Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 1 Hour Of Scary SKINWALKER Stories

Episode Date: January 5, 2024

Get MAGIC MIND today: ►https://www.magicmind.com/JANjustcreepy Use my code: JUSTCREEPY20 You get 1 month for free, when you’re subscribing for 3 months. It’s an extra 20% off, which gets you to a 75% off. This only lasts until the end of January, so hurry up before it goes away. These are 7 Scary Skinwalker Stories Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to www.justcreepy.net Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:06:52 Story 2 00:16:38 Story 3 00:22:13 Story 4 00:28:05 Story 5 00:43:06 Story 6 00:48:13 Story 7 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #skinwalker #cryptids #deepwoods 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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outside, going hunting, or inventing games. Our parents encouraged us to be outdoors, and living in a small town, there was no shortage of outdoor activities to indulge in. But one activity that almost everyone in our town partook in was riding some type of ATV or dirt bike. For me, this became one of my most cherished pastimes. I was just seven years old when fate intervened. A man on the highway was selling a YZ80, and for me, it was like discovering buried treasure. All I could think about was sitting on that dirt bike and riding it all day around my neighborhood, but my dad had reservations. He believed I was too young to handle such an incredible machine. It took weeks of relentless pestering, but my unyielding determination ultimately convinced him

to buy it for me. I couldn't contain my excitement. However, the truth was, I had no idea how to ride a dirt bike at the time. The first time I got on that machine, I popped the clutch, executed an unintentional wheelie, and flipped the bike. This incident did nothing to inspire confidence in my father, but with time, I honed my skills and became proficient at riding this machine. Thankfully, I had access to an open field where I could perfect my skills. As my friends learned about my dirt bike, they started taking me to various trails around our town, and it gradually became one of our favorite pastimes. We would do this almost every single day after school, and it's a childhood memory I still hold dear. Among the places we explored, there was one particular spot called

Emmons. I never knew the person behind the name or why it was called that, but what mattered was an old abandoned house situated deep within the woods. This mysterious, house had been there for as long as anyone could remember, and it was surrounded by a network of thrilling trails, featuring hills, creeks, and wide-open stretches where you could really push your machine to its limits. Most of the time, there were two or three of us riding together, but occasionally, I would venture out on my own. I had embarked on solo rides several times before, but one day would etch itself indelibly into my memory. On that day, I couldn't go riding right after school. I had some homework that needed my attention, and I couldn't ride until it was done. It was already

six in the evening when I finally set out. Thankfully, it was summer, and darkness wouldn't fall until around 8.30. My dirt bike didn't have any lights, so I knew my ride couldn't be too long. Nevertheless, Emmons was only about five minutes from my house. The moment I hopped onto my machine, a smile crept across my face. I adored that dirt bike. It was my pride. It was my pride. in joy. After fueling it up and giving it a once over, I put it in neutral, kicked the bike to life, and felt the exhilaration coursed through me. A few days earlier, I had broken my clutch cable, so I had to give the bike a push, jump on, and throw it into gear. It was a maneuver I had perfected, and I was quite adept at it. My dad had ordered the replacement cable, but it hadn't

arrived yet. I set off into the trails with enthusiasm, tearing through the paths for about an hour, not encountering a soul. It seemed like everyone had other plans that day. Deep within the woods, there lay an open field, about four or five acres in size, enclosed by a rusty, mostly intact fence. The quietness in the air struck me as odd, considering the noise my dirt bike generated, but I dismissed it, attributing it to my own noisy presence. Feeling the call of nature, I decided to stop on the trail and relieve myself. My racing bike lacked a kickstand, so I leaned it against a fence post. As I was in the midst of my business, I noticed the eerie silence around me, an unusual contrast to the revving engine moments earlier,

but I brushed it off, assuming it was my imagination. Then, about 50 or 60 yards away, I heard rustling. I glanced in that direction but saw nothing initially, so I chalked it up to a squirrel, common in these woods. However, as I finished up, an inexplicable sense of anxiety washed over me, and the atmosphere grew heavy as if unseen eyes were fixed upon me. I scanned my surroundings but saw nothing. My bike was just a few feet away, and I began walking towards it. With each step, I distinctly heard another step behind me. The realization sent shivers down my spine. I was certain someone was following me. At this point fear gripped me, and I was uncertain about what to do next. My only thought was to run to my bike, jump on it, and make a quick getaway. It had to be a seamless

maneuver since my bike lacked a clutch, and I had to kickstart it, push it, and throw it into gear all at once. Gathering all the courage I could muster, I sprinted towards my bike. In one fluid motion, I leaped onto it, kick-started it, and shoved it into gear. The footsteps continued behind me, relentlessly echoing my every move. I knew whatever was back there was only a few yards away. As I sped away, a sudden breeze grazed my back, as if something had taken a swipe at me and narrowly missed. My heart raced, and I could feel my pulse pounding in my temples.

Though I never saw anything, the sense of urgency to escape those woods was overpowering. finally i reached the road stopped my bike and tried to collect myself it took several minutes but as i did a blood-curdling scream pierced the air it started softly but crescendoed into a deafening roar reverberating through my chest without hesitation i revved my engine and raced home as fast as i could it was a long time before i mustered the courage to return to those woods and when i did it was all the time before i mustered the courage to return to those woods and when i did it was all It was always with friends by my side. That day, that dreadful encounter in the woods, remained etched in my memory, a haunting reminder of the unknown lurking in the depths of the forest. It was around November of last year when I had just moved to Washington State.

