Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 10 TERRIFYING Cryptid Encounters that will HAUNT Your Nightmares

Episode Date: June 12, 2024

These are 10 TERRIFYING Cryptid Encounters that will HAUNT Your Nightmares Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to www.justcreepy.net Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:04:34 Story 2 00:12:50 Story 3 00:17:19 Story 4 00:24:21 Story 5 00:32:04 Story 6 00:38:04 Story 7 00:46:00 Story 8 00:53:34 Story 9 01:04:44 Story 10 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #wendigo #cryptids 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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The primary day shift supervisor was on vacation. So our boss on the night. shift decided she wanted to leave early. She let us sneak off about two hours earlier than our average shift time, which would end somewhere between 4.30 and 5 a.m. I was following a coworker down a county road as the warehouse was on the outskirts of my small rural town. I noticed he hit his brakes and proceeded to swerve off the road. I was probably about a thousand feet behind him, and I thought to myself, what the heck is this dude doing? And that's when I saw it. I saw a tall, dark figure walking down the middle of the road, hunched over and swaying from side to side. It moved in an unnatural way, similar to one of those tall, inflatable figures you see swaying at a car dealership.

It's hard to describe accurately, but it's something that would make more sense if you saw it for yourself. I saw what looked like a tall person wrapped in a large dark blanket or cloak. I had to hit the brakes and swerve, but I stopped completely. I couldn't make out any features or characteristics. I saw a large torso with two legs. The upper half was hunched forward, leaning like an older person would if they had a walker or something to assist them. At the time, I was driving a 1998 Ford Explorer,

and I looked up the vehicle's height. It's listed as about 67 inches, but whatever walked past my driver's window that day was a good foot or so higher than that, leaning forward. So I believe whatever was walking was over seven feet tall at a minimum. I couldn't see its head or arms, just a figure with legs walking. My taillights illuminated it as I started to drive past it. I couldn't give you any real definite details about the body.

I didn't see fur, skin, or anything like that. It was solid, not like a translucent type of thing. It was enormous, thick, black, and maybe very dark gray. My co-worker had pulled into a parking lot a few miles down the road, and I followed him in. You could tell that he was scared. He said something like, What the heck was that? It didn't look like it had a head, among many other things most panicked people would say.

We decided to drive back down and see if it was still there. I went in front, and he followed behind me. We approached the general area, and I noticed a large black animal lying in the middle of the road. It appeared to be a big black dog. Part of me knew it wasn't large enough to be what it was before, but I was still too scared to stop because it was in the middle of the roadway. I didn't really have a choice, though. I decided to get out and walk up to it,

all the while my co-worker was yelling at me to get back in my car. As I approached whatever it was lying in the road, it raised its head and looked back at me. Its eyes glowing yellow, which I write off as eye shine from the headlight. but it growled at me, so I stopped dead in my tracks and just started watching it. This thing stands up on its back legs like a person would, but it falls back down. It sits back up and hobbles off to the side of the road like a wounded animal that couldn't use its front legs. It almost looked like your typical German shepherd-slash-wolf-type face, but its fur was puffy like a chow dog.

It was a lot bigger than most dogs I've ever seen, but still nowhere as tall as whatever was walking down the road before. I didn't see any blood or wounds, so I can't say if it was actually hurt or not. We got back in our car and drove off. Honestly, I'm pretty traumatized, and I've been doing my best to rationalize this experience. The thing that doesn't make any sense, though, is what was going on and what did I stumble upon? Did I find another creature attacking one? Did I see something that got hit by a car, and maybe the other creature was checking it out? I don't know. What are your thoughts?

I've always found solace in the wilderness, the isolation, the raw beauty, the sense of purpose that comes with planting new life in the ground. It all feeds a part of me that the modern world seems intent on starving. So when I got the assignment to plant trees near Smithers, British Columbia, I didn't hesitate. The remote location, about an hour and a minute, a half into the mountains on dirt roads was exactly the kind of challenge I craved. The journey was grueling, but I welcomed it. My old truck groaned and shuddered over the rough terrain, each jolt reminding me of the toughness required to do this job. The road snaked through dense forest,

occasionally offering glimpses of the towering peaks that surrounded me. The air was crisp and clean, a welcome change from the smog-choked cities I usually found myself in. As I drove deep, deeper into the wilderness, a sense of anticipation began to build. There's a unique thrill in knowing you're about to be completely alone with nature. No cell service, no distractions, just me and the trees. By the time I reached the campsite, the sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows through the forest. The standing dead trees, skeletal and silent, created an eerie but oddly comforting backdrop.

up camp was second nature to me. I pitched my tent near a cluster of these dead trees, their creaks and groans, a familiar symphony I had come to associate with nights in the forest. As darkness fell, I made a small fire, its warmth and light pushing back the encroaching night. I ate a simple meal and settled into my tent, the sounds of the forest lulling me into a sense of security. That first night I slept soundly, the creaking of the trees, the rustling of leaves, even the occasional call of an owl. All these sounds were like a lullaby. The next day, I threw myself into my work, planting saplings with a vigor that left me exhausted but satisfied by evening. It was hard physical labor, but it was honest work that left a tangible

mark on the world. The second night, however, something changed. As I lay in my tent, I noticed a profound silence settling over the forest. The usual creeks and rustles had ceased. replaced by a heavy stillness that felt unnatural. I told myself it was just my imagination, the fatigue playing tricks on me. But the silence persisted, wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket. Then faintly at first, I heard it.

