my truck, wrapped in blankets and
ready for a night under the stars, I was startled by the
sound of a growl outside. Heavy footsteps seemed to circle
the truck, and then a high pitched scream shattered the
silence of the night. My heart raced.
Reaching over, I grabbed my 38 Special from where it lay within
arm's reach. I had always carried it with me
while camping, never really expecting to use it.
Sitting up, I pressed my back against the cab of the truck,
straining to hear more over the pounding of my heart.
But as quickly as it had begun, the noise stopped.
I peeked through the camper window, but saw only the shadows
of the trees swaying in the breeze.
Maybe it was just my imagination, fuelled by the
isolation and the Scotch. Trying to calm my nerves, I told
myself it was nothing, just the wind.
Or a deer, perhaps. Despite my attempts to convince
myself, sleep didn't come easy. I lay awake for a long time,
listening to the sounds of the night, wondering if the peace I
sought was just another elusive dream.
That night in the Cascades taught me the meaning of fear in
a way I hadn't known before, even with my time in Iraq under
my belt. It was supposed to be a quiet
retreat, a few days of solitude to clear my head.
But as the darkness deepened around my campsite, my sense of
peace was shattered. I had barely dozed off when a
sudden violent shaking of my truck jerked me awake.
My heart thumped wildly as I sat up, disoriented and alarmed.
The night was pitch black, the kind of darkness you only find
far away from city lights outside.
Angry voices and loud bangs on my camper shell echoed through
the air, turning the quiet night into a scene from a nightmare.
Gripping my 38 Special, I tried to steady my breath, listening
to the chaos outside. Fear crept up my spine as I
realized someone or something was deliberately trying to scare
me. Or worse.
The voices grew louder, more menacing, and it seemed like the
whole truck was being rocked by a storm.
I knew I had to get out of there.
With my heart in my throat, I crawled through the small
sliding window into the driver's seat.
My hands shook as I fumble with the keys, the noise outside
growing louder and more frenzied.
When I finally got the engine started, I slammed the truck
into gear, ready to flee. As my headlights slice through
the darkness, I gasped. A circle of people in dark robes
surrounded my truck, their faces hidden, shouting and waving
their arms. The sight of them, so unexpected
and terrifying in their sudden appearance froze me for a
moment, but fear overpowered shock and I knew I had to act
fast. Throwing the truck into reverse,
I heard shouts as I backed away. The robed figures jumped aside
and I didn't wait to see if they would come after me.
I turned the truck around and speed down the narrow mountain
Rd. the trees blurring past as I pushed the pedal to the floor.
My heart raced as I navigated the rough terrain, expecting at
any moment to feel a hand on my shoulder or hear the crack of a
window shattering. But none of that came.
The road opened up, and the dense trees gave way to the
clearer roads near the highway. Relief washed over me as I
merged onto the main road, though my hands still trembled
on the steering wheel. That's when the flashing lights
caught me, a patrol car pulling me over.
The officer approached cautiously.
I rolled down my window, my breath still coming in short
gasps, and relayed what had happened as best I could.
His expression changed from suspicion to concern as he
listened. When I finished, he nodded
slowly, his face grave. You stumbled onto the grounds of
a local cult. He explained.
They don't take kindly to visitors.
You're lucky to have gotten away when you did.
His words sent a chill through me.
A cult right here in the serene mountains.
It seemed impossible, yet there I was, shaking and grateful for
the presence of this officer. He let me go with a warning to
stay clear of the area and suggested I find a safer place
to spend the night. As I drove away, the adrenaline
slowly faded, leaving behind a deep exhaustion.
I couldn't shake the image of those robed figures, their
hostile shouts echoing in my ears.
I knew one thing for certain, my search for solitude would never
bring me back to these mountains.
The day we moved into the old house in Bitterroot, Montana, I
could already tell something was off.
The town was almost hidden from the rest of the world, with just
a couple of gas stations, a church, a school that looked too
quiet, and more bars than seemed necessary.
The houses were spread out, each one looking like it had its own
set of secrets. I'm Alex by the way.
