I'm a genuine forest dweller. My home is in a tiny hamlet
aptly named Forest, which is even smaller than a village, and
yes, it's situated in an actual forest.
My house, an isolated abode in the midst of the woods, is
encircled by a bubbling Creek, 2 sloping hills guarded on either
side. I often joke about being the
real life Shrek, but let me dive into my story, which unfolded in
this very house some 27 years ago when I was about nine years
old. Back then, the house was a
vacation home, a refurbished water mill that had been in our
family for over 2 centuries. This particular incident
occurred in the summer. It was during those childhood
summer breaks, a time when even my parents would take vacation
days so we could all relish our time together.
It wasn't just us either. A friend of mine and his mother
were also there. We spent our days playing,
running through the woods in the streams, exploring every nook
and cranny. However, the event I'm about to
recount happened on the third day.
It was just after lunch when I noticed something peculiar.
All of the adults and even I started feeling unusually
lethargic and sleepy. Which was odd, because we had
all talked about staying active that day.
My friend, however, didn't seem sleepy or tired at all.
Feeling a pang of guilt for leaving him awake by himself, I
reluctantly agreed to take an afternoon nap.
But as I lay my head on the pillow, a strange urge surged
within me. I forced myself to get up,
wander down the stairs, and step outside.
The brightness outside was blinding, even for a midday sun.
I stepped onto the veranda and saw my friend approaching with
an annoyed expression. I couldn't understand why he
looked so irked, but something inside me urged me to look up,
and so I did. High above in the sky, beyond
the clouds, I saw something extraordinary, a cigar shaped
object. It was too high to be a plane
and it had no wings. It hovered motionless in the sky
in disbelief. I shouted at my friend to look
up, but his expression remained unchanged as we watched.
The object began to move forward, slowly at first, then
gaining speed before it zipped away so quickly it seemed like
something out of a sci-fi movie. I ran back into the house trying
to wake my mom to tell her what we had seen, but of course no
one believed two kids claiming to have seen a UFO, especially
when one of them didn't seem to be putting much effort into
convincing them. For a long time I tried to
dismiss the incident as a hallucination, but years later,
after losing touch with that friend, I had a frightening
revelation. I remembered seeing my friend at
the end of a grass clearing by the Creek, standing near 2
bizarre figures. One was exceptionally tall,
around six feet, and the other was much shorter, about 3 feet
tall. They seem to be talking, and
when the taller one noticed me, they looked upset.
My friend then started walking towards me and the two figures
vanished in a yellowish flash, shooting skyward.
After this revelation, other details started making sense,
like the discolored patch of grass where those figures had
stood, which remained for almost 2 decades, or why that friend
never returned to our house, and why everyone had been so
unnaturally sleepy that day. I later learned from my
grandmother about the Valley's history as a refuge from raids
and it's numerous shrines. A self-proclaimed witch even
called it a Leyline Nexus, a safe haven from evil.
I'm not sure what to believe, but that memory remains vividly
etched in my mind, A strange and unsettling reminder of an event
that forever altered my life. I want to share a chilling story
with you, but before I dive into it, let me address something
Cannibals have existed throughout history, and I'd
venture to say that nearly every country has its own unsettling
tale of a serial killer or cannibal.
It's a disturbing part of our shared human history, and some
of these stories have even inspired songs and legends,
which is both unsettling and strangely fascinating.
It's as if these dark tales become woven into our culture, a
sinister part of our folklore. The story I'm about to recount
took place over 2 decades ago in a city and a state far removed
from the capital of my country. I'll keep the details vague.
You can try to piece it together later.
I was just a kid, maybe 7 or 8 years old, and my friends and I
used to spend our summer breaks engaging in all sorts of
activities. We'd ride bikes, play soccer, or
football as we called it, baseball, hide and seek, you
name it. We were a bunch of energetic,
adventurous kids, and the long summer days were ours for the
taking. I was the youngest among five
boys, also the smallest in stature, which often made me the
target of our group's mischief. But I always tried to rise to
the challenges posed by my bigger friends, and I usually
managed to keep up. However, one particular day I
knew I was in for something different.
To provide some context, we lived in a very impoverished
area, with houses made of exposed cord bricks and zinc
roofing panels. Yet compared to some other
families, we were considered relatively well off.
As daring young boys. We sometimes ventured into even
poorer areas nearby, where the homes were little more than
shacks. In one of these areas there was
a man who struck us as particularly peculiar.
We didn't see him often, but when we did, we instinctively
steered clear of him. His dwelling sat atop a small
hill on the outskirts of our neighborhood, which, as kids, we
defined as our territory. One day my friend Ricky, not his
real name but he was our de facto leader, came up with a
daring idea. He suggested we get as close as
possible to that man's shack. He framed it as a test of our
bravery as young men, and while we all pretended to be up for
the challenge, I could sense fear lurking beneath the
surface. I didn't want to be left out, so
I reluctantly agreed, thinking that maybe nothing would come of
it after all. It was the middle of the day,
and daylight often made things seem less intimidating.
As we peddled closer to the area with the ramshackle shacks, a
sense of unease settled over me. I wasn't particularly book
smart, but I had a knack for reading my instincts.
We reached the vicinity of the worst off homes and I couldn't
suppress my growing apprehension.
I halted my bike and told my friends that we should
reconsider, perhaps test our bravery in a different way.
I even suggested we try something like racing our bikes
down a treacherous hill. Anything to distract them from
this reckless idea. Two of my friends, Wancho and
Carlos, nodded in agreement with my suggestion, but Ricky, ever
the instigator, began mocking me, insinuating that I was
afraid. He taunted me, making chicken
sounds and flapping his arms like wings.
His laughter stung and a surge of anger mixed with shame
coursed through me. Still, I couldn't shake the
feeling that this entire endeavor was foolish.
At that moment, it dawned on me that our mothers might have been
right when they warned us not to bother anyone in that part of
the neighborhood, to steer clear and find adventures elsewhere.