The sound of sticks cracking underfoot, distant but unmistakable. My pulse quickened as the sound grew louder, closer, footsteps, deliberate and heavy, advancing through the forest, my mind raced. Could it be a bear? A cougar. The footsteps stopped, no more than 15 feet from my tent. The silence that followed was deafening. I knew I had to do something. My heart pounded in my chest as I summoned the courage to yell out, hoping to scare away whatever was out there. My voice echoed through the trees, a stark contrast to the surrounding silence. But no reply came, no sound of retreat, no rustling of leaves. Just silence. I sat there, paralyzed by fear, trying to rationalize what had just happened. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the silence pressing in on me. Then, out of nowhere,

a sound unlike any I had ever heard filled the air. It was a creek, but not like the usual creeks of the trees. This sound was drawn out, a single note held for an unnervingly long time. It felt like a mimicry, something trying to imitate the natural sounds of the forest, but failing in a way that sent chills down my spine. I barely slept that night, my mind racing with questions and fears. What was out there? Why was it mimicking the trees? The next day, the exhaustion was palpable. Every step on my hike weighed down by the sleepless night. I tried to push the memory away, to focus on the work at hand, but the unease lingered, a dark shadow on the edge of my thoughts. The unease from the night before stayed with me like a shadow I couldn't shake.

As I worked through the day, planting saplings one by one, my mind kept drifting back to the sound, the mimicry that had chilled me to the bone. I told myself it had to be something explainable, something rational. But every time I tried to settle on an answer, it slipped through my fingers like smoke. That night, the forest seemed even more oppressive. The usual sounds of the wilderness felt mutable. as if the trees themselves were holding their breath. I forced myself to go through the motions,

dinner by the campfire, a quick check of my equipment, then into the tent, but the routine offered little comfort. Lying in my sleeping bag, I listened intently. At first, all I could hear was my own breathing, slow and steady, the rhythm of someone trying to convince himself he wasn't scared. But soon enough, the silence began to fray. Fain at first, then louder, came to be. the unmistakable sound of sticks cracking underfoot. The footsteps were back, slow, deliberate,

almost cautious, as if whatever was out there knew I was listening. Each step seemed to echo in the stillness, amplifying the growing dread in my chest. I lay perfectly still, my ears straining to pick up any detail, any clue as to what was stalking my camp. The footsteps stopped, closer this time, no more than ten feet from my tent. My heart pounded so. My heart pounded so hard I was sure it would give me away. I knew I had to act, to do something to break the tension. Summoning all the courage I had left, I shouted into the darkness, my voice raw and desperate. Get out of here. The echo of my shout faded, swallowed by the forest. For a moment there was nothing but silence, thick and impenetrable. Then, just as I started to hope that maybe it had

worked, I heard it, that same unnatural creak. The sound was almost identical to the night before, but this time it felt more deliberate, more menacing. It held the same note, a drawn-out groan that seemed to vibrate through my bones. My mind raced, trying to make sense of it. A bear, a cougar. Nothing in the forest should be able to make a sound like that. It was as if something was trying to mimic the trees, to blend in, but with an eerie, almost mocking tone. I lay there paralyzed by fear, every muscle in my body tensed. The sound came again, closer this time, as if whatever it was knew I was listening, knew it had my full attention. It felt personal, like a predator playing with its prey.

Minutes dragged on, each one in eternity. I wanted to flee, to run as fast as I could, but the rational part of my mind told me it was safer to stay put, to wade it out. Eventually, the mimicry stopped, leaving a ringing silence in its wake. The rest of the night passed in a haze of sleepless terror. Every rustle, every creek, sent my heart racing. I clung to the hope that daylight would bring some clarity, some answer to the nightmare I was living. When dawn finally broke, the forest seemed almost peaceful again.

The horrors of the night relegated to shadows, But the unease remained, gnawing at me. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me, waiting. As I packed up my camp, I knew I couldn't ignore what had happened. This was more than just a strange noise in the night. It was a mystery, a threat, something that demanded answers. And as I drove back down the dirt roads, the oppressive silence of the forest lingered in my mind,

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mostly building blocks and the like, that faced the side yard, which had several young pine trees. The other window faced the large barn out back that housed their camper and all manners of other things. Before I continue, I ought to mention that I'm a quarter Native American. My mother was adopted by a family whose heritage was distinctly French. While my grandmother wanted my mother and me to have nothing to do with our heritage, my great-grandmother embraced it but never kept it from us and even taught us a little bit about it. Me far less than my mother, since I was way too young to understand much before she passed. One night, when I was sleeping over at my great-grandma's house, I woke up when the motion-detecting floodlight on the barn out the back turned on. The room was flooded

with light, and I could see everything was clear. Unable to go back to sleep, I got up and decided to play with the blocks until the floodlight went out, and I could go back to sleep. For some reason, I felt the strange urge to look out the window into the side yard, so I climbed up on the crate under the window and peered out. There, in the side yard, was a man. He was in his late teens, 17 to 19, with neatly cut straight black hair, nearly ear-length. He wasn't dark skin, he wasn't dark, but he wasn't white either. He wore what looked like tan Carrhart overalls and appeared to be examining a young pine tree not 15 feet from the window. The tree wasn't very tall, maybe eight or nine feet, but the young man was carefully moving the bottom branches this way and that as if looking for

something. I watched him for a minute or two, simply observing. I didn't feel frightened. Rather, I was curious. Then the young man lifted his head and looked around. When he saw me, the strange thing happened. He looked startled, almost terrified. His eyes widened so far that I could make out their whites in the low light. There's no other way to explain what occurred after that other than the crazy-sounding one. He turned into a deer and bolted away into the darkness. He simply turned to his left, dropped to all fours, and was a deer by the time that he would have hit his hands on the ground. He ran off beyond the barn where I couldn't see. I don't remember the conversation I had with my grandmother about this in the morning, only that she seemed upset and was tight-lipped and that she

and my great-grandfather went out to look for that exact tree later that day. They didn't find anything, and my grandfather didn't want to hear about it anymore, so I shrugged it off. Years later, I would learn what skin walkers are. I would think back to the young man, and how he could have been a skinwalker, how his overalls could have been deer skin. I would also think that my experience didn't line up with other Skinwalker encounters. I didn't feel any fear. I didn't notice a stench, and no one called my name. Also, the young man seemed to be afraid of me. Then again, I suppose if I were looking for something and I saw a small child staring at me at a window, I'd probably be pretty freaked out too. As time went on, I had for the most part convinced

myself that I had just happened to witness a teen boy hunting illegally on our property and my startling him startled the deer he was after, and my child brain just processed it strangely. That is, until I decided to bring up the concept of Skinwalkers to my mother. I had told her about what I could have possibly seen one day when I was a child, when she said, oh, you saw the Birdman too, huh? My belief that I misremembered a teen boy hunting shattered. She wouldn't say much about it when I seemed confused, simply stating, Oh, there was an old balding man who would dance around the roof with his belt made of feathers. And when I would go out there to yell at him for being so loud, he'd smile at me and fly off like a bird.

