Good evening and thank you for sharing my story.
This encounter still troubles me to this day.
It was the summer of 2010 and I had recently turned 13.
My family thought it would be a great summer for a cabin trip.
A departure from my usual Boy Scout camp adventures, we
embarked on a journey from our home in Florida to South
Carolina, where my grandparents from Canada would meet us.
The cabin we had rented was nestled in a serene location
offering a breathtaking view of the lake and even its private
beach. My excitement knew no bounds as
I was the first to jump out of the car.
Upon our arrival, however, my initial enthusiasm was met with
an encounter that would haunt me for years to come.
As I explored the surroundings, I came across a man who seemed
to be in his late 50s, The owner of the cabin.
He greeted me with a warm smile that gradually morphed into an
uneasy grin. This strange reaction caught my
attention, but being a shy kid, I decided to move along and
continue my exploration. My curiosity led me to a
peculiar circular pit beneath the cabin.
It was an unsettling sight, but it didn't initially bother me.
I then spotted a tree house under construction by the owner
down at the beach. Ignoring his warning to be
cautious, I ascended the latter. The top of the tree house was
riddled with protruding nails, but I managed to find a secure
spot to stand and gaze back at the cabin.
The wood cabin, while appearing old, exuded an air of
sturdiness. It boasted A spacious porch and
outdoor storage underneath, where my attention was drawn
once more to the enigmatic circular pit.
It was unlike anything I had ever seen in the woods,
resembling A colossal spinning ball dipped into the earth.
I pointed it out to my father, and the owner, who was still
present, casually remarked that a bear used to nest there but
had long moved on. His explanation didn't sit right
with me, considering the strange appearance of the pit.
Shrugging off my unease, I entered the cabin and claimed
one of the bunk beds before my siblings could.
The initial days of our trip were filled with outdoor
activities like hiking and swimming.
Typical summer fun. However, we knew that once our
grandparents arrived, we would spend more time with them.
On the 7th night, something unsettling occurred that would
forever change the course of our trip.
I was roused from my sleep by strange sounds outside.
The shifting of dirt near the left side of the cabin caught my
attention. Where the trash bins were placed
next to the kitchen door. I heard something pushing the
bins around, and I assumed it was raccoons or some curious
animal. Being a Boy Scout, it was my
duty to shoo them away. I climbed down from my bunk and
as I did, the noises abruptly ceased.
I noticed a few rays of sunlight streaming into the room, which
struck me as odd. I made my way to the kitchen
window to investigate, but before I could reach it, I heard
long scratching noises emanating from the walls of the cabin.
It sounded as if long nails were digging deep into the sheets of
a bed. Fear gripped me, and I slowly
backed away from the source of the eerie sounds.
Then a powerful bang shook the cabin door, causing me to jump
in fright. My brother and our loyal dog
were the only ones downstairs with me at the time.
My dog, sensing danger, race towards the door, barking and
growling as if ready to confront whatever threat lurked outside.
This commotion woke up my brother, who acted swiftly.
He grabbed me and handed me his hunting knife, his eyes
conveying reassurance. He instructed me to make my way
to our parents room while he headed towards the door,
flinging it open and stepping out.
My dog followed, barking fiercely.
The barks and running soon receded into the distance as I
climbed the stairs and woke up my father.
It took about 30 minutes for my brother and father to return.
My dog was limping but had displayed remarkable courage
throughout the ordeal. My brother, who had always been
a brave and capable older sibling and now wore an
expression I had never seen before and one I would never see
again. He was typically unfazed by
getting dirty in the woods, but this experience had unnerved him
to the core. With our dogs wound attended to,
my mother and grandmother rushed him to the local vet.
While they were gone, my father, grandfather, my oldest second
brother and I inspected the cabin for evidence of the
strange events. I stayed close to the cabin,
still trembling with fear. The trash bins had been
punctured with gaping holes, as if something had punched them
open. Above the bins, the cabin wall
bore deep claw marks, reaching about 6 feet from the ground.
Amidst the eerie aftermath, I detected an unusual odor that
didn't originate from the trash cans.
My anxiety grew as I crouched down to peer under the cabin
where the strange pit had piqued my curiosity earlier.
There I discovered a gruesome sight, a dead fox torn into
shreds. I immediately alerted my father
and he, along with my brother, swiftly removed the remains
using a shovel and disposed of them.
My father contacted the cabin owner, who tried to downplay the
situation, but provided us with a flare gun and bear Mace as a
precaution. A few days passed and my parents
took the rest of the family to a nearby restaurant, leaving me
behind with my oldest brother who had chased the intruder
previously and our injured dog. An hour after they departed I
found myself gazing out of the 2nd floor window in the
direction my brother had run towards during his previous
encounter. At that moment I was petting our
dog who suddenly raised his head alert and sniffing the air.
I glanced outside and saw a monstrous bear like creature
perched high in one of the trees.
This creature defied typical bear characteristics.
Instead of a rotund body, it possessed a lean, muscular
physique resembling that of a human.
Its eyes were the most unnerving, part piercing and
yellow, akin to perfect human eyes that locked onto mine.
Fear surged through me, triggering a fight or flight
response. My dog, sensing my distress,
joined in by growling and howling at the window.
In a state of panic, I turned and sprinted towards my
brother's room, tears streaming down my face as I yelled about
the terrifying beast outside. My brother, with a worried
expression, told me this territory doesn't belong to us.
He then rose from his bed, grabbed his knife and baseball
bat, and descended the stairs. I armed myself with the flare
gun and bear Mace, preparing for the possibility of the creature
breaking in and attacking us. Suddenly, a tremendous impact
against the cabin's rear wall sent the entire structure
shaking like a boat. My dog's barks and growls
continued, and I could hear heavy breathing from outside,
accompanied by objects being hurled at the cabin.
A rock shattered one of the front windows and struck my left
leg, causing me to wince in pain.
Without hesitation, I turned and fired the flare gun out of the
window, the bright burst of light followed by a chorus of
profanities and enraged shouting.
Then, abruptly, everything fell silent.
