It was the fall of 2009 and I was 16 years old.
At the time, I lived in the central part of North Carolina.
Nowadays, the cities are loaded with things to do for the
Halloween season, but back then, the best form of entertainment I
could come up with was visiting the Devil's Tramping Ground with
a few friends. The Devil's Tramping Ground is a
local legend. It sits right outside Siler City
in North Carolina, about an hour away from where I lived, and I
had just gotten my license, so why not?
For those unfamiliar with the locale or its legend, the
Devil's Tramping Ground is a perfectly circular patch of dead
soil in the middle of the woods. Despite the surrounding
greenery, nothing grows in that circle.
Legend says that if you drop or leave anything in the circle,
it's. Moved or disappears.
By morning, as the devil supposedly comes here late at
night to plot his evil doings against humanity, pacing in a
circle as he thinks. That's the gist, but feel free
to research it, it's a decent read.
Siler City is a sticks and Barnstown with long barren roads
that practically scream DON'T STOP until you get the hell out
of here. It was on one of those roads
that I began to feel uneasy. Rural areas always have that
heavy twilight zone energy, and the road we were on,
conveniently named Devils Tramping Ground Rd. was entirely
unlit. The only illumination for the
cracked asphalt was the fading yellow headlights of my 2002
Mercury Cougar and the faint glow of a Crescent moon in those
dim lights. We started to see graffiti
splattered on the road leading up to the place.
Creepy warnings I didn't expect and never realized the impact of
until I saw them in white paint. The road was marked with crude
messages. The one I remember most said the
devil lives here, and a huge white cross stood in front of an
opening in the forest. I parked on the side of the
road. The grounds itself wasn't as
creepy as I'd expected. It wasn't very deep into the
woods. In fact, the clearing was
visible from the road. It wasn't as menacing as I'd
imagined. Maybe it was the empty beer cans
and red Solo cups scattered around.
Obviously people partied there. Or maybe it was the jokes.
My friends and I started cracking almost immediately, but
at around 2:00 AM we wanted to catch Lucifer at his hour.
I felt less on edge than I had on the road.
My flashlight beam seemed to vanish if I aimed it upward, so
I kept it pointed at the soil. Genuinely more interested in
finding something paranormal than my friends were.
There were four of us total. After a while, two of my friends
went back to the car. It was cold and not much was
happening. I stayed behind with one friend.
I had brought a Ziploc bag along with a pocket Bible, a rosary in
my pocket just in case, and a stuffed rabbit given to me by
one of my best friends. Before leaving, I scooped some
of the dead soil into the Ziploc, curious to see if
studying it later might provide a clue.
Alien radiation, Climate change, Sulfur.
Maybe the devil was just busy that night.
Between joking and complaining about the cold, we suddenly
heard someone walking in the depths of the woods.
This wasn't a vague noise, this was a definite heavy step.
The sound came from behind the brush among the trees, and it
was unashamed of being heard. That was the first time I
noticed there were no crickets or any other sounds at all.
It was just us and these footsteps.
I was even more reluctant to lift my small flashlight, which
was tucked under my arm and pointed at my soil sample.
My eyes had already adjusted to the dark, so we stood there and
I could make out the shape of something in the woods.
It was dark, but I could see it. Tall but not freakishly tall,
human shaped, walking on two feet.
It would walk, then stop, then walk again, moving in our
direction. I think we were petrified, not
moving or breathing. I was so afraid I felt numb,
though I trembled a little. We just stared.
Later we'd talk about how we both wondered if it saw us, and
how we didn't want to move in case it hadn't.
We'd also talk about the smell, an awful, putrid stench of
burning feces, rotting eggs, and decaying meat.
I grew up Catholic, hence the Bible and Rosary, and was taught
that smell meant the devil was nearby, which only made things
worse. Even now, typing this, I'm
trembling a bit. This thing lingered among the
skeletal branches, seemingly toying with us.
I say skeletal because not much greenery was alive at the time.
At some point I was sure it saw me.
I got that sixth sense feeling of being watched, and then an
overwhelming despair washed over me.
That's when I realized my friend had been clutching the back of
my collar. I think I was so paralyzed with
fear that I felt nothing but numbness, wasn't even cold any
more. But once I felt my friend's
hand, I dropped everything in my arms, stood up, and quickly
headed back to the car. I didn't run outright, but it
was a very hurried walk. I just assumed my friend was
right behind me. To be honest, I didn't think
much about it at the time. I was too ready to leave.
I took off into the trees instead of following the clear
path, heading toward the yellow glow of the headlights.
Although the road was close by, it felt like an agonizingly long
distance, enough for the small branches to scrape and cut my
hands, cheeks and neck. This whole ordeal couldn't have
lasted very long. When I got back to my car, the
keys were already in the ignition.
The other two had turned on the heat and they asked what had
happened. My friend, who stayed behind
with me, got in the passenger seat soon after and we took off.
The two in the car pointed out that our eyes were swollen and
bright red. I think we had been crying
without realizing it, or at least it looked that way.
In the rearview mirror, I saw my pupils were abnormally large and
my eyelids were puffy, tender, and red.
Maybe it was just fear combined with the darkness, but it was
still unsettling. I realized later I'd left my
Bible, my stuffed rabbit, and my Ziploc bag of dirt in the
circle. I thought about going back the
next day when it was light out, but I never did.
I still wonder and worry about who might have my things now.
Rock Island is a State Park located at the tip of Door
County, Wisconsin on Lake MI. It's a difficult place to get
to. To reach the island, you have to
take a car ferry from Ellison Bay to Washington Island, Dr.
across Washington Island to Jackson Harbor, then take a
pedestrian only ferry to Rock Island.
No vehicles or bikes are allowed on Rock Island.