I'm 16, and live in the western United States. I've been involved in rodeo for as long as I can remember. This story took place late last winter. My brother, our close friend T. and I, had gotten permission to use the arena at a local reservation to practice roping. We arrived early in the morning, eager to make the most of our day. As soon as we got there, I noticed something was off. All of our horses seemed unusually on edge. My brother's horse and T's horse are usually calm and don't spook easily.

My mare, on the other hand, is always a handful. She panics at the littlest things. That day, she was particularly jittery. We figured the horses just needed to get used to their new surroundings. We spent most of the day throwing ropes and chasing cattle. The horses seemed to settle down a bit, and we started to relax. By afternoon, we decided to take a break and explore a trail that led down to a nearby river. The idea was to let the horses drink and give ourselves a bit of a rest.

As we approached the river, a foul smell hit us. It was like a rotting dead animal. The closer we got, the worse it became. The horses tensed up again. My mayor flat out refused to go any further. Frustrated and tired, we decided to call it a day. It was too late to load up our gear and horses and take them back, so we opted to leave them there for the night and stay at Tease Place, which was closer.

We prepared the stalls, fed and watered the horses, and headed to Tees Family Friends House for dinner. The evening was a welcome distraction. We laughed, played pool, and enjoyed a good meal. By the time nine o'clock rolled around, we were ready for bed, but I wanted to check on the horses one last time. When I mentioned this to Tee, his family friend warned us not to go there alone at night. Tea offered to drive down with me, respecting the warning.

The road was icy, so we had to drive slowly. As we neared the bridge over the river, a feeling of dread hit me. I looked out the window and saw glowing yellow eyes staring back at me from the darkness. The light wasn't enough to make them glow the way they did. I felt something was very wrong. T. turned to me and asked, Do you smell something bad, or is it just me? I hadn't noticed the smell until she mentioned it.

When I didn't respond, she looked at me, then followed my gaze to the yellow-eyed glare. We were both terrified. The creature looked like it was at least eight feet tall. There are no animals that large around here. I finally snapped out of it and hit the gas. The truck slid on the ice but caught traction and we made our way back to the arena.

When we pulled up, the headlights hit the horses. My mayor hadn't touched her food, which was odd because she usually eats more than her fair share. The other two hadn't eaten either. Too scared and cold to investigate further, we got back in the truck and drove back to T's house without incident. We arrived around 11 p.m. and fell asleep almost immediately. But in the middle of the night, my brother woke me up, shaking my arm.

He pointed to the window, where we were. heard tapping and occasional scratching. It was 3 a.m. I tried to calm him down, saying it was probably nothing, but I knew deep down it was that thing from the bridge. I didn't sleep the rest of the night, and as soon as the sun was up, I woke tea and my brother to get our horses and leave. The sun finally rose, and I was still wide awake. The sense of dread from the night before hadn't left me. I woke up tea and my brother, explaining that we needed to get to the horses as soon as possible. We quickly got ready and grabbed some coffee, needing the caffeine after the sleepless night. Before we left, T and I decided to check outside the window where we had heard the

tapping and scratching. Sure enough, there were tracks in the snow. They looked like deer hooves, but were different. The tracks were spaced too far apart, as if whatever made them was walking on two legs instead of four. This spooked us even more, and we hurried back inside to tell my brother, We didn't waste any more time. We jumped in the truck and headed back to the reservation. The drive felt longer than usual. The tension in the air making every minute drag. None of us spoke much.

We were all too anxious about what we might find. When we got to the arena, the horses were still in their stalls. They hadn't touched their food or water just like last night. This was completely out of character, especially for my mayor. She usually ate everything in sight. Something had definitely scared them. We quickly loaded up the horses, eager to get out of there. As we finished, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched.

We drove off, the atmosphere in the truck heavy with fear and uncertainty. As we approached the bridge over the river, I felt my heart start to race. I couldn't help but look into the tree line, hoping not to see anything. But there it was, a massive buck. It was larger than any deer I'd ever seen. skin hanging loosely from its bones. Its legs were bent in unnatural ways, making it look like a twisted nightmarish creature, and then I saw its eyes, those same terrifying yellow eyes from the night before. The buck seemed to be staring right at me, and I felt a chill run down my spine. It looks sickly

and unnatural, like something out of a horror movie. But the worst part was its smile. It had a sickening grin, with yellow pointed teeth. I couldn't look away, feeling like it was trying to pull me in with its gaze. I snapped out of it and quickly looked away, telling T and my brother what I had seen. They glanced out the window, their faces paling when they saw the creature. None of us could understand what it was, or why it was following us. We sped up, desperate to get away. The rest of the drive was a blur, my mind racing with questions and fears. What was that thing? Why was it here? And what did it want with us? When we finally got home, we unloaded the horses and made sure they were safe and comfortable. I felt a little better knowing they were out of that

place, but the sense of unease still lingered. I couldn't shake the feeling that we hadn't seen the last of that creature. Over the next few days, I tried to go back to my normal routine. but it was hard. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those yellow eyes and that horrible grin. I knew we had encountered something beyond our understanding, something that would haunt me for a long time. And I couldn't help but wonder if it was still out there, watching and waiting. This episode is brought to you by Welch's Fruit Snacks.

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waiting for wild hogs to wander into our sights. Jake's yard was massive, sprawling across four acres with two ponds, one on the side of his house and another in the front. It was a beautiful place, especially in the fall, when the air was crisp and the leaves were turning. But the hogs were a problem. They dug holes everywhere, tearing up the yard and uprooting plants. Hunting them wasn't just for sport.

