Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 5 Terrifying CRYPTID & Other Encounters That Will Give You Nightmares

Episode Date: July 12, 2024

Get Magic Mind today at: ⁠https://magicmind.com/creepy⁠ You have a limited offer you can use now, that gets you up to 48% off your first subscription or 20% off one-time purchases with code CREEPY20 at checkout. Prepare to be frightened as we delve into 5 terrifying cryptid encounters that are sure to give you nightmares. Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to h⁠ttps://www.justcreepy.net/ ►NightShine Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:17:44 Story 2 00:24:36 Story 3 00:45:01 Story 4 00:52:57 Story 5 Music by: 'Decoherence' by Scott Buckley - released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wM_AjpJL5I4&t=0s Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #cryptids #deepwoods 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

Yamava Resort and Casino at San Manuel is California's number one entertainment destination for today's superstars. Catch the Jonas Brothers return to the Yamava Theater stage on April 30th, the powerful vocals of Demi Levato on May 17th, and the signature Southern Country Rock of Eric Church on July 19th. Tickets on sale now at Yamavat Theater.com, only at Yamava Resort and Casino, celebrating its 40th anniversary. You in? Must be 21 to enter. Late night security is no different from any other.

late-night gig. It's pretty simple, really. I work as an unarmed security guard at a gas station next to a casino by the border overnight. Usually the shift is pretty uneventful. Honestly, there's more to do and more to look for during the odd times I was put on days. Nights, though, were once my safe haven to get away from the hustle of the tedious every day. Soon found me questioning whether or not my particular sight was something I should abandon. I'm not a weak man by any means. I've seen my fair share of gruesome, grotesque, and even brutal things. I've found myself in some pretty unfavorable situations, down the business end of a few,

shall we say, cordless hole punchers. Being smack dab by the border of New York and Canada, my shifts usually included the occasional visit from the Border Patrol or DEA. Then again, also being on reservation land constitutes a whole new host of rules altogether, not that these guys are coming in and monitoring my little bitty gas station for the next kingpin anything. They're in and out, filling their gas tanks or grabbing a few snacks before continuing on with their own shifts. My shifts tend to be boring. In my line of work, boring is the best thing you could wish for. No paperwork, no reports, no cops, and no Yahoo with a hole puncher

looking to turn the place into the northern version of the OK corral. The drunks are easy. These guys or gals would hobble in after a long night of drinking and betting at the casino. They would would use the restroom and buy themselves something to snack on before taking off. Not often does one cause too much of a ruckus, though there was that one party bus, about 25 people, all hammered beyond belief, puke and urine all over the place. I pitied the poor soul that had to clean it all up. But hey, as long as no one was stealing or getting violent, I was more than entertained by the slack-jawed circus that played out in front of me. Now the tweakers, they're not as easy to deal with. I'd even take it a step further and say they're a downright pain in my butt. They're

the most prone to trying to make off with something without paying for it, or the most likely to do their best impression of being possessed by the devil himself. They're even likely to try some underhanded deal right in front of me, as if I'm oblivious to the very clear baggy that just changed hands for a couple of twenties and maybe a 50. But what are you going to do? The best I can do in that situation is take off my house shoe and chase them off. One night, I stood at my small podium, watching the last lingering souls drain out of the parking lot. I was mentally preparing myself for yet another eventless night. Technically, I'm always supposed to stand up straight and alert. It makes the client feel safe. One of my supervisors had told me before I was ever assigned to this

location. I took to leaning on a small podium-shaped display for lottery tickets. It keeps the pressure off my back and the aches off my feet. You'd think having memory foam insoles would help, but you'd be amazed at how quickly they wear out. The cashiers usually mingle about, or float around aimlessly behind the registers around this time. There's not much for them to do outside of tidying up and counting their drawers. I've caught them in their little rebellious routines, sneaking naps in the back room or on breaks. The last guy they had doing security was none too keen on that, but I figured, as long as the active register had an attendee, then all fine by me.

There is a guy, though, one guy, that my handoff supervisors gave me a bit of a heads up on. He's not exactly playing with a full deck if you catch my drift, not sure if he ever was. This guy looks harmless, confused even, usually sporting gray sweatpants, slippers, and a black t-shirt. He has a low buzz cut and something of a stumbly beard. He never really made frequent appearances at my bitty station, but when he did, the man brought with him the heibi-jee-jeebies. He would just stare right past the sliding automatic doors and straight into the station, not at anyone or anything in particular. Phil, I think his name was, or at least that's what the

girls at the station called him. His presence never bothered me during the swing day shifts, but at night, I kept an eye on him. You ever get that feeling that something was watching you, but you can't quite figure out from where? Yeah, that's Phil, with his dead-eye gaze. One night, Phil decided to ramp things up a notch. The night was already pretty quiet for a Friday, but the all-too-familiar sound of squad car sirens could be heard just up the street. The girls seemed a little off that night, too. They kept looking at the sliding doors of the station, with a type of anxious anticipation that was unusual for them, the manager on duty had asked me to bump up my foot patrols from once every hour to once every half hour. I obliged and

marked it down in the sight log before grabbing my walkie-talkie and starting the stroll through the lot and around the building. Once outside, I got a better look at all the commotion down the street. Come to find out it wasn't just one squad car, but four of them, and an ambulance. The officer's body language didn't exactly fill me with confidence that whatever they were responding to had a happy ending. What's going on out there? The manager Sarah asked over the radio. At first I didn't say anything as I was still trying to wrap my head around what I was seeing and if I had to worry about locking down the station. Uh, four cop cars and an EMT it looks like. None of them look happy. I finally responded. I kept my eyes on the scene before me. I felt a cold.

old chill run up my spine like someone just walked over my grave. Without moving too fast, I raised my walkie. Has anyone seen our favorite tweaker tonight? I'm worried about him. I tried to joke, but my voice held apprehension. I thought I might know the answer, but I hoped I was wrong. He hasn't been around for at least a day or so. You think he's involved? Sarah chimed in. I didn't respond straight away, but instead, I turned my attention just off to the left of the scene. I caught a glimpse of someone slinking off toward the alley. Hold on, I said, finally answering. I'd moved to get closer to the scene,

but I knew in the back of my mind if I ventured too far from my post, road patrol management would have my badge inside of an hour. At the corner, I stood, eyes squinted, attempting to see through the flashing red and blue lights and the decently bright street lights. Nothing moved. With a step back, I glanced at the station to check, And again, nothing.