My dog remained vigilant, growling, and fixated on a
corner of the room that lacked a window.
I couldn't see what had captured his attention, but I could only
assume that the creature was lurking there.
Several minutes of tense silence passed before my brother and I
decided to call the police and our parents.
With trepidation, we ventured out the front door and
cautiously made our way around to the right side of the cabin.
A slow snarl emanated from behind a Bush, and my dog inside
went berserk, leaping and scratching at the door.
My brother began shouting at the unseen creature and hurled his
baseball bat in its direction. The sound of impact, however,
didn't hit a tree. It struck the creature.
It emitted A pained grunt before a massive black furry mass
darted out from behind the Bush and sprinted down the dirt Rd.
We lost sight of it in an instant.
Panicked, we rushed back inside the cabin, barricading the doors
and retreating upstairs. Moments later, gunshots echoed
in the distance and my father's truck pulled into view.
I flung open the door and the rest of my family rushed inside.
My father recounted that a large bear had been chased away, and
he had fired a few rounds at it. The police eventually arrived.
After some difficulty locating the cabin, we provided them with
a story about an aggressive bear attempting to breach our cabin.
That night we left, and my family often recalls the tale of
how my son and my oldest brother bravely fended off a hungry
bear. However, for my brother and me,
the truth was far more unsettling.
Upon our return to Florida, I retreated to my room, still
shaken by the harrowing experience.
My brother entered locking eyes with me and uttered the chilling
words. It looked human, didn't it?
I simply nodded, prompting him to elaborate on his earlier
remark about territory. He explained that every animal
has its territory, but when something bigger comes along and
takes it, that's when things change.
The memory of that encounter remains etched in my mind, and I
can't help but wonder if the cabin owner knew more about the
danger in the area than he had let on.
It's a story I can't forget, a tale of a nightmarish encounter
with a creature that defied explanation and a lingering
sense of unease that continues to haunt me to this day.
A year ago, I had the opportunity to meet a
fascinating man who would later become a close friend.
Let's call him Jake. To protect his identity, we both
shared a military background, which naturally led to
conversations about our past experiences.
However, Jake had a story that was unexpectedly haunting, and
when I finally got this channel up and running, I knew I had to
share it with you. So here we go.
This story takes place on an undisclosed military base deep
within the damp jungles of a remote island.
Jake recalls the wilderness being unnervingly quiet for at
least a week leading up to the incident.
The personnel stationed there attributed the silence to a
change in seasons or something of the sort.
There were rumors of bizarre sightings, fast moving creatures
that defied explanation. Anyone who dared mention these
sightings was typically met with ridicule from fellow soldiers.
These strange sightings were notably inconsistent with one
another. Some claim to have seen large,
unblinking eyes, while others reported smaller ones.
Some heard the thunderous trudging of a massive creature
through the woods, while others describe the sounds of something
small and agile rustling through the underbrush.
No one had seen anything worth defending against, let alone
risking their reputation over. Jake at the time served as the
desk Sergeant, which meant he heard every report that came in.
Anyone who saw or heard something unusual that could
potentially impact the bases security would typically seek
him out to have it documented and logged.
He never took the more fantastical reports seriously
enough to record them officially.
Unbeknownst to the concerned soldiers who came to him, some
of them just wanted to talk about their experiences off the
record. These conversations often ended
with them sharing ghost stories of their own.
The night in question, Jake and his team were stationed on the
far side of the island, an area completely uninhabited, with no
human presence for hundreds of miles in any direction.
This location had been chosen by the military for storing weapons
and explosives. Jake had a partner named Barry,
and their mission that night was to conduct nightly checks on the
magazine storage areas, which were several miles deep into the
uninhabited zone. As they drove slowly in their
Humvee with the windows down, the jungle remained eerily
quiet. The silence was almost
comforting for their mission, which involved detecting any
foreign intelligence operatives or tampering with US equipment,
or dealing with the occasional refugee group that washed
ashore. They were travelling along a
narrow Rd. that rested in the valley between 2 imposing
mountains bordered by gigantic hills thick with tall grass.
Then out of nowhere, they heard it, a heavy thud coming from the
woods. It was a completely unexpected
and unnatural sound that emanated clearly from the
tangled growth. The first thud caught their
attention, but it was quickly followed by other equally
unsettling noises. Mary decided to shut off the
headlights in the engine so they could stealthily approach
whatever was out there. They knew that anyone attempting
to navigate the dense vegetation would have to do so carefully,
taking time to avoid injury, but what they encountered next was
truly unexpected. Surprisingly, they could hear
fast-paced footsteps accompanied by rustling through the tall
grass. After a few moments, the sounds
began to move parallel to the road.
They decided to restart the vehicle and pursue the noise.
The Walking continued for a while as they followed it,
illuminated only by their running lights.
Suddenly, it stopped. They thought they had lost track
of whatever was out there, so they turned the headlights back
on, assuming it might be a deer or some other animal.
As Barry turned on the high beams, both men's eyes widened
with shock and disbelief. Approximately 30 yards ahead of
them stood A humanoid creature. The creature was over 2 meters
tall with a small Oval head. Its movements were eerily swift
for its size, almost reminiscent of an impossibly nimble frog.
Witnessing this creature instantly sent a chill down
Jake's spine, as if he had been punched in the stomach.
His heart raced an adrenaline course through his vein so
rapidly that he began to feel nauseous on the verge of
vomiting. Jake later lamented the fact
that neither he nor Barry had the courage to chase after the
creature. The overwhelming feeling of
being at such a disadvantage in the darkness was absolutely
petrifying. They couldn't shake the
unsettling notion that they might have become the haunted
with this mysterious creature having the tactical advantage in
terms of position and mobility. In a panic, they turned their
truck around and speed off into the night, leaving the creature
behind. The woods remained silent for at
least another week before returning to the usual droning
sounds of the local wildlife. In the undisturbed heart of
Georgia's wilderness, there's a piece of land that's been mine
since the day I was born. Passed down through generations
since 1810, I often think about how the oaks and Pines here have
seen more history than any living soul.
