Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 5 TRUE Unsettling DEEP WOODS Scary Stories From REDDIT

Episode Date: January 24, 2025

These are 5 TRUE Unsettling DEEP WOODS Scary Stories From REDDIT Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ ►https://www.reddit.com/user/neatvibes/►https://www.reddit.com/user/ScaryThirdEye/►https://www.reddit.com/r/Thetruthishere/comments/p93ady/high_strangeness_extremely_close_ufo_encounter/►https://www.reddit.com/user/sonic-sparx/ Timestamps: 00:00 Intro 00:00:18 Story 1 00:07:01 Story 2 00:28:54 Story 3 00:46:04 Story 4 00:53:27 Story 5 Music by: ► Myuu's channel http://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Music http://bit.ly/2f9WQpe Thumbnail art: ►Just Creepy Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #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 Lovato 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. It was the fall of 2009, and I was the fall of 2009. I was 16 years old at the time. I lived in the central part of North Carolina. Nowadays, the cities are loaded with things to do for the Halloween season, but back then, the best form

of entertainment I could come up with was visiting the Devil's Tramping Ground with a few friends. The Devil's Tramping Ground is a local legend. It sits right outside Siler City in North Carolina, about an hour away from where I lived, and I had just gotten my license, so, why not? For those unfamiliar with the locale or its legend, the devil's tramping ground is a perfectly circular patch of dead soil in the middle of the woods. Despite the surrounding greenery, nothing grows in that circle. Legend says that if you drop or leave anything in the circle, it's moved, or disappears, by morning, as the devil supposedly comes here late at night to plot his evil-doings against humanity, pacing in a circle as he thinks. That's the gist, but feel free to research it. It's a

decent read. Siler City is a Sticks in Barnstown with long barren roads that practically scream, don't stop until you get the hell out of here. It was on one of those roads that I began to feel uneasy. Rural areas always have that heavy twilight zone energy, and the road we were on, conveniently named Devil's Tramping Ground R.D., was entirely unlit. The only illumination for the cracked asphalt was the fading yellow headlights of my 2002 Mercury Cougar, and the faint glow of a crescent moon. In those dim lights, we started to see graffiti splattered on the road leading up to the place, creepy warnings I didn't expect, and never realized the impact of, until I saw them. In white paint the road was marked with crude messages, the one I remember most

said, The Devil lives here, and a huge white cross stood in front of an opening in the forest. I parked on the side of the road. The grounds itself wasn't as creepy as I'd expected. It wasn't very deep into the woods. In fact, the clearing was visible from the road. It wasn't as menacing as I'd imagined. Maybe it was the empty beer cans and red solo cups scattered around. Obviously people partied there. Or maybe it was the jokes my friends and I started cracking almost immediately, but at around 2 a.m., we wanted to catch Lucifer at his hour. I felt less on edge than I had on the road. My flashlight beam seemed to vanish if I aimed it upward, so I kept it pointed at the soil, genuinely more interested in finding something paranormal than my

friends were. There were four of us total. After a while, two of my friends went back to the car. It was cold, and not much was happening. I stayed behind with one friend. I had brought a Ziploc bag, along with a pocket Bible, a rosary in my pocket, just in case, and a stuffed rabbit given to me by one of my best friends. Before leaving, I scooped some of the dead soil into the Ziploc, curious to see if studying it later might provide a clue. Alien radiation, climate change, sulfur. Maybe the devil was just busy that night. Between joking and complaining about the cold, we suddenly heard someone walking in the depths of the woods. This wasn't a vague noise. This was a definite, heavy step. The sound came from behind the brush, among the trees, and it was unashamed.