What's wrong? Sarah crackled, scaring the bejesus out of me. I thought I saw something, I answered back. Sarah, being as beloved and sarcastic as she could ever be, responded with a simple, Don't do that, with a chuckle. I rolled my eyes. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me.

I knew my area was known for occasionally being sketchy, but this couldn't have been more than a wellness check gone astray. All right, I'm coming back. no sense in me sticking my nose where it wasn't invited. I told Sarah on the radio as I turned to to start heading back. I walked head first into none other than Phil, but Phil was in quite a state. His black t-shirt was t-shirted, his sweatpants were stained in a deep shade of red, that, to the untrained eye, looked black in the dim light. Phil greeted me with a wide, wide smile, rare of malice and wicked anticipation. For the first time in months, I kept an eye on him.

there was a clarity in his eyes that set off every alarm bell a human mind could possibly have. He didn't look confused and dazed or glossy-eyed like he usually did. Sizing him up, I knew that if there were no surprises, I could take him. I could toss him right over my shoulder if I wanted to. However, some little voice in the back of my mind screamed, that was a very bad idea. Without a word, I raised my hand as if showing him I had nothing on me that I could used to hurt him or pose too much of a threat. His wide smile faltered as he eyed the walkie-talkie clipped to my belt, and for a split second, I swore I saw the makings of a scowl.

I prayed to whatever God would be listening tonight. I slowly lowered my right hand down to my belt, then brought the device up to clear eye level. That flicker of a scowl told me all I needed to know about the boat that I found myself in, and the last thing I needed was the situation going from hazardous to fatal. With the same slow, careful pace, I brought my left hand down to the volume knob and turned it all the way down. Thankfully, the radio was an old off-brand Radio Shack model, so the display light was hard to see even in pitch-black conditions.

But to stay on the safe side, I kept the display palmed in my hand just in case my gambit was a little too obvious to spot, as if showing him that I indeed turned it off, I clicked the talk button four distinct times and four more times after that. By then, I had to rely on hope that Sarah paid attention to the non-verbal signals I've shown her over the last few months and what to do if I ever used one. Phil seemed satisfied with the silence of my radio, but gestured again to the bushes he had hidden in earlier. "'Toss it,' he said calmly.

"'I didn't bother arguing. I gave the radio a half-throw, just shy of where he wanted it. That scowl flickered on his face again, and with one quick motion he brought his foot down on the thing hard enough for it to crack. When he brought his heel down on the radio again, I'd taken what I thought was an unnoticed step back, but the reaction that spurred from Phil told me how wrong I was. In an instant, he snapped his attention back to me, then brandished a hammer he had hidden in his sweatpants. I quickly tried to guess, but also dismissed the thought, as my mind began to wonder if I was going to be granted the gift of a rather harsh headache.

His eyes lit up as he watched me freeze. What, scared of a silly little thing like this? He taunted, waving the hammer as if it were nothing more than a kid's toy. His jovial sarcasm irked me, but I'd figured if I tried to rush him, the back of my head would be mimicking a split melon in an instant. So, instead, I shook my head slightly. Just wondering what other rabbits you're about to pull from that hat, I responded, trying to create a bit of levity.

Phil smirked enough to make my night easy and yours, especially difficult. My night is always rough when you show up, I grumbled. Can't ever tell if you're off your meds or just a flat-out whack job. Phil tilted his head as if thinking, you're stalling, he said plainly, as his expression became unreadable. And just like that, flight or fight had kicked itself into full alert. With no warning whatsoever, he wildly swung the sharp side of his hammer. On instinct, from the many previous tangles I've been in over the years, I raised my left arm to block it, but that was a mistake I very quickly paid for. The clawhead of the hammer bit into my forearm and dug in.

I let out a pained shout, attempting to pull it out with my other hand. However, Phil yanked it out and went for another swing. This time I ducked it and rammed my shoulder into his gut, attempting to tackle him to hold him down. To my surprise, I succeeded in my half-cocked counter. When we hit the ground, Phil let out a surprised yelp, but very quickly swung that hammer again. This time it connected with my side. Thankfully, though it hurt like heck, nothing broke. Having rolled on top of him, I reared back and gave him a right to the temple that would have made Mike Tyson himself proud.

This seemed to anger him pretty bad. Instead of swinging at me with the hammer again, he went to press his thumbs into my eyes. My answer to the attempt at my eyesight was another vicious right hook, and another. Then one more for good measure. I'd hoped to knock him out, but instead he simply submitted in our scuffle. I failed to see the two officers approaching with their weapons drawn. It dawned on me how the situation looked, and before either of the officers said a word, I got off of my seemingly subdued attacker and placed my hands behind my head.

After that, things went by in a blur, but I do recall seeing Sarah explain to the officers what had happened, and even urging them to the station's back room to review the security camera footage. Sarah even explained that it was I who signaled her to gather the authorities after the sequence of beeps I sent through the walkie-talkie. It was unknown to me at the time that she had responded to my signal at all, but apparently she had clicked her talk button twice, a way of saying, I understand. Not surprising, though, was hearing that a couple of the other cashiers

had recorded the ordeal from their phones. With a new understanding the officers instead of detaining me urged me to seek medical attention for the weeping gash in my arm. I agreed given that I'd started losing feeling in that arm altogether. I figured Phil caught a good cluster of nerves and I didn't notice during the fray or maybe I lost a little too much blood for comfort. Either way, I found myself in the back of an EMS vehicle

being tended to and urged to take the next couple of days off work to recover. I went for a check-up the following day, just to be sure. The good news was the damage was all fairly temporary. The wound on my left arm would heal normally, but the trade-off would be when it gets humid or stormy, I'd feel an ache again. Instead of cracked or fractured ribs, I made off with only a bruise that healed within a few days.