My property, a sprawling expanse of a few 1000 acres, complete
with a serene 260 acre lake, is the kind of place where the only
neighbors are deer, coyotes, and the occasional eagle.
My wife and I, we chose this life for the quiet, for the
privacy, for a world that belongs just to us and our
daughters. The sun was beginning its slow
descent, painting the sky with strokes of orange and purple as
I sat on the porch, letting the day's work sink In this land.
It demands a lot, but it gives back in peace, in a sense of
belonging. But recently that peace has been
different, disturbed by things I can't quite explain.
It started with the knocks, not the kind you hear at the door,
but a distant rhythmic thumping against the trees.
I first thought it was just the wind or some animal, but the
pattern was too deliberate, too human.
Then came the rocks, small ones at first hitting the side of the
house in the dead of night. I'd go out with my flashlight,
scanning the trees for some prankster, but there was never
anyone there. But it's not just the knocks or
the rocks. There's a feeling, a change in
the air. When the sun dips below the
horizon. It's like the land itself.
Shifts become something older, something Wilder.
My wife feels it, too. She's got that intuition, a
sense of things that can't be seen.
We don't talk about it much in front of the girls.
They're only five, twins, and the world to them is still
simple, still safe. Just last week, I was out at the
edge of the property, checking the fences.
It was getting late, but I wanted to finish up.
That's when I heard it first, the footsteps Heavy, deliberate.
I've tracked deer, chased off coyotes, but this this was
different. It wasn't fear, I felt, not
exactly. It was an awareness that I
wasn't alone, that something was sharing the woods with me.
I stood still, listening as the steps seemed to circle, then
fade away into the twilight. That night, I started digging
into the history of this land. There's an old family journal,
leather bound and worn. Speaking of the Cherokee who
once used these woods as a refuge, maybe, I thought,
there's an answer in the past, a clue to what's happening now.
I don't scare easy life out here.
It toughens you. But there's something going on
in these woods, something that doesn't fit into the world as I
know it, and I intend to find out what it is.
The days on our land are filled with the usual rhythms of
nature, the chirping of birds, the rustle of leaves, the
distant calls of coyotes as evening approaches.
But it's the nights that have started to feel foreign, as if
the land itself is whispering secrets it's held for centuries.
Last night was different, though.
It was a night that etched itself into my memory, as clear
and as sharp as a winter morning.
My wife and I were sitting on our back porch, the one
overlooking the lake. The sun had just dipped below
the horizon, and the sky was a canvas of deep Blues and
purples. We sat there like we often do,
watching the day give way tonight.
But as the darkness crept in, the usual chorus of wildlife
sounds abruptly ceased. It was as if someone had pressed
a mute button on the world. In that eerie silence we heard
it. Footsteps.
Not the light familiar tread of a deer, but something heavier,
purposeful. They crunched through the
underbrush, breaking the stillness of the night.
My heartbeat. A little faster, Not out of
fear, but a kind of primal alertness.
I've lived in these woods all my life, and I know every creature
that calls it home. But this?
This was different. Then came the sounds that
chilled my blood. It wasn't words, not in any
language I've heard. It was a chanting, A guttural,
rhythmic sound that seemed to resonate with the very trees
around us. My wife gripped my hand, her
eyes wide. We've heard stories.
Old tales passed down through generations, but this was no
story, This was real, and it was happening just beyond the veil
of darkness that shrouded our view.
I reached for my battery powered spotlight, a heavy duty thing
that could light up a good stretch of the woods.
But as I swept the light through the trees, there was nothing.
No eyes caught in the beam, no movement, Just the trees in the
darkness and the sound of that chanting.
Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
The night returned to silence, save for the sound of our own
breathing. We sat there for what felt like
hours, neither of us willing to break the silence.
The darkness felt different now, heavier, as if it was pressing
in on us. The last straw was the rock It
came from nowhere, a sudden, jarring thud as it landed on the
porch near our feet. It was a big thing, easily two
or three pounds. I picked it up, turning it over
in my hands. It was just a rock, but it felt
like a message. I bagged it, thinking maybe
there'd be something on it, a print, a mark, something I've
dealt with trespassers, poachers, and the occasional
lost hiker, but this was beyond my understanding.
Something was happening on our land, something ancient and
unexplainable, and I was determined to get to the bottom
of it. The morning after the incident
with the rock, I was up before the sun.
There's something about the stillness of dawn that makes it
easier to think, to piece together the puzzles that life
throws your way. As I sat on the porch, coffee in
hand, I knew it was time to delve deeper into the history of
this land. Maybe the past held answers to
the present. The family journal, a relic
passed down through generations sat on my desk.
It's leather cover was worn, The pages yellowed with age.
As a kid, I'd heard stories from it, tales of hardship and
survival, but I'd never really dug into it myself.
Now, it seemed, was the time. The journal spoke of the early
1800s, a time when this land was a wild frontier.
It mentioned a Cherokee tribe that used these woods as a
refuge. I'd always known about the
Native American presence on this land, but I'd never connected it
to what was happening now. Could there be a link between
the past and these unexplained occurrences?
The more I read, the more intrigued I became.
There were mentions of sacred rituals, of a deep respect for
the land and its spirits. The Cherokee believed in a
balance, in a harmony between man and nature.
But there was also talk of a darker side of ceremonies meant
to appease or ward off something.
The details were vague, the words tinged with a
superstitious fear that was hard to fully grasp.
That afternoon, as I walked through the woods, the journals
words echoed in my mind. The land didn't feel just like
mine anymore. It felt shared, as if I was
walking through a history that was still very much alive.
The whispers of the past seem to rustle in the leaves to flow in
the streams. I turned to the Internet, to the
vast repository of human knowledge, and typed in
cryptozoology. It was a shot in the dark, but
what else could explain the footsteps, the chanting, the
rock, The screen filled with tales of Bigfoot, of creatures
that lived in the fringes of our understanding?
I had always considered such things to be the realm of
fantasy, but now I wasn't so sure.