It was necessary. That night we were sitting in the hunting stand Jake and his dad had built a few months back. It was sturdy and well placed, at the back left of the upper front pond, closest to the house. From our vantage point, we could see the feeder about 80 feet ahead, set in a clearing at the very back of the yard. We were hoping for a successful night. It was around 10 p.m. when we settled in. The night was still, with only the occasional rustle of leaves or distant croak of a frog breaking the silence. We had our rifles equipped with infrared flashlights. The beams shone red, invisible to most animals, which made it easier to spot our

targets without startling them. We sat quietly, scanning the clearing, our breath visible in the cool night air. Suddenly, we noticed movement. At first we thought it was a deer. The shape was unmistakable, a graceful figure stepping cautiously into the open. We were excited but knew we couldn't shoot. It wasn't deer season, and we didn't want to break the law. But something about this deer felt off. It stood there, not moving, just staring in our direction. Jake and I exchanged uneasy glances. What's it doing? I whispered.

Jake shrugged, his eyes never leaving the creature. We waited for it to pass, hoping it would move on so we could focus on the hogs. But it didn't. Instead it kept looking at us, almost like it was fixated on us. My heart began to race. Then the unthinkable happened. The deer stood up on its hind legs. For a moment, we were too stunned to react. It was as if time had stopped. Then Jake and I started yelling, unable to contain our fear. That wasn't a good idea. The creature let out a screech, a sound so unnatural it made my skin crawl. It was metallic, like nails on a chalkboard, mixed with the grinding of gears. My hair stood on end, as the thing started sprinting toward us. in a zigzag pattern. I barely had time to think. Instinct took over, and I raised my rifle, firing twice. One of the shots hit it, and it fell on its back. In that brief moment, everything

seemed to slow down, and I got a good look at it. It wasn't a deer, it was something else entirely. The creature was pure gray, extremely skinny, with a rack of antlers on its head. Its eyes were dark, almost empty. When it got its bearings, it scrambled to its feet and high-tailed it back into the woods, screeching that horrible metallic noise again. Jake and I sat there frozen, trying to process what had just happened. My mind raced with questions. What was that thing? How could something so terrifying exist? I didn't have any answers then, and to this day I'm still not sure. But one thing was certain. I wasn't going back into that yard after dark ever again. The drive back to Jake's house was a blur.

My hands were shaking so much I could barely grip the steering wheel. When we finally pulled into the driveway, we sat in the truck, trying to catch our breath. Neither of us spoke. It was like we were both trying to make sense of what just happened. Eventually, Jake broke the silence. What the hell was that man? His voice was barely above a whisper, still tinged with fear. I don't know, I replied.

My own voice shaky. It wasn't any animal I've ever seen. We stumbled out of the truck and hurried inside, slamming the door behind us. Jake's parents were already asleep, so we crept upstairs to his room. Once there, we finally let ourselves talk about it. I thought it was a deer, Jake said, pacing the room. But it stood up like a person. And that screech, it was like something out of a nightmare.

I nodded, my mind replaying the moment over and over. And its eyes, Jake. Did you see its eyes? They were so dark. It was like they were empty. We spent hours talking, trying to piece together every detail. The more we talked, the more real it became, and the more scared we felt. What if it came back? What if it was still out there, watching us? The thought sent chills down my spine.

Eventually, exhaustion took over, and we fell asleep. But even in sleep, I couldn't escape it. My dreams were haunted by the creature's metallic screech and those empty dark eyes. The next morning, we were both exhausted but determined to find out more. Jake suggested we checked the spot where I had shot it, so after a quick breakfast, we grabbed our gear and headed back to the hunting stand. As we approached the clearing, my heart pounded in my chest. chest. I didn't know what we'd find. Blood, tracks, or worse, the creature itself, but we had to know.

When we reached the spot, we found blood on the ground. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to confirm that I had hit it. There were also strange tracks leading back into the woods, unlike any animal tracks we had ever seen. They were long and narrow, almost like a person's footprints, but with claw marks. We followed the tracks a little way into the woods, but soon lost them. The forest was dense, and it felt like the trees were closing in on us. Every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves made us jump. We decided to turn back before we got too deep. Back at the house, we researched everything we could think of, folklore, cryptids, paranormal encounters. We read about creatures like the Wendigo and the Skinwalker, but nothing seemed to match exactly what we had

seen. The lack of answers only made it worse. It was like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. Days turned into weeks, and the fear slowly started to fade, but it never really went away. Every time I was in Jake's yard, I couldn't help but look over my shoulder, half expecting to see those dark eyes staring back at me. We never saw the creature again, but the memory of that night stayed with us. It changed something in us. We weren't just two kids hunting in the Texas woods anymore. We had seen something that defied explanation, something that made us question everything we thought we knew. Even now, years later, I still wonder what it was. Sometimes, when the night is quiet and the air is cool, I find myself back in that hunting stand,

reliving the encounter. And every time, the fear is just as real as it was that night. I've been a geocasher for over a decade. For those who don't know, geocashing is a real-world outdoor treasure hunting game using GPS-enabled devices. Participants navigate to a specific set of GPS coordinates and then attempt to find the geocash or container hidden at the location. The thrill of the hunt, the joy of discovering something hidden in plain sight, and the camaraderie of fellow enthusiasts have kept me hooked. I lead a small group of professional geocashers. We're known for tackling the most challenging hides that stump even the most seasoned of pros. Our latest obsession was a hide called the devil's puzzle.