Even though the island is relatively small, about 975
acres, it has an interesting history.
In the early 1600s, it was inhabited by a tribe of
Potawatomi Native Americans as well as a small fishing village
of European settlers. The two groups did not trust
each other and had a few bad encounters that almost led to
violence, but for the most part they lived peacefully together.
By the 1640's, the Pottawatomie had migrated to other parts of
Wisconsin. Shortly after the Pottawatomie
left the island, some settlers from the fishing village
reported seeing a new group of people there.
They seemed to be more white settlers, but they wore strange
clothes and kept to themselves. No one from the fishing village
was ever able to speak with these newcomers or even find
where they were living. It was around this time that
strange things started happening in the village.
Several animals, possibly pigs or chickens kept by the settlers
were found slaughtered and it seemed their blood had been used
to make markings on some of the buildings.
On a different night, a building used for preserving meat burned
down. The villagers believe these acts
were done by the new people on the island and searched
thoroughly, including the wooded inland area, but never found a
single person. These strange occurrences seem
to stop soon after the search and none of the other newcomers
were ever seen again. In 1836, the Potawatomi
Lighthouse was built on the northern part of the island.
After construction was finished, the lighthouse was inspected and
it was reported that the material of which the lighthouse
and dwelling are made are of the best quality and that the work
is done in a substantive and Workman like manner.
On December 19th, 1837, David E Corbin was appointed the first
keeper of the light. Only three years later, in 1840,
despite the apparent quality of the lighthouse, Corbin
complained that plaster was beginning to fall off and some
sort of liquid oozed through cracks, leaving the house
constantly damp. Corbin was alone most of the
time at the lighthouse, and some visitors said he would stare at
a certain wall and sometimes spoke vaguely of other visitors.
In 1845, after eight years of relative solitude, an inspector
visited Corbin at the lighthouse.
While Corbin was fulfilling his duties, the inspector noted he
was acting strangely. The official report says the
inspector ordered Corbin to take a 25 day leave of absence to
find a wife to live with him. However, some believe the
inspector was startled by Corbin's mental state, brought
on by years of solitude, and thought it best for him to spend
some time away from the island. In 1852, Corbin reportedly fell
ill and died that December in the lighthouse.
He was buried in a small cemetery just South of the
lighthouse. The next lighthouse keeper also
reported a surprisingly quick deterioration of the lighthouse.
Friends who visited him said he spoke of seeing strange things
in the house at night, but he wouldn't elaborate.
In 1858, after only 22 years of service, the original lighthouse
was torn down and a new one was built.
From that point on, lighthouse keepers were required to have an
assistant keeper or a family living with them.
No further strange occurrences were noted in the lighthouse
logbook outside of strong storms and occasional shipwrecks,
except on January 20th, 1876, The keeper at the time named
Betts, reported seeing two men attempting to row to the
mainland from Washington Island. A terrible storm came up shortly
after their departure and they never reached their destination.
Over three months later, on May 3rd, 1876, Betts wrote.
The two men who were lost last January have been seen several
times, once from Caney Lighthouse and once from Jackson
Port. The men were apparently frozen
stiff and sitting upright in the boat among a mass of ice.
At last account they were still adrift.
There is not much hope that they will be found and buried.
By 1900, most of Rock Island's inhabitants left for better
fishing areas on Lake MI. In 1910, a successful business
owner and inventor, Chester Thorderson, purchased all of the
island except for the land occupied by the lighthouse in
the north. He used the island as a private
summer retreat from his business in Chicago.
Thorderson is responsible for the unique and mystifying
buildings and structures that are still on the island today.
On the South end, he built a giant stone hall with a
boathouse on the lower level. A stone water tower was built on
the east side of the island and an imposing wooden gate was
constructed on the West End. The Great Hall was used to store
Thorderson's immense book collection.
He had over 11,000 books and it's rumored he possessed some
very rare books on the occult. Thorderson died of heart failure
on January 6th, 1945. Though some have speculated he
saw something that scared him to death, I couldn't find any
writings from Thorderson that mentioned him experiencing
anything strange on the island after his death.
Multiple churches and universities were interested in
his book collection, but he had willed it to the University of
Wisconsin, Madison, providing that they purchase it for
$300,000, which they did. Some of this history is hard to
find online, but there are a couple of binders in the Great
Hall that document much of it. Thorderson's personal papers are
housed in the archives of the State Historical Society of
Wisconsin. All of this history is meant to
provide some context for experiences I've had directly or
indirectly on Rock Island. In August of 2021, I took my
first and last trip there. After taking 2 ferry rides, I
arrived on the island at about 2:00 PM.
I had booked the remote campsite EA backpacking site a little
over a mile from the dock. I took my time hiking out to the
site to enjoy the scenery and took a couple of breaks because
of my heavy pack. I was definitely packed more for
camping than for hiking. I reached my site, set up my
tent, got everything situated, and started gathering sticks and
driftwood from the beach for a fire.
On my third trip back from the beach, before I returned to my
site, I heard a single high pitched squeal coming from the
forest. It didn't sound close, but it
was such an unusual noise that I stopped in my tracks and waited
a good 30 seconds to see if it would happen again.
It didn't, so I went back to my site and began getting a.
Fire started. The remote sites on Rock Island
are well spaced out sites. CD and E are grouped together,
but there's probably 100 yards between each.
There isn't a real trail connecting the three sites
directly, but enough people have walked along the Ridge that
there's an obvious path. As I was arranging sticks in my
fire ring, something caught my eye.
Fairly far away, maybe near sight D or a bit farther, a
person was running in my direction.
My first thought was that's odd because there isn't really a
proper trail there. Then I assumed something must be
wrong and this person needed help.