The idea of Bigfoot being real, walking through my woods was
both absurd and terrifying. But the more I read, the more
the pieces seem to fit. The descriptions of the
creatures, their elusive nature, the way they were said to
communicate it all mirrored what I was experiencing.
I didn't know what to believe, but I knew I couldn't ignore it.
Something was happening on my land, something that defied easy
explanation, and I was determined to uncover it, to
understand it. I kept my findings from my
daughter's They were too young, too innocent, to be burdened
with these questions. For them, the world was still a
place of wonder and simplicity. I wanted to keep it that way, at
least for a little while longer. As the day faded into evening, I
resolved to explore the woods again.
This time I'd go further, deeper.
I'd find answers. Or at least I'd try.
The land was speaking, and I needed to listen.
The next day, armed with a sense of resolve and a backpack filled
with essentials, Camera, flashlight, some food and water,
my wife and I set out into the heart of the woods.
The morning was crisp, the air fresh with the scent of pine and
earth. As we walked, I couldn't shake
the feeling that we were stepping into a story much older
than ourselves, a narrative written long before our time.
We walked in silence, our eyes scanning the dense forest.
The woods were alive with the sounds of nature, yet beneath it
all lay a hushed anticipation, as if the trees themselves were
holding their breath. I couldn't help but feel we were
not alone, that unseen eyes were watching our every step as we
ventured deeper. I kept an eye out for any signs,
any clues that might shed light on the recent occurrences.
Broken branches, unusual tracks, anything out of the ordinary.
But the forest gave up little, its secrets well guarded.
We reached a clearing where the sunlight streamed through the
canopy, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor.
Here we paused, taking a moment to rest and gather our thoughts.
My wife, always more attuned to the subtleties of nature,
suggested we split up to cover more ground.
I hesitated, the protective part of me wanting to keep her close,
but I knew she was right. We agreed to meet back at the
clearing in an hour. As I walked alone, the silence
of the woods seemed to deepen. Every snap of a twig under foot,
every rustle of leaves felt amplified.
I found myself glancing over my shoulder, a primal instinct I
hadn't felt since I was a boy. Then, about half an hour into my
solitary exploration, I saw it a series of deep, indistinct
impressions in the soft earth. They were too large for any
deer, too irregular for a bear. My heart quickened as I followed
the trail, the camera in my hand now a lifeline to reality.
The trail led me to the edge of a steep ravine, the ground
falling away into shadow. There, perched on the edge, I
saw something that defied explanation, a figure large and
looming its back to me, covered in what looked like thick fur.
It stood motionless, as if gazing into the depths of the
ravine. I raised my camera, my hands
trembling slightly. This was it, the moment of
truth. But just as I was about to take
the picture, the figure turned and for a brief second our eyes
met. There was an intelligence there,
a knowing that shook me to my core.
Then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone, disappearing into the
thicket with a grace that belied its size.
I was left standing, their heart pounding, the image of those
eyes seared into my memory. I made my way back to the
clearing, my mind racing. When I found my wife, I could
see in her eyes that she too, had experienced something
profound. We didn't need words.
Our shared look said it all as we walked back home.
The woods seem to return to normal, the sounds of birds and
rustling leaves resuming their chorus.
But we had changed. We had touched something
ancient, something wild, and in doing so we had been changed
ourselves. The land had spoken and we had
listened, and though we had more questions than answers, we knew
one thing for certain. We were no longer alone in these
woods. I had the opportunity to hear
this chilling story directly from my friend Max during what
started as a casual conversation, but quickly
evolved into a gripping live interview.
Gabriel had recently moved away from our neighborhood and this
was my chance to hear his first hand account of a spine tingling
experience. As we delved into the realm of
the unusual and bizarre, I couldn't help but notice a
certain spark in his eyes, a passionate glimmer that hinted
at personal encounters with the supernatural.
Max, originally from Costa Rica, had spent most of his life there
before immigrating to the United States.
Intrigued by the unusual topics that emerged during our
conversation. Ghosts, vampires, dog men, and
glitches, I sense there was a story waiting to be told.
Max's eyes widened as he responded to my inquiry about
whether he had ever experienced something strange.
Yes, I have, he said, his voice filled with a mix of excitement
and apprehension. The tale he was about to share
revolved around a dark night in San Jose, Costa Rica, when he
was just 10 years old. He lived with his parents and
older brother in a quiet suburb named Las Animas, aptly
translating to the City of Lost Souls.
Their home, a recently constructed one, was situated on
a street with only two houses separated by empty lots.
Given the high crime rate in their town, Max's father, a
metal worker, had fortified their house with steel doors,
door frames and window bars. Their small backyard was
surrounded by walls to deter potential robbers, and guarding
it was Rambo, their loyal doberman.
Rambo was trained to accept food only from Max's father, as local
thieves were known to poison guard dogs in attempts to gain
access to homes. There was an unspoken curfew for
children after dark. If they were away from home and
without parental supervision, they were expected to stay put
to stay safe. One fateful evening, Max and his
brother Miguel were visiting their friend Carlos, who
happened to live in the only other house on their St.
Time slipped away and it was well past nightfall when they
decided to head home. The debate about walking back
ensued. Despite both houses being well
lit with floodlights, the daunting prospect was the unlit
dirt road and knee high grass that stretched for about 75
yards between them and home. Their mother, who typically
waited outside to ensure their safety, was nowhere, insight
this time. This absence added to the boy's
apprehension and as they continued their debate, she
finally stepped out and waved for them to return.
They started jogging toward home, bidding Carlos and his
mother goodnight. However, as they turned back to
look at their mother one last time, she had disappeared.
In her place across the street in the middle of the field stood
a dog. The boys slowed down, their old
tennis shoes, scuffing the unpaved Rd. as they tried to
make sense of the situation. It was undoubtedly a dog, but it
appeared far larger and more imposing than their doberman,
Rambo. A thick chain was wrapped around
its neck and the eerie sound of metal rattling in the night air
sent shivers down their spines. For a moment they consoled
themselves with the thought that it might be Rambo who had broken
free. The brothers debated whether it
was their faithful guard dog, but as they continued to
approach, they realized this was something else entirely.