Being new to the area, I found myself drawn to the woods, so when a few friends of mine, who were avid forest enthusiasts, decided to take me out to a secluded spot, I thought, why not? I need some time away from work. I managed to get the weekend off, packed my bag, cleaned my rifle, and headed over to my friend's house. We ended up about 25 or 30 miles away from the Canadian border, deep within a forest that seemed to stretch endlessly. I was enthralled by the wilderness, as my home state didn't have anything quite like this. There were six of us in total, along with two dogs, a Labrador and a Rottweiler. Each person was armed with either a hunting

rifle or a shotgun, and they all had a handgun, except for me. We parked our cars on a tiny dirt road, likely used by game wardens or border patrol, and hiked about four miles into the woods. By this time, dusk was setting in, and we decided to build a fire right away, so we could set up our tents. Two of the group and one of the dogs went out to gather firewood, while the rest of us started setting up the tent, a massive six to eight person won. November in this region could be quite chilly, but we managed to set up the tent in about 15 minutes. The trio that went to gather wood still hadn't returned, so we decided to start a fire with some branches we found around the campsite. As we were getting the fire going, we began to hear crashing noises coming from the woods,

as if someone was sprinting towards us. The two guys who had gone to gather wood came rushing back, their eyes wide with fear. The Labrador was with them, but the Rottweiler was nowhere to be seen. They began to explain that they had seen one of our friends out in the woods acting strangely. They tried to approach him,

but every time they got close, he would move away. At one point he simply vanished, and then reappeared not ten feet behind them. They mentioned a terrible stench of, rotten meat and spoiled milk that seemed to surround them during the encounter. They tried asking him what was wrong, but he didn't respond. Suddenly, he bolted into the woods, and the dog chased after him, barking frantically. Soon, both the man and the dog disappeared from sight.

The terrible smell persisted, accompanied by eerie giggling sounds. We were all disturbed by this bizarre story, but we initially thought it might be some elaborate prank. However, our concern grew when we realized that the missing dog hadn't returned either. We began to worry about the situation, but decided to stay put. By this point, the sun was dipping below the horizon, so we built up the fire and brought out some Coleman lanterns. We huddled together, eating MREs, with our firearms close at hand. About 15 minutes after darkness fell, The remaining dog, the Rottweiler, suddenly perked up and started growling aggressively. The stench returned, and the guys were not exaggerating about how terrible it was.

The forest began to groan and creak, and we could hear branches and leaves snapping around the perimeter of our campsite. The atmosphere was tense, and the sense of dread intensified. The dog's barking grew more frenzied, so one of the guys, Sean, stood up and fired three rounds of buckshot randomly into the woods. A horrifying, otherworldly screech echoed from the darkness and rapidly moved away from us, taking the foul odor with it. We waited for about an hour, on high alert, and then decided to try and get some sleep. Two people would keep watch at all times. I was on the first watch with another guy named Victor.

The Labrador was still nearby, and we kept a close eye on the surroundings. The first two hours passed without incident, As we woke up Sean and Jim for their watch, I couldn't shake off the eerie feeling that something was very wrong. It wasn't long before I woke up to that nauseating smell once again, and Sean was shouting loudly. Victor and I hurried outside to see what had happened. Sean was scanning the edge of the woods with a spotlight,

desperately calling out Jim's name. I asked what had occurred, and they explained that they had been sitting there when they heard one of our friends calling to them from the woods. The dog had growled and rushed toward the sound, and Jim followed after the dog, disappearing into the woods. Sean had been yelling for him when he heard Jim begin to speak, but he was abruptly cut off. Fear gripped us all, and we couldn't leave Jim out there, so we decided to venture into the woods to find him.

By this time, the foul stench had returned, making most of us feel queasy. We pushed on because we were determined to locate our missing friend. We found some of Jim's tracks but lost the trail when they suddenly stopped, leaving no other footprints leading back in the direction he had come from. The situation grew even more unsettling. Suddenly, one of the guys at the back of our group stopped and made a strange noise before yelling in anger. We all rushed over to see Jim standing about 20 feet away.

However, he was standing unnaturally, and something about him felt profoundly wrong. We approached him cautiously, asking if he was okay and if he needed help. He just stood there with a blank expression, slowly nodding yes. It was clear that something was terribly amiss. Laughs and jokes circulated among the group, except for Jim, who remained eerily silent.

It was hard to believe that he had only been out in the woods for less than a day, considering his strange behavior. Back at the camp, we tried to lay him down, but he adamantly refused, choosing to remain outside. side by the fire. A few of us went to sleep, while Sean, Victor and I stayed up to keep an eye on Jim. As we observed him, we noticed bizarre, jerky muscle spasms and movements that sent shivers down our spines. It seemed like there was something seriously wrong with him. Jim remained mostly silent and slow to respond to us, except when it came to food. We offered him an M.R.E., but he only

ate the meat from it. Afterward, he got up and began to move awkwardly, suggesting that, we join him in the woods to gather firewood. Despite the darkness, the ample firewood we had collected earlier, and the presence of a large campfire, his request didn't seem all that strange at the time. He gave a peculiar shrug before walking off strangely into the woods. We were on guard but didn't attempt to stop him. A few minutes later, Sean got up and went into the tent for something, leaving me outside with Victor. That's when the dreadful smell hit me like a sledgehammer, making me gag. Simultaneously, I started hearing strange gibbering and giggling,

a chorus of madness that sent chills down my spine. I had never felt so terrified in my life, and it was clear that Victor felt the same way. Sean came out in time to hear the disturbing sounds clearly. He rushed back inside the tent to wake everyone up. He froze at the tent flap, his face draining of color as he muttered curses under his breath. His alarmed reaction stirred the rest of the group, and we all awoke in a panic.

I couldn't understand why he was cursing, but it certainly had the desired effect of waking everyone up. As we counted heads to ensure everyone was present, Sean's face grew even paler. He stammered, Where's Jim? It was then that we realized something was horribly amiss. The gibbering grew louder, and a cacophony of nonsensical sounds seemed to echo through the woods. Jim's voice called out to us from the darkness, pleading for help, but his words were off-key and interspersed with unsettling giggles.

We decided to stoke the fire, turning it into a blazing inferno, and turned all the lanterns to their brightest setting. We clutched our weapons, ready to defend ourselves. We stayed huddled around the fire until the first light of dawn began to break through the trees. As soon as there was enough visibility, we extinguished the fire, packed our belongings, and made a hasty retreat towards our vehicles. The ominous giggling and nauseating smell returned as we hastily left the campsite. Upon reaching our cars, we were met with a horrifying sight.