I was about 13 when my mom decided it was time for a fresh
start away from the city and closer to the unknown.
With our stuff packed in a rickety old moving truck, we
rolled into town under a sky so wide and empty it made me feel
smaller than ever. Our new home wasn't new at all.
It was a small 3 bedroom house with peeling paint and a yard
that looked like it hadn't seen a lawn mower in years.
Mom tried to make it sound magical, like we were
adventurers settling in uncharted territory, but all I
felt was a chill down my spine as we stepped inside.
The house was quiet, too quiet, like it was holding its breath,
waiting for something. Mom busied herself with
unpacking humming tunes to fill the silence.
I wandered from room to room, my sneakers echoing on the hardwood
floors. It should have felt exciting, a
new place full of nooks and crannies to explore, but instead
I felt eyes on me. Watching it made my neck tingle.
I've always been into paranormal stuff.
Ghosts, hauntings, all of it. So naturally I tried to convince
myself I was just imagining things.
It's easy to creep yourself out when you're in a strange new
place, right? But it didn't feel like my
imagination. It felt like something was
there, just out of sight. That night, as I lay in my new
room, surrounded by unpacked boxes and the soft glow of my
night light, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
Every little sound made me jump the house, settling the wind
against the window, even the distant bark of a dog.
It all felt like a warning. The next few days weren't much
better. I started noticing shadows that
lingered a little too long, cold spots in the hallway, the faint
smell of something burnt when nothing was cooking.
I tried to tell mom, but she had enough on her plate and I didn't
want to add to her stress. So I kept it to myself.
Curiosity got the best of me one evening, and I found myself
pulling out an old Ouija board I'd brought along.
I set it up in the living room, the candles flickering as my
fingers hovered over the planchette.
Is anyone there? I whispered, half not wanting an
answer. The planchette moved slowly,
jerking towards yes. My heart raced.
Was it just my imagination? I wasn't sure I wanted to find
out. Just then, a cold breeze swept
through the room, blowing out the candles.
I sat there in the dark, heart pounding, feeling more alone
than ever. The days began to blur together,
each one filled with whispers of the houses past.
Mom said I was just adjusting, but I knew it was more than
that. I could feel it, a presence,
something lingering in the corners where the light didn't
quite reach. Settling in Bitterroot wasn't
going to be easy. As I lay in bed that night
listening to the sounds of the house, I knew one thing for
sure. We weren't alone here and I
needed to find out what was hiding in the shadows.
Things in Bitterroot went from weird to downright creepy real
fast. It had been a few weeks since we
moved into the old house and I was starting to think that maybe
I should have paid more attention to all those ghost
stories I loved so much. They seemed a lot less fun when
it felt like you were living in one.
One night I woke up feeling like someone had brushed their
fingers across my arm. I sat up, heart pounding, and
flicked on my lamp. There was nothing there, of
course, but when I pulled back my sleeve, I saw them.
Light, scratchy marks on my skin.
I didn't have my dog here to blame, and I certainly didn't
remember scratching myself. It freaked me out, but who could
I tell? Mom was already stressed enough,
and I didn't want to scare my little brother Q or my
stepbrother D. Speaking of D, he started seeing
things too. More than once, he'd come
running into my room, eyes wide as saucers, swearing he saw
shadows moving in the hallway. Even Q, who usually dismissed
our talks of ghosts as just Alex being weird, couldn't deny the
chill that seemed to settle over our home.
It wasn't long before we all felt it, like eyes were always
on us, watching, waiting. I decided to do something about
it. I grabbed my flashlight and
summoned all the courage I could muster, then headed to the one
place in the house that always seemed the creepiest.
The little crawl space in my closet.
I remember pushing open the tiny door, the hinges squeaking
loudly in the quiet. My hand shook as I shone the
light inside. The walls of the crawl space
were covered in scratches and weird symbols that made no
sense. It looked like someone had been
carving them for years. The sight sent shivers down my
spine. I quickly shut the door and
backed away, my mind racing with questions.
Who or what had made those marks?
The days that followed were tense.