It had a difficulty rating of five out of five, the highest possible. No one had logged a find since it was rumored to have been put up two years ago, and the cash owner had long since vanished from the community. Rumor had it that the coordinates led to an area of the woods notorious for its dark history of devil worship and human sacrifice. It was a cold gray morning when we set out. My team consisted of Jim, a tech wizard with an uncanny knack for decoding even the most cryptic of clues, Sarah, whose sharp eyes missed nothing, and Mark, a local history buff who often provided crucial context about the areas we explored. We were ready for whatever the devil's puzzle could throw at us, or at least we thought so. The first coordinates led us to

the edge of a dense forest locally known as the dark woods. The stories about this place were the stuff of urban legend. In the 1800s it was said to be the site of old rituals and gruesome sacrifices. People claimed to have heard chanting and seen strange lights at night. As we approached, an uneasy feeling settled over us. The trees seemed to close in, their gnarled branches twisting like skeletal fingers. The cache description was vague but mentioned a series of waypoints. Each puzzle leading to the next. The first clue was carved into an old crumbling stone inside the tree line. Jim took out his equipment and began scanning it, while Sarah and Mark searched the area for additional hints. The stone bore a series of numbers and symbols. After just a couple of minutes,

Jim cracked the code, and we were off to the next waypoint. The deeper we ventured, the darker and colder it became. The trees grew denser, blocking out the sunlight. We reached the second waypoint, a small, dilapidated cabin. Inside, the smell of decay was overwhelming. In one corner, we found a rusted metal box containing old photographs and scraps of paper with more symbols. Mark recognized the symbols used in old occult practices, but their meaning alluded him. After hours of piecing together the clues, we deciphered the following coordinates. As we trekked further, we noticed a strange silence. There didn't seem to be a few. to be any birds or rustling of leaves, just an oppressive stillness that lurked around

every nook and cranny. The air grew thick, making it hard to breathe. Finally, we arrived at an old stone altar covered in moss and ivy. It was eerily pristine compared to the surrounding decay. This was the final waypoint. There was a metal box on the altar, similar to the one in the cabin. It was locked, but Jim had come prepared. He quickly picked the lock, and we opened it to find a single yellowed piece of parchment. On it was a hand-drawn map leading to the final cache location deep in the heart of the woods. An overwhelming sense of dread washed over me as we followed the map. The path led us to a clearing, at the center of which was a large stone circle similar to those used in ancient rituals. In the center of the circle was a wooden box,

intricately carved with strange symbols. We approached with caution, the air heavy with an unseen presence. When we opened the box, we found a small leather-bound journal. As I flipped through its pages, my hands began to tremble. The journal detailed the activities of a cult that had once operated in these very woods. It spoke of summoning rituals, human sacrifices, and a guardian bound to protect the cache's secrets. The last entry was a warning. Those who seek this treasure will find only death. Suddenly the air grew colder. and a low gutteral growl emanated from the darkness beyond the clearing. We froze.

Sarah screamed as a shadowy figure emerged from the trees, its eyes glowing in unnatural red. We bolted, adrenaline fueling our escape. As we ran, I could hear them, whatever they were, crashing through the underbrush behind us, their growls getting louder. We stumbled back to the cabin, barricading ourselves inside. The journal mentioned a way to banish the guardian.

a ritual involving fire in the symbols we had seen. Desperation fueled our actions as we recreated the symbols around the cabin and set fire to the journal. The air filled with an ear-splitting screech and the ground shook violently. Then there was silence. We waited until dawn before daring to leave the cabin. The forest felt different, lighter somehow. We returned to civilization, our faces pale and our hearts heavy.

The authorities dismissed our story as a collective hallucination brought on by stress and exhaustion, but we knew the truth. The devil's puzzle had been solved, but at a significant cost. We vowed to never return to those woods, leaving the secrets of the past buried where they belonged. And though we continued to geocash, the thrill of the hunt was forever tainted by the memories of what we unleashed in those cursed woods. Hey, you, feeling hungry?

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Thank you. Thank you. They always say Curiosity killed the cat, but no one mentions what happens when curiosity gets the best of a human. My name is Lucas, and my curiosity nearly killed me, or perhaps something worse. I have always been fascinated by mysteries and eerie tales of the unexplained. I was hooked when I first stumbled upon the lore of the missing 411 cases, people disappearing without a trace in national parks, especially Yosemite. It was the perfect blend of intrigue and terror for my taste.

In the spring of 2023, I decided to dig deeper into these mysteries. With my hiking gear, a sturdy tent, and enough provisions to last at least a week, I set out to uncover the secrets hidden within Yosemite National Park. The park's beauty is unparalleled, but beneath its serene surface, I felt an unsettling tension that gnawed at my resolve. Day one of my expedition was rather uneventful. I set up camp near the base of El Capitan, marveling at the sheer rock face towering above me. The day passed with nothing but the sound of chirping birds and rustling leaves. However, as night fell, a heavy silence descended upon the forest. It was as if the entire park was holding its breath. Around midnight I awoke to the faint sound of a child's laughter.

The sound was distant, almost ethereal. My rational mind told me it was just the wind playing tricks, but a more profound primal part of me knew better. I sat up, listening intently. The laughter grew louder, then abruptly stopped, replaced by an oppressive silence. I didn't sleep well that. night to say the least. The next day, I hiked deeper into the wilderness, determined to reach an

area with the most disappearances. The deeper I went, the less the park resembled the idyllic place I had visited. The trees seemed older, more gnarled and twisted, as if shaped by unseen forces. The air felt thicker, charged with an inexplicable energy. Sometime around noon I stumbled upon an old, dilapidated cabin, half hidden by the underbrush. My heart raced as I approached it, the door creaking ominously as I pushed it open. Inside the cabin was an absolute shambles, as if abandoned in a hurry. Dust covered the furniture, and everything lay scattered about. The stove in the corner looked like it hadn't been touched in many years.

But what caught my eye the most was a diary lying on the table, its pages yellowed with age and grime. The diary belonged to someone named Henry, who had written about his solo hike in Yosemite in early 1980s. His entries started rather normally, detailing his love for nature and peace in the wilderness. But as the days went by, his entries grew darker. He spoke of strange lights in the woods, whispers that seemed to follow him, and shadows that moved independently. His final entry sent chills down my spine. They're watching me. They know I can see them. I don't think I'll make it out. If anyone finds this, beware the shadows. They're not what they seem.

As I read those words, a cold dread washed over my body. I decided to leave the cabin and continue my hike, but a nagging fear had taken root. As the day wore on, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. The forest seemed to close in around me, the trees whispering secrets I couldn't quite understand. That night, I made camp near a small clearing. I was too unnerved to sleep, so I sat by the fire, clutching my flashlight. The forest around me was deathly quiet. The sound of the crackling fire was all I could hear.