The mysterious dog seemed to grow in size as they got closer,
and it became evident that this was not their beloved Rambo.
With hearts pounding, the two young boys froze in their
tracks. Max looked at Miguel, whose
expression revealed a fear he had never seen in his older
brother before. They didn't know it at the time,
but what they were facing was a hellhound as we know it.
The black dog fixated its ominous gaze on them,
alternating between their house and the boys, as if
acknowledging that a confrontation was imminent.
It stood as an imposing barrier between them and safety.
The boys realized that returning to Carlos's house was too far,
and continuing down the road felt like certain doom.
Their only chance was to retrace their steps.
Turning back, they heard the front door of their house open
and their mother emerged, shielding her eyes from the
floodlights. Fuelled by fear, the boy
sprinted toward her, their adrenaline surging as they ran
harder than they ever had before to reach her.
The hounds had snapped toward their mother, and it launched
itself into the air, covering at least 30 feet in one terrifying
leap before crashing to the ground, the beast began its
relentless pursuit of the house, tearing through the tall weeds
in the field. The metallic clinking of the
chain intensified as it closed in on them.
Somehow they managed to reach their mother just in time,
slamming the door shut behind them.
Inside, their mother prayed in disbelief as the front door
quivered from the furious blows of the enraged creature outside.
After a few agonizing moments of terror, the noise abruptly
ceased, replaced by a blaring car horn from outside the
garage. Max's father shouted at them to
activate the metal clad garage door from inside the house.
Miguel quickly complied, opening the garage door and earning A
scolding from his father for supposedly letting the dog out.
With trembling hearts, Max and Miguel cautiously opened the
front door and looked around, finding no trace of the
Hellhound. As they continued their
investigation. They discovered poor Rambo,
cowering in fear, hidden in a small crawl space beneath the
porch stoop. As I sat in my studio listening
to Max recount this harrowing experience, his eyes welled up
with tears. He confessed that despite all
the mischief they had gotten into, it was the first time he
had ever seen his Big Brother. Scared, The encounter with the
hellhound had left an indelible mark on their memories forever,
Etching the nightmarish image of the hellhound into their minds,
Max concluded his tale with a cryptic smile, saying, You know
what? I have another story for you.
Have you ever heard of LA Yorona?
I nodded, acknowledging that I had, but we both understood that
the chilling legend of LA Yorona would have to wait for another
time, leaving me eagerly awaiting the next chapter of
Max's spine tingling tales. It's funny how some nights start
so ordinary you'd never expect them to turn your world upside
down. That was how Halloween of 2022
began in Bolton, a quiet sub district of Manchester.
Around here we don't really make a big fuss about Halloween.
You know, just a few kids in makeshift costumes wandering
about with their little pumpkin buckets.
That's about it. I remember settling down in the
living room with my family that night.
The TV flickered with the eerie scenes of The Exorcist, a
classic horror movie that seemed fitting for the occasion.
My mom had popped some corn, and my little sister was curled up
under her favorite blanket, eyes wide with every suspenseful
scene. Dad, as usual, pretended not to
be interested, but I caught him peeking at the screen from
behind his newspaper. Just as Reagan was about to do
something particularly spooky, a sharp knocking sound cut through
the room. It wasn't the front door.
That sound was familiar. No, this was coming from the
back door. Weird, I thought.
To knock there, someone would have to get through our wrought
iron gate, and that thing was always bolted shut.
We all paused the movie, forgotten.
The knocking continued, growing louder and more urgent.
It wasn't the kind of sound you could ignore.
I glanced at my family. Their faces mirrored my
confusion. Dad finally set his newspaper
aside, his eyebrows knitting together in concern.
Who could that be at this time? Mum muttered, more to herself
than to anyone else. I stood up first, a mix of
curiosity and unease, churning in my stomach.
At 15, I was already 6 feet tall, thanks to the boxing
training I'd started last summer.
Not that I felt particularly brave at that moment.
As I move towards the kitchen, the knocking persisted.
I peeked through the window, half expecting to see a neighbor
or a lost trick or treater. But what I saw made my heart
jump into my throat. Out on the lawn, something was
moving. Something big, dark and
definitely not human. I stifled A gasp and stumbled
back, my mind racing. There's something out there.
I managed to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.
My mum was at my side in an instant.
What is it, love? She asked, concern lacing her
voice. I pointed towards the window,
struggling to find the words. It's Big Bird like, but not a
bird. It crawled to the garden corner.
I stammered. Mum squinted through the glass,
but saw nothing. Are you sure?
She asked, sounding skeptical. I nodded, unable to shake off
the image of that creature from my mind.
We returned to the living room, where the knocking had finally
stopped. Dad suggested it might have been
some local kids playing a Halloween prank, but I couldn't
believe that what I saw wasn't human, and it certainly wasn't a
kid in a costume. That night I lay in bed staring
at the ceiling. Every little sound made me
tense. I tried to convince myself it
was just my imagination, a trick of the shadows.
But deep down I knew it was something else, something
unexplainable. And the scariest part?
I had a feeling it was just the beginning.
Lying in bed that night, I couldn't shake off the image of
the creature from my mind. It was like a scene straight out
of a horror movie. But this was real life, and it
happened in my own backyard. I tossed and turned, the unease
growing with each passing hour. As dawn broke, I made-up my
mind. I had to find out what that
thing was. I waited until the house was
stirring, not wanting to alarm anyone with my early morning
escapade. Slipping on my jacket, I grabbed
a torch from the drawer and quietly made my way to the back
door. The garden looked different in
the morning light, less menacing than it had the night before,
but the memory of what I had seen was fresh in my mind,
propelling me forward. The grass was Dewey under my
feet as I walked towards the spot where I had seen the
creature. I scanned the area, half
expecting it to jump out at me, but there was nothing, just the
usual array of bushes and trees. My heart raced as I approached
the corner of the garden, the place where the creature had
vanished. I could still feel the
adrenaline from the night before, pulsing through my veins
as I reached the spot. A sudden rustling sound from the
bushes made me jump. I pointed the torch towards the
noise, my hand trembling slightly.