I put in my two weeks notice to the higher-ups about three months later, concluding my year-and-a-half-long service as an unarmed security officer. Through Sarah, though, I found out that Phil was indeed responsible for the initial police response that night, because four people had been bludgeoned to a pulp in their apartment, and then another three were found in the hallway leading out. According to Sarah, I was pretty lucky I caught him off guard. Running into him the way I did was a surprise to us both. I always knew something was off about Phil, and I have a bad feeling I haven't seen the last of him. Hey everyone, it's been three weeks since I started the Magic Mind 30-day challenge, and wow,

what a journey it's been. Today, I'm excited to share with you how this little shot has made a big impact on my life. When I started this challenge, I was curious, and honestly, a bit skeptical, could Magic Mind really enhance my mental clarity, boost my productivity, and reduce stress? Over the past 21 days, I've made Magic Mind a part of my morning routine, and I have to to say, the changes I've felt have been profound. But before we dive into that, let me remind you what Magic Mind is all about. Magic Mind isn't just any drink. It's a mental performance shot, packed with neutropics, adaptogens, and a whole lot of vitamins like C&D to boost your mental clarity, focus, and productivity, while also helping reduce stress. In these three weeks,

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Absolutely. It's been a game changer for me, and if you're looking to enhance your mental performance in a sustainable and healthy way, Give it a try. Whether it's boosting mental clarity, enhancing productivity, or just helping you handle the daily grind with ease, Magic Mind has impressed me. Try it out, and let me know how it goes for you. If you're curious and want to join me in this 30-day challenge, check out the link in the description, or go to Magicmind.com forward slash creepy. You have a limited time offer you can use now. That gets you up to 48% off your first subscription, or 20% off one-time purchases, with Code Creepy 20 at checkout. Trust me, see if you can feel the difference it makes. It's risk-free with their 100% refund policy, so you have nothing to lose. Now back to the stories.

Spring just hits different. One day, cold mud. The next, warm sunshine. But the hard-working men and women in Carhart don't wait for the forecast to get to work. Hatching roads, clearing trails, planting crops. Their hands turn this seat. season's uncertainty into possibility. So get out there. Spring into action. We've got you covered

for whatever the season throws your way. Carhart made possible. It was a typical summer evening in our little New Hampshire town, the kind where the sun takes forever to set, and the air starts to cool just a little. I was on my way to pick up my best friend, Jake. We had plans like we did most nights, to play some video games and maybe watch a horror movie, our favorite kind. As I drove down the familiar roads, I couldn't help but feel a little excited. Even though we did pretty much the same thing every time we hung out, it was always the highlight of my day. Jake didn't have his driver's license yet, so I was the one who always drove to his place or picked him up. Our town was small, surrounded by thick woods and old buildings

that looked like they had tons of stories to tell. One of these buildings was the old textile mill, just down the hill from my house. It was a huge, creepy place that had been abandoned for as long as I could remember. My grandma used to tell us stories about how, way back in the day, people worked there under really bad conditions, and that some even died in accidents. Because of that, people said it was haunted. As we drove past the old mill, I slowed down a bit. The setting sun cast long shadows, making the broken windows of the mill look like dark, watching eyes. eyes. Hey, did you ever hear about the ghost sightings here? I asked Jake, nodding toward the mill. Yeah, he replied, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement. They say you can see the ghosts of the

workers sometimes, still dressed in their old-timey clothes, super creepy. Right across from the mill was a dirt parking lot where the telephone company parked their work trucks overnight. As we passed by the lot, something strange caught my eye. "'Dude, look,' I whispered sharply, pointing. Under one of the trucks there were two pale legs and bare feet just standing there motionless. They looked so out of place, so ghostly. The legs were small, like those of a child. My heart started to race as we got closer, and then, just like that, they were gone.

No sign of anyone running away or hiding. They just vanished. "'Did you see that?' I asked. my voice a mix of excitement and fear. The white legs? Yeah, I saw them. That was weird, Jake said, looking back as we drove on. We both fell silent for a moment.

The wheels of my car crunching on the gravel road being the only sound. You think it was a ghost? I finally muttered. Not sure if I wanted it to be true. Maybe, Jake said, shrugging. Or maybe our eyes were just playing tricks on us. You know, shadows and stuff. I nodded, but inside, I wasn't so sure.

The image of those ghostly pale legs under the truck stuck with me as we drove the rest of the way to my house. We tried to shake it off by diving into our video games and not talking about it anymore. But I could tell we were both a little spooked. Every now and then, I caught Jake glancing out the window, as if he expected to see those legs walking up the driveway. As the night grew darker and the sounds of our video games filled the room,

I tried to convince myself it was nothing, just a trick of the light or our imaginations. But deep down, I wondered if we had just seen one of the mill's ghosts, still lingering around, trapped in time. And that thought was enough to send shivers down my spine. After that night by the old mill, things felt a bit different. Jake and I tried to act like everything was normal, but the image of those ghostly legs didn't really leave our minds. To get our spirits up, we decided to go see. a movie in town. It was a new action film, and we thought it would help us forget the creepy stuff for a while. The movie was great, full of explosions and car chases. It did the trick. For a few hours,

we were just two friends having fun, not thinking about anything else. As we walked out of the theater, laughing and discussing our favorite parts, the sky was dark, and the stars were out. It seemed like a perfect end to the evening, but we still had to drive home. The road back to Jake's house was narrow and wound through thick woods. Trees towered on both sides, and it was so dark that even our headlights seemed to get swallowed up by the night. I drove slowly, the recent memory of the mill making me extra cautious. As we rounded a bend, I felt Jake tense up next to me. Do you ever think we'll see something weird again?

He asked, his voice a little shaky. Like the legs, I replied, trying to keep my voice light. I hope not. Just then, something unbelievable happened. Out of the dark woods, a huge shadow swooped right above the car. It flew so close that I could almost feel the air move. I slammed on the brakes, and both of us stared up through the windshield. Hovering under a streetlight for just a second was a creature like nothing I had ever seen before.