As they got a bit closer, I thought it might be a woman in
loose Gray clothes, maybe a hoodie, but the person was still
too far away to see details. I quickly stood up from my
crouching position, and just then I heard that high pitched
squeal again. It was behind me, much closer
this time. Startled, I turned around and
scanned the trees for a few seconds, but didn't see or hear
anything. I turned back around knowing the
runner must be getting close, but now they were gone.
I stood there scanning the trees but saw no one.
I was confused and froze for a few seconds.
It was very strange, but I reasoned that it was just a
fellow camper from site C or D, maybe running to the pit toilet
that was a couple 100 yards West of the sights.
I tried to forget about it, but it bothered me.
I really did not like that squeal and it gave me a strange
feeling. I forced myself to let it go and
started my fire. I had a quick meal and a couple
of adult beverages, then decided to take a short walk.
I hadn't seen Site C or D yet, so I thought I would check them
out and see if anyone was camping nearby.
Site D was empty. I saw the path that led from
that site to the main trail and pit toilet, which made me less
uneasy about the runner. I figured it was someone from
Site C who took a weird path. It still didn't make perfect
sense since I should have seen them, but it made me feel
better. I continued to sightsee and saw
there was a tense set up. I didn't want to bother anyone
but I decided to introduce myself as a neighbor from sight
E to see if anyone looked like the person I'd seen running.
I walked up and there was a couple sitting at the picnic
table. Neither looked like the runner.
I introduced myself. They introduced themselves.
They were probably in their mid 30s, very nice and both seemed
to be quietly drunk. I didn't ask about the runner or
the squealing noise, thought it might be weird, so I just wished
them a good night and headed back to my tent.
When I got back I had a cigar and a few more drinks.
It got dark and it started as a perfect night.
The sky was clear and the stars were brilliant.
I felt better about the day and decided to get some sleep.
It had been a long day, so I fell asleep almost immediately.
Around 2:30, AMI was woken by a huge boom of Thunder.
It started pouring, the wind picked up and the temperature
dropped. I love camping in the rain, but
not in a lightning storm. A pretty big storm rolled in and
I started to worry. The wind whipped at my tent and
the ground shook from Thunder and lightning.
I felt very exposed out there in a tent.
The storm lasted about an hour before becoming a light, steady
drizzle. I was just starting to fall back
asleep when I heard the squeal again.
I opened my eyes wide in the dark and lay there silently.
There was another squeal, louder, and it was pretty close.
I knew there were no truly dangerous animals on Rock
Island, deer and porcupines, but no bears or wolves.
But that knowledge didn't help. Something about that squeal
unsettled me. I call it a squeal because
that's the best I can describe it.
It sounded like a pig squeal. An injured or angry pig.
I kept lying there and then heard footsteps outside my tent.
It was still raining, so the sound was partially masked, but
it definitely sounded like something somewhat large, an
animal or a human walking around.
I sat up and pulled out a knife just to feel better.
In my head I kept telling myself it's just an animal, there's
nothing here that can hurt you. I listened as the footsteps
moved away from my tent. I sat there still holding the
knife for maybe 10 minutes without hearing anything else.
I started to think it's fine, it was just an animal, you're being
silly and you need to sleep. I was about to lie back down
when there was a very loud squeal right outside my tent.
It felt like my heart stopped. A shiver went down my spine.
My heart started pounding so hard that my entire body pulsed
and I felt it in my ears. It took all my courage, but I
managed to force out. Get out of here.
I didn't shout, but I tried to sound as stern and threatening
as I could. I heard no more squeals or
footsteps that night, but I couldn't sleep.
I sat there for about an hour, then lay down.
Eventually the rain stopped and I stayed there until the sun
came up. I kept reassuring myself that I
was being ridiculous and it had to be an animal.
It was probably 7:00 AM when I decided I had to step outside my
tent. As soon as I did, I saw that my
picnic table had been flipped upside down.
Surprisingly, I felt calm and thought, OK, that's enough, I'm
leaving the island today. I checked around and nothing
else seemed out of place. I eventually reasoned that maybe
the wind had blown the table over during the storm.
It still seemed odd given how heavy the table was and that I
didn't hear it flip. But that explanation made some
sense. I made some cold instant coffee,
had a bite to eat, and started to feel better about everything.
Then I decided to go for a hike. I admit, I get easily scared
when I'm camping alone in the woods.
Maybe that's natural. But after having coffee and food
and seeing the sun, I realized that nothing I'd seen or heard
was outright unexplainable. Other than losing some sleep, I
was still enjoying myself. The main reason I came to Rock
Island was to hike the seven mile Thordersen's Loop Trail,
which has a lot of interesting sights.
Close to my site is the water tower.
I have no idea how it originally worked or why it had to be a
tower, but it's an impressive building with a fireplace that
looked like someone had recently used it.
A little farther down the trail was a cemetery where two sisters
and a few others are buried, it's believed.
There are more unmarked graves there, likely from the old
fishing village. The island has three cemeteries,
one by the beach where Chester Thordarson is buried, one on the
eastern part of the island where the two sisters rest, and one on
the northern part where the original lighthouse keeper,
David E Corbin, is buried. There is also at least one
Pottawatomie burial area on the island, though no one knows
exactly where it is. I continued on the trail until I
came to a scenic overlook with a bench.
I sat down and drank some water. I started hearing voices on the
trail ahead, though I couldn't see anyone yet.
The trail bent and the trees were thick, so I waited to see
who would appear. As the voices got closer, I
realized they weren't speaking English, but I couldn't place
the language. Both voices were very deep and
guttural. Then, deeper in the woods, I
heard a loud, quick rumble sound.
Immediately, both of the voices responded with a higher pitched
rumble. I smiled a bit, thinking maybe
they heard whatever it was and were playfully mocking it.