We were all on edge, jumping at every Creek and whisper of the
wind. One evening I was outside with
Dee, trying to catch a break from the stifling fear that hung
over the house. That's when we saw them.
Three figures standing at the edge of the backyard, just
beyond the dim light of our porch.
They were like shadows, but darker, with eyes that seemed to
glow a faint, eerie yellow. I grabbed Dee's arm, my voice
barely a whisper. Do you see them too?
He nodded, and we both stood there, frozen in fear.
After what felt like forever, we ran back inside, slamming the
door behind us. We didn't go outside after dark
anymore. I spent the next few days poring
over old books and Internet forums, trying to find anything
that could tell me what was happening.
I even tried some silly rituals I found online, anything to stop
the feeling of being watched. But nothing worked.
It felt like the shadows were getting closer, growing bolder.
One night, as we all huddled together in the living room, Mom
finally opened up. She admitted she felt it too,
the oppressive, watchful gaze of something unseen.
We decided it was time to face this together as a family.
Whatever was haunting our house, we were going to confront it.
We weren't just going to be scared anymore.
As I lay in bed that night, listening to the quiet whispers
of the house, I knew one thing for sure.
We were stronger together and we were going to find out what was
lurking in the shadows. The story I'm about to share
with you happened to a friend of mine, and to this day it gives
him chills whenever he recounts it.
Through this tale will be taken to a land remote but beautiful.
For anonymity's sake, I won't name the town specifically, but
I will mention that it's a small yet famous town in Greece, one
place that my friend used to and still to this day visits quite a
lot. The encounter happened
approximately 11 years ago during one summer season, back
when my friend Kay was still a young kid breezing through life
with no care in the world like every kid his age.
When summer rolled around and school stopped being a nuisance,
he and his parents would travel to that town to visit Kay's
grandma, who lived alone in an old but respectable house on the
outskirts. Naturally, Kay, after having
visited plenty of times before, had become fast friends with the
kids in the town. Especially one in particular,
whom I'll refer to as JK and J, spent day after day of summer
playing around the town square, playing pranks on locals and
making childhood memories the likes of which all kids make
during those tranquil months of the year.
But one memory, one event, will stand out above the rest.
Not because it was extremely funny or undeniably enjoyable,
but because it speaks of something unexplained, something
foreign. In that famous town of Greece,
approximately 80 years ago, a brutal event occurred during the
1st December of Greece's participation in World War Two.
That atrocity was carried out by the German army who
systematically destroyed several villages and towns in the
region, killing inhabitants and burning homes as they move
towards the town we speak of. Upon arriving on December 13th
1943, the Germans gathered all the inhabitants in the local
school while proceeding to separate the women and children
from the men and boys over the age of 12.
In an all too cruel decision, the men and boys were taken to a
hillside near the town where they were mercilessly machine
gunned and mass. Despite the very few that
managed to survive, either by pretending to be dead or
managing to run away, almost 500 people lost their lives in a
matter of seconds. After the executions, the
Germans set fire to the town, destroying everything they could
find. The school, along with many
other buildings, was burned down as well, and only by a miracle
did the women and children manage to escape the flames.
The survivors were left to deal with the devastating aftermath,
including burying the dead and rebuilding their lives from the
ruins. Of course, it's natural that
such an event would scar an entire nation, let alone a small
town. That's why, after the war, a
monument was built upon the hill where all those men and boys
were killed. It was a tranquil place, Kay
thought every time he visited a hill overlooking the town,
greenery all around. And he did that quite often, in
fact, especially during late hours.
In a town such as this one, there were not many things to
look out for if any children roaming around unattended was
the norm, so Kay and Jay took that liberty a bit too far.
During the last days of Kay's stay in the town for summer, the
two friends decided it would be quite adventurous to visit that
hill named the Cross, especially late.
Kay's parents weren't and still aren't strict at all, and curfew
for him was not a problem. Jay's parents would pose a
problem, however, but Jay himself didn't think so.
In the end, slipping out seemed to be a breeze.
As the two friends walk towards the hill in the dead of the
night, Kay could feel the atmosphere in the outskirts.