Scratches covered the vehicles, most of the windows were smashed, and the seats were shredded beyond recognition. We needed the cars to run, so we hastily tossed the keys into the ignition. We breathed a collective sigh of relief as the engines roared to light. Without a second thought, we piled into the vehicles and sped away, leaving behind the nightmare in the woods. For months, we avoided discussing the eerie events that had transpired, and most of us couldn't bring ourselves to admit that it had happened. One of the guys later confided in us that he had seen Jim standing at the edge of the woods, staring at us as we departed, a twisted grin on his face.

I believed him, and that experience left me with an unshakable belief that I had encountered something sinister. a skin walker. It's a memory that will haunt me for the rest of my life, and I'll never venture into the woods so far from civilization, with just a handful of friends again. In the summer of 2015, I found myself on a mission to hunt coyotes for their prized fur. Armed with my basic AR-15 rifle that I had acquired inexpensively, I admired how it slung comfortably over my shoulder. I attached a sling point to the barrel, securing it messenger bag style around my neck. and hopped onto my dirt bike. The cabin on the mountain awaited, a remote sanctuary where my journey would begin. As I approached the cabin and parked my dirt bike, I sensed an eerie presence

lingering in the air. I had been baiting the woods with squirrel and rabbit guts to attract predators, but to my surprise, all the bait had vanished. An unsettling feeling gnawed at me. The neighbor who lived just down the road had also departed in his car, leaving me alone. Deciding to invest in the woods, I couldn't shake the sensation that I was not alone. Every step I took seemed to be echoed by another, as if unseen eyes were watching my every move. I glimpsed a shadowy figure in the distance, its silhouette resembling a stick figure. I waved hesitantly, and it slipped behind a tree. Dismissing it as a trick of my imagination, I retreated to the safety of the cabin. Inside the cabin I opted to sit down and indulge in some drinks while I contemplated my next move. move. The distant yelps of coyotes filled the air, signaling their presence. I readied my rifle, preparing to confront a few of these cunning creatures. Sitting on the porch with the lights turned off, I waited patiently, but nothing crossed my path. The yelping gradually evolved into distant cries for

help. My attention shifted to the neighbor's house, which stood in complete darkness. It suddenly struck me that he had left, but the cries for help persisted. Fear gripped me as I realized that he might have encountered trouble, perhaps a leg injury in the woods, surrounded by coyotes. Determined to help, I ventured into the woods, following the dirt bike trail. The cries grew louder, leading me deeper into the forest. Without warning, I encountered a U-shaped dip in the trail, and instead of hitting the brakes, I coasted down it. As I descended, I heard an air. I heard an anguished cry for help right in front of me. Panic surged through me, and I desperately tried to steer away. In the chaos, my dirt bike flipped, and my memory grew hazy as I briefly lost consciousness.

Regaining awareness, I found myself trapped beneath the overturned dirt bike. Panic set in as I realized that my left leg was pinned beneath the heavy machine. My attempts to free myself were futile, as though the dirt bike had suddenly gained a hundred pounds. The sling around my neck reminded me of my rifle, and I dragged it within reach, even though my arm was bleeding. As I assessed the condition of my rifle, I noticed damage to the handguard and a cracked stalk, but it still seemed functional. With 30 rounds at my disposal, I had to endure the night, or hope that someone would find me. I sat in the eerie silence of the forest. My fear and tense of with every passing moment. Suddenly, a shuffling sound nearby shattered the silence. The atmosphere

grew thick with tension as I strained to locate the source. The cries for help resurfaced, drawing nearer. Uncertain whether to respond or remain silent, I listened to the approaching shuffling. It was getting closer, and something loomed over the dirt bike. I averted my gaze, unable to look directly at the unknown presence. But before I could, react, it grabbed my face, rendering me helpless. My mind raced, searching for the trigger of my rifle, but it was a futile endeavor. Slowly, it moved my head to face it, and what I saw chilled me to the bone. The figure was grotesque, resembling a crack-addled gallum, with a mutilated face, sunken cheeks, and hollow eyes. Its breath was a noxious stench that filled my nostrils

searing into my memory. Panic surged as I felt the flash hider of my AR-15 bump against something, jolting me back to reality. I screamed with all my might, and it screamed back. I pulled the trigger repeatedly, the deafening gunshots ringing in my ears. It seized my hair and began bashing my head against the ground, all while the rifle's deafening report continued. Finally, it rested the gun from my grasp and pummeled me with it, all the while howling in torment. My vision blurred, and I felt the brink of unconsciousness approaching. Just when I thought it was over, I heard a sound louder than the creature's screams. In a moment of sheer terror, I watched as its head seemingly exploded. My gun lay a mere ten feet away, and a brilliant light drew nearer. My world faded into darkness,

as I heard someone scream my name, urging me to hold on. When I regained consciousness, I found myself in a hospital bed, my head stitched up. Inquiring with my neighbor about that fateful night, I received an unexpected response. He simply claimed it was a bear, a common sight in those parts. Yet deep down, I remained unconvinced that a bear had been responsible for the harrowing ordeal I had endured. Yamava Resort and Casino at San Manuel is California's number one entertainment destination for today's superstars.

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A couple of nights ago, something chilling happened to me at Stahl Soft Park, a location I frequent for some late night solitude. Let me provide some context first. This park is situated within my city, covering approximately a square mile in total area, mostly dominated by dense forest. There's a playground on the northern end, adjacent to the street, and the park is situated on an elevated hill, with the forest sloping down to a central valley. The playground is bordered by woods on two sides, and the swing set where I was perched sits about ten feet from the fence separating the playground from the forest.

I often visit this park between nine at night and midnight to relish the serenity of being the only person in the area. It's not that I dislike kids or crowded places, but I find solace in the quiet of the night. On the particular night in question, I estimate it was around 11 p.m. when I first heard shuffling noises coming from behind the fence. This was not unusual, and initially, I paid little attention to it. Approximately five minutes later, the shuffling sound returned, but this time it had an eerie, almost human-like quality. My first thought was the possibility of a mountain lion, even though I'd never encountered one in this park before.