I stood up, put on my backpack and walked in their direction,
but I never came across. Them the rest of the hike was
fine. I visited the cemetery where
David E Corbin is buried. Took a self-guided tour of the
Potawatomi lighthouse past the wooden gate, apparently once
part of a larger structure. Walked by the Great Hall in the
dock. Visited some of the other.
Structures. And saw Thorderson Cemetery.
Then I finished the loop by returning to my campsite.
It was a pleasant hike with plenty to see and not very
difficult, though I was tired. I walked to sight C to ask the
couple how they'd fared in the storm, but they had already
left. I was disappointed because I
really wanted to ask them if they'd heard the squealing
noise. The rest of the evening was
uneventful. I built a fire, made some meals,
had a cigar and some drinks. As soon as it got dark I was
ready for bed. After the previous night's lack
of sleep. I got in my tent and fell asleep
quickly. Maybe 3 hours later I woke up
suddenly fully alert. Nothing seemed to have caused me
to wake up, but I felt something was wrong.
I sat up and it's hard to explain, but a feeling of
complete dread washed over me. It was unlike anything I've ever
felt. It felt like there was something
in the tent with me, and I could sense it was enraged, filled
with anger and hatred for me. It felt like something terrible
was about to happen and I was powerless to stop it.
I started shivering uncontrollably.
There was a strong smell of garbage or rotten meat growing
so intense I thought I might vomit, but I was too frozen in
fear to move. I had never felt so vulnerable.
My mind seemed to accept that whatever was coming, even death,
would at least be a relief. Then I blacked out.
I assume I passed out because the next thing I remember is
waking up around 8:00 AM. When I woke up, I was lying on
top of my sleeping bag, not in it, and my legs were in an
awkward position, my left leg straight, my right leg bent so
my foot was against my left knee.
My heart started pounding, but I kept telling myself it was just
a dream. I'm leaving right now.
I packed everything quickly and made my way toward the dock to
catch the first boat off the island.
Since the first boat from Washington Island doesn't arrive
until about 10:30, AMI had some time to kill near the Great Hall
and dock. I wanted off the island badly
but felt a bit calmer being out of the woods and seeing other
people. I sat on a bench east of the
dock and lit a cigar just to occupy my mind and keep from
thinking about the night before. After a few minutes I was
startled by someone behind me saying hi.
I jumped embarrassed and the person came around saying sorry,
sorry sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.
I saw you smoking and came over to ask if you had a lighter.
I felt dumb and told him I was just tired from not sleeping
well. I handed him my lighter.
He thanked me, lit a cigarette and gave the lighter back.
We started chatting about normal things.
He said he was from the Madison area, talked about the storms,
and mentioned he was an outdoorsy guy with plans to move
to Washington Island. It was a nice, normal
conversation that took my mind off the night I'd had.
He seemed like a decent person. Then, naturally, he asked which
site I'd been staying at. I told him Site E for the last
two nights. He said he usually books Site E,
but I must have reserved it before him, so he had booked
Site D instead. I was surprised because I'd seen
no tent or anything at Site D the two times I passed by.
He explained that he comes to the island a few times a year
and while you have to reserve a site, he actually camps in
different areas on the island. I asked where he camps and he
said he usually camps in the East Cemetery, but also likes to
camp in the woods South of the lighthouse.
He told me he hikes about halfway down the Fernwood Trail,
then heads N into the woods and finds a spot to camp.
He said that once he found the ruins of a small log house in
those woods and he wants to camp inside it someday.
At this point I started to reconsider him and wanted to
change the subject, but then he asked if I had heard the
screeches in the woods. I paused, knowing he meant the
squealing I'd heard. I said yes, and asked if he knew
what it was. He took a second to answer and I
saw his expression change, like he was deciding whether to share
a secret. With no emotion in his voice, he
said matter of factly. A demon lives on this island.
Under other circumstances I would have laughed it off, but
not after my experience. He must have seen the anxiety
and fear on my face because he let out a quick laugh.
He asked if I'd seen anything that night.
I told him I hadn't and he stared at me like he was trying
to figure something out. I felt he knew I had experienced
something. I wanted the conversation to
end. But then he told me he saw
something in the cemetery that night.
His face and mood changed, like he was going to confide in me.
I really didn't want to ask what he'd seen, but I knew he wanted
me to. So I asked, my voice shaky.
I could tell he changed his mind about telling me.
He looked at me with empathy and said what he saw was hard to
explain but if I was already afraid of the screeching I
shouldn't go near the cemetery. I didn't respond right away.
Then he said 4 words with no context.
Keepers of the flame. I looked at my cigar and saw the
ash was long. I put it out, told him I was
going to wait by the dock and he nodded.
As I walked away he called hey and when I turned around he just
said don't come back here. I don't know if that was a
warning or a friendly suggestion, but I certainly
wasn't planning to return to Rock Island.
When I got home I looked up Keepers of the Flame in
connection with Rock Island. I found three possible
references. The name Potawatomi can be
translated to Keepers of the Flame.
The lighthouse keepers were sometimes called Keepers of the
Flame and there was also a 19th century cult said to visit the
island calling themselves the same.
I know hundreds of people visit Rock Island every year and have
a great time camping, hiking and exploring Thorderson's
buildings. My humble suggestion is this, do
not go to Rock Island. I wake up before sunrise same as
always and slip on my boots. There's a strange heaviness in
the farmhouse air, but I chalk it up to early morning
grogginess and push the feeling aside.
Outside, fog settles over the fields, blurring the boundary
between our pastures and the foothills.
Normally, that view calms me, the hush before chores begin.
But today I can't shake the prickling sense that something
is off. I head toward the barn to check
the feed and water troughs. At first glance, everything
looks normal. The cattle huddle together in
the early morning chill, a light breeze stirring stray pieces of
hay around my ankles. Still, my nerves are on edge.