It was as tranquil as ever, No cars, no people, no disturbances
anywhere. Just him, his friend and the
night sky. It filled him with a sense of
adventure he couldn't quite describe yet.
As the kids reached the slope and laid down their backpacks
and extremely outdated cell phones for some music, the
feeling washing over Kay a minute prior vanished as if it
was never there. Jay had grown silent too,
probably engrossed in the views and tranquility.
A silence stretched and stretched, causing Kay to feel
uneasy. It was like he knew they weren't
alone. The cross was always open to the
public as far as they knew, but nobody could be here at this
hour, right? They weren't even trespassing or
anything, and yet they felt out of place.
Kay gulped at the realization and looked around.
The story of that tragedy was no news to him, and it was fair to
say he had heard it from his grandma more times than he could
count. She was only 5 years old back
then, but the stories recounted to her by relatives always
stayed fresh and sharp enough for storytelling.
Despite knowing about the execution and the unjust deaths
of 500 souls, Kay never associated that hill with regret
or pain. It had never felt off before
like it did now. As his thoughts began to drift,
Jay the Chatterbox whipped his head around.
What are you looking at? Kay stood frozen, and it didn't
take long for Jay to notice his eyes widened, body unmoving and
stiff. And there it was, the figure of
a man, clear as day, walking slowly yet deliberately towards
the two boys. He was as plain as anyone else
in the town, but wore a very outdated hat, the likes of which
Jay's grandfather never parted with.
The two kids stared, not breathing as they watched the
man make his way towards them, absolutely frozen in shock.
It was a man, a normal man, but what was he doing here at this
hour? Kay's mind was a mess, producing
1000 thoughts at once and at the same time processing none.
That's when Jay got up from his position and cried out like a
wounded cat, grabbing his friend as he ran.
Run. The two kids dashed down the
hill blindly, only by miracle, avoiding tripping over
themselves or over some loose branches.
Heaving and panting, they stopped at the foot of the hill
and turned back to look in relief.
He didn't follow us. Who even was that?
J&K spoke in a frenzy, their hearts racing.
When the two of them managed to catch their breaths, Jay, who
for some reason had regained his vigor, turned back to his friend
and said. Do you think we saw a ghost?
Kay hesitated, thinking back to the visage of the man.
He looked normal. He finally said, although barely
convincing even himself. Yeah, I guess he did.
As the two walked back home silently Deciding that was
enough, Jay turned on his heel and waved.
See you tomorrow. I better get back before they
catch on to me and lock me up till you leave.
Kay wanted to chuckle at his friend's nonchalant attitude,
but he couldn't find the courage.
How was he so calm? Maybe that man really was
normal. He nodded and went back home
too. The next morning, everything
seemed the same as ever, and while Jay acted normally when
talking to the other kids in the square, Kay knew last night
wouldn't be the end of their adventure.
Hey, want to go back there tonight?
Sure enough, there was the proposal.
Kay wanted to dissuade his danger ignorant friend, but he
knew better than to complain. This was Jay, after all.
Do you really want to get possessed that bad?
Nope, nobody's going to get possessed.
Jay shook his head. We might not have seen a ghost
after all. Kay raised an eyebrow, amused
that Jay had left his weird fixations aside for once.
And who was that if not a ghost? Well, there must be an attendant
around the monument there is the Chapel close by too, right?
Kay was impressed, seeing as how his friend brought up a valid
argument instead of relying on the paranormal to boost their
adrenaline. Could be, but how do we know if
it is the attendant? We'll figure that out as we go.
Let's just meet up around here later tonight, OK?
Kay knew it was rather stupid to go back, yet he could also feel
the sense of adventure from yesterday rising within him once
more. OK, let's do it.
The two boys had an agreement, and the plan was sealed.
Later that night, Kay and Jay climbed up the hill just like
they did the day prior, albeit a little more cautiously.
Nevertheless, they reached their destination all the same.
At this time. Upon arriving there, Jay
whispered, pointing at the figure of the man.
It was, in fact, the same man they'd seen yesterday.
Kay's heart pounded. No doubt Jay's did too, but the
two boys inched closer none the less.