Hello. I called out, my voice sounding
small in the vastness of the garden.
No answer came, just the sound of the leaves in the wind.
I took a step closer, the beam of the torch cutting through the
dim morning light. That's when I saw it, a pair of
eyes reflecting the torch light back at me.
My heart stopped for a moment. It was here.
The creature was huddled against the fence, its body obscured by
the foliage. It was smaller than I
remembered, about the size of a small child, but its features
were unmistakable. The talons, the wings, the
pointed face, it was all there, just as I had seen it the night
before. I stood frozen, not sure what to
do. The creature stared back at me,
its eyes unblinking. It looked scared, almost
vulnerable, but I couldn't shake off the feeling of danger.
I took a hesitant step forward, the torchlight revealing more of
its form. It was like nothing I had ever
seen before. Part bird, part something else.
Just then, the creature spread its wings, a hissing sound
escaping from its beak. I stumbled backward, fear
gripping me. I wanted to run, but my legs
wouldn't move. The creature's wings fluttered,
and it seemed to grow in size, its shadow looming over me.
Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the creature took off,
soaring over the fence and disappearing into the trees.
I was left standing there, my heart pounding in my chest, the
torchlight now illuminating an empty patch of garden.
I turned and ran back to the house, my mind racing.
What was that thing? Where did it come from?
And more importantly, would it come back?
As I burst through the back door, my family looked up,
surprised to see me panting and disheveled, I saw it again.
I gasped out, my words tumbling over each other.
The creature. It's real.
But as I looked at their faces, I could tell they didn't believe
me. They thought it was just a
child's overactive imagination, but I knew what I had seen, and
I was determined to find out the truth.
As I sat at the breakfast table trying to explain what I saw in
the garden, I could feel the skepticism hanging in the air.
My family exchanged glances, the kind that said they were
humoring me but not really buying my story.
I couldn't blame them. Even to my ears, the tails
sounded fantastical. A bird like creature in our own
backyard. But the fear I felt was real.
The image of those glowing eyes etched in my mind.
My dad, always the rational one, suggested it might have been an
unusually large bird, perhaps an escaped exotic pet.
My sister Lily laughed it off, saying it was probably just a
Halloween prank by some kids from the neighborhood, but the
more they rationalized it, the more isolated I felt in my
conviction. I knew what I saw wasn't normal.
It wasn't something that could be easily explained away.
Later that day, I found myself at the local library, flipping
through books on local wildlife and mythology.
I was desperate for any clue that might explain the
creature's identity. But the more I read, the more I
realized how little we know about the mysteries lurking in
our own backyards. I stumbled upon a book about
medieval legends and folklore, and there it was, an image that
made my heart skip a beat. It was a depiction of a
gargoyle, eerily similar to the creature I had seen.
The book described gargoyles as protectors, warding off evil
spirits, but sometimes they were said to come to life.
I shivered at the thought. Could such a thing be possible?
That evening I brought up my findings.
At dinner I talked about gargoyles and how some legends
spoke of them as more than just stone sculptures, but my
family's reaction was predictable.
They chuckled, dismissing it as another one of my wild theories.
I could see the disbelief in their eyes, and it hurt.
I felt like I was the only one taking this seriously.
The following days were a blur of unease and frustration.
I felt torn between wanting to prove what I saw and the fear of
encountering the creature again. I spent hours gazing out into
the garden, half expecting, half dreading to see those eyes
staring back at me. But there was nothing.
Just the ordinary, peaceful garden I had always known At
school. I overheard some classmates
talking about Halloween pranks and strange sightings around
town. For a moment, I considered
sharing my experience, but the fear of ridicule held me back.
I was the new kid in the boxing class, the tall, quiet one, and
I wasn't ready to be labeled as the guy who saw monsters.
As Halloween approached, I couldn't help but feel
apprehensive. What if the creature returned?
What if it wasn't alone? These thoughts haunted my
nights, turning my dreams into a swirl of shadows and flapping
wings. I realized then that some
mysteries might remain unsolved, and some truths might be too
strange for others to accept. But I couldn't let go.
I needed to know. And so I decided to keep
watching, keep searching for answers, even if I had to do it
alone. Because deep down, I knew what I
saw was real, and I couldn't just pretend it never happened.
As Halloween drew nearer, the memory of the creature I saw in
our garden refused to fade away. My family seemed to have moved
on, dismissing it as a product of an overactive imagination.
But I couldn't. Every shadow in the corner of my
eye, every rustle of leaves in the wind brought me back to that
night. In the morning, after, I was
trapped in a loop of uncertainty and fear with more questions
than answers. Despite their skepticism, my
family noticed the change in me. I spent less time with them,
more time alone in my room or wandering aimlessly around the
house. My grades started to slip and my
boxing coach commented on my lack of focus.
I knew I had to pull myself together, but the thought of
that creature lurking somewhere out there made it hard to
concentrate on anything else. I started to avoid the garden,
especially as dusk fell. The place that once brought me
peace now filled me with dread. My little sister Lily, who loved
to play out there, asked me one day why I didn't come out with
her anymore. I didn't know what to tell her.
How could I explain that the garden no longer felt safe to
me? Halloween night arrived, and
with it came a sense of foreboding.
I watched from my bedroom window as kids in costumes roamed the
streets, their laughter and chatter filling the air.
I wondered if they knew what might be hiding in the shadows,
waiting, watching. My parents decided to hand out
candy, keeping the tradition alive, But I stayed in my room,
the lights off, pretending not to be home.
I couldn't face the possibility of seeing that creature again.
I felt like a coward hiding away, but the fear was too much.
Then there was a knock at the back door.
My heart stopped. Not again.
I heard my dad's footsteps as he went to answer it.
I wanted to shout out, to warn him, but my voice was stuck in
my throat. I waited every second, feeling
like an eternity. Finally, my dad called out.
It's just some late trick or treaters.
Relief washed over me, followed by a pang of guilt.
I was letting my fear control me, affecting not just me but my
family as well. The next day I made a decision.