It's been months since the first cow disappeared with no
explanation. You'd think time would soothe my
anxiety, but the lack of answers only stirs it up more.
I. Remember that awful morning when
we searched every hollow and Ridge, hoping to find tracks or
any sign of a struggle? Instead, all we discovered were
those flattened circles in the grass, as if something massive
had pressed down from above, and two vehicles, both inexplicably
drained of gas, parked right by those eerie patterns.
We told ourselves it had to be some kind of prank or a freak
coincidence. But the memory still makes my
teeth clench. I shake off the thoughts and get
back to my chores. Counting heads, checking fence
lines, making sure there haven't been any breakouts.
The herd seems fine, and as the sun climbs, the fog rolls back
to reveal the entire farm. I know every inch of this land
by heart. I grew up on it.
But lately walking these fields unsettles me.
Some nights I circle the property 3 or 4 times to ensure
everything's locked up. I tell myself it's just caution,
but deep down I recognize it as dread.
After a brief talk with my husband, we decide to keep a
close watch around the spot where the first cow vanished.
It's near the property line, where a few ragged cedar posts
and rusty wire mark our boundary.
No recent vehicle troubles have cropped up, but I still find
myself scanning the ground, half expecting to see those flattened
impressions again. Nothing shows up, which somehow
feels even more ominous, like the farm is holding back some
vital clue. By midday, the sun is brutal.
And the cows. Lays in the shade.
I linger by the fence, scanning for anything, any sign that
might explain what happened. But it's quiet.
Too quiet. Normally I'd savour a day free
from trouble, but right now I'd give anything for a simple issue
like a sick calf. Or a broken fence.
At least those make sense and can be fixed.
My husband waves me over from the far side of the field.
The anxiety on his face mirrors my own, and neither of us needs
words to say we're still haunted by all this.
We finished chores in silence, each wondering how something so
impossible could happen here on land that was always our haven.
Evening arrives, painting the sky with orange and pink
streaks. I lug a Bale of hay to the
feeding area, mentally reviewing every theory I've heard.
Rustlers, sinkholes, mountain lions, None of it adds up.
We never found footprints, tire tracks, or any trace of a
culprit. It's as if that cow simply
blinked out of existence. After dinner, I linger on the
porch. The yard light casts a weak glow
that fades into the dark fields beyond.
My gaze drifts to the tree line. Normally the rustle of leaves at
night is soothing, but tonight it sets my nerves on high alert.
I can't shake the feeling something out there doesn't
belong. Refusing to let fear win, I walk
down the steps and stand in the driveway, peering.
Into the dimness. My rational mind insists there's
nothing out there, that it's just my imagination.
Still, tension squeezes my chest, compelling me to check
the horizon again and again. Finally, I force myself back
inside, fighting the urge to stand.
Guard till dawn in the farmhouse.
I try to unwind, but my thoughts spin in circles.
How did that cow vanish so completely?
And is whatever took it still around?
When I climb into bed? I promised myself to stay
vigilant, no matter how paranoid it makes me sometimes.
Not knowing is its own special torment, and right now I'm
drowning in it. I'd been convincing myself we
were fine, that the tension on the farm was just a leftover
reaction from the first disappearance.
But the moment my husband told me my favorite cow was missing,
I felt a deeper dread sink in. I'd raised her from a calf and
she never strayed far, especially not from her own
baby. Yet there was her calf, bleeding
in helpless circles, no sign of its mother.
My sister showed up soon after. She's the family's fearless one,
always ready for a late night drive or trekking through a
thorny hollow to find a lost calf.
Even she looked shaken when she arrived.
We grabbed flashlights, piled into the truck with my husband
and spent hours scouring every corner of the property, wading
through muddy creeks, climbing steep ridges, crawling under
fences. Nothing.
It was as though the cow had been lifted straight off the
pasture. By evening, we were exhausted.
My husband headed back toward the barn, thinking we might have
overlooked something closer to home.
My sister and I tackled the strip of woods between 2 fields.
The in between, we call it, because it's technically someone
else's land, jutting into hours like a mismatched puzzle piece.
Rusted barbed wire runs along the boundary, but our cows
sometimes push through weak spots if they're determined.
We parked at the fence line as the sun dipped low, shadows
stretching across the grass. My sister hesitated before
climbing over, which is unusual for her.
I tried to joke that she was getting squeamish, but my own
voice sounded shaky. Eventually, she hauled herself
over and we pressed into the trees.
The deeper we went, the more wrong everything felt.
Birds and leaves that should have been rustling were silent.
An. Oppressive hush weighed on us.
I called out my cow's name, half laughing at the notion she'd
answer. My sister tried to speak, but
her voice sounded muffled, like the air itself was resisting
her. Words.
She looked pale, struggling just to breathe.
A few yards later, we stopped cold.
It felt like my nerves were humming with electricity.
My sister gripped my arm, whispering that she couldn't
even. Hear me clearly.
Though we were only inches apart, at the same time I picked
up on a low vibration, more pressure than sound.
The shadows around us seemed to shift whenever I focused on
them. Without really discussing it, we
both knew we had to leave. My sister turned 1st and I
stumbled after her, slipping on damp leaves and tripping over
hidden roots. The fence seemed miles away, as
if the woods were stretching out to keep us there.
By the time we finally saw the barbed wire, I was shaking and
my sister looked as white as a sheet.
Crossing back onto our own field felt like gulping fresh air
after nearly drowning. We stood there catching our
breath, neither of us willing to speak about what we just
experienced. It was too bizarre, too heavy.
All we knew was that these woods didn't want us inside, and we
had two missing cows to prove it.
Still no real explanation. Only the horrible certainty that
it was worse than we'd ever imagined.