They had decided after all, that they would try to take a closer
look at the man if he didn't seem hostile towards them.
And he didn't. Truth be told, as Kay got closer
and closer to the man, the man seemed almost serene.
He was sitting down in the grass, looking out in the open,
not a care in the world. Upon closer inspection, his
clothes, although typical of the folk in such a small town,
seemed rather old, and his hat even more so.
As soon as Jay decided that was close enough, he swallowed down
the lump in his throat and spoke.
Hello. There was a brief pause as he
caught his breath. Do you work here?
Upon hearing that question, the man finally turned towards the
kid. His face was simple and his
expression tranquil, but beneath his eyes there was something
almost sad, melancholic. I've worked everywhere around
these parts. Was his answer simple and short?
At first it seemed evasive, but it was clear through his tone
that he didn't intend to dodge the subject.
He only seemed disconnected, like he didn't want to be there,
but at the same time he didn't know where else to go.
Naturally, the two kids did not expect such a reply and they
stopped to think for a moment. Are you always here or just at
night? Jay asked again, trying to get
the same answer in a roundabout way.
I need to go back to my wife and kids soon.
When the man spoke again, Kay's heart seemed like it had frozen
in place. He couldn't explain why, but his
hair stood up all at once, chills coursing through his
body. We need to leave too.
Kay spoke softly towards Jay, backing a few steps away and
causing Jay to turn and look. He was hesitant, judging by the
look he had in his eyes, but ultimately pressed on.
Are you from around here? I am, always have been.
The man replied, this time merely looking ahead towards the
town, a longing, empty gaze piercing through the night all
the way to the few lights in town.
Are we disturbing you? Jay's last question left his
throat unexpectedly, his eyes almost closing in anticipation.
They did. Without another word.
Jay's body moved the same way as Kay's as the kids shuffled away,
their eyes wide and skin pale. When had the air grown so thick?
The man didn't turn to look at them as they left.
His eyes stayed fixed forward, his body unmoving when they were
out of sight. K&J could not hold back any
longer and ran down the Cliff back towards town, barely
managing not to scream when the two parted ways.
As always, even the energetic Jay had no snarky comment to
make. They bid each other good night
and went off on their way. Thank God they live so close by,
Kay thought after realizing what kind of dread he'd have to
endure if he walked in the dark all alone for long.
Probably the same feeling of dread that did not leave him all
throughout the night. The tranquil town didn't seem so
peaceful in Kay's eyes anymore. The night seemed more eerie than
ever, and the cross even more so.
The next morning, Kay talked about the cross with his
grandmother, whose expression was that of more than just
reprimand. Why did you go up there so late?
What did you see? Kay explained everything.
The man, the atmosphere, his words, that chilling feeling at
the end that something just wasn't right.
And that was when her words shattered all doubt within the
young boy. There is no attendant up there.
There's no man that would go up there at night besides you silly
kids. Then what was it?
Kay wanted to ask, but something told him he already knew the
answer to that. All those men 80 years ago left
behind many things, families, wealth, all were taken away from
them so unjustly it's only natural they feel lost even
after death. Kay was expecting his
grandmother to explain to him how ghosts weren't real, how he
was hallucinating or something like that, but instead all her
words did was reaffirm what he himself had deduced, that that
man should not have been there because that man was dead.
That man could not be anywhere else than the cross because he
could never leave and has never left.
A couple of days later, Kay left alongside his parents to start
up another school year in the city he grew up in.
He and Jay spent a few more summers together and made
countless other memories. Years later, Kay even visited
the Cross monument once again and kept going back to enjoy the
view. But since that day, he always
remembers to hold up a prayer for those that left and for
those that couldn't. I have two stories about my
grandma's haunted house involving my cousin Haley and
myself. Sadly, Haley passed away in 2014
in a terrible car accident, so she won't get to hear our
stories told, but I'm sure she would have loved the idea of
them being shared. First off, Haley and I were
always intrigued by ghosts, hauntings, demons, anything.
You name it, we were interested in it.
We watched a lot of horror movies and TV shows.