Mountain lion warnings were posted in the area, but they generally don't pose a threat to humans unless provoked. Still, I remained vigilant. My next thought was that it might be a creeper, and I mentally prepared to jump off the swing and make a dash for my car. While mulling over my options, I strained my eyes to peer at the fence. That night, the moon wasn't providing much light,

but its faint glow allowed me to see movements, especially of something as large as a human or animal. As I contemplated my next move, I heard a sound that can only be described as a low, moaning growl, which persisted for about five seconds. What puzzled me was that the source of this eerie vocalization seemed to be right at the fence, just ten feet away from where I sat. What should have been my cue to leave turned into a moment of stunned paralysis,

and I continued swinging for another 30 seconds or so. Then, things took an even stranger turn. As I swung back and forth I caught sight of a flashlight in the distance, near the point where the playground met the street, roughly 60 to 70 feet from me. Obstacles like play structures obscured my view, but I assumed it could be a police officer, considering the park was technically closed due to the ongoing pandemic. However, I'd swung at parks after hours in the past, and the police had never bothered me. The person with the flashlight gradually approached, moving at an angle toward me,

imagine the area as a clock, with me at six, and he started at 12, moving towards 7, to my right, about 10 feet from the swing set, and in the opposite direction, of the fence, there was a twenty-by-twenty metal overhang with a fishnet patterned table for picnics. I hopped off the swing and crouched behind it, which in the darkness of night provided surprisingly effective concealment. I watched as the person drew closer. Though the visibility was incredibly poor, I could make out that he was dressed in a manner reminiscent of a character from the TV show, Supernatural. Baggy pants, a vest, and the familiar duck bill hat that Lids sold. he seemed to have objects strapped to his arms and legs but i couldn't discern any more details in his hand he held a flashlight aimed at the ground and on the other hand there was some kind of stick or baton the whole situation was bizarre and i couldn't shake the feeling that i might be in danger

It struck me that if this person saw me swinging alone at midnight, he might consider me an easy target. With that thought, I decided that if he came any closer, I would make a run for the far fence leading into the forest. I knew the woods like the back of my hand, having frequented them since I was a child. Even in complete darkness, I could navigate them well enough to hide if necessary. I crouched behind the table and watched as the person briefly stopped, then continued. walking towards the entrance of the forest. This marked the end of our eerie encounter. I waited in silence for a few minutes before attempting to see if I could still spot him,

but he had disappeared into the depths of the forest. Reflecting on the events of that night, I couldn't be certain if the strange noise I had initially heard and the flashlight-wielding individual were connected. I knew what mountain lions sounded like, and the only other wildlife in the park were deer, squirrels, and insects. The idea of a skinwalker or something supernatural crossed my mind, but it was all speculation. There was no distinctive smell, and although the person dressed oddly, I didn't get an overwhelmingly

sinister vibe from him. Furthermore, I doubted the park's size was sufficient to house a creature of such lore. As I pondered these bizarre events, I couldn't help but wonder if this mysterious figure was hunting something else entirely, and I was merely an unsuspecting observer in the shadows. The possibility lingered in my mind, leaving me with more questions than answers. Had I encountered a skinwalker or someone on a quest to confront one? I couldn't say for certain, but that night at Stahl Soft Park had left me with an eerie and unshakable sense of unease.

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My semi-rural residence lies about 20 minutes away from the closest supermarket and fast food joint. I study in Washington, D.C., but not in the upscale neighborhoods you might have heard about. I'm nestled in a part of town where substance abuse issues are prevalent, and the police presence is more reassuring than troublesome. Let me clarify one thing. I'm not some muscle-bound freak. I stand at 6'1 and weigh 240 pounds, mostly muscle. Sure, I could drop a few pounds, but who doesn't have their vices?

I enjoy the occasional smoke, drink, and indulgent meal. It's all part of the college experience. As the diligent student I am, I've chosen a real major, accounting. I even scored an internship at a mid-size PR firm, crunching numbers and raking in a respectable $20 per hour. College isn't cheap, so I also moonlight as a pizza delivery guy after the office closes. The pizza place where I work isn't exactly gourmet, and its delivery radius is absurdly large.

around 20 minutes from my home and just five minutes from the beach. My house lies north of the pizzeria, and we deliver even farther north, which takes an additional 50 minutes. Currently, I'm typing this tale at work, stealing moments between scrutinizing the fine print on our client contracts to ensure we charge them every last penny. Believe me, they'll do everything to shortchange us. Anyway, the farther north you venture from the pizza place,

the more rural and isolated the landscape becomes. On this particular night, I found myself working until closing time, around 9.45 p.m. I was in the back, dutifully folding pizza boxes, when the countergirl approached me with a delivery slip in hand. She mentioned that the customer who placed the order had sounded strange on the phone, as if speaking through a fan or cupping their hands around their mouth. They were also making gurgling noises. my washington d c experiences immediately conjured images of substance users given our neighborhood's reputation however it was more likely to be someone who had overindulged in benzos around here i took a look at the delivery address and i admit i was a little annoyed It was practically in the middle of nowhere, and the last thing I wanted was a long drive.

Moreover, the order was bizarre. The customer had requested a large pizza loaded with anchovies, ground beef, ham, sausage, pepperoni, and various other toppings, totalling a whopping $15 in extras. I went back to the countergirl to confirm, and she admitted that she wasn't entirely sure, as she had some difficulty understanding the caller. Given her age, around 16, I cut her some slack, thinking she might have been daydreaming during the call. No harm in double checking, so I decided to give the customer a call back. I dialed the number, but it rang and rang, reaching 5, 10, 20, 30 times without an answer.