of being heard. That was the first time I noticed there were no crickets or any other sounds at all. It was just us and these footsteps. I was even more reluctant to lift my small flashlight, which was tucked under my arm and pointed at my soil sample. My eyes had already adjusted to the dark, so we stood there, and I could make out the shape of something in the woods. It was dark, but I could see it. Tall, but not freakishly tall, human-shaped, walking on. two feet. It would walk, then stop, then walk again, moving in our direction, I think. We were petrified, not moving or breathing. I was so afraid I felt numb, though I trembled a little. We just stared. Later, we'd talk about how we both wondered if it saw us and how we didn't

want to move in case it hadn't. We'd also talk about the smell, an awful putrid stench of burning feces, rotting eggs, and decaying meat. I grew up Catholic, hence the Bible and rosary, and was taught that smell meant the devil was nearby, which only made things worse. Even now, typing this, I'm trembling a bit. This thing lingered among the skeletal branches, seemingly toying with us. I say skeletal because not much greenery was alive at the time. At some point, I was sure it saw me. I got that six-sense feeling of being wot. and then an overwhelming despair washed over me. That's when I realized my friend had been clutching the back of my collar.

I think I was so paralyzed with fear that I felt nothing but numbness. Wasn't even cold anymore. But once I felt my friend's hand, I dropped everything in my arms, stood up and quickly headed back to the car. I didn't run outright, but it was a very hurried walk. I just assumed my friend was right behind me. To be honest, I didn't think much about it. at the time. I was too ready to leave. I took off into the trees instead of following the clear

path, heading toward the yellow glow of the headlights. Although the road was close by, it felt like an agonizingly long distance, enough for the small branches to scrape and cut my hands, cheeks, and neck. This whole ordeal couldn't have lasted very long. When I got back to my car, the keys were already in the ignition. The other two had turned on the heat, and they asked what had happened. My friend who stayed behind with me got in the passenger seat soon after, and we took off. The two in the car pointed out that our eyes were swollen and bright red. I think we had been crying without realizing it, or at least it looked that way. In the rearview mirror, I saw my pupils were abnormally large, and my eyelids were puffy, tender, and red. Maybe it was just fear combined with the darkness,

but it was still unsettling. I realized later I'd left my Bible, my stuffed rabbit, and my Ziploc bag of dirt in the circle. I thought about going back the next day when it was light out, but I never did. I still wonder and worry about who might have my things now. Rock Island is a state park located at the tip of Door County, Wisconsin, on Lake Michigan.

It's a difficult place to get to. To reach the island, you have to take a car ferry, from Ellison Bay to Washington Island, drive across Washington Island to Jackson Harbor, then take a pedestrian-only ferry to Rock Island. No vehicles or bikes are allowed on Rock Island. Even though the island is relatively small, about 975 acres, it has an interesting history. In the early 1600s, it was inhabited by a tribe of Potawatomi Native Americans, as well as a small fishing village of European settlers.

The two groups did not trust each other and had a few bad encounters that almost led to violence, but for the most part they lived peacefully together. By the 1640s, the Potawatomi had migrated to other parts of Wisconsin. Shortly after the Potawatomi left the island, some settlers from the fishing village reported seeing a new group of people there. They seemed to be more white settlers, but they wore strange clothes and kept to themselves. No one from the fishing village was ever able to speak with the, these newcomers, or even find where they were living. It was around this time that strange

things started happening in the village. Several animals, possibly pigs or chickens kept by the settlers, were found slaughtered, and it seemed their blood had been used to make markings on some of the buildings. On a different night, a building used for preserving meat burned down. The villagers believed these acts were done by the new people on the island, and searched thoroughly, including the wooded inland area, but never found a single person. These strange occurrences seemed to stop soon after the search, and none of the other newcomers were ever seen again. In 1836, the Potawatomi Lighthouse was built on the northern part of the island.

After construction was finished, the lighthouse was inspected, and it was reported that, the material of which the lighthouse and dwelling are made, are of the best quality, and that the work is done. in a substantive and workman-like manner. On December 19, 1837, David E. Corbin was appointed the first keeper of the light. Only three years later, in 1840, despite the apparent quality of the lighthouse, Corbyn complained that plaster was beginning to fall off, and some sort of liquid oozed through cracks, leaving the house constantly damp.