Her father was big into horror as well, so he usually took us
to the theater to see the latest horror movie.
Haley and I even went as far as to create our own horror stories
along with drawing scary pictures to match.
We love the thrill of being scared together, often huddling
under the blankets when things became a bit too scary for us.
It was mostly fun and games, except for a few instances.
My mom never approved of our fascination with the paranormal.
We came from a Catholic family that regularly attended church
on Sundays and said our prayers every night.
I had a lot of nightmares as a child and she always blamed it
on our creepy interests, which only makes sense.
Although to this day I blame most of my fears on our Catholic
upbringing. Now my grandma's house had a lot
of religious idols around the place and she was Catholic as
well. I never minded them.
It was normal for us to see a cross in every room.
Even though our grandma was religious, she allowed us to
watch all the scary movies and shows we could find.
She would tell us stories from time to time, one being about
how she bought a Ouija board for my aunt for one of her
birthdays. Our grandma never went into
detail about the use of the board, but she did mention at
one point that she had a witch come over to look at the board.
I'm not sure why or what the witch did, but our grandma kept
the board and hid it away in the attic.
The attic door was one of those old style pull down stairs
located in the backroom of the house.
The attic itself had two parts. Half was a room for storage
where the Ouija board would be located, and the other half was
made into a spare room with two beds.
The only way to access the storage part of the attic was
through a small wooden door with a sliding wood lock.
The first story takes place when Haley and I were around the age
of 10/1 day. We were at our grandma's house
during summer taking a break from playing outside.
My grandma was in the living room watching Judge Judy as she
always did. In the afternoon we came in to
get some ice cream and went to the backroom where we would
normally watch TV and movies. That day we were watching ATV
show about exorcisms. It was a violent story that had
our full attention. Haley and I were glued to the
TV, soon forgetting about the world around us.
Out of nowhere, we heard a noise, a scraping sound coming
from the wall next to the couch. Our trance broke and we both
quickly looked in the direction of the sound.
There was a cross hanging on the wall, but it wasn't just hanging
there, it was slowly turning until it stopped directly upside
down. Time seemed to slow down as we
watched, but somehow it happened so fast too.
Haley and I took off screaming, running to get our grandma.
We were panicking as we tried to tell her what happened with the
cross. Our grandma got up to check out
the cross and we followed. Reluctantly.
We all made it to the backroom to find the cross now lying on
the floor. Our grandma picked it up,
looking at it. She told us there was no way it
could have turned and hung upside down, for it had only
been stuck to the wall with blue sticky putty.
Haley and I looked at the cross in disbelief, wondering how this
could have happened. I'm not sure if she ever
believed us, but Grandma took the cross and went back to watch
her show in the living room, leaving us alone in the
backroom. We never did get a solid answer
to what happened. I'm still wondering about it to
this day. Now this is about my second
story. Fast forward a few years.
Haley and I were about 13 years old.
Our cousins were staying the night at our grandma's house
along with us. We were all huddled together in
the backroom watching one missed call.
The movie had ended and most of our cousins had fallen asleep
during the film. It was late, so Haley and I
decided it was time to go to bed.
We wanted to sleep in the attic, so we pulled down the stairs
that led up to the attic room with the beds.
Haley had a hard time falling asleep so she often listened to
music before going to bed. We said goodnight to each other
before she put her headphones on.
I fell asleep almost instantly. I was completely out when
suddenly I woke up to all the air being knocked out of my
chest. I couldn't breathe so I quickly
sat up in bed only to see the small wooden attic door to the
storage room being shoved open with such force it hit the wall.
Haley had been awake still and saw everything.
I caught my breath and looked at her.
She screamed at me, asking if I was OK.
I didn't say a word before climbing out of bed and rushing
down the stairs. As Haley followed me, we found a
different room where we slept on the floor.
There was no way we were going to sleep in that attic the next
day. We told no one what happened.
We didn't even check to see if that old wooden door was still
open. Once again, we had no
explanation for the event that happened to us.
I'll never forget it either, the way the air felt like it was
sucked right out of me, the way I gasped to catch my breath
while seeing that door being flung wide open.