Ricky continued to ridicule me, challenging my courage.
Frustrated and unwilling to be labeled a coward, I snapped back
at him, calling him an idiot and threatening to tattle on him to
our mothers. He countered with a threat of
his own, promising to beat me up if I said anything.
In the end, I had no choice but to leave.
I peddled away from them. My pride wounded, my friendships
hanging by a thread. Little did I know that this
seemingly innocuous decision would have far reaching
consequences. Not for me, but for the man in
the shack. A few days later, the adults in
the neighborhood were abuzz with an air of secrecy.
My mother and the others wouldn't reveal anything to me,
and I was still apprehensive about Ricky's threats.
To avoid their questioning, I decided to venture out alone,
taking my bike for a solitary ride.
However, it wasn't long before Ricky and the gang flagged me
down. Dude, where have you been?
You missed everything, they exclaimed, their earlier
animosity forgotten in the excitement.
I couldn't believe my ears. It seemed that they had either
forgiven me for my lack of bravery or simply forgotten
about it. I was relieved that my
friendships were intact. They eagerly began recounting
the strange events that had unfolded in the neighborhood.
Ricky and Carlos had been the 1st to approach the mysterious
shack, but their courage had waned when they saw what
appeared to be human. Hands and feet strewn about the
dirt nearby. Panic had set in and they had
fled the scene, alerting the rest of our gang together.
They had rushed back to safety. It wasn't long before they
informed some older kids in the neighborhood, teenagers aged
between 16 and 18, who in our eyes seemed impossibly older,
like college students. These older kids, sensing the
gravity of the situation, had promptly contacted the local
authorities. The police had arrived, but they
were baffled by the bizarre discovery.
They found more than just body parts.
They uncovered an array of human remains as well as jars filled
with decaying meat, which they suspected was human flesh.
I didn't witness any of this first hand, but I watched the
news reports at home where everyone was gripped by a sense
of unease. As the investigation progressed,
the authorities made a shocking revelation.
The bodies were tied to unsolved missing persons cases dating
back years. The park in our neighborhood, a
small but well used space, had seen its fair share of
disappearances, particularly at night, night time.
Danger was a grim reality and it was almost commonplace for
people to report missing loved ones.
It's a harsh reality, but it's the truth.
In my country, the police struggled to identify the
remains and it was only when they combed through missing
persons reports that they made significant breakthroughs.
With this disturbing evidence in hand, they launched A manhunt
that eventually led to the arrest of the man who lived in
that ominous shack. I didn't witness his arrest, but
I heard about it through news reports and gossip.
It was later revealed that this man, who would become infamous
as the people eater, had killed approximately 10 men, all
between the ages of 30 and 40. His modus operandi involved
bludgeoning his victims with rocks before taking their
lifeless bodies to his shack, where he cooked them using
firewood. Shockingly, he had even
distributed the cooked remains to some of his impoverished
neighbors, who, in their desperation and ignorance, had
consumed the horrifying meals with gratitude.
Initially, I dismissed this gruesome detail as just another
tall tale from Ricky. However, as I grew older and had
access to more information, I realized that the truth was even
darker and more unsettling than I had imagined.
The People leader had been previously taken into custody
for cannibalism, albeit with just one known victim.
He had been diagnosed with schizophrenia and had been
confined to a psychiatric institution where doctors deemed
him non threatening to society. Eventually he had been released,
only to be arrested again years later.
This time, due to his deteriorating mental state, he
couldn't be simply thrown into prison.
Instead, he was undergoing psychiatric treatment even as
his infamy grew. As I mentioned earlier, some of
the darkest stories become embedded in our culture, and for
months all my friends and I could talk about was the People
Eater. Ricky would occasionally jest
that we had narrowly escaped becoming victims ourselves,
considering we had seen him wandering around the
neighborhood. Even at the park, however, I
believed that the People Eater intentionally avoided women and
children, a notion I must have read somewhere.
In truth, I never felt personally endangered, but
living in proximity to a cannibal and serial killer was a
disconcerting thought. While I didn't know any of the
victims personally, I witnessed the anguish of their grieving
families who had searched tirelessly for their loved ones,
unaware of the horrors that had befallen them.
Our mothers kept a watchful eye on us for quite some time after
the ordeal. We were given strict curfews,
ordered to return home before nightfall.
Eventually, as is often the case, people moved on and forgot
about the horrors that had unfolded in our neighborhood.
Still, I'm grateful that I never had a chance to meet the People
Eater, not even for a passing wave or a casual smile,
something I frequently exchanged with strangers.
I'm equally relieved that I didn't witness the grotesque
evidence of his crimes first hand, as the trauma of that
experience would have haunted me for the rest of my life.
Almost two years ago. I used to live in a somewhat
isolated little neighborhood nestled in the high desert of
California. My home sat on a dirt road and
since the houses were spread out quite generously, wildlife
encounters were not uncommon. Rabbits, coyotes, snakes, and
occasionally deer would wander around the area during the late
hours of the day. As a Native American, I often
appreciated the closeness of these creatures to my home.
However, there was 1 entity, a creature my tribe referred to as
a skinwalker, that I was not supposed to even utter the name
of. But here I am typing it out
hoping no bad omens would befall me.
As a result, this creature is what I believe I encountered one
chilling night. The house I lived in had a very
spacious backyard and a driveway made of gravel mixed with dirt,
creating an open expanse to observe the surroundings from my
room. Every night.
If I left my window open, I would inevitably find myself
gazing out towards the front gate of our driveway.
The nights were usually quiet, except for the occasional
distant coyote howls. The area had its fair share of
strange occurrences, and I wasn't the only one in the
family who experienced them. Both my boyfriend and my mother
had their own eerie stories, but today I will share mine.
At that time I was being homeschooled, and on this
particular day I sat in the office engrossed in my work.
The room was silent and suddenly I swear, I heard a faint knock
coming from the window. I strained my eyes to peer
outside, but this window lacked blinds or curtains.
Instead it had sliding barn doors.