It was enormous, about the size of a large wolf, but it had wings, not bird wings, but big, bat-like wings that flapped heavily as it balanced in the air. Did you see that? I gasped. My hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. Yeah, Jake whispered. His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear. It had wings, and not just wings. As the creature flew across the light, I could see it had legs and a tail too. It looked powerful and terrifying, something straight out of a nightmare. We both were too scared to move or even speak. The creature disappeared into the trees on the other side of the road, and everything was silent again. I slowly started driving, my heart pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears.

Neither of us said a word the whole way to Jake's house. The fun of the movie was long forgotten, replaced by the fear of what we had just seen. When we finally got to his driveway, I turned off the engine, and we both just sat there for a moment. Then, all at once, we started talking. Both of us speaking fast. trying to make sense of it. Jake's brother was home when we went inside. We told him what we had seen, but he just laughed. You guys must have imagined it, he said, shaking his head.

But we knew what we saw, and it was no imagination. That night, we didn't talk much more. We both went to bed, but I lay awake, listening to the sounds of the night and wondering about the creature with the wings. Was it watching us? Was it waiting in the woods? I didn't know, and that was the scariest part of all. This episode is brought to you by Ultima Replenisher.

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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. I was 20 years old, attending basic training at Fort Benning, Georgia in the summer of 2011. The process at MEPs, or the military entrance processing station for civilians, lasted about 17 days. During that time, I learned a lot about people and made connections with soldiers who would go on to basic training with me, friends who are still close to me today. One story that all of us recall, one which holds a mythological place in my heart, is the story

of Jonathan Oldberg. This story took place at MEPs, which brings me back to the point of bringing it up in the first place. Mepus is the first time you and all the other new U.S. Army recruits are together, sleeping in barracks, standing in formations, getting shots, and doing basic end processing tasks. MEPs often serves as a toe-dipping into the military life of being told how to jump, how high to jump, when to jump, no, sir, yes, sir, all that. Needless to say, this is the first place where prospective soldiers might bail, raise their hands, refuse to go on, finding themselves out processing before they've even started the in-processing. It's not beyond a new soldier to act mentally unfit to be classified as not fit for service,

but usually it's broken down to finally fessing up or straightening out and figuring your junk out. Throughout the days, though, whispering and rumors of Oldberg's strange behavior became more and more known. Bunkmates to the left and right of him would claim stories of the young 19-year-old rambling in the night, talking to himself in whispers. These whispers would last through the entire night as fire guards, two soldiers on guard in the night that rotate on shift hourly, would take note. This means that throughout the night, sometimes ten different soldiers would mention their strange encounter, hearing Oldberg, or seeing him act differently.

Boredom helped spur my interest in this encounter, and throughout the first one of the first few days, I delighted in hearing different weird run-ins, like Oldberg staring at a walking patrol guard walking past his bunk in the middle of the night, maybe around 2 a.m. or 4 a.m. It didn't really matter what time. If he was faking, he was committed to the role at all hours of the day. Something that really stood out early to me. By nighttime, we were all so tired we'd take any extra minutes of sleep gladly. I remember approaching Oldberg, saying hello during some free time at the barracks after lunch. I approached the small five-foot-six soldier who, soaking wet, could not have been over 130 pounds. His pale white skin gave him a ghostly appearance,

talking to him. He seemed like a normal, soft-spoken kid. He was well-mannered, polite, more shy than anything. I thought he was harmless. The stories must be bored soldiers ganging up on the new kid, a story as old as time, really. How could I get lost believing in gossip or even entertaining the thought, that thought would change drastically throughout the next few days. My first run-in with Oldberg's strangeness came with my second shift of Fireguard. This took place on day four of MEPs. My bunkmate Brian and I woke up at 155 a.m., five minutes before my shift had to start.

I got dressed, put on my shoes, and was at the Fireguard desk in minutes. The shift went by, boring and quiet. soft snores and rumbles of sleeping soldiers lined the wide spaces of the darkened barracks bay Brian and I made small talk while we passed the time. The moonlight gave the corridor an eerie glow. Being around 60 bodies in one room gives you a sense of security though. At least if something does come up, there's enough of you and your fellow soldiers to deal with the threat. I walked and patrolled the darkened bay, making sure not to wake the sleeping soldiers with my steps. I felt it was practice for being a sneaky infantryman,

a skill I would definitely need someday, I assured myself. I passed by bunk bed to bunk bed all the way to one end of the bay, and into the bathrooms, which, unlike the darkened bay, were almost overwhelmingly bright. I took a leak, washed my hands, and grabbed my L-shaped flashlight, leaving on the opposite side of the bathroom, which would put me on the last leg of my patrol on a racetrack-shaped bed bunk situation, where the middle remains open, if that makes sense.

When I got about a quarter of the way down, I heard a small scratching sound. I paused my walk and listened intently. The noise was coming from a few bunks up. I walked slowly, making sure not to make a single noise. The closer I got to the target of what I perceived the sound to be coming from, I realized it was coming from a bottom bunk. The moonlight perfectly bounced off the open bay windows,

lighting up the white sheets that were covering a soldier. The sheet wrapped tightly over the small body, as if someone was pulling it downwards through the bed. When my eyes focused onto the lips of the featureless apparition, I realized the sound I was hearing wasn't scratching at all. It was whispering. Quiet but violent whispering, almost a chant. I stood there dumbfounded, not knowing what to do.

What was this noise? Is this kid okay? Should I wake him up? I simply just stood there for what seemed like minutes. My focus was broken by the bunkmate next to him rolling over and looking at me. The what the heck he mouthed to me seemed to match my exact same reaction. The other bunk on the other side rolled over as well, to acknowledge his nervousness or fear of the situation too.

The fact that this was keeping people up in the middle of the night only angered me. So I smacked the side of the bed with my unlit light and said, Hey, shut up, people can't sleep. With the loud ding of the metal of my light and the harshness in my tone, the whispering stopped, and the mouth stopped moving. These soldiers on both sides of me gave me a nod of approval and a thumbs up. Best fire guard ever, I thought in my head as I strolled back to the fire guard desk, which was now lit up.