When we rejoined my husband, we skipped details about the
suffocating atmosphere we just told him we'd found.
No broken branches, no footprints, nothing.
He looked grim. The sun was almost gone, and we
knew better than to hang around those trees after dark.
My sister decided to head home. I lingered in the yard, letting
the dim light play tricks on my eyes while I stared at the
distant tree line. Another cow was missing, and now
we had first hand evidence of something lurking in those
woods, something that could still the forest itself.
I promised myself I wouldn't stop digging until I.
Found a real answer. If I didn't, we might lose more
than just cattle. Even after I went inside, I
couldn't settle. My mind kept circling back to
the way those woods felt alive, as if the trees themselves had
pushed us away. By the time I crawled into bed,
the house was eerily silent. The usual night time murmurs of
the farm, cows shifting, wind rattling the barn, only made me
more uneasy. Every creak sounded menacing,
every shadow threatening. I rose before dawn, not that I'd
slept. I poured coffee and stared out
the window at the dark fields. The orphaned.
Calf was pacing near the fence, letting out sorrowful cries that
tore at my heart. It looked weaker and no matter
how many times I looked away, I kept glancing back, praying for
a mother that would never return.
That morning, my husband and I gathered family, parents,
siblings, cousins from down the road, hoping to devise a plan.
They arrived shortly after sunrise and though it felt
strange to meet so formally, it reminded us how serious things
had become. 2 cows missing, no leads and a sense of dread.
Clinging to our land. Everyone offered theories,
thieves, predators, old folklore about lights dancing in the
hollers or people vanishing into the woods.
Normally our family avoids ghost stories, but desperation was
making us consider anything. By evening, I stood on the back
porch, scanning the horizon for movement.
It felt like the farm itself was holding its breath, waiting.
I wanted to March straight to the fence again, but my legs
refused. Whether it was fear or common
sense, I don't know. I pretended I'd try to sleep
inside. I checked every door and window
again and again, peering into the yard lights glow.
The darkness beyond seemed endless and my heart hammered,
half expecting to catch sight of something slipping across the
pasture. I hated feeling so powerless in
a place I once loved. Eventually, I forced myself to
sit in the dark living room. Letting my eyes adjust.
Was it foolish to keep poking around, knowing something
dangerous might be out there? But I couldn't just let it be.
Two missing cows in the stifling menace in the woods were reason
enough to keep searching. I resolved that in the morning,
I'd rope in more help if I had to.
No more tiptoeing around, even if it meant heading back into
those trees with nothing but flashlights and a good dose of
fear. I needed real answers.
I must have dozed off at some point.
Only to jerk awake at a distant rumble.
Thunder, maybe, or something else.
I never heard any storm. My pulse thundered as I scanned
the living room shadows. Eventually, I whispered a few
calming words to myself and curled tighter under a blanket.
Dawn felt impossibly far away, yet by sunrise the farm looked
almost serene. The calf lay still, its energy
draining by the hour. I gathered supplies for another
search, a mixture of determination and dread boiling
in my stomach. This land, once a place of
comfort, now felt like a battlefield, and I was tired of
waiting for the next strike. I tried to imagine what might
solve the mystery. Maybe we'd find a hidden ravine,
or a gap in the fence, or maybe the truth was darker than any of
us dared guess. Either way, I was ready to face
it, for the farm's sake and for hours.
Never did I expect I'd walk away from this property.
It's been in my family for generations, a site of summer
picnics and lively cattle auctions.
A piece of land I believed would always be mine.
But these last few days changed everything.
It started that morning, right after we agreed on one final
search of the woods. My sister, my husband and I
prepared like we were heading into hostile territory.
Flashlights, boots, walking sticks.
We didn't talk much. We knew it was risky, maybe
foolish, but we also knew we needed closure.
We crossed the fields at first light do soaking our pants.
The missing cows calf followed us to the fence, bleeding
mournfully. It was losing weight and
stumbling and I wished I could do more than leave extra.
Feed yet we had to see if anything in those woods could
explain how 2 cows had vanished. Stepping over the barbed wire
felt like entering another world.
The air was thick, the trees unnaturally tall, and the forest
floor strangely quiet. My sister LED with her
flashlight, cutting a path through brambles.
My instincts screamed this was a terrible idea, but none of us
wanted to be the first to back out.
The farther we went, the more we noticed faint pops, like distant
static echoing through the trees.
At first we saw no real clues, no animal remains, no
footprints, no sign of disturbance.
But the sense of being watched wouldn't let up.
Then we stumbled on a small clearing where the leaves were
scorched in a neat circle, as though blasted by intense heat.
My sister felt a charge in the air and backed away.
My husband and I stepped closer, but we found only charred leaves
and a suffocating heaviness that made it hard to breathe.
We stayed longer than we should have, flashlights moving in
jittery arcs, our hearts thudding in our ears.
The silence grew, crushing not a single bird or breeze to break
it. We shared a look that said we
had to leave immediately. Turning to go, we realized the
trees seemed to have shifted, as if blocking our way out.
My husband moved first, flashlight trembling in his grip
until a sharp crack of a branch froze us in place.
The shadows seemed to pulse. My sister urged us onward, so we
pushed through the brush, trying not to panic with each step.
I've heard stories about people seeing horrifying shapes or
floating lights in the wilderness, but we never
glimpsed anything solid. Instead, it was the pervasive
sense of something closing in. Branches snapped, leaves
rustled, but there was nothing to see.
It felt like we were being guided or herded out.
I kept checking over my shoulder, terrified one of us
would vanish if I looked away too long.
Stumbling back out onto our own land was a shock, like bursting
through the surface after being underwater.