Corbin was alone most of the time at the lighthouse, and some visitors said he would stare at a certain wall, and sometimes spoke vaguely of other visitors. In 1845, after eight years of relative solitude, an inspector visited Corbyn at the lighthouse. While Corbyn was fulfilling his duties, the inspector noted he was acting strangely. The official report says the inspector ordered Corbyn to take a 25-day leave of absence to find a wife, to live with him. However, some believe the inspector was startled by Corbyn's mental state, brought on by years of solitude. and thought it best for him to spend some time away from the island. In 1852, Corbin reportedly fell ill and died that December in the lighthouse.

He was buried in a small cemetery just south of the lighthouse. The next lighthouse keeper also reported a surprisingly quick deterioration of the lighthouse. Friends who visited him said he spoke of seeing strange things in the house at night, but he wouldn't elaborate. In 1858, after only 22 years of service, the original lighthouse was torn down and a new one was built. From that point on, lighthouse keepers were required to have an assistant keeper or a family living with them. No further strange occurrences were noted in the lighthouse logbook, outside of strong storms and occasional shipwrecks, except on January 20, 1876. The keeper at the time, named Betz, reported seeing two men attempting to row to the mainland from Washington Island.

A terrible storm came up shortly after their departure, and they never reached their destination. Over three months later, on May 3, 1876, Betz wrote, The two men who were lost last January have been seen several times, once from Caney Lighthouse and once from Jacksonport. The men were apparently frozen stiff and sitting upright in the boat among a mass of ice. At last account they were still adrift. There is not much hope that they will be found and buried. By 1900, most of Rock Island's inhabitants left for better fishing areas on Lake Michigan.

In 1910, a successful business owner and inventor, Chester Thorterson, purchased all of the island except for the land occupied by the lighthouse in the north. He used the island as a private summer retreat from his business in Chicago. Thorterson is responsible for the unique and mystifying buildings and structures that are still on the island today. On the south end, he built a giant stone hall with a boathouse on the lower level. A stone water tower was built on the east side of the island, and an imposing wooden gate was constructed on the west end. The great hall was used to store Thorterson's immense book collection. He had over 11,000 books, and it's rumored he possessed some very rare books on the occult.

Thorterson died of heart failure on January 6, 1945, though some have speculated he saw something that scared him to death. I couldn't find any writings from Thorterson that mentioned him experiencing anything strange on the island. After his death, multiple churches and universities were interested in his book collection, but he had willed it to the University of Wisconsin-Madison, providing that they purchase it for $300,000, which they did. Some of this history is hard to find online, but there are a couple of binders in the Great Hall that document much of it. Thorterson's personal papers are housed in the archives of the State Historical Society of Wisconsin.

All of this history is meant to provide some context for experiences I've had, directly or indirectly, on Rock Island. In August of 2021, I took my first, and last trip there. After taking two ferry rides, I arrived on the island at about 2 p.m. I had booked the remote campsite E, a backpacking site a little over a mile from the dock. I took my time hiking out to the site to enjoy the scenery and took a couple of breaks because of my heavy pack. I was definitely packed more for camping than for hiking. I reached my site, set up my tent, got everything situated, and started gathering sticks and driftwood from the beach for a fire.

On my third trip back from the beach, before I returned to my site, I heard a single high-pitched squeal coming from the forest. It didn't sound close, but it was such an unusual noise that I stopped in my tracks and waited a good 30 seconds to see if it would happen again. It didn't, so I went back to my site and began getting a fire started. The remote sites on Rock Island are well spaced out, Sites C, D, and E are grouped together, but there's probably a hundred yards between each. There isn't a real trail connecting the three sites directly, but enough people have walked along the ridge that there's an obvious path.