The only thing I take from our experiences is that if you go
looking for paranormal things, you will not find them so much
as they'll find you. My name is John Prescott and I
live in a small town called Pelham.
It's a pretty place, especially in the fall when the leaves turn
bright orange and red. I teach history at the local
high school and I love telling stories about our town's past,
but right now, I'm not feeling like telling any stories.
Right now, I'm worried because something terrible has happened.
It all started on a chilly autumn evening.
The house felt extra empty and quiet, which isn't usual because
it's normally filled with the sound of my daughter Emily
laughing or talking. As I walked through the house,
the old wooden floors creaked under my feet.
I forgot to turn off the coffee machine again and the smell of
burnt coffee hung in the air. It was just one of those days
where everything felt off. Emily had stormed out earlier
that day. We had a big argument about a
sleepover she wanted to go to, but I said no.
She yelled that she hated me before slamming the door.
I thought she would come back after cooling down as she
usually did, but hours passed and there was no sign of her.
My heart sank deeper with each tick of the clock.
Outside, the wind was howling, making the colorful autumn
leaves dance wildly. It seemed like even nature was
upset. My wife, Sarah, looked as
worried as I felt. We both hadn't slept well,
thinking about where Emily could be.
I kept looking at the door, hoping she would walk through at
any minute, but she didn't. Sarah and I decided to call
Chief Parker, the police chief of Pelham.
He's a serious man who has always taken care of our town's
problems. Soon he was at our doorstep with
a concerned look on his face. John, Sarah, I understand how
tough this must be. We'll start searching right
away. Don't worry, we'll find Emily.
Chief Parker assured us. Hearing his confident words made
me feel a little better, but my stomach was still in knots.
The whole town came together to help look for Emily.
It felt good to see everyone caring so much, but as the
sunset with no sign of her, my hope started to fade.
Pelham may look like a perfect postcard town, but it has its
secrets. I've spent years digging into
our town's history, and I know stories that never made it into
the guidebooks. Some of those stories are about
Blackwood Forest, the thick woods that surround our town.
Strange things have happened there, and now I feared Emily
might have gone into that forest.
That night, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I had a
strange vision. It was of a dark cave and Emily
smiling, but there was something wrong with her eyes.
It was just a flash, but it felt real.
I knew then that I had to go into Blackwood Forest.
Whatever secrets it held, I needed to find out if it had
taken my daughter. I couldn't stop pacing, couldn't
stop thinking. The house creaked, the wind
howled, and somewhere deep in the forest, I imagined Emily was
out there, waiting for us to find her.
And find her we would. I wouldn't rest until we brought
her home, safe and sound. The next few days felt like a
blur. Our whole town of Pelham was on
edge, looking for any sign of Emily.
The forest at the edge of town, Blackwood Forest was a scary
place filled with old stories and legends that made even the
bravest adults hesitate before entering. 1 morning, something
strange happened. People who had disappeared from
our town years ago started coming back, but they were
different. They looked the same, but when
you looked into their eyes, it felt like they weren't really
seeing you. They stood at the edge of town,
not really talking, just there. It was eerie, and it made
everyone even more worried. Chief Parker called a meeting at
the town hall. He explained that these people
who had come back were a mystery and that we needed to be
careful. We don't know what happened to
them in the forest, he said, his voice serious and a little
scared. That's when I knew this was
bigger than just a search for Emily.
Something strange was happening in Blackwood Forest.
After the meeting, I went home and told Sarah about what the
chief had said. We were both scared, but we knew
we had to keep looking for Emily.
We couldn't just wait and hope she would come back like the
others, not when she might be lost or scared.
That night I had another vision. It was clearer this time.
I saw Emily sitting in a dark cave, surrounded by shadows.
She looked calm, but it was the calmness that scared me.
Her smile didn't reach her eyes, which looked different, like
they knew something they shouldn't.
I woke up sweating and shaking. I told Sarah about the vision
and we decided it was a sign we had to go to the forest and find
that cave. Maybe it was the key to finding
Emily and bringing her back to us.