I glanced back before breaking sight, though. I looked at the still illuminated Oldberg, whose face was covered by, the sheet. I could swear he was smiling through the tightly pulled cloth. I shook my head, walking back to Brian, who was chatting up the next fire guard shift. When I told them about what I'd seen, Brian cut me off and told me the noise got louder and louder when I left, which is why he turned his light on. The other guard excitedly told me about some weird circumstances of his shift the other night. Details I forgot, but it made me think. Maybe we're all just wired up and looking for excitement. Some of us created it. Some of us liked the show.

Anyway, it wasn't enough to make me lose sleep yet, although I couldn't get the sight of that face profile, draped by the tight cloth, out of my mind. I mean, who slept like that? What game was he playing? I bet to myself he'd break down and quit the next morning, dropping whatever facade he was playing. Into the next day came, and beyond my surprise, Oldberg had no clue at all that he had been acting strangely the previous night. He quickly became the topic of small-time gossip. Every soldier quickly had input on their favorite weird, creepy Oldberg moment. Despite the weirdness at night, Oldberg seemed normal.

He talked shyly, never really divulged much about himself, and even seemed to try and make friends. I remember a soldier, Boyer, trying to befriend him, and even deciding to take up the top bunk of Oldberg, showing solidarity with someone who seemed to be. lonely. Boyer would even defend Oldberg, hushing stories and tests from the rest of these soldiers, saying it's just people creating excitement at the expense of poor Oldberg. This would not last long, as day by day more stories came along. Even Boyer had his own run-in sleeping above the

ghostly apparition, although he never added to the stories and would never update us on what he'd seen. But I know he experienced something strange or grave, as he would quickly change the subject or comment on how strange everything was, like a man fed up with finding information he no longer wanted to see. Boyer moved his bed and stuff far away from Oldberg, and pretty soon the beds to the left and right of Oldberg followed suit. My next run-in would occur about seven days into in-processing. By now, everyone knew each other roughly, and we all rushed to fill the empty time with working out and talking about whatever we could to fill the long days. My next fireguard shift came up, Once again Brian and I sat at the desk, joking and talking about whatever.

Coincidentally, we joked about ghost stories, spooky things we'd seen as kids. We chuckled and laughed in the dark bay, our only light source being the moonlight in the windows and the green exit sign. Besides this, we had our L-shaped flashlights that at the time we both had turned off. The room grew silent, even snoring seemed to cease. The darkness in the room seemed to grow, like the clouds had to have. had decided to block the moon, now only leaving the green exit light as our only light source in the now growingly spooky room. Staring into the blackened bay, I heard movement. I focused my

eyes and couldn't see, so I moved to the front of the fire guard desk. Brian sat up in his chair suspiciously. A small dragging sound came from the middle of the bay floor in the kill zone, a portion of the floor reserved for drill sergeants, a spot where soldiers knew not to walk. Then, complete silence. Just as I was about to break the long silence, a figure sprints at me from the dark. A pale white Oldberg stops abruptly about five meters away from me. I met his incoming pace with the rays of my L-shaped light, like I was waiting for a fastball pitch. A violent smile beamed across the soldier's face as he stood strangely with his hands and limbs outstretched.

Oldberg, I'm going to mess you up, man. I blasted out. There wasn't an ounce of hesitation. I was afraid of getting kicked out for trouble or causing a fight. But this was another level of concern. It seemed like fear of death. One step closer, and I was going to tee off like Barry Bonds. The smile on Oldberg's face grew, and I now noticed his eyes were open.

They'd been open the whole time, but I'd confused them for being closed. His pupils had turned back, and all that was visible were the whites of his eyes. He let out this weird giggle. Get back to your bed or I'm going to mess you up, Oldberg. I'm not playing with you, man, I told him. Brian sat there petrified. Oldberg then backs up slowly into the darkness. Brian and I sat there, staring at ourselves,

just bearing witness to this situation. What the heck was that? Brian mentioned. His face pale white. He looked scared, cluing me in that if I had fought Oldberg then and there, It was probably going to be a 1v1 with a demon. We woke up the next fire guard and explained the situation.

They nodded their heads in agreement, ready to investigate. Oldberg seemed to be the only thing anyone was guarding for at this point. We got up and went on down to where Oldberg slept. The darkness from the bay made the room seem incredibly long. We marched all four together to his bed. He lay facing away, with the blanket covering his head completely, not moving. like nothing had ever happened. I remember making sure that the guard knew to wake me up if something crazy did happen.

I no longer doubted any of the stories. Something was not right about Oldberg, and everyone at this point agreed. I wanted to be awake if anyone saw him moving strangely, almost like it was inevitable that something was going to happen. The next day was basic in processing, and at this point we were pretty much just hurrying up and waiting to transition to actual basic training. Halfway through the day while I'm still sitting on my bed, I'm surprised by a familiar face. Oldberg, who seemed even more small and frail than normal, like his health had been deteriorating while he was here.

He was standing there in front of me. Hey, Rowan, his soft Tim voice bellowed out. Uh, what's up, Oldberg? I replied. I heard I went up to the guard desk and pissed you off last night. I'm so sorry. I don't even remember any of that or why I'd go up to the desk, Oldberg stated. He apologized profusely and seemed genuinely sorry for the event. I didn't know how to treat the situation.

I remember shaking his hand, telling him it's all good, and even making a joke about it, something that I could tell relieved Oldberg. Despite his weirdness, he seemed like a genuine, sweet person, like an only child who was out of his element but just trying to make friends. There wasn't anything to dislike about Oldberg when he was himself, which is what made the whole thing even more strange. Every time he'd be included in the group or shown he's one of us. He'd get turned around the following morning after a fire guard would catch him sleeping strangely

or wandering in the showers, which happened to one of my other friends. He kept hearing something from the latrine when he went to investigate. He found Oldberg propped against the shower wall, staring up with the biggest smile on his face. Eyes rolled back just the same as I'd seen him. It sucked seeing the battle of him trying to be normal paired with whatever illness or mental affliction that affected him. My last run-in with Oldberg would be the most significant of any run-in. I would be the grand finale in the showdown with Oldberg, a story that many of my old brothers talk about even today.