As I was arranging sticks in my fire ring, something caught my eye. Fairly far away, maybe near Site D or a bit farther, a person was running in my direction. My first thought was, that's odd, because there isn't really a proper trail there. Then I assumed something must be wrong and this person needed help. As they got a bit closer, I thought it might be a woman in loose gray clothes, maybe a hoodie, but the person was still too far away to see details. I quickly stood up from my crouching position, and just then I heard that high-pitched squeal again.

It was behind me, much closer this time. Startled, I turned around and scanned the trees for a few seconds but didn't see or hear anything. I turned back around, knowing the runner must be getting close, but now they were gone. I stood there, scanning the trees but saw no one. I was confused and froze for a few seconds. It was very strange, but I reasoned that it was just a fellow camper from Site C or D, maybe running to the pit toilet that was a couple hundred yards west of the sites. I tried to forget about it, but it bothered me. I really did not like that squeal, and it gave me a strange feeling. I forced myself to let it go and started my fire. I had a quick meal and a couple of adult

beverages, then decided to take a short walk. I hadn't seen site C or D yet, so I thought I would check them out and see if anyone was camping nearby. Site D was empty. I saw the path that led from that site to the main trail and pit toilet, which made me less uneasy about the runner. I figured it was someone from site C who took a weird path. It still didn't make perfect. sense, since I should have seen them, but it made me feel better. I continued to site C, and saw there was a tent set up. I didn't want to bother anyone, but I decided to introduce myself as a neighbor from Site E to see if anyone looked like the person I'd seen running. I walked up, and there was a couple sitting at the picnic table. Neither looked like the runner. I introduced myself. They introduced

themselves. They were probably in their mid-30s, very nice. and both seemed to be quietly drunk. I didn't ask about the runner or the squealing noise, thought it might be weird, so I just wished them a good night and headed back to my tent. When I got back, I had a cigar and a few more drinks. It got dark, and it started as a perfect night. The sky was clear, and the stars were brilliant.

I felt better about the day and decided to get some sleep. It had been a long day, so I fell asleep almost immediately. Around 2.30 a.m., I was woken by a huge boom of thunder. It started pouring. The wind picked up and the temperature dropped. I love camping in the rain, but not in a lightning storm. A pretty big storm rolled in, and I started to worry. The wind whipped at my tent and the ground shook from thunder and lightning. I felt very exposed out there in a tent. The storm lasted about an hour before becoming a light, steady drizzle. I was just starting to fall back asleep when I heard the squirt. I was just starting to fall back asleep when I heard the squint. I opened my eyes wide in the dark and lay there silently. There was another squeal, louder, and it was pretty close. I knew there were no truly dangerous animals on Rock Island, deer and porcupines, but no bears or wolves. But that knowledge didn't help. Something about that squeal unsettled me. I call it a squeal, because that's the best I can describe it. It sounded like a pig squeal, an injured or angry pig.

I kept lying there and then heard footsteps outside my tent. It was still raining, so the sound was partially masked, but it definitely sounded like something somewhat large, an animal or a human, walking around. I sat up and pulled out a knife, just to feel better. In my head, I kept telling myself, It's just an animal. There's nothing here that can hurt you.

I listened as the footsteps moved away from my tent. I sat there, still holding the knife. for maybe ten minutes without hearing anything else. I started to think, it's fine, it was just an animal. You're being silly and you need to sleep. I was about to lie back down when there was a very loud squeal right outside my tent. It felt like my heart stopped. A shiver went down my spine. My heart started pounding so hard that my entire body pulsed, and I felt it in my ears. It took all my courage, but I managed to force out, get out of here. I didn't shout, but I tried to sound as stern and threatening as I could.