Around midnight, I heard it again, a child's laughter, closer this time. My blood ran cold as I saw a figure standing at the edge of the clearing. It was a child, or at least it looked like one, but there was something wrong, something off about its features. Its eyes were too large, reflecting the firelight like a cat's. It just watched me with an unsettling intensity. I called out to it, but it didn't respond. Instead, it turned and walked back into the forest, vanishing into the shadows.

I didn't sleep at all that night. How could I? As dawn broke, I packed up and continued my hike, hoping to put as much distance between myself and that clearing as humanly possible. But no matter how far I went, I couldn't escape the feeling of being watched. On the fourth day, I reached a remote area called Tenaya Canyon, which locals called the Bermuda Triangle of Yosemite. The area had an eerie beauty, but was filled with foreboding. Too exhausted to go further, I set up camp by the river. As night fell, the atmosphere grew heavy

with tension. I built a fire and sat close by it to feel safe, my flashlight within reach the entire time. Somewhere around midnight, the forest came alive with strange noises. Whispers echoed through the trees, and shadowy figures darted just beyond the firelight. My heart pounded as I saw the child again, standing at the edge of the clearing. This time, I didn't think it was alone. More figures emerged from the shadows, their eyes reflecting the firelight. They surrounded me, their whispers growing louder. Panic set in, and I grew. grabbed my flashlight shining it at the figures. They recoiled, but didn't disappear. Panic still deep within my veins, their whispers filled my mind, incomprehensible yet maddeningly persistent.

Desperation took over, and I did the only thing I could think of. I ran. I grabbed my backpack and sprinted into the forest, not caring where I was going or where I would end up. The whispers followed me, growing louder and more insistent. The forest seemed to twist and turn around me, the trees closing in. I stumbled over roots and branches, my heart pounding as I desperately tried to find my way out. After what felt like hours, I stumbled into a clearing and collapsed, gasping for breath. The whispers were finally gone, replaced by an eerie silence once more. I looked around, realizing I had no idea where I was. My GPS was used. useless, showing only static. Exhausted and absolutely terrified to my core, I set up a makeshift

camp and waited for dawn. When morning finally came, I found my way back to a familiar trail. The experience had shaken me so much that I didn't really think I was thinking straight until I finally found civilization. The oppressive feeling gradually lifted as I neared the park's edge. Back in the safety of my home, I tried to make sense of what had happened. The diary, the child, the whispers, all pointed to something beyond my understanding. I reported my experience to the park rangers, who dismissed it as stress and an overactive imagination. But I know what I saw, and I know how I felt. There is something strange in Yosemite National Park, something that watches, something that waits, the missing people, the unexplained

disappearances. They're not just accidents. There's a presence in those woods, something ancient and evil. So if you ever find yourself in Yosemite, be very wary of the shadows. They're not just the absence of light. There's something more that might swallow you. In 2004, my family and I packed up our lives in California and moved to a small town in Mexico. My parents said it was for personal reasons, but to me, it felt like leaving everything I knew behind. Our new home was in a town where my parents grew up, a place that felt like a different world to me. The house was old and unfinished, with a second floor that was just a skeleton of what it was supposed to be. We all squeezed into the ground floor, which had a living room with a big plastic skylight over the stairs leading up to the

second floor. My parents were busy trying to settle in, and I was trying to figure out how to into this new life. At first, I was pretty lonely. But soon, I started hanging out with my cousins who lived nearby. They were around my age, and we quickly became close. We began having sleepovers, which made things a lot more fun. Our favorite spot was the living room, right under that big skylight. We'd spread out blankets and sleep next to each other, telling stories and playing games until we fell asleep. One morning, after a few sleepovers at my place, my cousin Javier brought up something weird. Hey, do you ever hear strange noises at night? He asked me while we were eating breakfast. I looked at him, not really understanding what he meant. What kind of noises? I asked, curious, but also a bit skeptical.

Like tapping sounds on the roof, but not like birds. It's different, he said, his face serious. I shrugged it off. It's probably just birds. They land on the skylight all the time. You can see their feet during the day, I replied, trying to keep things light. Javier shook his head. No, I've seen the birds. This is different. It sounds like tiny footsteps, like someone running. I laughed, trying to scare him a bit. Maybe it's a little ghost, I shouted. And Javier burst out laughing too. But deep down I was a bit uneasy. We had been living in the house for a few months, and I hadn't noticed anything strange.

I didn't believe in ghosts or anything paranormal, but his serious expression made me wonder if there was something more to it. A few nights later, curiosity got the better of us. We decided to check it out. We grabbed a ladder from the shed and climbed up to the roof. The town's dirt roads meant that a layer of dust covered everything, including our roof. When we got up there, I couldn't believe what I saw. There were tiny footprints in the dirt, smaller than my pinky finger. They circled around the skylight like something had been walking in circles.

See, I told you, Javier whispered, his eyes wide with excitement and fear. There's no way I made these. We've been inside the whole time. I put my hand next to one of the footprints, feeling a chill run down my spine. They were definitely not ours, and they didn't look like any animal prints I'd ever seen. The thought of something or someone running around on our roof at night freaked me out. We climbed down quickly, my mind racing with questions. That night I told my mom about what we found.

She didn't believe us, of course. It's probably just some kids playing a prank, she said, waving it off. There's no such thing as ghosts. I wanted to prove it to her, but without a camera or any way to document the footprints, I felt stuck. We had no way of capturing what we saw. All I could do was lie awake at night, listening for those tiny footsteps

and wondering what was really out there, just beyond the skylight. The next day, I couldn't stop thinking about those tiny footprints. Javier and I talked about it constantly, trying to figure out what could have made them. We knew it wasn't us, and it definitely wasn't birds. But what else could it be?

Javier was convinced it was something supernatural. He wouldn't stop talking about ghosts and other creepy things he'd heard about from our grandparents. One evening we decided we had to investigate further. We waited until nightfall, hoping to catch whatever it was in the act. We set up our blankets in the living room like usual, but this time we stayed awake listening. Every creek of the house, every rustle outside made my heart race. Around midnight we heard it. the faintest sound of tiny footsteps tapping above us.