As I turned in that direction, the world outside fell silent
again. Moments later, I began to hear
footsteps. It was a distinct crunching
sound, which was strange considering the gravel outside.
These were unmistakably footsteps, but not of a small
animal like a rabbit or coyote. These were heavier, more
deliberate. Panic gripped me as I froze in
my seat, unsure of what to do, the entity outside could
potentially hear me. After what felt like an
eternity, I abandoned my computer and retreated to the
safety of my room, where I stayed for the remainder of the
day. A month or two after this
incident, I changed rooms, moving from the office to make
it my bedroom. My previous room was too small,
and my father believed I needed more space.
One ominous night I found myself once again gazing out of the
same window that had witnessed those eerie footsteps.
It was dark outside, making it difficult to discern much, but I
was fixated on the gate blocking the driveways entrance.
I often enjoyed gazing at the night sky, but this time an
uneasy feeling crept over me. I stared out for about 10
minutes attempting to * gaze when I saw a figure on the other
side of the gate. At first glance it resembled a
coyote, but something was profoundly off about it.
It was unnaturally long and the way it moved it was as if a
human were trying to mimic the motions of a dog walking on all
fours. Initially, fear did not grip me.
I simply watched, waiting to see what it would do.
For a moment it continued to move past the gate, resembling a
typical coyote or dog. Then it turned its head to look
at the house in the darkness. I couldn't discern its eyes, but
the silhouette of this lanky coyote shaped entity sent
shivers down my spine. Typing this account now the
unease resurfaces. Suddenly it stood up on its hind
legs, attempting to climb over our gate.
Panic consumed me and I rushed to shut the barn door window.
However, this seemed to enrage the creature further.
It scrambled to climb faster, and before long it had
successfully crossed to our side of the gate.
I could hear it running toward my window as I finally managed
to shut it just in time. As the window closed, the eerie
sounds outside abruptly ceased, leaving me in complete silence.
Aside from the sound of my own rapid breathing in that house, I
had many other strange experiences, but that night
marked the last time I ever kept my window open at night.
I have not seen that terrifying creature since, and I am
grateful for it. When we eventually moved away, I
felt a tinge of sadness and longing for that house, which I
had considered my real home. However, I am thankful that I
won't ever have to lay eyes on that dreadful entity again.
I was just 16 years old at the time, living with my
grandparents and my mother in the remote northwest region of
Pennsylvania. Our house nestled in a heavily
wooded area surrounded by thick forests with hardly any
neighbors nearby. My grandparents owned vast acres
of land, including the dense woods encircling our home.
It was safe to say we had a lot of land, but it came with its
share of peculiar occurrences. Trespassers were an occasional
nuisance hunters who ventured onto our woods, or campers who
set up their tents seemingly unaware that they were
trespassing on private property. My grandpa, always watchful,
wasn't thrilled about these intrusions.
He was wary of strangers encroaching onto our land,
especially with our chickens to protect.
You see, we also had a coop of chickens, and they had to be
securely locked up before sundown.
Given our wooded surroundings. Coyotes and raccoons
occasionally breached the unlocked coop, making off with
our poultry. However, my grandpa had recently
suffered a stroke, leaving him unable to secure the coop
himself, so it became my responsibility to venture
outside at dusk. To take care of our feathery
friends, I wasn't one to scare easily.
I had grown up in this area my entire life.
Encounters with raccoons, possums, and even the occasional
coyote were everyday occurrences.
My deep love for nature led me to build my campfire and sleep
outside in my tent during the summer months.
I cherish the outdoors and the soothing sounds of wildlife at
night. On that fateful night, it was a
typical summer evening. I had already set up my tent and
the fire crackled merrily. Our family dog, Molly, a Pitbull
we had rescued from an abusive past, was my companion.
Though she bore the scars of her troubled history, Molly was far
from the stereotype of a Pitbull.
She was a sweetheart. As I finished up with the
chickens and headed towards my campsite, a strange sound
emanated from the woods to my right.
Molly's head snap towards the source, her keen senses on high
alert. Ordinarily I would have
dismissed such noises as the routine sounds of wildlife, but
this was different, unsettling. The noise was akin to a strange
clicking, like the measured ticking of a clock.
The darkness was so thick that I couldn't see much beyond the
tree line, so I shrugged it off as my imagination playing tricks
on me. I called Molly to my side,
continuing my chores, but then it happened again.
The same eerie clicking and tapping noise.
Molly was now visibly agitated, her hair standing on end.
There were snapping branches, and what sounded like a low
moaning in the distance. Molly's posture changed.
She was hunched back, ears erect, fully alert.
I slowly stood up, feeling a nod of unease forming in my stomach.
Retrieving my flashlight from my bag, I scanned the area where
the noise had originated. I couldn't make out much, but
there was a dark shadow near 1 particular tree.
At first I thought it might be a bear or a deer, but it was far
larger than any of those creatures.
Though details were scarce, I could discern an enormous
figure, at least 8 feet tall. Molly, now in a frenzy, darted
toward it, but I yelled for her to return.
Fearing for her safety. The figure emerged from the
shadows, and what I saw chilled me to the bone.
This massive creature had antlers like a buck, but its
skin or fur seemed matted and rotting.
Its skeletal frame was elongated, with bones protruding
in unnatural directions. The stench was unbearable, A
noxious mix of rotten meat and decaying eggs.
I wanted to flee, but I was paralyzed by fear.
Its yellow eyes reflecting my flashlights beam locked onto
mine. Molly, in a wild panic, sprinted
towards the house, leaving me alone.
I couldn't move. The creature had me and it's
terrifying grip. I had never seen anything like
it and I prayed I would never see it again.
Suddenly the creature took a jerky, awkward step forward.
Breaking the spell. I turned and ran as fast as my
legs could carry me, my heart pounding in my chest.
The house was still a 3 minute Sprint away, but I had to get
there. I finally burst through the
door, breathless and shaking. My grandmother had been waiting,
and she immediately let Molly inside.