Day 13. A day that came as normal as any. Brian and I sat on the desk once again, blabbing about random topics. Halfway through the shift, I heard some stirring around the dark zone, the area where three or so bunks had been emptied around Oldberg. Brian and I looked at each other as we kept hearing a bang, bang, bang, bang, bang. We both crept forward down the dark corridor, light off at first, but soon enough we set half that and turned them both on. We made it to Oldberg's bed area, but he wasn't there.

I shined the light under the bed, then on the top, and suddenly, bang. It came from the other side of his locker. I looked over and I saw his legs there. He had himself propped up under the bay window, with his head banging back against the locker, creating that loud thud noise. Oldberg, I whispered harshly. No response was made other than another bang against the wall.

I looked closer and sure enough, his eyes were rolled backwards again. Hey! I yelled out, not trying to get any closer. His mouth opened and whispers chant out just. like the first day, but this time it was louder, more distinct. The sharpness and highness of his tone was inhuman and reminded me of the red rum moment in The Shining, when Danny keeps screaming the phrase. This started to awake the other soldiers, who began to dress and wander over. Get the next shift, I told Brian. He ran across the bay while I sat there staring at this entity.

I listened closer. What was it he was chanting? Soon I heard some familiar. words. He was speaking Latin, it seemed. Not that my Latin is decent. I just remember the way it sounded, and this was by far not a normal language. When the next two soldiers showed up, they'd already made themselves prepared for the situation. Everyone was ready for some Oldberg confrontation, and this was it. Oldberg, I yelled. His chant grew louder. Me and three other soldiers moved in closer, surrounding him. His language grew more demonic and harsh. Then he makes a statement, and right as he says it, it all ends, and bam. The bay window, which was eight feet up and definitely unreachable by any of us, especially Oldberg, bangs loudly three times. This

noise makes all of us jump, and the other soldiers in the bay began to murmur in confusion. This was a paranormal situation. There was no way around it. No way in heck he could play this role so well, and the noise at the window cemented this. We were on the second floor, and that window lay at least 20 feet off the ground. Oldberg's Latin proceeds again, louder and louder. He's shouting to the point of uncontrollable yelling. I told Brian to get the drill sergeant on guard, as this was beyond us. While he's gone, the other soldiers began to panic.

Was Oldberg stroking out? Was he possessed? I needed an answer. Pain is the best cleanser for any act, I thought. Paired with a surprise it could break anyone's act. I reached back and slapped Oldberg so hard in the face, mid-chant. He stopped chanting and stared right at me, but his smile grew wider, more monstrous. Taken aback by my effort to get him to stop, my colleague's surprise grew. The fact I could hit him so well, and not one hesitation in the act, or even a moment of ow that hurt, cemented it even more. There was no helping this kid, I thought. We need an exorcist. Just then, an angry drill sergeant's

voice broke through the darkness. I pointed, and the drill breaks character by going, What the F? He orders all of us to get back in bed, while he and another drill pick Oldberg up, and pull him to the medical center outside the bay. What the F was right. I'm surprised how anyone could fall asleep after that event. I think most of us stayed up. Morning came and Oldberg wasn't to be seen again. From what I heard, he kept going at it like that until dawn. Rumors abound that they had to sedate him as he was unable to wake up from his trance. His locker was emptied out by the hospital staff, and that was the last we'd seen of old Jonathan Oldberg. We would only be there at in-processing for a few more days, but the stories of Oldberg would persist all the way

through Basic and through deployments, and even when I linked back up with old friends from the service days, it would not be the last mention I'd heard of him. Though about two months into Basic, we were scheduled to get our dress blues tailored at the MEPs End Processing Center. It was cool seeing the area again, especially after being this close to being done with Basic and getting ready to head into infantry AIT or advanced individual training. At a certain point, I had to use the latrine, I go to the restroom. And while I'm taking a leak, I hear two soldiers talking. Yo, did you hear about Oldberg last night? They found him going through empty barracks screaming and crap. They can't figure out what to do with him while he out processes.

Yeah, that guy's a freak, the other says. It blew my mind that he was still here, still terrorizing soldiers and drill sergeants alike. My guess is they knew something was extremely wrong with him, and after all the mental trials and tribulations, they realized he had to be put somewhere, maybe an asylum or something. Despite his condition, Oldberg was nothing but friendly and deeply wanted to be a soldier.

At least it seemed, in my eyes. This story is about 13 years old now, and I can recall the tone in his voice, the way it seemed almost alien, the way his face lit up with a sheet draped over it the first time I saw him. I hope Oldberg found peace and is living a happy life around good people.

I hope he doesn't suffer from whatever he was suffering through. That situation was far from normal, though, and it's one of the things that have cemented the supernatural in my own life. I hope I never have to find out if he escaped his affliction or if he's even alive now. He might be angry from the slap that night. At least I hope to never find out. Kayak gets my flight, hotel, and rental car right, so I can tune out travel advice that's just plain.