There it is, Javier whispered, eyes wide with excitement. Did you hear that? I nodded, feeling a mix of fear and curiosity. We grabbed the flashlight and the ladder and quietly made our way outside. Climbing up to the roof in the dark was a lot scarier than doing it during the day. My hands were shaking as I gripped the ladder, but I was determined to find out what was making those noises. When we got up to the roof, the tiny footprints were there again, circling the skylight just like before. This time, we followed them as far as we could, but they seemed to just

disappear off the edge of the roof. It was like whatever was making them had simply vanished into thin air. How can this be happening? I whispered more to myself than to Javier. It's like something out of a horror movie. Javier nodded, looking around nervously. We have to find a way to prove this. Maybe we can set up a trap or something. We spent the next few days planning. We didn't have much to work with, no cameras or fancy equipment, but we were determined. We borrowed an old tape recorder from my dad's study, hoping to catch the sound of the footsteps. We also spread flower around the skylight, hoping it would help us see the footprints more clearly.

The first few nights nothing happened. We stayed up late, listening and watching. but the tiny footsteps didn't come back. Just when we were starting to think it was over, we heard them again. This time, the tape recorder picked up the faint, rhythmic tapping, and the flower showed clear, tiny footprints circling the skylight. We couldn't believe it. We had proof. But now what? We showed the tape and the flower prints to my mom, but she still didn't believe us.

You boys are just imagining things, she said, shaking her head. there's a logical explanation for all of this. Frustrated, we didn't know what else to do. We tried to think of other ways to catch whatever it was, but our options were limited. As weeks passed, the footsteps became less frequent, and eventually they stopped altogether. It was almost like whatever had been visiting us had decided to move on.

Years later, after we moved back to the United States, I came across stories about the Duende, tiny mythical creatures known for their mystery. I couldn't help but think about those tiny footprints and the eerie footsteps on the roof. Could it have been a duende? It seemed crazy, but after everything we'd seen and heard, it was the only explanation that made any sense. Even now, I sometimes lie awake at night, remembering those strange sounds and the tiny footprints in the dust. I still don't have all the answers, but I know one thing for sure.

Those nights in Mexico were something I'll never forget. get. Kayak gets my flight, hotel, and rental car right, so I can tune out travel advice that's just plain wrong. Bro, Skycoin, way better than points. Never fly during a Scorpio full moon. Just tell the manager you'll sue. Instant room upgrade.

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Our story begins in southern Ohio, right at the edge of Perry State Forest, where I've lived my whole life. My house, along with my grandpas, my aunt and uncles, and a few other relatives, all sit on a large hill overlooking the forest. Living so close to the woods, you'd think we'd be used to the sounds and sights of nature. But Perry State Forest isn't like other forests. It's wilder. almost like it has a life of its own. My aunt and uncle have a farm right here with goats and free-roaming chickens. It was pretty normal for us to wake up and find that a chicken or two had gone missing overnight.

We all thought it was just the coyotes sneaking around, but that changed when we found something startling on our trail cams. One morning, my uncle called us over in a rush, excitement and worry mixed in his voice. On the cam, clear as day, was a mountain lion. creeping through the underbrush. The thing is, mountain lions aren't supposed to be in Ohio. But there it was, a ghostly figure moving through our wild woods,

and it looked like it had made itself right at home. Nighttime around here was always a bit creepy. We'd hear things like knocks on the walls, soft whispers that seemed to float on the wind, and sometimes the distant beat of drums as Halloween approached. Most of the time we could laugh it off, chalk it up to the wind, or just our imaginations running wild. But when I was eight years old,

something happened that I couldn't just shrug away. It was late, way past my bedtime, when I fell asleep on the couch in our living room. The TV was still on, casting a flickering light across the room. I woke up around 3 a.m. to a strange buzzing sound. The TV was just static. Grogly, I turned to look out the window next to the TV,

and my heart nearly stopped. There, standing just on the other side of the glass, was a tall figure in a brown cloak made of what looked like deer skins. It wore a deer skull over its face, and the hollow eyes seemed to stare right into me. Beside it stood a little girl with braided hair wearing a plain dress. They just stood there, looking in at me. The figure raised its hand slowly, waving in a way that seemed to say, Come outside, it's okay. I was frozen with fear.

After what felt like hours, they finally moved out of sight. I didn't dare follow them. Instead, I cried out loud, the sound of my own voice snapping me back to reality. I ran to my room and didn't come out until the sun was up. The next morning, I told my mom about what I'd seen. She tried to calm me down by saying it was probably just a friendly Indian chief who was visiting. I wanted to believe her. It wasn't until years later that she sat me down and told me the truth.

that figure wasn't friendly at all. According to her, it was the spirit of an Adina chief who used to take children from their homes long ago. She said he was evil, a word she never used lightly. Whatever that thing is, it's evil, she had said firmly. Don't ever go out into the woods alone at night. Stay away from the deep parts of the forest. Of course, being a kid, her warning only made the forest seem more mysterious.

and eventually curiosity would get the better of me and my friends. But that's a story for another time. It was a Friday night like any other, except Nick Jeremy and I were bored out of our minds. We'd just finished a marathon of horror movies, and the adrenaline was still pumping through our veins. That's when the idea hit us. Why not head into Perry State Forest for a real thrill?

I mean, after all the stories and my own eerie experiences, it seemed like the perfect place to test our courage. We're doing this, Nick declared, his eyes wide with a mix of excitement and nerves. Jeremy, always the skeptic, shrugged but agreed. Let's just see if this forest is as spooky as Ryan always says. With a plan set, we grabbed some flashlights, piled into my dad's old BMW, and drove off. It was around 2.30 a.m. when we turned off the main road and entered the forest. The moment we crossed the threshold, it felt like we hit a wall of something.