She looked at me, the sheer terror on my face, confirming
her suspicions. You saw it, didn't you?
She asked quietly. In all the years she had lived
there, she had never encountered or heard of something like this.
Neither my grandmother nor my grandfather had ever shared
stories like this with me before.
They had probably wanted to shield me from the fear of the
unknown. That night shook me profoundly,
and it took a long time before I could muster the courage to
venture back into the woods for camping or to close the chicken
coop at night. I couldn't help but wonder if
what I had seen was a skinwalker, a creature that, as
I later learned, was rumored to lurk in the northeastern part of
North America. It might not be a climactic
story, but for me it was an utterly terrifying and
unforgettable encounter. This story happened not too long
ago, during one chilling evening on a night hike in a nature
preserve in the heart of Illinois.
The setting was early March, and a rare warm day had encouraged
my group of friends and me to venture into the wilderness.
We were an eclectic mix of five individuals, my sister B, our
close friends C&D, and myself. We all shared a fascination for
ghost hunting, which led us to embark on this eerie adventure.
As we set out on our hike around 4:00, I took the lead alongside
A who happened to be visually impaired.
My role was to assist A through the muddy trail, a consequence
of recent rains. I was no stranger to outdoor
environments given my profession, but the woods had an
unpredictable and mystifying aura, even for someone like me.
The rustling leaves and mysterious sounds that permeated
the forest added an extra layer of excitement to our journey,
our chosen destination. This particular nature preserve
was a hidden gem close to home, boasting and chanting trails,
recreational areas, and even camping spots.
Towering trees, some of which dwarfed buildings in our town,
line the dirt trails. We felt entirely at home,
enveloped by the embrace of nature.
On this day, we decided to tackle the winding, longer
trail, relishing every moment of our adventure.
The sun began its descent as the early March dusk crept upon us.
It was getting darker by the minute, but we were determined
to complete the trail before nightfall.
As we delve deeper into the woods, we spotted glimpses of
wildlife, a testament to the vibrant ecosystem that thrived
here. As twilight gradually descended,
we knew we didn't have much trail left to conquer.
With a sense of resolve, we retrieved the flashlights we had
brought along. A my visually impaired friend
had reached a point of complete blindness by this time.
They gripped my backpack in one hand while clutching their cane
in the other, relying on me for guidance.
Meanwhile, C walked close to us, our collective presence creating
a semblance of comfort Amidstar light hearted chatter about
favorite games and movies. A woodpecker's rhythmic pecking
provided a humorous interruption.
C, not as accustomed to the outdoors as the rest of us,
jumped at the sound and inquired about its origin.
It was moments like these that made our adventures memorable.
As we reveled in the bonding experience, the day transitioned
into night rapidly, due to the time of year, and darkness began
to envelope us. We had only a small portion of
the trail left to conquer, so we decided to soldier on.
The flashlights cut through the darkness, casting eerie shadows
on the trees around us. However, our carefree banter
gradually faded into silence. Suddenly it happened.
A whistle pierced the quiet, long, purposeful, and
unnaturally loud. At first I attributed it to A
Distant Coyote, but as the pitch evolved into something more
melodic, I realized it couldn't be an animal.
It sounded eerily human, sending shivers down my spine.
A gripping me even tighter whispered that the sound had
emanated from behind us, uncomfortably close for our
liking. In a panic, we turned off all
the flashlights, plunging ourselves into absolute
darkness. D, perhaps fueled by fear or
curiosity, thought it would be a brilliant idea to call back into
the void, uttering a hesitant hello.
Hello. The rest of us urgently hushed
him, desperately clinging to the hope that it had been a bird or
some other harmless creature. I had never heard a bird whistle
like that, though, and my love for birds gave me no solace.
I desperately clung to the hope that it was a mere anomaly, a
strange occurrence in the wilderness.
We continued walking in silence for another 10 minutes.
Our flashlights kept off, our pace quickening.
Then it happened again. The exact same whistle as if it
were a recording on repeat, only closer This time.
Fear gripped me like never before, despite my lifetime of
woodland experiences. I had roamed the woods since I
was a child, accompanying my grandmother on mushroom foraging
expeditions when I could barely walk.
Yet this trail, this moment, was unlike any other.
I was paralyzed by a sense of dread, fearing that I might not
be able to lead my friends out of this chilling predicament.
Desperation seized us, and we hastily debated our options.
Should we follow the trail deeper into the woods and make
it to our cars, or should we make a break for the nearby Rd.
about 100 feet to our left? We opted for the road, believing
it offered a safer escape route. To reach the road, we had to
ascend a steep hill. A and I struggled to climb it
together, but they eventually let go and sprinted ahead.
In the chaos of the moment, I stumbled over a rock, falling
backward and bruising my back With aching muscles, I regained
my footing and joined the others on the road.
We formed a protective formation, with B&C leading the
way, A and I in the middle, and D bringing up the rear.
D was the toughest among us, and would be our last line of
defense if whatever lurked in the woods pursued us.
As we trudged along the road, our eyes darted nervously behind
us, feeling the weight of an unseen presence, watching our
every move. The hairs on my body stood on
end, not from the cold, but from an eerie, unshakable fear.
A's condition was deteriorating, and given their heart condition,
we couldn't take any chances. My primary concern was getting
my friends to safety, even if it meant putting myself in harm's
way. My eyes remained fixed on the
shadowy woods, as if expecting something to emerge from the
darkness. In our moment of desperation, I
made a call to a relative who lived a mere 3 minutes down the
road, pleading for them to come to our rescue.
Our Savior arrived swiftly, driving us back to our cars.
A insisted on accompanying me during the ride, refusing to let
me face this ordeal alone as we speed away.
The woods remained visible from my relative's house, a haunting
reminder of the horrors we had experienced.
We found temporary solace there, changing into fresh clothes and
attempting to calm our adrenaline fueled nerves.
The journey back to A's house was marked by an uncomfortable
silence as we contemplated the unnerving encounter we had just
survived. The evening passed in a blur,
filled with uneasy discussions and frantic research about what
that mysterious whistling presence could have been.