I hung up and tried again, only to hear, the number you have dialed does not have a voicemail box that has been set up yet. Goodbye. My manager, not wanting to waste any more time, decided to make the pizza as ordered, and we would figure it out from there. Reluctantly, I took on the delivery. As I drove to the customer's location, I put on some dubstep music and revved up my turbo-subi. For those unfamiliar with rural areas, you should know that a winter drive through the woods can be quite eerie.

It's an environment where absolute silence rains, broken only by the occasional rustle of something larger than a cat moving through the underbrush. So there I was, speeding toward the address in this chilling silence. After what felt like an eternity, I reached the location. There were a few houses on the street, each sitting on about five acres, so they were quite spread out. I was searching for number 1134, but I passed 1130, drove through a long stretch of empty road, and then found 1144. Frustrated and puzzled, I realized, I must have missed it. I called the customer's number again, and this time I heard a strange buzzing or humming sound coming from somewhere outside my car's stereo. It grew louder and louder

until I couldn't stand it any longer, fearing for my speakers. At that point my car windows were fogging up from the tension in the air. I pulled over between two of the houses and rolled down the windows, only to be hit by an overwhelming odor of decaying trash reminiscent of driving through Newark, New Jersey. It was so foul that I couldn't bear it. I shifted my car into gear and started driving toward the next house, intending to knock and ask if they had made a mistake with the order over the phone. That would have been a reasonable explanation for these bizarre circumstances. As I approached the end of the driveway, I noticed a pole with a light on top of it. The plan was to pull into this house's driveway, clarify the order, and hopefully put an end to this unsettling situation.

I was about 100 feet away when I spotted someone stepping out of the darkness and into the light at the bottom of the driveway. My initial reaction was relief, thinking it must be the customer. However, the man standing under the light didn't fit the typical mold of a customer in need of a pizza delivery. He was eerily calm, wearing a massive, ill-fitting black coat that made him appear even larger than his towering stature, though he was probably five inches shorter than me. I couldn't see his face properly at first, but I grabbed the pizza and got out of the car, preparing some change in case he paid in cash. Hey, sir, sorry about the wait and all the phone calls.

The delivery is pretty far. I began, but there was no response. It was then that I realized I should be watching him more closely. The red flags were stacking up, including the repulsive stench that hung in the air. It didn't make sense. It wasn't trash day. I moved the pizza to the far side of the car roof to distance myself from it and squinted at the ticket, trying to decipher the order. Still no response from the man. At last, I gathered the courage to

study him more closely. The guy was enormous, had no shoes on, wore ripped jeans with stains covering every inch, and his face. His eyes seemed sunken in, and I couldn't even discern the pupils. They were like bottomless black craters. I started feeling increasing. uneasily uneasy. Between the noxious smell, his odd head movements and those unsettling eyes, my anxiety was mounting. He was still motionless, not responding to my presence, so I stood there frozen, my gaze locked on him. His head was bobbing from side to side, but it wasn't fluid or natural. It was more like a car door that stops halfway, and requires another push to close properly. This strange head movement continued for about ten seconds, intensifying my unease.

I was getting increasingly uncomfortable when, in the midst of this bizarre encounter, I noticed that the man was smiling. It was a chilling, unnatural smile that sent shivers down my spine. I hadn't paid much attention to his mouth before, but now I couldn't look away. He continued to smile with that eerie grin, and as I stared, I heard him speak. Uh, can you please come get this? Also, I think you might have dropped your phone or something when you were hiding a body or whatever in the woods. I stammered nervously.

I was still clinging to the hope that this man had taken too many pills and was simply having a strange interaction. To my astonishment, his mouth opened, and his head stopped its erratic movements. He uttered a word that sent a chill down my spine. What? His voice was strained, fragmented and disjointed, almost as though he was trying to say something else but couldn't.

I was stunned and baffled by his response. What? I repeated, my voice shaky. It was his, he replied, and the words sounded disjointed and unnatural, as though he were struggling to communicate. My heart raced as my mind went into overdrive, trying to make sense of the situation. His what, I managed to utter, my anxiety mounting. The man, still not moved. moving from his spot, repeated,

The phone was his. Phone's not his anymore. I was trembling now, feeling a sense of impending danger. The words he spoke made no sense, and his demeanor was increasingly unsettling. In one jerky motion, he propelled himself closer to my car,

and I could hear his voice change, as if it was coming from a different source entirely. Go away. Stop following me. I will call the police, he said, still not moving his mouth. and his voice took on a completely different tone, one I had never heard before.

Fear gripped me like a vice, and I finally found my voice. I'm going to call the cops, man, if you don't just get out of here, I shouted, panic overtaking me. That creepy smile widened on his face, but he didn't move his mouth. Instead, I heard him speak again, this time in a voice that sent shivers down my spine. Away! Stop! Police! I couldn't take it any more. I had to escape this bizarre and terrifying encounter.

Without further hesitation, I shoved the pizza toward him and made a hasty retreat to my car. I didn't even bother closing the door properly. I just needed to get away from this stranger. My heart was pounding, and I sped down the road, leaving everything behind, the pizza, the car door slightly ajar, and my fear-stricken thoughts. I drove about 80 miles per hour for a quarter of a mile, then a abruptly executed a U-turn. I didn't want to get any more lost in this unfamiliar area with that eerie man still lurking around.