I heard no more squeals or footsteps that night, but I couldn't sleep. I sat there for about an hour, then lay down. Eventually the rain stopped, and I stayed there until the sun came up. I kept reassuring myself that I was being ridiculous, and it had to be an animal. It was probably 7 a.m. when I decided I had to step outside my tent. As soon as I did, I saw that my picnic table had been flipped upside down. Surprisingly, I felt calm and thought, OK, that's enough. I'm leaving the island today. I checked around and nothing else seemed out of place. I eventually reasoned that maybe the wind had blown the table over during the storm. It still seemed odd, given how heavy the table was, and that I didn't hear it flip. But that explanation

made some sense. I made some cold instant coffee, had a bite to eat, and started to feel better about everything. Then I decided to go for a hike. I admit, I get easily scared when I'm camping alone in the woods. Maybe that's natural. But after having coffee and food and seeing the sun, I realized that nothing I'd seen or heard was outright unexplainable. Other than losing some sleep, I was still enjoying myself. The main reason I came to Rock Island was to hike the 7-mile Thorterson's Loop Trail, which has a lot of interesting sights. Close to my site is the water tower. I have no idea how it originally worked or why it had to be a tower, but it's an impressive building with a fireplace that looked like someone had recently used it. A little farther down

the trail was a cemetery where two sisters and a few others are buried. It's believed there are more unmarked graves there, likely from the old fishing village. The island has three cemeteries, one by the beach where Chester Thorterson is buried, one on the eastern part of the island where the two sisters rest, and one on the northern part where the original lighthouse keeper, David E. Corbin, is buried. There is also at least one Potawatomi burial area on the island, though no one knows exactly where it is. I continued on the trail until I came to a scenic overlook with a bench. I sat down and drank some water. I started hearing voices on the trail ahead, though I couldn't see anyone yet.

The trail bent, and the trees were thick, so I waited to see who would appear. As the voices got closer, I realized they weren't speaking English, but I couldn't place the language. Both voices were very deep and guttural. Then, deeper in the woods, I heard a loud, quick, rumble sound. Immediately, both of the voices were very deep. responded with a higher-pitched rumble. I smiled a bit, thinking maybe they heard whatever it was and were playfully mocking it. I stood up, put on my backpack, and walked in their direction, but I never came across them. The rest of the hike was fine. I visited the cemetery where David E. Corbin is

buried, took a self-guided tour of the Potawatomi Lighthouse, past the wooden gate, apparently once part of a larger structure, walked by the Great Hall and the dock, visited some of the other structures and saw Thorterson's cemetery. Then I finished the loop by returning to my campsite. It was a pleasant hike, with plenty to see, and not very difficult, though I was tired. I walked to Site C to ask the couple how they'd fared in the storm, but they had already left. I was disappointed because I really wanted to ask them if they'd heard the squealing noise. The rest of the evening was uneventful.

I built a fire, made some meals, had a cigar. and some drinks. As soon as it got dark, I was ready for bed after the previous night's lack of sleep. I got in my tent and fell asleep quickly. Maybe three hours later, I woke up suddenly, fully alert. Nothing seemed to have caused me to wake up, but I felt something was wrong. I sat up, and it's hard to explain, but a feeling of complete dread washed over me. It was unlike anything I've ever felt. It felt like there was something in the tent with me, and I could sense it was enraged, filled with anger and hatred for me. It felt like something terrible was about to happen, and I was powerless to stop it. I started shivering uncontrollably. There was a strong smell of

garbage or rotten meat, growing so intense I thought I might vomit, but I was too frozen in fear to move. I had never felt so vulnerable. My mind seemed to accept that whatever was coming, even death would at least be a relief. Then I blacked out. I assumed I passed out because the next thing I remember is waking up around 8 a.m. When I woke up, I was lying on top of my sleeping bag, not in it, and my legs were in an awkward position, my left leg straight, my right leg bent so my foot was against my left knee.