In the aftermath of our unsettling adventure, I turned
to colleagues at work for answers.
Yet not a single one of them could identify an animal capable
of producing such a peculiar whistle.
The eerie part was that despite our harrowing experience, we
found ourselves contemplating a return to that enigmatic
preserve better prepared this time, the allure of its natural
beauty remained undeniable. But lurking within those woods
was a secret we were determined to uncover.
As I delved into books on cryptozoology, paranormal
phenomena, and the history of those specific woods, our
intentions became clear. We would return, armed with
knowledge and equipment, to confront the enigma that awaited
us. Those dark Illinois woods held
secrets, and we were committed to unlocking them, no matter how
chilling they might be. It seemed like any other
business conference Arrive, check in, attend meetings, check
out, and go home. In May 2010, I was scheduled to
stay at the Menger Hotel in San Antonio over several days for a
conference. When I checked in, I was
pleasantly surprised that my room was on the third floor in
the older section of the hotel. I love history and the fact that
the hotel was located just across the street from the Alamo
made my stay even more special. Before I got to the Menger, I
had heard of the legendary personalities that had stayed in
the hotel. Babe Ruth, Richard King and
others had been repeat guests. I remembered the larger than
life stories told by my favorite Texas history teacher, Missus
Beck. Her accounts made me wish I had
witnessed first hand Teddy Roosevelt and the Rough Riders
charging through San Antonio's back streets, salons, hotels and
promenades recruiting volunteers from horseback, or the brave
volunteers who gave their lives standing for a Texas ideal.
My room was spacious and old, with white paint covering the
aging walls. The huge window frames
overlooked an outdoor open air patio.
Nothing fancy like newer hotels, but special just the same.
I dropped my small carry on case and purse and hurried downstairs
to check in. At the conference registration
table. The desk attendant assured me
that my luggage would be brought up shortly after check in.
I also learned there would be a business mixer downstairs, so I
decided to freshen up my makeup since I had driven to San
Antonio that afternoon from the Rio Grande Valley.
When I stepped into the room, I noticed the television and
closet light were on. I quickly turned them off,
assuming that the housekeeper had left them on and left the
room, which I found a bit strange.
After the mixer, people were going to dinner and I wanted to
go upstairs to shower and change.
However, when I returned to my room, the television, ceiling
fan, clock, radio, room lights, bathroom lights, and closet
lights were all on. I called the front desk and
asked if the housekeeper or Porter had come in or if someone
might have mistakenly entered my room thinking it was theirs.
The answer was no on both accounts.
At this point, I assumed it was an electrical problem.
The front desk sent someone up to check, but they couldn't find
anything wrong and suggested that if I had any further issues
and if they had any other rooms available, I could change rooms.
As soon as I stepped into the bathroom, an uneasiness settled
in as if someone was watching me.
I was alone, The windows were high and the angled shutter
slats confirmed that nobody could see in.
I was on the third floor, so I decided to dismiss my worries.
However, the feeling grew more intense as I took a shower.
There was a sudden burst of air, as if someone had opened the
bathroom door. I told myself it was just a
quick blast from the AC through one of the nearby vents.
I continued to shower and began to shampoo my hair, but I
couldn't shake the feeling that someone was in there with me.
If they weren't in the bathroom, maybe they were in the other
room. How embarrassing if the Porter
had come back for something. I yelled out hello, quickly
rinsing my hair off. I got ready to go out that
night. When I returned to the hotel and
prepared for bed, I felt the same eerie sensation of being
watched, but I managed to shrug it off.
After laying my clothes out for the next day, I lay down and
drifted off, hearing footsteps coming down the hall and
whispers outside my door. I thought it might be people
from nearby rooms returning late, but during the night the
feeling of being touched awakened me.
At first I thought it was a dream.
I felt an impression in the bed, and I could even feel an arm
around my shoulder. It felt solid and real.
Slowly, I realized I wasn't dreaming.
Fear washed over me, and with whatever courage I could muster,
I kept my eyes shut and mumbled. Leave me alone.
Once I said this, the feeling of the arms around me faded after
that night. Aside from finding things in
different places in my room, a missing shoe, a hair brush
placed somewhere else, or the closet light left on when I
returned, I wasn't bothered. Again, however, I still got the
feeling that I wasn't alone. Even though I was the only
person walking in a hallway, I would often sing or hum to
myself as I walked to and from my conference events.
Coincidentally, my husband was in Austin for a business trip
and wanted to have lunch at the Menger Colonial Room restaurant.
I had a little while to wait while he drove in to meet me
before he arrived. I used the bathroom downstairs
in the lobby across from the gift shop.
While I was in a stall, I heard the bathroom door open from the
hallway. I heard nobody and saw no
shadow, but I did hear a stall door open and close.
I was curious, so I cautiously took a quick look around.
I was the only one there. Days later, on my elevator ride
to check out of my room, I had a conversation with the Porter.
He asked about my stay and I told him it was interesting for
sure. When he asked why, I told him
about the feeling of being bothered by a presence the whole
time. I didn't go into detail because
I feared being looked at like a crazed guest.
He then asked which room I stayed in and when I told him,
he revealed that that part of the hotel, in particular that
floor, was the most active. Since my stay at the Menger
Hotel, I've discovered that more people have come forward with
similar spectral happenings at the very same place.
Some have even posted their experiences on YouTube.
If you don't believe me, I say you should check it out
yourself. I'm a 24 year old female and
I've been working as a private home caregiver for seven years
now. Over the years I've had my fair
share of clients, each with their unique quirks and needs.
Adapting to spending extended periods in someone else's home
has become second nature to me. At first I used to work a lot of
overnight shifts because I'm a night owl, but even then I had
the luxury of sleeping if I wanted to.