The next day we gathered a group of volunteers.
Some were friends, some were neighbors, and a few were brave
souls who just wanted to help. Chief Parker tried to talk us
out of it, but when he saw we were determined, he agreed to
lead the way. He knew the forest better than
anyone as we entered Blackwood Forest.
A chill ran through me. The trees were so tall and close
together that very little sunlight made it through.
The deeper we went, the darker it got and the more I felt like
the forest was watching us. We searched for hours, calling
Emily's name and looking for any sign of The Cave from my vision.
Just as we were about to give up for the day, one of the
volunteers shouted he had found something.
It was a small clearing and there, right in the middle, was
the mouth of a cave. My heart raced as we approached
it. This was it.
This was the place for my vision.
I felt both scared and hopeful. Could Emily really be in there?
What if she was? What if she wasn't?
As we stood at the entrance of The Cave, I took a deep breath.
Emily. I called into the darkness.
There was no answer, just the echo of my own voice.
But I knew we had to go in. We had to find out what had
happened to my daughter. Whatever it took, I was ready.
This was the moment we had been preparing for.
Standing at the entrance of The Cave, my heart pounded so hard I
thought it might burst. Sarah, Chief Parker and a couple
of brave volunteers were with me.
We all shared nervous glances, knowing we were about to step
into the unknown. This cave might hold the answers
about Emily and the other strange happenings around
Pelham. With flashlights in hand, we
entered The Cave. The air inside was cool and
damp, and it sent shivers down my spine.
The walls were rough and covered in some areas with strange mossy
growths that felt like they were watching us.
As we move deeper into The Cave, I noticed weird cymbals
scratched onto the walls. They looked old, maybe even
ancient. These symbols, I whispered to
Chief Parker. They look like the ones in those
Old Town records I found. Chief Parker nodded, his face
serious. Let's keep moving, he said.
But everyone stay close. We can't afford to get lost in
here. The deeper we went, the more the
atmosphere changed. It wasn't just dark, it felt
heavy, like the air itself was pressing down on us.
Every now and then we would hear strange sounds echoing through
The Cave, sounds that didn't seem like they belong to any
animal I knew. Then it happened.
As we rounded a corner we saw a faint light ahead.
It wasn't from our flashlights, it was different, eerie and
blue. We approached slowly, and that's
when we saw her. Emily was there, sitting cross
legged at the entrance of a smaller chamber within The Cave.
She looked up as we approached and she smiled, but it was not
the warm, loving smile I remembered.
This smile was different, almost too perfect.
You found me. She said in a voice that echoed
oddly against the stone walls. Emily.
Sarah cried out, rushing forward, but I grabbed her arm
to hold her back. Something wasn't right.
Yes, it's me. Emily continued standing up.
Her movements were smooth, too smooth.
But I'm not the same Daddy. I've seen things, learned
things, things that you wouldn't believe.
I swallowed hard, trying to find the words.
Emily, we need to go home, we miss you, we need you.
Emily tilted her head, considering my words as if they
were a puzzle. Home.
She echoed. This is home now, the forest,
The Cave, they've shown me so much.
Behind us, Chief Parker signaled us to be cautious.
He whispered. John, we need to be careful, we
don't fully understand what's happened to her.
I nodded, understanding the risk.
Emily, whatever you've seen or learned, we can talk about it.
Just come back with us, please. For a moment, something
flickered in Emily's eyes, a hint of the daughter I knew.
I want to, Daddy, I really do, but I can't, not yet.
It was heartbreaking. Here she was, right in front of
us, but still so far away. I stepped closer, reaching out
to her. Then we'll wait, we'll be here
when you're ready. Emily smiled again, that
strange, unsettling smile. Thank you Daddy, I love you.
As we left The Cave, leaving Emily behind for now, the weight
of the situation settled over me.
We hadn't truly brought Emily back, but we had found her.
And maybe, just maybe, there was still hope that one day she
would return to us, truly herself again.
As we walked back through the forest, the morning light began
to filter through the trees. It was a new day, and with it
came a new determination. We would find a way to help
Emily, no matter what it took.