My heart started pounding, but I kept telling myself, it was just a dream, I'm leaving right now. I packed everything quickly and made my way toward the dock to catch the first boat off the island. Since the first boat from Washington Island doesn't arrive until about 10.30 a.m., I had some time to kill near the Great Hall and Dock. I wanted off the island badly, but felt a bit calmer being out of the woods and seeing other people. I sat on a bench east of the dock and lit a cigar, just to occupy my mind and keep from thinking about the night before. After a few minutes I was startled by someone behind me saying,

Hi. I jumped, embarrassed, and the person came around saying, Sorry, sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I saw you smoking and came over to ask if you had a lighter. I felt dumb and told him I was just tired from not sleeping well. I handed him my lighter. He thanked me, lit a cigarette, and gave the lighter back. We started chatting about normal things. He said he was from the Madison area.

talked about the storms, and mentioned he was an outdoorsy guy with plans to move to Washington Island. It was a nice, normal conversation that took my mind off the night I'd had. He seemed like a decent person. Then naturally, he asked which site I'd been staying at. I told him Site E for the last two nights. He said he usually books Site E, but I must have reserved it before him, so he had booked Site D instead. I was surprised because I'd seen no tent or anything at Site D the two times I passed by. He explained that he comes to the island a few times a year, and while you have to reserve a site, he actually camps in different areas on the island. I asked where he camps, and he said he usually camps in the East Cemetery, but also likes to camp

in the woods south of the lighthouse. He told me he hikes about halfway down the Fernwood Trail, then heads north into the woods and finds a spot to camp. He said that once he found the ruins of a small log house in those woods, and he wants to camp inside it someday. At this point, I started to reconsider him and wanted to change the subject, but then he asked if I had heard the screeches in the woods. I paused, knowing he meant the squealing I'd heard. I said yes, and asked if he knew what it was. He took a second to answer, and I saw his expression change, like he was deciding whether to share a secret. With no emotion in his voice, he said matter-of-factly, A demon lives on this island. Under other circumstances, I would have laughed it off, but not after

my experience. He must have seen the anxiety and fear on my face because he let out a quick laugh. He asked if I'd seen anything that night. I told him I hadn't, and he stared at me like he was trying to figure something out. I felt he knew I had experienced something. I wanted the conversation to end, but then he told me he saw something in the cemetery that night. His face and mood changed like he was going to confide in me. I really didn't want to ask what he'd seen, but I knew he wanted me to. So I asked, my voice shaky. I could tell he changed his mind about telling me. He looked at me with empathy and said what he saw was hard to explain. but if I was already afraid of the screeching, I shouldn't go near the cemetery.

I didn't respond right away. Then he said four words, with no context. Keepers of the flame, I looked at my cigar and saw the ash was long. I put it out, told him I was going to wait by the dock, and he nodded. As I walked away, he called, hey, and when I turned around, he just said, don't come back here. I don't know if that was a warning or a friendly suggestion, but I certainly wasn't planning to return to Rock Island. When I got home, I looked up Keepers of the Flame in connection with

Rock Island. I found three possible references. The name Potawatomi can be translated to Keepers of the Flame. The lighthouse keepers were sometimes called Keepers of the Flame. And there was also a 19th century cult said to visit the island, calling themselves the same. I know hundreds of people visit Rock Island every year and have a great time camping, hiking, and exploring Thorterson's buildings. My humble suggestion is this. Do not go to Rock Island. I wake up before sunrise, same as always, and slip on my boots.

There's a strange heaviness in the farmhouse air, but I chalk it up to early morning groggyness and push the feeling aside. Outside, fog settles over the fields, blurring the boundary between our pastures and the foothills. Normally that view calms me, the hush before chores begin. But today, I can't shake the prickling sense that something is off. I head toward the barn to check the feed and water troughs. At first glance, everything looks normal.

The cattle huddled together in the early morning chill, a light breeze stirring stray pieces of hay around my ankles. Still, my nerves are on edge. It's been months since the first cow disappeared with no explanation. You'd think time would soothe my anxiety, but the lack of answers only stirs it up more. I remember that awful morning when we searched every hollow and ridge, hoping to find tracks or any sign of a struggle.