I couldn't live like this, jumping at shadows, afraid of my
own backyard. I had to face my fear, whatever
it was. I stepped out into the garden,
the autumn sun warm on my face. I walked to the spot where I had
seen the creature, half expecting it to appear again.
But there was nothing, just the familiar sights and sounds of
home. Maybe I would never know what I
saw that night. Maybe it was a creature from
another world, or maybe it was just a figment of my
imagination. But I realized that I couldn't
let it haunt me. I had to move on, live my life
without fear of the unknown. As I turned to go back inside, I
took one last look at the garden.
It was just as it had always been, peaceful and beautiful,
and in that moment I felt a weight lift off my shoulders.
I was ready to let go of the mystery and embrace the world in
front of me, with all its wonders and uncertainties.
Life was too short to be lived in fear, and I was ready to
start living again. It was one of those perfect
Michigan summers where the air was just the right kind of warm
and the skies were a canvas of unending blue.
I was 18, fresh out of high school and ready for adventure.
My name's Emma, by the way. I've lived in the countryside of
Michigan all my life, but the thrill of exploring the wild
still gets to me. This particular weekend was
special. My boyfriend Tony, my older
brother Brad, and a couple of our friends decided we'd go
camping. Tony's parents owned this old
cabin out in Ludington, surrounded by nothing but woods
in a private lake. It was our secret getaway spot,
miles away from the nearest neighbor.
As we packed our bags with enough snacks to feed an army
and the kind of supplies only teenagers would think of
bringing, I could feel the excitement bubbling inside me.
I threw in my favorite hoodie, some jeans, and of course my
worn out sneakers. Tony was in charge of the fun
supplies, a cooler filled with drinks, and enough weed to last
us through the weekend. We were rebels in our own right,
seeking a break from the mundane.
We piled into Tony's beat up truck, the back filled with
camping gear and set off. The drive was a mix of loud
music off key singing and laughter.
Brad sitting beside me was his usual quiet self, lost in his
thoughts, but even he couldn't resist the infectious joy of our
little group. The cabin was as rustic as I
remembered. Nestled in the heart of the
woods, it stood like a relic of simpler times.
We unloaded, claiming our spots in the dusty old rooms.
There was no cell service out here, which was part of the
charm. It was just us and nature, no
digital world to distract us. As the sun began to set,
painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, we started our
bonfire. The crackling of the fire, the
smell of burning wood and the warmth against the cool evening
air was enchanting. We gathered around roasting
marshmallows and sharing stories.
It was one of those moments where you wish you could just
pause time. Brad, who had been unusually
quiet since we arrived, seemed a bit off.
I nudged him, trying to get him to join in the fun, but he just
smiled weakly and kept staring into the fire.
I knew he had a lot on his mind with starting College in the
fall, but I wished he'd let loose for just one night.
As the night deepened, so did our conversations.
We talked about our dreams, our fears and the exciting,
uncertain future that lay ahead of us.
In the glow of the fire, with the stars twinkling above us, I
felt a sense of peace and belonging.
Little did I know this tranquility was about to be
shattered and our little adventure would turn into
something out of a nightmare. But for that moment we were just
teenagers, laughing and living without a care in the world.
It was the kind of night that memories are made of, the kind
that you look back on and smile. And as I looked around at my
friends, their faces illuminated by the firelight, I felt
grateful for this moment, this night, and this wild, beautiful
life. The bonfire crackled and popped,
sending sparks dancing into the night sky.
We sat around it, the six of us engulfed in its warm embrace
against the cool night air. I remember thinking how the
fires glow made everything feel more intimate, more real.
Laughter filled the air as we shared stories and teased each
other. It was the kind of night you'd
see in movies, perfect and carefree.
Tony was in his element, entertaining us with his
ridiculous impressions while the rest of us lounged on logs and
makeshift seats. The alcohol made our heads light
and our hearts lighter. I sipped my drink, feeling the
warmth spread through my body. It was one of those rare moments
when everything just felt right. But then I noticed Brad.
He was usually the life of the party, but that night he was
different, distant and quiet. I nudged him a couple of times,
trying to draw him into the fun, but he barely responded.
His eyes were fixed on something in the woods, a look of
intensity on his face that I had never seen before.
It was unsettling. Brad, what's up?
I asked, following his gaze into the darkness, beyond the fire
light. The woods were thick and dark, a
wall of shadows and mystery, but there was nothing there, at
least nothing I could see. He didn't respond, just kept
staring. The others started to notice
too, and the atmosphere shifted. The laughter died down, replaced
by a growing sense of unease. Tony tried to make a joke, to
lighten the mood, but it fell flat.
We were all watching Brad now, trying to figure out what had
caught his attention so intensely.
And then I saw it. At first I thought it was a dog
silhouetted against the darkness, but as my eyes
adjusted, I realized it was too big to be a dog.
My heart started to race. Guys, do you see that?
I whispered, my voice barely audible.
The creature, whatever it was, stood unnaturally still.
It was as if it was watching us, just as we were watching it.
A cold shiver ran down my spine. This was no ordinary animal.
The way it stood, the size of it, it was all wrong.
Suddenly it stood up on two legs.
That's when panic set in. This was no dog.
It was something else, something I couldn't explain.
It towered over us, at least 6 feet tall, its eyes glowing
faintly in the darkness. We all saw it then, and the air
was filled with gasps and muttered curses.
The creature's lack of a tail was eerily noticeable, a detail
that seemed to unnerve us even more.
Tony's friend Mark let out a strangled sound, half gasp, half
whimper. What is that?
One of the girls? Jessica asked, her voice
trembling. Tony muttered something under
his breath, something about it having no tail.
Brad's eyes were wide, his face pale in the fire light.
He looked more scared than I'd ever seen him, and that scared
me more than anything. In that moment, my mind cleared,
the alcohol's haze lifting as adrenaline surged through me.
I remembered the stories my grandmother used to tell us,
stories of creatures that roamed the woods, creatures that
weren't quite animal and weren't quite human.
Skinwalkers, she called them. The realization hit me like a
ton of bricks. We were in danger, real danger,
and as that creature stood there watching us with its unnerving
gaze, I knew we had to get out of there.