We gasped for air and the sunlight felt unnaturally
bright. My sister almost collapsed and
my husband steadied her. We all stared at the tree line,
expecting to see a figure lurking, but there was only the
still wall of trees. We made our decision right then.
No debate, no argument. We hurried to the house, hearts
hammering and legs weak. Even in broad daylight,
everything seemed ghostly. After a rush talk, we agreed we
couldn't stay, waiting for the next disappearance or the next
moment of sheer terror. The farm had become a place of
dread. The rest of the day was a blur,
Packing our essentials, calling family, arranging for the
remaining cattle. Nobody opposed our plan.
Most admitted they too felt the looming threat.
A few relatives stayed behind long enough to sell or move the
herd, walking away from generations of family history
cut deep, but not as deeply as facing whatever was in those
woods. By sunset, my sister, my husband
and I were in our vehicles, driving off in a small convoy.
We didn't dare look back at the house or fields we had once
cherished. My hands shook on the steering
wheel, and a voice in my head warned me not to glance in the
rearview mirror, afraid I'd see something I could never forget.
We barely spoke on that drive, but our unspoken promise was
clear. We weren't coming back.
Fear, survival, instinct, whatever you want to call it, we
had reached our limit. That old farm could keep its
secrets. Whatever lurked there had
claimed the land for itself, and we were done fighting.
I don't know if anyone else will ever set foot on that property
or if future owners will discover what.
Lies hidden in those trees. All I know is that we left alive
but shaken, searching for any peace we could find.
Maybe these memories will fade someday, but right now I still
feel the echo of that oppressive silence, and I have no intention
of letting it drag me back. I know I'm just a random person
on Reddit, so there isn't any reason for you to take my word
at face value. Nonetheless, I swear on the life
of my family that every word is true.
This is going to be a long post, but I want to be as detailed as
possible about this event. I'm a 32 year old man from and
currently living in Cumberland County, New Jersey.
This location puts me about 45 minutes away from Philadelphia
and about 45 minutes away from the Atlantic Ocean, while being
only about 15 minutes away from the Delaware Bay.
After high school, I joined the Army as an intelligence analyst
for a while. When I got out, I moved to New
York City and worked as a project manager for a
construction company until I met my wife.
We decided to move back to New Jersey to be closer to our
families, especially since she was pregnant with our daughter.
That's just some background on me.
This happened in October of 2018.
It was about 11. 45 at night. And I decided to sit on my front
steps to smoke a couple of cigarettes before trying to fall
asleep. Everyone else in the house was
already sleeping. It was a pretty clear night with
not many clouds in the sky, but there was some fog on the
ground. As I was smoking, I was looking
at the fog and to me it seemed like there was movement in it,
almost as if there were invisible or camouflage things
out there that I wouldn't have seen if not for the fog.
While watching the fog, I noticed a white truck that had
driven by twice already. I could hear a man and a woman
yelling at each other. The truck stopped at the stop
sign in front of my house and the woman got out screaming at
the man, then slammed the door. He drove off fast and she
proceeded to walk into the woods across the street from me, which
was strange because there's nothing back there except for
blue holes until you reach the Bay.
If I walk straight out my front door, there are no houses or
civilization, only trees in those artificial lakes.
Blue holes leftover from sand plants until you hit the
Delaware Bay. About 5 minutes after the woman
walked into the woods, things went from weird to absolutely
unbelievably scary and strange. The most reality shattering
event that has ever happened to me.
I was still looking at the movement I'd been seeing in the
fog when I heard a very loud noise coming from the woods.
It sounded like metal being ripped apart.
There isn't a good comparison for this sound because it was so
unearthly. I'm sure it wasn't natural.
That sound lasted about 10 to 15 seconds, then abruptly stopped
and was replaced by another noise, which I felt more than I
heard. Imagine being aware of a huge
sound happening near you, but it's at a frequency your ears
can't quite pick up. That's the best way I can
describe it. This sound remained constant
through the rest of the experience.
At this point I'll probably lose some people and I know how crazy
this sounds, but as I was getting used to the sound, it
felt like something reached out to me mentally without words,
conveying a feeling of calm and a heads up or warning about what
was about to happen. It felt as if it was checking my
reaction to what I was currently experiencing, like a security
check. While I felt this sense of calm,
I noticed a light in the sky that seemed to have risen out of
the woods maybe 5 or 6 miles away.
It was just a ball of light in the distance, but somehow I knew
it was coming toward me even though it wasn't moving very
fast. Right after noticing the light
in the sky, I got more freaked out than I have ever been in my
life. In the woods across the street
from me, no more than 50 yards away, these orbs of light
started to appear. I could see some flicker into
existence. They were all white lights which
didn't illuminate the area around them as you would expect
from flashlights. There were probably 12 to 16 of
these orbs and they moved in a totally smooth manner.
Besides the trail to get into the woods, the area is dense and
filled with thorn bushes, so it just wouldn't be possible for
people to move where these lights were moving, let alone do
it so smoothly. I'm positive they weren't people
with flashlights because of the terrain and the characteristics
of the orbs themselves. I watched the orbs move around
for about a minute, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
Then I looked back up at the sky and saw a craft coming
practically right toward me, only about 1000 yards away.
By that point I was going back and forth between watching the
orbs on the ground and the craft, which I could see more
clearly now. It was flying very low, maybe
only 3 1/2 to four stories off the ground.
I could see the path it was taking and it was going to pass
in front of me at an angle where I'd see both underneath and the
side at the same time. The craft was a single story
dull black rectangle. From underneath I could see that
it was made of three smaller rectangular panels that fit
together to form a larger rectangle.
I very clearly saw these three panels.