My routine with this particular client had been ongoing for
about 3 years. Typically, I'd spend an hour or
two watching TV with him, and then I'd assist him in getting
ready for bed. He was in his 80s, so he would
often wake up during the night for trips to the bathroom, and
I'd help him navigate safely. In the beginning, I worked two
to three overnights a week, and I grew quite comfortable in his
house. I became accustomed to the
peculiar sounds that echoed through the house at night,
mostly the banging of pipes. It was eerie initially, but
after three years I hardly even noticed it anymore.
However, one week things took a sinister turn.
My first shift that week was a Thursday overnight.
When I entered the house, an immediate wave of dread washed
over me, a heavy feeling as if an invisible presence sat on my
chest. I've always been sensitive to
certain energies and presences, and I knew that something was
terribly wrong. Despite my unease, I did my best
to shake it off and put on a cheerful facade for my client.
The caregiver who was leaving assured me that everything had
been uneventful during her shift.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
I went through our usual routine with my client, put him to bed,
and then went around the house, closing blinds and double
checking doors and windows. I wanted to ensure that no one
could get in, and the sense of being watched was still
overwhelming, as I usually did. I texted my fiance to check in
on our daughter and say goodnight.
I let him know how uneasy I felt and how wrong the house seemed.
That night. He chalked it up to me,
listening to too many horror podcasts suggesting that maybe
they were getting to me. I said my good night and
attempted to distract myself by scrolling aimlessly through
social media. Most of my clients loved
sleeping with the heat turned up, but I despised it, so I
opened the window next to the bed I was lying in to get some
fresh air. My room was only two doors down
from my client's bedroom, which allowed me to be close if he
needed assistance, but also gave me some personal space.
My client's home was situated in a wealthy neighborhood
surrounded by Native American reservation land.
I was used to hearing and seeing various wildlife like turkeys,
foxes, deer, and coyotes around midnight.
After helping my client to the bathroom for the third time that
night, I lay back down and immediately heard a pack of
coyotes howling in the distance. I grew up with coyotes behind my
childhood home, so I was familiar with their haunting
howls. However, these howls were
different. They started as distant sounds,
but within a minute they felt as though the coyotes were right on
the deck outside my window. The howls were distorted, as if
played through a staticky radio. I can't quite explain it, but
they just sounded horribly wrong.
I attempted to record the sounds on my phone, but to my shock,
when I played the recording back, there was no sound at all.
In reality, they sounded as though they were right beside
me. This bizarre chorus continued
for about 15 minutes straight until my client called for my
help again. That night, my client called me
over 10 *, a significant departure from our usual routine
where he would call me three times on a normal night and then
I'd get some rest. My next shift was on the
following Saturday, and I spent the entire day dreading going
back to work. I couldn't shake the unease and
fear that had taken hold of me. My fiance insisted it was just
my imagination, assuring me that everything would be fine, but I
was reluctant as I headed back to work that night.
When I arrived, the caregiver I was relieving informed me that
my client had been having trouble sleeping the previous
night as well, leaving him exhausted.
He looked dreadful with dark circles under his eyes and he
was fast asleep in his chair. I put him to bed that night and
went around the house checking doors and windows, ensuring the
house was secure and the blinds were drawn.
Throughout the night my client struggled to sleep, calling me
every 30 to 40 minutes. I was drained as I was
accustomed to getting some rest during my overnight shifts.
When morning came I prepared my clients usual breakfast and we
sat at the table together. Suddenly he looked up at me and
asked, Can I ask you something? I nodded and he continued.
These past three nights, when I tried to fall asleep, this black
shadow appears and sits at the end of my bed, staring at me.
It just stares at me and doesn't go away for hours.
Could I be hallucinating? As he recounted this?
All the color drained from my face.
This client was deeply religious and had never spoken about
anything of this nature before. I felt blindsided and scared.
I asked if the shadow had a face or if he recognized it, but he
described it as a stranger that frightened him.
That's why he had been continuously calling me to the
room and going to the bathroom. He was trying to get the shadow
to leave. I told him that I wasn't sure if
it was a hallucination, but I would inform his daughter and
ask her to look into it immediately.
When I left work that day, I called my fiance and recounted
everything to him. He asked me what I was going to
do about it, and I decided to do some research to find the best
way to cleanse the house without alarming the client.
I decided to bless some tourmaline and brought it with
me to work, placing it above his bedroom doorway.
Tourmaline is a Blackstone used for protection in many cultures.
If it didn't alleviate the heaviness in the house, I was
seriously considering quitting on my next shift.
I did just that. My client didn't wake up as
frequently that night, but the unease still lingered.
I had a week off, and on my next shift I noticed immediately that
something had changed. The house felt different, and
when I asked my client if he had been experiencing anything
strange, he said no. He looked like a new man.
The exhaustion and sickly appearance were completely gone.
I couldn't explain who or what had been tormenting my patient,
but I was relieved that I had managed to bring some peace back
to the house. Whatever its intentions were, I
wasn't willing to sit idly by or continue working there if it
refused to leave. I had never experienced such
fear in my life, and I hoped I never would again.
There are indeed malevolent entities lurking in the shadows,
so I urge everyone to stay safe and trust their intuition.
Ever since I was little, I always dreamed of the day I'd go
hunting with Dad. He's like this hero in our
family, a legend with a rifle. And me, well, I was just a 12
year old kid practically bouncing off the walls when I
got my hunting license last summer.
I remember staring at it, feeling like I was holding a
golden ticket to some grand adventure ready for the big day.
Dad's voice broke through my thoughts.
That chilly morning, it was still dark outside, the kind of
dark that makes 3:30 in the morning feel like the middle of
the night. I nodded, unable to hide my
excitement. We had a quick breakfast, the
kind where you're too excited to taste anything.
I pulled on my hunting gear, the newness of it making me feel
like a real hunter. Dad had this calm, collected
look on his face. I tried to mimic it, but who was
I kidding? I was about to burst.
We stepped out into the cold, the kind of cold that bites at
your skin, but I barely felt it. My heart was racing with
anticipation. The world was asleep, and here
we were, about to embark on an adventure.