I quickly returned to the spot where I had left him, only to find that he had vanished into thin air. As I finally reached the end of the road, preparing to merge onto the main road, I instinctively glanced right to check for oncoming traffic. What I saw froze my blood. The man's face was just inches away from mine, mere inches from my car window.

his eyes boring into mine. I turned left as fast as I could, my heart racing, leaving him behind. Back at the pizza place, I was shaking uncontrollably. I did something I never did while working. I lit up a cigarette, desperately trying to calm my nerves. When I walked through the front door, the countergirl informed me that the man from the open space house had called back. She said he claimed I had forgotten some food, but he had only ordered a pizza, hadn't he? I was on the verge of tears as I glanced at my phone, which had been thrown around the car during my frantic escape. There were 14 missed calls from the same number. I listened to the voicemails, but all of them were empty except for the last one. In that final voicemail, all I could hear was ragged breathing

and those same low grunting sounds that the man had made earlier. I couldn't hold back my tears any longer. I sat there for ten minutes, attempting to regain my composure. Then I remembered the change the man had left on the roof of my car. I mustered up the courage to step outside and shine a flashlight on my car's roof. It was covered in a thick, viscous, foul-smelling substance that resembled copper. I gagged and heaved, and as I inspected further, I found the quarters he had left surrounded by the same repulsive goop. They were stuck to it along with what appeared to be a small chunk of soft tissue. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

Panic surged through me, and I rushed back into the pizza place. My nerves were shattered as I asked the countergirl to call the man's number again. She made several attempts, but the phone consistently went straight to voicemail. The next morning, I handed the mysterious number over to my uncle, a police captain in a nearby town, He informed me that it was a burner phone, paid for in cash, making it nearly impossible to trace. The phone was now turned off. Ever since that night, I've been sleeping with the lights on, haunted by the eerie encounter in the woods, and the unsettling stranger who seemed to defy explanation.

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Ryan Reynolds here for MintMobil. I don't know if you knew this, but anyone can get the same premium wireless for $15 a month plan that I've been enjoying. It's not just for celebrities. So do like I did and have one of your assistants assistants to switch you to MintMobile today. I'm told it's super easy to do at mintmobile.com slash switch. Up front payment of $45 for three-month plan equivalent to $15 per month required. Intro rate first three months only, then full price plan options available. Taxes and fees extra. Seeful terms at mintmobile.com. My name's Ellie. Last year, my friends James, Peter, and I decided to go camping in the woods near my house.

We live in a small town called Supply, North Carolina. The first day went by like any other camping trip. We arrived at the pond, unpacked our gear, set up our camo, and lit a fire to kick things off. The second day is when things started to take a strange turn. After waking up and enjoying a joint, we decided to go fishing by heading about half a mile through the woods to reach the nearby river.

As we walked there, James pointed out some peculiar footprints on the trail. Now, I consider myself a hunter, and the deer around these parts aren't much larger than a Great Dane. But these tracks were different. They were bipedal, which was downright weird. Curiosity got the best of us, so I knelt down to examine those tracks more closely.

They were almost as big as my hand, and I had never seen deer tracks that massive. We continued down the trail, discussing the unusual tracks as we made our way to the river. Once we reached our usual fishing spot and cast our lines, everything seemed normal for about an hour. We managed to catch five decent-sized red drum, and with excitement, we packed up to head back to camp.

However, our excitement quickly turned to dread when we heard a blood-curdling scream that seemed to go on for an agonizing 15 seconds. It was distant, so I brushed it off, suggesting it was probably just a panther or something since there had been mountain lion sightings in the area. Returning to our campsite, we noticed that the same peculiar tracks

we had seen earlier now surrounded our tents. Three enormous claw marks adorned the outside of one of our tents. I began to suspect that someone might be playing a prank on us, as some of our friends knew we were camping here. We decided to stoke the fire and make breakfast, trying not to let unease creep in. The rest of the day passed relatively peacefully. We took leisurely walks, went swimming, smoked a few more joints, and engaged in casual conversations,

all while savoring the final days of summer. When night fell, we retreated to our tents. I woke up to the sound of that same horrific scream from before, but this time it was much closer. Fear gripped me as I grabbed my Mossburg 500 shotgun and cautiously emerged from my tent. James and Peter were already outside their tents, wide-eyed and terrified.

I asked if they heard it, and James affirmed that they did, explaining that it had been too unsettling to ignore. I threw some logs onto the fire, and we huddled together, straining our ears to pick up any unusual sounds. Then, as if the forest itself had fallen silent, the sounds of birds, bugs, and rustling leaves ceased. Heavy footsteps started to encircle our camp, and we exchanged nervous glances but couldn't spot anything in the darkness. Moments later, a massive figure stepped into the light cast by our campfire. It was so enormous that it defied any logical explanation.

Even I, standing at 6.3, felt dwarfed by it. Initially, we thought it might be a person, but it was simply too big and appeared almost solid white. Its body resembled that of a man, but instead of a human head, it wore a grotesque deer skull. As this enigmatic creature drew nearer, I could no longer contain my fear, and fired three slug rounds into its chest. The creature halted, seemingly unfazed, and locked its hollow eye sockets onto me. In a moment of desperation, I urged James to retrieve the car keys from my tent. The creature shifted its attention to Peter, and I fired a fourth round into its stomach. It responded by fixing its eerie gaze upon me and, bizarrely, seemed to smile.

Panicked, we sprinted for the car, keeping our eyes on the creature as I aimed my gun. Once we had all clambered into the vehicle, James revered. the engine and sped down the narrow, winding dirt trail. We must have been going at least 60 miles per hour when Peter suddenly screamed. In the same instant, the SUV was jolted to the side. I peered out the rear window and saw that the creature was still in pursuit, effortlessly keeping pace with us. James did something almost superhuman to coax even more speed out of the car. When we finally reached the main road, we knew we were safe. We kept driving, not stopping until we were far away from that horrifying campsite.