It wasn't physical, but the air turned heavy, and a weird pressure settled on our chests. Dude, do you feel that? Jeremy gasped, rubbing his eyes. Yeah, it's like I'm suddenly carrying a ton of bricks, Nick replied, his usual grin replaced by a frown. The headlights sliced through the darkness, but they only lit up a small patch of ground ahead of us, which was odd because those LED lights were super bright. I tried to keep my focus on the road, but my mind kept drifting back to my mum. mom's warning about the forest. We drove in silence for a while, each of us lost in our thoughts and the oppressive feel of the forest. That's when we saw it, a large, black figure standing just off

the side of the road. It was darker than the shadows around it, and as we passed, it vanished into thin air. Did you guys see that? I blurted out, my voice shaky. Yeah, no kidding. What was that? Jeremy replied, his skepticism fading. The forest seemed to close in around us as we drove. The darkness was suffocating, and even though we were on a straight road, something felt off. Then Nick, who had been quiet for a bit, spoke up, sounding panicked. Guys, the sky, look at the sky. We looked up through the windshield and the sky was a deep blood red. It was so out of place, so bizarre, especially since it was only a little past 2.30 a.m. We should turn back, I suggested. A knot of fear growing in my stomach.

But before anyone could agree, Nick yelled out, No, no, no, we just saw that tree. I just saw that tree. Are we going in circles? I shook my head. That's impossible. It's a straight shot through here. But no matter how far we drove,

the same landmarks kept appearing, over and over. It was like we were stuck on a loop, but there were no turns, no deviations from the path. Dang, this. feels like some Blair Witch stuff, Jeremy muttered, trying to lighten the mood, but his voice was edged with real fear. As we continued, the sightings grew more frequent. Dark figures watched us from the trees, and deer with hollow empty eyes stood by the road, swaying unnaturally. Every once in a while one would jump towards the car only to vanish before

impact. This isn't right. This isn't real, Jeremy said finally breaking. We need to turn around Ryan, we can't keep doing this. He was right. We were way over our heads. I turned the car around, intent on finding the way out, but that's when the real horror began. The whispers started, sounding like they were coming from inside the car, and the air filled with screams and cries. We were trapped, and whatever was in that forest wasn't just a figment of our imagination. It was real, and it was terrifying. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, they did. The car suddenly died. Its light snuffed out like candles in a breeze, plunging us into darkness so thick it felt like a blindfold. Nick and Jeremy shouted in panic. Their voices shrill in the close confines of the car. My heart pounded against my chest as I fumbled with the ignition, trying to bring the car and its comforting dash of light back to life. It's not starting, I yelled, my voice sounding strange and distant in the enveloping darkness.

Suddenly, a loud sound pierced the silence. It was a train horn, long and mournful, echoing through the trees. But that was impossible. There were no train tracks anywhere near Perry State Forest. The sound grew louder. The ground vibrating under the tires, as if the phantom train was barreling down on us. Is this actually happening? Jeremy whispered, terror evident in his voice.

I didn't answer. My focus was on restarting the car. my hands shaking as I turned the keys. Just as the sound reached a deafening crescendo, as if the train was passing right through us, the car lights flickered back on, and the engine roared to life. Without wasting a second,

I slammed the gas pedal, the car lurching forward, as if just as eager to escape the nightmare. We drove in silence, the earlier bravado and excitement now replaced by a sobering fear. The forest around us seemed to watch, its shadows deep and menacing. But no matter how fast I drove, the same eerie landmarks greeted us

over and over again. It was as if the forest refused to let us leave, its grip tightening the more we tried to escape. I saw those headlights too, Nick suddenly said, breaking the heavy silence. There was a car coming right at us, wasn't there? Yes, Jeremy and I responded in unison, the memory of the disappearing vehicle fresh in our minds. But then, As suddenly as our ordeal had begun, it ended. The forest cleared without warning, and we found ourselves on new reservoir road, the familiar lights of the city twinkling in the distance. The clock on the dashboard read 3 a.m. as if no time had passed at all.

Did we just teleport? Nick asked, his voice a mixture of relief and confusion. None of us had an answer. We drove to the nearest Taco Bell, the need for normalcy driving us to seek out the most mundane thing we could think of. As we sat in the parking lot, eating and recounting our experiences, we realized that each of us had seen and felt the same horrors. It wasn't a group hallucination. It was real, as real as the tacos we were mechanically eating. After that night, we promised each other we'd never go back to Perry State Forest.

But, as fate would have it, that promise didn't last. Maybe it was the pull of the unknown, or maybe we just needed to prehistive. prove to ourselves that we weren't crazy. Whatever the reason, years later, we found ourselves planning a camping trip to the very place we had vowed to avoid. As I write this, the camping trip is just a week away. I don't know what awaits us in Perry State Forest this time, but I feel a strange sense of inevitability as if some things are just meant to be faced again, and maybe this time

we'll find the answers we're looking for, or maybe the forest will reveal more questions. Either way, I know one thing for sure, Perry State Forest hasn't finished with us yet. I was camping in the woods with some friends, when we encountered something that still gives me chills. It was late at night, and we were huddled around the campfire telling ghost stories and roasting marshmallows as you would. Then out of nowhere we heard a strange noise coming from the trees. It sounded like a low growl at first, unlike any animal noise I was familiar with.

We shrugged it off and continued with our night, but the sound grew louder and more frequent as the night continued. I am not a wildlife expert, so I tried not to freak out, but finally, at one point, we heard something moving in the bushes nearby. We shone our flashlights toward the noise but couldn't see anything at all. It was too dark and too dense with trees and brush. As the night progressed, the noises grew more intense. We could hear something moving around our campsite but couldn't see anything in the

the darkness. There was something there. It was watching us, stalking us from the shadows, a feeling I just can't describe. Eventually, we decided to pack up and leave, and as we were gathering our stuff, we heard some sort of blood-curdling scream coming from the trails. It was a sound that made our hearts stop in terror, and I instantly got cold sweats. Again, we could feel something watching us, waiting for us to make a move. It was such an intense feeling. We ran back to our car as fast as we could. We could hear something following us, just a few feet behind. The creature, the thing, the person, whatever it was, was right on our heels, breathing down our necks. We finally reached the car and sped away with our hearts pounding. We still don't

know what kind of creature it was. I have no idea what was lurking in those woods that night. It's something I probably won't ever know and will likely remain unexplainable, but it still haunts our memories and makes us fearfully shiver. However, I'm just glad that I survived.