The trek to the hunting stand was like a scene from an
adventure movie. Dad led the way, his figure a
shadow against the faint moonlight.
I tried to keep up, stumbling over roots and stones, my breath
making little clouds in the cold air.
It felt like a rite of passage, following Dad through the dark
woods a mile or two away from our camp.
When we reached the stand, it looked like a fortress.
We had to climb this tall ladder to get up there.
I remember feeling a mix of excitement and a tiny bit of
fear as I climbed after Dad. The stand was small, but it felt
cozy, like our own little hideout in the trees.
There were waist high, walls on three sides and a roof pretty
fancy for a hunting stand. We settled in with the darkness
around us, like a thick blanket. I could hear the distant sounds
of the forest, and my heart was pounding with the thrill of it
all. We sat in silence, waiting for
the first light of dawn. I felt like a real hunter then,
like I was part of something ancient and important.
It was just me and Dad and the wild world around us.
I leaned against the wall, trying to stay as quiet as
possible. Dad was like a statue, his eyes
scanning the forest. I wanted to impress him, to show
him I could be as patient and as tough as he was.
As the sky slowly began to change from black to a dark
purple, I felt a strange mix of peace and anticipation.
I remember thinking how cool it was to be there.
In that moment with my dad, it was like we were on the edge of
the world, just waiting for the sun to rise and bring the forest
to life. I had no idea then how much that
morning would change everything, but in that moment it was just
me and Dad, the cold air and the promise of adventure, and I
wouldn't have traded it for anything in the world.
The stillness of the early morning was something I'd never
really experienced before. Sitting in our hunting stand, I
could feel the world waking up around us.
Dad was next to me, quiet and focused, his eyes scanning the
forest for any sign of movement. I tried to do the same,
mimicking his every move. It was exciting and a bit nerve
racking, trying to be as good a hunter as he was.
As the sky gradually lightened, turning from purple to a dim
blue, the forest started to come alive.
Birds began chirping and the wind rustled the leaves,
creating a Symphony of nature. I felt so alive, so in tune with
everything around me. It was like being part of the
forest itself. Then it happened.
Out of nowhere, a blood curdling scream pierced the morning air.
It sounded like a woman in the worst kind of agony.
My heart jumped into my throat and I nearly lost my balance.
I looked at Dad, wide eyed and scared out of my wits.
He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder, his grip firm.
It's just a bobcat, he whispered, trying to sound calm.
They can sound just like a woman screaming.
It's creepy, but nothing to worry about.
I nodded, trying to believe him. I had heard about animals making
weird sounds, but nothing had prepared me for this.
The scream echoed through the woods, making my skin crawl.
I swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything but the eerie
sound. Dad kept his arm around me, and
we sat there in silence, listening to the forest come
back to life. The sun was rising slowly,
casting long shadows between the trees.
Everything seemed normal again, just the usual sounds of the
woods. But then we heard it again.
This time it was closer and even more chilling.
I could see Dad tense up. He tried to laugh it off, saying
it was probably just the bobcat hunting, but I could tell he was
unnerved. The sound wasn't just creepy, it
was unnatural. We went back to waiting, trying
to act like nothing had happened, but the atmosphere had
changed. The tension was thick, and even
the normal sounds of the forest seemed ominous.
I kept looking over a dad, hoping for some sign that
everything was OK, but he looked just as on edge as I felt.
The next half hour felt like an eternity.
The sun was up enough now that we could see more clearly, but
that only made things worse. Every shadow seemed like it
could be hiding something. Every rustle of leaves made me
jump. Then the scream came again,
louder and more terrifying than before.
This time it was all around us, echoing through the trees.
It didn't sound like any animal I'd ever heard of.
It was something else, something otherworldly.
I buried my face in Dad's side, trying to hide from the sound.
Tears were welling up in my eyes, fear gripping my heart.
I wanted to run, to get as far away from that sound as
possible. Dad stood up, his rifle in his
hands. He was scanning the trees, his
eyes darting back and forth. I kept whispering to him,
begging him to let us leave, but he was focused on something
else, something out there in the forest.
I had never been so scared in my life.
I had no idea what was out there, but I knew it was
something bad, something that shouldn't be in our world.
And it was getting closer. The morning had started with
excitement, but now it was turning into something out of a
nightmare. The scream that echoed around us
was no longer just unsettling, It was terrifying.
It sounded like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere.
All at once I tried to convince myself it was just a bobcat,
like Dad said, but the fear gripping my heart said
otherwise. Dad stood up, rifle in hand, his
eyes scanning the forest with an intensity I'd never seen before.
I wanted to stand to, to face whatever was out there with him,
but my legs wouldn't move. I was frozen in fear, gripping
the edge of the stand as if it could protect me.
The forest seemed to hold its breath, birds had stopped
chirping, and even the wind seemed to have died down.
It was just us, the eerie silence and that ungodly scream.
Dad's posture was tense, his movement slow and deliberate.
As he looked through the scope of his rifle.
I watched him, my heart pounding in my chest.
He was always so brave, so sure of himself.
But now there was something else in his eyes.
Fear. It was the first time I'd ever
seen Dad scared, and it made everything so much worse.
Dad, what is it? I whispered, my voice trembling,
but he didn't answer. He was focused on whatever was
out there in the shadowy depths of the forest.
Time seemed to slow down. Every second felt like an hour
as Dad moved the rifle, scanning the area.
Then he stopped. He had seen something, I could
tell by the way his body tensed, the way his breathing changed.
He was about to pull the trigger when a loud snap echoed from the
direction he was aiming. He stumbled, almost falling, but
caught himself. Dad, what is it?
What's out there? I whispered, my voice choked
with tears. He didn't answer.
Instead, he quickly shouldered his rifle again, his eyes
darting back to where he had been looking.
I could see his hands shaking as he searched the area, his
breaths coming out in short, sharp bursts.
Then he lowered his rifle and slung it over his shoulder.