Since that night, we have not ventured out camping again, and I'm not sure if we ever will. Until now, we hadn't shared our encounter with anyone, but I've been listening to your channel for the past three years. I thought maybe someone else had experienced something similar in this area. Introducing the new Best Skin Ever Ultra Slim Precision Concealer from Sephora Collection. It's full coverage with a matte finish

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Well, that's Tova's reality. An elderly widow working at an aquarium. Tova forms in the world. unlikely friendship with the crumudgeonly Marcellus, whose remarkable intelligence leads her to a life-changing discovery. Watch remarkably bright creatures with your remarkable moms this Mother's Day weekend, only on Netflix May 8th. My father told me a story once, and I'll never forget it for a few reasons. I think it's the first story he told me as a child. It's also the story of how my grandfather died, but honestly, that isn't the reason you hear stories on TV, or sometimes overhear

something in a public place. People talk about ghosts and aliens, and you think to yourself, that isn't real. They're making it up or they're mistaken or they're crazy. Something like that. You just can't believe it until something happens, something that brings it all together, connects the dots in a way that you didn't think of before. Maybe it happens to you, or maybe you hear the same story again and again happening to different people. It doesn't take long for the world to become a bit bigger than you thought. As I said, this is a story my father told me. But I never believed it, even though he swore up and down that it was true. It wasn't until I started clicking around the Internet that I started to believe. I started to hear other stories

just like the one my father told me. It didn't take me long to believe in the rake. That's not what my father called it, of course. He's never used the Internet in his life. He wouldn't know what the consensus has taken to naming it. When he chose to call it something other than it, he called it a skinwalker. After an old Navajo tale, his grandfather told him. But I'll tell you the story the way he told it to me. We were out hunting one night, killing coyotes for 50 bucks a skin. We lived on a dairy farm in Ohio, and sometimes we'd kill a calf. We'd do it every night because we needed the money. Sometimes while we were out, we'd come upon a deer and kill it. Our landlord didn't mind, and it could feed our family for a few nights and save us some money.

Anyway, we were done making our rounds and heading home, walking because we didn't have a car or a four-wheeler back then. We'd cut through the woods, and that's when we came upon it. Blood everywhere, splattered on the trees, in the grass, in the creek, everywhere. At first we figured it was a pack of coyotes. We'd seen it sometimes. They scavenge and then start hunting deer or cattle. The worst was when they bred with feral dogs.

But this wasn't like that. When a pack of dogs, wolves, or coyotes attack something, they do it right. They'll pick off one that's weak, sick, old, or just small. They'll hunt it, draw it into a corner someplace it can't get out of, and then they'll run it right to the biggest one. The alpha, and that deer will never see that alpha. They might hear it, but it won't. see it. It'll just notice that its throat is gone, and then it will drop dead. It's quick. It's clean.

That wasn't what happened here. Something had run up on a den of deer. Coyotes won't attack a den, and wolves neither because they'd get too much of a fight. There were three, I think, three bodies just torn apart. You'd see a head here, a leg there, a torso over there. Predators don't do that. They don't leave behind scraps. What had done this hadn't done it for food. It had done it for fun. But we didn't know that. We saw a bunch of carcasses, and we thought it's something that we've got to take care of. I remember my dad telling me to go home. He thought it was a pack of feral dogs, but I wasn't leaving him, and I damn sure wasn't walking through two miles of woods alone with nothing but a 22 and a pocket knife.

I was only 13 at the time, so a 22 rifle was about the only gun I could release. reliably use. Dad had the shotgun, and he wasn't going in there without it. It took me a while to convince him, but finally we began tracking whatever did that. It wasn't hard either. We just followed the blood. Either that thing bled a deer before it got away, or it dragged one for a mile. I don't know. I know that I'd never seen my dad scared before that night. We started hearing noises. I've been in a lot of woods in my life. I've been all over the world, and I ain't never heard noises like I heard that night. I heard things screaming. Deer, foxes, rabbits, raccoons, and birds just scared. Now keep in mind, this is maybe 12 or 1. Except for the fox and some

birds, nothing was supposed to be awake, but they weren't just awake. They were moving. I saw flocks of birds that night fly straight into trees just trying to get out of there. We came upon a pack of coyotes, nearly shot a couple, thinking that it was what we were looking for, but then we saw that they were running towards us. They ran right past us, didn't even notice, and then some deer did the same, and then some rabbits, squirrels, foxes, even a couple of wild hogs. These things were supposed to be eating each other, and the only thing they cared about was getting out of there. We should have put it together that maybe whatever we were tracking,

it wasn't something we were supposed to see, and it wasn't something we could kill. I don't know why we didn't just go home. I guess we were curious. I think that was my dad's nature, to go toward trouble, to fight. And knowing what I knew about what my father did during the war, my nature was to stay close to him. We finally get into an open valley. It was normally a soy field, but it wasn't in season, so it was just flat dirt. We saw the tracks.

Then a lot of the animals fleeing the forest had paved over the land, but where the deer blood was, nothing had taken a single step, like they were leaving it for us to find. The tracks were shallow. Whatever it was couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds. But that didn't mean much. A bobcat weighing around 40 pounds nearly tore my damn throat out once, and all that means is that it's quick and it's hard to hit.

So we follow the tracks, and it doesn't take long for us to find, where it is. There's this old schoolhouse that sits on the top of the hill. Half of it had been ripped out by a tornado, and nobody lived there, not for a long time. We caught homeless people in there sometimes, or druggies looking for a safe place to shoot up. We figured maybe that was it. Maybe it was just some sick kid riding a high, but we didn't think that for long. We get within 50 yards, and we hear this noise, a screeching kind of sound. It was sort of made up of two different sounds. One, a high-pitched screech, and another, a low-pitched growl. It was making

both at the same time. We get within 20 yards and we hear the sound. I can remember thinking that it sounded like paper being torn apart while someone was swinging water in a bucket back and forth. Now Dad looks at me, kneels down, and whispers. I've got to stay behind him, because we're about to corner it. Any animal will fight when it's cornered, especially when it's. a predator. But we can tell by the tracks that it's just one. He tells me it's probably a single feral dog, probably rabid. The plan is to sneak up on it while it's eating, shoot it, and then keep shooting until it doesn't move anymore, and then slit its throat. If it gets to dad, it's my job to shoot it or stab it to get it off of him. So he walks up, and I'm right behind

him, just a tad to his side so I can see what it is. I wish to this day that I have to It was leaning over a carcass, tearing off its flesh, and throwing what it doesn't nibble at its side. There's blood all over the brick, glistening in the moonlight. It's pale white, human-looking, but not quite human. It had arms and legs like a human, but it sat like a monkey, hunched over. Its hands weren't normal. It had long fingers with claws at the end. So, we see that, and my dad hesitates.