Estimating size is harder, but I'd say it was about 35 yards
long and 20 yards across. Underneath there were lights
flashing in a pattern, cycling one way and then back the other
way. In the moment I thought the
craft was signaling to the orbs on the ground, it made no sound
at all. I only heard that same buzzing
and humming noise that I felt more than I heard while it was
in front of me. It moved really slowly, at a
speed I don't think a plane with normal propulsion could manage
while staying airborne. I took my eyes off the craft for
just a moment to look at the orbs again, and when I looked
back up, the craft was gone. For whatever reason, seeing it
vanish like that made the reality of what I was witnessing
hit home. I got really scared, especially
since my daughter, wife, and mom were all inside no more than 50
feet from this craziness, so I went in and locked the doors.
I felt I might have investigated further if it were just my life
at risk, but I wasn't willing to take that chance with my family.
I might have been paranoid at this point, but I felt like I
was being watched. For the next two hours, I didn't
experience any lost time. The entire event happened over
20 to 30 minutes. Looking back on this event, I
questioned what was going on with the white truck and the
woman who walked into the woods at the beginning.
I've also done some research and found that there are quite a few
reports of people seeing a glimmer man in the woods, which
makes me think of the movement I saw in the fog.
Where I live is a very active area for UFO phenomena, which
makes sense. If something wanted access to
major cities like Philadelphia, New York City, Baltimore, and
DC. What could be a better place to
hide than almost inaccessible 1000 foot deep lakes in the
middle of the woods? I know this was a very long
post, but I wanted to be thorough.
I'd really like to hear what you all think about this and if
anyone has had a similar experience or knows somebody who
has. The following is a story that
happened to me about two years ago.
I couldn't explain it then and I can't explain it now.
I live in Oregon City, OR a short.
Drive South of Portland. I'm on the outskirts, somewhere
between suburban and rural housing.
I have neighbors but they're not exactly next door.
I was 19 at the time of this story.
I used to have a problem with sleep.
I don't know what it was but I'd get mentally crippling anxiety
and I'd go for a walk to calm my mind.
I live on a single lane Rd. that follows a stream through the
woods, so the scenery mixed with the quiet trickle of water was
always quite. Calming.
It was summertime and it was a particularly rough night for me.
I remember telling my dad I was going for a walk as I slipped on
my shoes and hurried out. I still recall the worried look
on his face as I tried to escape my own mental panic.
My late night walks were becoming more frequent, and I
knew it concerned him. Nevertheless, I shut the door
behind me and proceeded into the dark.
I remember it being a clear night, but I don't recall seeing
stars. The moon must have been full
because I could see the road without a light, but I don't
remember actually seeing the moon either.
I just started walking, talking to myself about everything that
had my anxiety spiked. I'm sure I looked insane
rambling out loud, but it sometimes helped me process my
issues. From my home to the main road is
about a mile. I was about 2/3 of the way there
when I heard something rustle in the bushes to my right.
This wasn't uncommon. I'd encountered deer, raccoons,
a bobcat, and even a few coyotes on my walks.
Still, I like to know what was around, so I pulled out my phone
and switched on the light. For context, there's a hill to
my right that slopes upward. That's where I heard the noise.
To my left is about a 10 foot drop down to the Creek.
I shined my light into the bushes to see what I was dealing
with. Usually animals either freeze or
run off, which helps me figure out what they are, but there was
nothing, no movement at all. Suddenly my hair stood on end.
I felt scared, tense, and realized I should have been able
to hear the Creek trickling over the rocks, but I couldn't.
Something was clearly wrong. I heard a branch snap in the
bushes again. I moved my light back and saw
two small red lights like eyes looking right at me.
I shifted my phone to see if it was a reflection, but it wasn't.
Then it started to get closer. I ran.
I freaking ran. I ran in near silence.
I don't know if I screamed, maybe it didn't matter.
I couldn't. Hear my shoes hitting the road,
my breathing, or even my heartbeat.
All I heard was what sounded like an animal with human bare
feet chasing me. Some primal survival instinct
told me to find light, something bigger than my phone's light.
My first thought was home, where there's a large barn light out
front that illuminates the whole driveway.
I ran like hell was on my heels because for all I knew it was.
I just remember hearing it get closer.
It felt like it was toying with me because its footstep pattern
didn't sound like an all out Sprint, more like a light
gallop. It wasn't until I rounded the
last corner and could see the light that it suddenly picked up
speed and started closing in. I sprinted toward the light pole
as fast as I could. I heard its furious steps come
to an abrupt stop, but I didn't turn around.
I practically tackled that tar covered wooden post, clinging to
it as I waited for the end, waiting for whatever it was to
tear me apart. It never did.
I stayed there for about an hour in silence until my phone rang.
I had three messages and two missed calls, all from my dad
asking where I was. I lied and said I fell asleep in
a field up the road. Then I noticed I could hear the
world around me again so I assumed it was gone.
I ran inside the house and locked the doors.
To this day I don't walk alone on my Rd. day or night.
I know what you're probably thinking, it was just your mind
playing tricks or it was just an animal.
But I've seen animals. I know what lives around here.
Whatever this was, it's not something I've ever encountered
before. This whole experience made me
reflect on other strange incidents out here, things I
couldn't explain. A fully grown deer burned from
the inside out, for instance. The only visible clue was a
single spot in its ribs where the flesh and bone had burned
through, yet the rest of it looked perfectly preserved.
There have also been moments where I seemed to slip through
time. I'd set my alarm for 6:00 AM and
wait outside for my ride for three hours only to come back
inside and find it was still just turning 5:00 AM.
I've seen shadow figures by the side of the road, there have
been a couple of unexplained deaths.
The list goes on. I'm telling you, something
strange and terrifying is out here.
Some nights I wonder, do my doors and windows really keep
whatever it is out or is it still just toying with me?
EDIT If anyone has any ideas what the hell I'm dealing with
please let me know.