He turned to me, trying to look calm, but I could see right
through it. His face was pale, his eyes wide
with fear. I'm going to climb down first,
then you follow, he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
We're going back to camp. I didn't want to leave the
safety of the stand, but the fear in Dad's voice made me
move. OK, I said, my voice small.
He climbed down the ladder first, his movements quick and
agile. Once he was on the ground, he
looked up at me and motioned for me to follow.
I climbed down as fast as I could, my heart racing as soon
as my feet hit the ground, Dad grabbed me and we started
running. He ran with a speed and urgency
I'd never seen before, carrying me when I couldn't keep up.
We ran all the way back to camp, not stopping once, not even to
catch our breath. When we finally reached the
safety of our cabin, Dad locked the door behind us and turned to
face me. His face was still pale, his
eyes haunted. I wanted to ask again what he
had seen, but the look in his eyes stopped me.
We just stood there in the silence of the cabin, trying to
understand what had just happened.
But some things I realized we're beyond understanding.
We made it back to the cabin, dad's heavy breaths echoing in
the silent morning air. He set me down, gently locking
the door with hands that we're still shaking.
The cabin, once a place of warmth and laughter, now felt
like a refuge from a horror I couldn't comprehend.
Dad, what was out there? I asked again, my voice a quiver
of fear and curiosity. He looked at me, his eyes
reflecting A terror I'd never seen before.
But he didn't answer. Instead, he took a step towards
me, his knees buckling as he dropped into a hug.
It was a long, tight hug, one that spoke volumes more than
words ever could. That morning changed everything.
For a while, people in town joked about what happened, some
saying Dad was hallucinating, others guessing that the
darkness had played tricks on his mind.
But the joke stopped when they saw the change in him.
Dad, who was once the life of every party, became quiet,
withdrawn. He started having nightmares,
the kind that left him screaming in the middle of the night.
Mom told me about the medication he needed to sleep, how he'd
whisper in the dark. I'm afraid I'll see it in my
dreams. I never asked Dad about it
again. The unspoken rule in our family
was to never mention that day. The rifles gathered dust in the
corner of our garage. We never went hunting again.
It wasn't a spoken decision, more like a silent agreement.
The joy and excitement of hunting were replaced by a
lingering fear, an unshakable feeling of being watched, of
being haunted. High school came and went, and I
found other interests, other ways to connect with nature.
But the memories of that day stayed with me like a shadow
that never quite fades. I'd catch myself staring into
the woods behind our house, half expecting to hear that scream
again, to see something lurking in the shadows.
Dad and I didn't talk much about hunting or the woods anymore.
Instead, we found new ways to bond, like working on old cars
or watching football. But there was always this
unspoken understanding between us, a shared experience that was
both our bond and our barrier. As I grew older, I realized that
some experiences stay with you, changing the way you see the
world. That morning in the stand, the
fear, the scream. It wasn't just about losing the
innocence of childhood. It was about understanding that
there are things in this world that are beyond our
understanding, things that can shake you to your core.
Now, as I stand on the threshold of adulthood, I often think back
to that day. I wonder what it was that we
heard, what Dad saw. But some part of me knows that
it's better left a mystery. For in that mystery lies a
lesson. A lesson about respect for the
unknown, the power of fear and the bond that forms when you
face the unimaginable. Together.
That day I lost my interest in hunting, but I gained something
far more important a deeper connection with my dad and a new
found respect for the mysteries of the natural world.
It was the first and last time I ever went hunting, but it was
also the beginning of a new understanding of life and its
many unpredictable facets. Living in a small town inland
from the NSW coast, my home sits a few kilometers outside the
town. It's one of those places where
you can see your neighbors in the distance, but you'd have to
scream bloody murder for anyone to really hear you.
A bit further up the road, it turns into dense bushland in a
National Park marked by an old dirt Rd. flanked by trees.
Usually quiet except for the occasional dirt bike riders on
weekends, lost cars, 4 wheel drives or people collecting
wood. Walking my dogs here was always
a peaceful experience. On that particular day I was out
with my two dogs, a Great Dane and a Husky, and my mom's
Scottie Terrier. My mischievous Husky was on an
extender leash to prevent her from chasing Kangaroos into the
Bush while my loyal Dane roamed off leash along with the Scottie
who tended to run off but usually came back as we walked
along the Bush. Rd., which included what I think
are fire roads, rough paths, tougher than the dirt, Rd.
supposedly escape routes in case of Bush fires.
We were heading back home. Suddenly all three dogs froze.
I instinctively tightened my grip on the Huskies leash,
expecting her usual reaction to Kangaroos, but they all stood
still, the fur on my Danes back bristling.
They were staring towards a fire trail branching off.
At first I thought they were on edge because of an unexpected
person, but then I saw it, a brown shadow in the thinner
trees before the dirt track about 15 meters away.
I knew every log in that area from my daily walks, and this
was something different, something I hadn't seen before.
This thing, whatever it was, suddenly moved.
It was unnaturally fast, like a motorbike without the motor.
I strained my ears but heard nothing.
No cracking sticks, no rustling branches.
It just vanished into the thicker trees.
My dogs, still fixated in that direction, confirmed I wasn't
imagining it. After a tense 30 seconds, I
moved forward, passing the spot where it had been.
My dogs behaved oddly. My brave Husky kept her
distance. The Dane circled the spot at the
furthest point on the other side of the road, tail tucked, and
the Scottie coward in his shadow.
They avoided the spot, unlike their usual behavior if it were
an animal or a scent. If it were a person, my Dane
would go into defense mode, so I doubted it was human.
I knew the sounds of the local wildlife, but this thing moved
silently, as if not touching the ground.
The Bush fell eerily silent after it vanished, and I felt
watched all the way back. Leaving the bushy area, I began
to feel more at ease, and the dogs relaxed too.
I've since been more cautious, often walking with others.
What we saw that day was too big and solid to be a person, more
like a bear on hind legs. But there are no bears in
Australia. I wonder what it was, what
spooked the dog so much. They've never behaved like that
again and I've made sure not to go there alone.