He wasn't about to fire on a purse. person, so he clears his throat to try to get it to turn around. I swear to God, all the noise just ceased. I ain't never heard true silence before that, and not after it. But for two seconds, nothing. Nothing made any noise, which made it all the louder when it turned around, made this shrill cry, and jumped on Dad. He got a shot off. I think he missed it. If he hit the thing, it didn't mind. But it was on him, tearing parts of him off. I started shooting. it with a 22-point blank, but it barely bled the thing. I got off five rounds, and then I started hitting it with the gun butt. It wasn't budging. It didn't even register that I was there.

It clawed at my dad, taking off bits of his flesh. It started on his torso, ripping off the skin, and then it moved up. It tore off his throat, his nose, his eyes. It scalped him. Then it started digging in and ripping off the bottom half of his jaw, the little bones in that tube in your neck, and then his ribs. I don't exactly remember what happened, but somehow my dad's knife ends up in the thing's shoulder, and my dad ends up on my back. I'm running, and by God, I'm running faster than I'd ever run before or after, and I know it's following me. I end up back in the woods, opposite the ones we'd been in. I'm heading towards my landlord's house because it's half a mile away. I can hear this thing screeching and moaning.

I hear the tree branches crack and get thrown around. It sounds like someone taking an axe to every single tree I pass. It's cracking so loud and often, but I just... I'm not looking back. Finally, I trip into gravel. I look up, and there's my landlord and a bunch of his buddies drinking around a campfire. I scream and cry, and they come over. I'm telling them to call an ambulance, and he looks at me, and I'll never forget what he said.

What's that on your back? he asked me. And just as he said it, he saw one of those god-awful flannel shirts my dad wore everywhere. It was what was left of my dad, most of his head, his torso, but nothing after the waist. Suddenly, we hear it screeching, and he grabs me. My dad gets thrown in the ground, and I'm fighting him. crying because I think we can still save him somehow. But my dad had been gone before I even picked him up. He has to pick me up and throw me inside before I come with him. He and his buddies were all inside, and they're locking doors and getting guns ready. The landlord looks at me, asking what

happened, but I just don't know what to tell him. He pieced enough of it all together to understand that there was something dangerous out there. All the lights in the house are on, and someone calls the cops, They'll be there in fifteen minutes. We look outside and we see it walk in front of the fire. I don't know what it is. One of them says it looks like an ape. And suddenly something goes through the window. We shoot at it, but it ain't the thing.

It's my landlord's dog, just the body though, not his head or legs. We start pushing things in front of the door and windows when we hear something in the garage. I remember one of his friends saying that the doors were open. and we hear metal and glass just getting ripped apart. We put a couch and a TV in front of the door to the garage. It banged around some more. But then it got quiet, not silent like it was before. We could hear it move around some, and the guys were talking, making sure the guns were ready.

Someone hands me a pistol, and no sooner did I pull the hammer back did we hear something shatter upstairs. Then we heard it screech again, except now it was louder, and it didn't echo and fade out. because it was inside with us. We all rushed to the one door leading upstairs, and we got to it just as that thing did. It opened it just a bit, and four or five men just slammed into it.

It got its hands through. Someone with a shotgun took care of that, put the barrel right up to its wrist, and pulled the trigger, cutting its hand clean off. That only made it angry, though. It started pushing on the door, clawing. We were on one side pushing as best as,

we could, and it was on the other doing the same. That wood just wasn't going to hold, so someone tells us to keep our heads down. Suddenly, the top half of the door is just gone. My ears are ringing, and there are splinters everywhere. Two or three of them just unloaded on the top of that door. I don't really know where it went after that. The police showed up. I was still glued to that door, what was left of it, and the sun was up before they got me off it. They put me in a hospital for a while and a lot of people talked to me, but I didn't talk back, not for a long, long time. When we got back home, I got a job from the landlord working on the farm. We didn't talk much, not about that thing, but I signed up for the army when I was 19, and he sat me down to drink

some scotch as a send-off. I asked him right away what the police told him. The story they went with was a wild animal, probably a wolf, or maybe a bear, that had migrated north, or so they claimed. My curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn't help but ask my father how they could conclude that so confidently, especially when they had the severed hand as evidence. He looked at me, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and disbelief, as if reliving the horrors of that day. He stammered as he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. That hand never was. He never was. He was made it back to the station, he confessed, his words hanging heavily in the night air. My heart raced as I leaned in, eager for more of the chilling tail.

The cop who had it in his car, he continued. He wrecked and drove into a tree. He died on impact, and the hand was never found. The gravity of his words sank in, and I couldn't help but wonder about the sinister forces at play. A sense of unease crept over me as I probed further, seeking answers to the unexplainable. I asked him how the authorities could disregard such a bizarre occurrence, but his response sent shivers down my spine. The cops, when they would acknowledge the hand even existed at all, he whispered, said that it simply was the paw of a bear that looked like a human hand.

I gulped, my mind racing to comprehend the unsettling details of this unsettling mystery. I never ended up talking to that landlord again. my father's grim words leaving an indelible mark on my psyche. Rumors of his disappearance while I was away at basic training swirled, with the police chalking it up to him owing money to dangerous people and simply running away. But I couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't that simple. As I sat there, listening to my father's harrowing account, I made a silent vow to myself.

I would never venture back into those woods, even if I had the whole goddamn U.S. Army at my back, The story he'd shared about the creature, whether it was the rake or a skin walker, still left me unsure of what to believe. Years passed, and when my mother passed away, my father seemed to lose all sense of purpose. It was as if he felt he had nothing left to lose. He disappeared into those dreaded woods, and he never returned. The FBI was called in, and they put on a show for everyone involved. But I knew deep down that they weren't truly.

looking for him, and they never did find him. To this day, the mystery of those woods and the unexplained horrors that lurked within them continue to haunt my thoughts. My father's unsettling tale still echoes in my mind, leaving me with more questions than answers, and a lingering fear of what may be lurking in the darkness of those unforgiving woods.