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Nars, better together. Visit Sephora to shop now. I've never been one to shy away from the unexplainable, not when you grow up sensing things that others can't. At 20, my life had been a carousel of eerie experiences, but nothing that I couldn't handle. or so I thought. That December, moving into a new apartment with Nikki, felt like stepping into a clear, sunny day after a week of storms. For the first time, a home didn't press down on me with the weight of unseen eyes. Nicky was as normal as they come, her biggest worry being

her next exam, or what color to dye her hair. Our small apartment was on the third floor of a tired but friendly building, its red bricks worn smooth by years and weather. From the start, it seemed we were set for a fresh chapter, free from disturbances, both paranormal and mundane. That sense of peace lasted until May, when life decided to throw us a curveball named Morgan. She was 16, with more baggage than anyone her age deserved. Her dad, a self-styled Satanist, had a cruel streak wider than the Missouri River. The day she moved in, she sat on the faded blue couch, hugging her knees, and told us in a flat voice that her dad had cursed her, that something dark followed her, a shadow creature. I believed her. You don't grow up like I did without knowing

that some nightmares walk in daylight, but I chalked most of it up to the trauma of her upbringing, a screen her mind projected to deal with all the mess at home. I did. I did. decided it was best not to stir the pot, to just keep an eye on things. But then, the apartment started to disagree with my nonchalance. It began with small, almost laughable things. Our coffee table moved a few inches from where it was the night before, mail scattered like autumn leaves across the floor. The cats, I'd mutter, though the explanation hung flimsy in the air like a cobweb. Then, the pranks turned peculiar. Our laundry detergent once ended up. a puddle under the dining room table, the empty bottle standing like a sentinel in the middle

of the mess. Nikki laughed it off, but her laughter had a nervous edge I didn't like. Things escalated quietly, the way dread builds in the pit of your stomach. Both Morgan and Nikki, on separate occasions, woke up paralyzed, whispering tales of a child-sized shadow in their rooms, its head too big, hands too long, a silhouette etched in darkness. My skin would crawl at their descriptions, so eerily similar, though I hadn't seen the thing myself. I should have been scared, perhaps, but fear is a luxury you can't afford when you're the only one who's supposed to hold it together. So I held firm, even as an unspoken chill settled into our home, like frost on window glass. Then came that night in May, alone with only the hum of the refrigerator and my thoughts.

I had never felt it so intensely before, that feeling of being watched. As the shadows deepened, so did my sense of unease. The apartment felt crowded, as if the walls themselves inhaled and exhaled, heavy with secrets. I was sitting on the couch, trying to lose myself in a book, when the air grew oppressively thick. It was like the world had tilted, reality skewed in a direction I couldn't follow. My chest tightened, breaths coming short. I tried to stand, to move, but the darkness pressed in, tangible as the fabric of the couch under my fingers.

Panic clawed up my throat, a primal screaming thing, but I swallowed it down. I wasn't alone in this, couldn't afford to be, not just for my sake, but for Nickies, for Morgans. So I straightened, forced my lungs to work, and prepared to face whatever was encroaching on our fragile little life. It was just the beginning, and somehow I knew it was going to get worse. The night I first felt truly threatened in my own home was a turning point. There's something about darkness that's thicker than shadow, something that swallows sound and makes the minutes stretch into lifetimes. That's what descended on our apartment one suffocating evening when I was

alone, the heavy silence punctuated only by my own erratic heartbeat. I was curled up on the couch, the TV murmuring low in the background, an island of light in a sea of creeping shadows. The atmosphere had shifted, subtle but undeniable. My chest felt like it was caught in a vice, each breath a labor. It was as if the apartment had exhaled a deep, dark breath, and hadn't inhaled since. Sitting up, I pushed the blanket off with a jerk, the room unnaturally cold. The dim light from the hall seemed to hesitate at the edge of the living room, unwilling to penetrate the darkness that had thickened around me. I reached for my phone, thumb swiping for the flashlight app, but the device felt alien and unresponsive in my hands. When the sudden realization

hit that I wasn't alone, my skin prickled with a cold dread. There was a presence, a weight of something unseen that filled the room like smoke. I listened, barely breathing, and heard it, a slow, deliberate footfall in the kitchen behind me. Not the light-telling. of a cat's paw, but the solid, unmistakable sound of a human foot. Panic surged, sharp and metallic in my taste. I spun around, phone clutched like a lifeline, but saw nothing. The kitchen was empty, bathed in the weak glow from the streetlight outside the window. But the feeling of being watched intensified, pressing down on me until I thought I might crumble under it. I couldn't stay there, frozen by fear, so I did what I had learned to do, fight back.

Grabbing sage from the drawer, I lit it, the smoke curling into the air, a visible marker of my defiance. Nikki and I had smeared oil on the door frames last week, a barrier we hoped was more than symbolic. You're not welcome here, I muttered into the darkness, words less for it and more for me. But the nights that followed brought no peace. Nikki, normally so vibrant, grew paler each day. her nights tormented by that same shadow figure that now haunted both her dreams and waking moments. We were fighting a losing battle, it seemed, against an enemy that thrived in the very fear it engendered. Desperation led us to Nikki's mother, a woman of deep faith and conviction.

She arrived with holy water and a calm certainty that was both a bomb and a blade. She moved through our home, blessing each room with a practiced hand. Her prayers a soft but firm rebuke against the same. the darkness. Slowly, the apartment began to breathe again. The oppressive weight lifted, and the air cleared as if a storm had passed. Morgan moved out shortly after, her departure coinciding with a palpable shift in the atmosphere. Her younger brother moved in, and mysteriously, the disturbances dwindled until they were just a memory, a dark chapter in our lives that we hoped was firmly closed. As I lay in bed that night, listening to the quiet sounds of a home at

peace, I wondered about the power of belief, of curses, and blessings. There was a lesson here about the shadows we carry and the light we seek, and while the peace might be fragile, it was peace nonetheless, hard one and precious. I drifted off to sleep, a sleep unmarred by shadows, with a heart lighter than it had been in months. Not loving your AT&T or T Mobile Bill? Yeah, we've been hearing that a lot. Good news. Bring your AT&T or T Mobile Bill to Verizon, and we'll give you a better deal. So get away from that unfortunate phone bill and get to Verizon. Run, ride, canoe. Whatever

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They say everything happens for a reason, but I suspect everything happens for a Reese's. Like this commercial break, did you need 15 seconds away from music? Or 15 seconds to eat or Reese's? Perhaps it's true. Everything happens for a Reese's. My dad worked as a taxi driver for 10 years, transporting drunk university students back to their accommodation, and taking elderly ladies to their bingo nights. He has taken many people on many journeys up and down the country.