But before we could move, before we could even process what we
were seeing, the creature let out a sound.
It was a scream, but unlike any scream I'd ever heard.
It was otherworldly chilling, and it cut through the night
like a knife. In that moment, I knew we had to
run. We had to get away from this
thing, whatever it was. And so I yelled run, and the
night erupted into chaos. My heart was pounding in my
ears, a rapid drum beat echoing the terror that gripped me.
The scream of the creature still hung in the air, a haunting
sound that seemed to freeze us all in place.
But it was my own voice, yelling for everyone to run that
shattered the paralysis. We scrambled up, tripping over
each other in our haste to get to the cabin.
The darkness of the woods felt suffocating, as if the trees
themselves were closing in on us.
I could hear my friends panicked breaths, their feet pounding
against the ground. I was running blindly, fueled by
adrenaline and fear. Brad was ahead, leading the way.
He kept shouting something in our native language, words that
I didn't understand but sounded like a prayer or a plea.
His voice was strong, determined, a stark contrast to
the fear I felt. We reached the cabin, and I've
never been so grateful for a door in my life.
We piled inside, slamming it shut behind us.
Brad was moving quickly, turning off all the lights, his
movements methodical and deliberate.
In the dim moonlight filtering through the windows, his face
was a mask of concentration. He pulled a small pouch from his
pocket, spilling its contents, A grayish powder, into his palm.
He started at the front door, sprinkling the powder along the
threshold, then moved to each window, repeating the action.
I realized it was Ash, something I remembered our grandmother
using in her rituals. What are you doing?
Tony whispered, his voice laced with fear.
It's to protect us, Brad replied without stopping his movements.
It's supposed to keep evil spirits away.
I watched him, a mix of awe and fear churning inside me.
I had always known we came from a family with deep Native roots,
but I'd never seen anything like this.
Brad had always been the skeptic, the one who laughed off
the old stories. But now he was chanting, his
voice steady and sure as he moved around the cabin.
The rest of us huddled together, too scared to speak, our eyes
wide and fixed on Brad. The cabin felt like a sanctuary,
but also like a trap. We were safe for the moment, but
the creature was still out there, somewhere in the
darkness, after what felt like ours, Brad finished his ritual.
He pulled out our dad's pistol, checking it before setting it
within arm's reach. The sight of the gun, a stark
reminder of the danger we were in, sent a fresh wave of fear
through me. No one slept that night.
We sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the night jumping
at every Creek and Russell. The reality of what had
happened, what we had seen, was too much to process.
It felt like a nightmare, but I knew it was all too real.
As the first light of dawn crept into the cabin, I looked around
at my friends. Their faces were drawn pale,
their eyes haunted. We were all changed by what had
happened. The innocence of our carefree
camping trip was gone, replaced by a harsh, terrifying reality.
I knew we couldn't stay there. We had to leave, get away from
this place. But as we began to pack up in
silence, I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't over.
Whatever we had encountered in the woods, it wasn't going to
let us go that easily. The first light of dawn broke
through the cabin windows, casting a pale, eerie glow on
our exhausted faces. The events of the night, surreal
and terrifying, seemed like a bad dream now, but the fear in
everyone's eyes told me it was all too real.
I was the first to stir my body stiff from sitting against the
cold, hard floor all night. Brad was still awake, his eyes
red and weary, the pistol lying dormant in his lap.
The ash he had sprinkled around was still visible, a reminder of
the nightmare we had lived. Morning, I mumbled, my voice
hoarse from the tension. No one responded.
The cabin was filled with a heavy silence, the kind that
comes after a storm. We were safe, but at what cost?
Tony was the next to move. He stood up, stretching his
limbs, his face etched with worry.
We should go, he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
No one argued. We all knew we couldn't stay
here, not after what had happened.
Packing up was a silent affair. We moved mechanically, each lost
in our thoughts. The fun and laughter from the
previous day seemed like a distant memory.
Now there was only the urge to leave, to escape this place that
had turned from a haven into a horror scene.
As we loaded the car, Brad took a moment to look back at the
cabin. He mumbled something under his
breath, a final farewell, or perhaps another prayer.
I could see the weight of responsibility on his shoulders.
He had protected us, but I knew he was thinking about what could
have happened. The drive back was quiet.
The roads, once welcoming with their promise of adventure, now
felt ominous, as if they were hiding secrets in their bends
and curves. Every shadow in the woods seemed
sinister, every rustle in the trees a potential threat.
At some point, one of the girls, Sarah, broke the silence.
What was that thing? She asked, her voice shaky, but
no one answered. Some truths are too frightening
to speak aloud. We reached home in the early
hours, the sun high and bright, a stark contrast to the darkness
we had left behind. My parents were surprised to see
us back so early, but didn't press for details.
They could see something was wrong, but I wasn't ready to
talk about it. None of us were.
In the days that followed, we all tried to return to our
normal lives, but something had shifted.
The carefree spirit of our youth had been replaced by a sense of
vulnerability, a knowledge of the darkness that lurked just
beyond the light. I still think about that night,
about the creature in the woods. I've done some research, talked
to my grandmother about the legends of our people.
She believes we encountered A skinwalker, a being of immense
power and danger. She says we were lucky to escape
with our lives. I haven't gone back to the woods
since then, and I don't think I ever will.
Some experiences change you forever, leaving scars that are
invisible but deeply felt. That weekend was supposed to be
a fun adventure, a memory to cherish.
Instead, it became a lesson in respect for the unknown, for the
mysteries of the world that are better left undiscovered.
As for my friends, we've grown closer in some ways, but there's
also a distance now, a shared trauma that's hard to bridge.
We don't talk about that night, but it hangs between us, a
silent acknowledgement of the fear we faced and the unspoken
questions we all have. What was that creature?
Why did it come to us? Will it ever come back?
These are questions I don't have answers to.
Maybe I never will. But I've learned to respect the
unknown, to understand that some things are beyond our
understanding, and sometimes the best thing you can do is walk
away and be grateful for the escape.