As such, he's gone through several supernatural experiences. I'll tell you a few of his stories told to me as a kid. Around two years into taxiing, he had a job that paid quite well. It was a simple, straightforward job. He had to pick up a group of middle-aged women and drive them to a local restaurant. It was a dark Friday night, and they were celebrating their friend's 47th birthday. They were excited and a little tipsy. He told me that these jobs are usually the easiest,

the ones where you can talk to the customers, revel in their excitement, or hear their life stories. The journey was a long one, being around half an hour. The destination was set on the edge of a cliff, looking towards the sea. As they neared the restaurant, their surroundings became enveloped in heavy fog. The fog eclipsed nearby signs and blurred traffic lights. My dad needed to exercise caution, so he slowed down, relying more on his sat-nav for guidance. He looked around and found the usually busy roads empty.

This was unusual, but he blamed it on the weather. Nevertheless, he continued with the journey, determined to complete it so he could pick up more customers before going home for the night. However, the more my dad drove, the thicker the fog became. While talking to one of the ladies in the passenger seat, he noticed that his sat-nav started to flash, seemingly turning off and on. It froze on the road they were on, so he turned it off and continued as he knew this area like the back of his hand. However, even being ripped out of the stand wouldn't stop the screen from flashing, illuminating the windshield and almost blinding him. It was a dark night after all, and the flashes were enough to cause little white spots that linger after blinking. annoyed, he simply threw it in the cup holders and kept driving.

As he got closer to the destination, he began to notice a bright white glow coming from the distance on the left side. As they were near the beach, he initially dismissed it, thinking he was coming up on a lighthouse or a nearby ship. He paid it no mind, even as the light shone brighter and grew larger, taking over the left side of his windshield. Soon, the pleasant conversation between the ladies slowed and stopped. all together, with concerned mutters taking their place. What is that? Some of them gasped, mouths agape.

The extroverted and friendly woman in the passenger seat who had been talking to my dad the entire way there, turned into a statue, staring into the distance. She told my dad to slow down as she thought someone was walking in the road. As they approached the alleged figure, they all saw where the bright light was coming from, a pale gray man in tattered Victorian clothes, holding a lantern, walked across the road mere meters away from the car. The scary part, my dad said, was that they were so shocked at someone walking on the road and how bright the light was.

It took a few seconds to register that the man had no legs. Instead, they saw him gliding across the road. My dad said he doesn't know how he got to the restaurant so quickly after that, but he knew that he probably broke a few traffic laws by something. speeding all the way there. The most notable part of that event, though, was how affected the customers were. Once a bubbly, excited, and tipsy bunch, they were now silent, shocked, and subdued. I do wonder what they told their friends upon arrival, if they told anyone at all. I'll tell you another story, one that I was partially at least, witnessed to. It was November on a chilly night.

My dad, at this point, was a seasoned taxi driver, having worked half a decade. in the profession. Despite a few shaky experiences, nothing really phased him anymore. It was close to the end of his shift, around 10 p.m., and the jobs available had dried up. He decided to go home, seeing as though my mother and I were waiting up for him so we could have dinner together. It was on his way home that a notification popped up on his meter for a job, and it wasn't too far from home, so he figured he would complete the short trip and come straight home. It was a relatively straightforward trip, a ten-minute journey from a club to a residential block of flats. He quickly drove to the pickup location, which was quite populated.

He messaged the passenger that he had arrived and waited. The passengers said that they were walking to the car. He scanned the crowd of partygoers lined up outside the club, and the stragglers waiting on the curb. He couldn't see anyone walking towards him. Then suddenly he saw her. A long-haired young woman dressed in a long black dress and healed boots. Her hair partially covered her face, masking her eyes and part of her mouth. My dad felt uneasy, and she had not come from the club.

Instead, she had come from an adjacent alleyway across from it. As far as he knew, that alleyway led nowhere. It was a dead end, so he couldn't figure out where she could have come from. There were various clubs lining the busy street, and she didn't come from. from any of them. Despite this, she waved at him and walked over to the taxi. My dad said as soon as she opened the door, he felt a cold chill run up his spine. It just felt wrong to be in the presence of this woman. He tried to play it cool. After all, this was his last job, and he was going home right after. He began to drive to the destination, and she didn't say anything. Instead,

she appeared to be picking at the skin of her palm. Halfway through the taxi ride, she spoke for the first time. She had this high-pitched, eerily childlike voice. Can you drop me off at a certain point, please? I couldn't get the location right on the app. My dad, still feeling uneasy, nodded and followed her instructions, driving to a different part of town, more towards a set of shops. The closer they got to these shops, the more he felt dizzy, nausea gripping his body. He struggled to make it to the place she indicated. Once they arrived, he asked which shop she wanted to be dropped off at. The woman, still picking at her palm and avoiding eye contact,

pointed to the furthest shop at the end of the street. He drove there slowly, trying not to throw up. The car, he told me later, began to smell like burning the closer they got. Eventually he couldn't stand it anymore. He told her that he was dropping her off there, and she could walk the rest of the way. Despite him being quite blunt, she was fine with it. thanking him and leaving the taxi. She did do one thing, however.

When she said thank you, she gripped his shoulder. Her hand was stone cold and her nails dug into his skin slightly. My dad felt the worst at this point. He described it as worse than simply feeling nauseous. It was more like something inside him was trying to claw itself out of his throat. His hackles were raised, but when the woman left the taxi at last, the feeling stopped altogether. His shoulders, previously raised to his ears, lowered, and his car began to smell normal again. He panicked, however, when he looked at the shop she wanted to go to. He realized

something she said earlier, that she lived in a flat above the shop. My dad turned completely cold as he looked at the aforementioned shop and saw that there was no first floor. It was a ground floor shop. In fact, none of the shops on that street had a second floor. All of the of them were ground floors. He immediately drove home in a panic, shouting like mad as he entered the house. My mother and I tried to calm him, but he was convinced he had met something supernatural that night, something evil. Thankfully, he left the taxi trade. He now works a less stressful job. To all the taxi drivers out there, I hope you're wary of the last customer you take, because they may not be human. Don't forget to check out Magic Mind. You can find the link in the

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