Instead, all we discovered were those flattened circles in the grass, as if something massive had pressed down from above, and two vehicles, both inexplicably drained of gas, parked right by those eerie patterns. We told ourselves it had to be some kind of prank or a freak coincidence, but the memory still makes my teeth clench. I shake off the thoughts and get back to my chores, counting heads, checking fence lines,

making sure there haven't been any breakouts. The herd seems fine, and as the sun climbs, the fog rolls back to reveal the entire farm. I know every inch of this land by heart. I grew up on it, but lately, walking these fields unsettles me. Some nights, I circle the property three or four times

to ensure everything's locked up. I tell myself it's just caution, but deep down, I recognize it as dread. After a brief talk with my husband, we decide to keep a close watch around the spot where the first cow vanished. It's near the property line, where a few ragged cedar posts

and rusty wire mark our boundary. No recent vehicle troubles have cropped up, but I still find myself scanning the ground, half expecting to see those flattened impressions again. Nothing shows up, which somehow feels even more ominous, Like the farm is holding back some vital clue. By midday, the sun is brutal, and the cows lays in the shade. I linger by the fence, scanning for anything, any sign that might explain what happened.

But it's quiet, too quiet. Normally I'd savor a day free from trouble, But right now I'd give anything for a simple issue like a sick calf or a broken fence. At least those make sense and can be fixed. My husband waves me over from the far side of the field. The anxiety on his face mirrors my own, and neither of us needs words to say we're still haunted by all this. We finish chores in silence,

each wondering how something so impossible could happen here, on land that was always our haven. Evening arrives, painting the sky with orange and pink streaks. I lug a bale of hay to the feeding area, mentally reviewing every theory I've heard, rustlers, sinkholes, mountain lions, none of it adds up. We never found footprints, tire tracks, or any trace of a culprit. It's as if that cow simply blinked out of existence. After dinner, I linger on the porch. The yard light casts a weak glow that fades into the dark fields beyond. My gaze drifts to the tree line. Normally the rustle of leaves at night is

soothing, but tonight it sets my nerves on high alert. I can't shake the feeling something out there doesn't belong. Refusing to let fear win, I walk down the steps and stand in the driveway, peering into the dimness. My rational mind insists there's nothing out there, that it's just my imagination. Still, tension squeezes my chest, compelling me to check the horizon again and again. Finally, I force myself back inside, fighting the urge to be. stand guard till dawn. In the farmhouse, I try to unwind, but my thoughts spin in circles. How did that cow vanish so completely, and is whatever took it still around? When I climb into bed, I promise myself to stay vigilant, no matter how paranoid it makes me. Sometimes not knowing is its own

special torment, and right now, I'm drowning in it. I'd been convincing myself we were fine, that the tension on the farm was just a leftover reaction from the first disappearance. But the moment my husband told me my favorite cow was missing, I felt a deeper dread sink in. I'd raised her from a calf, and she never strayed far, especially not from her own baby. Yet there was her calf, bleeding in helpless circles, no sign of its mother.

My sister showed up soon after. She's the family's fearless one, always ready for a late-night drive or trekking through a thorny hollow to find. find a lost calf. Even she looked shaken when she arrived. We grabbed flashlights, piled into the truck with my husband, and spent hours scouring every corner of the property, waiting through muddy creeks, climbing steep ridges, crawling under fences. Nothing. It was as though the cow had been lifted straight off the pasture. By evening, we were exhausted. My husband headed back toward the barn, thinking we might have overlooked something closer to home. My sister and I tackled

the strip of woods between two fields, the in-between, we call it, because it's technically someone else's land jutting into hours like a mismatched puzzle piece. Rusted barbed wire runs along the boundary, but our cows sometimes push through weak spots if they're determined. We parked at the fence line as the sun dipped low, shadows stretching across the grass. My sister hesitated before climbing over, which is unusual for her. I tried to joke that she was getting squeamish, but my own voice sounded shaky. Eventually, she hauled herself over, and we pressed into the trees. The deeper we went, the more wrong everything felt. Birds and leaves that should have been rustling were silent. An oppressive hush weighed on us.

I called out my cow's name, half laughing at the notion she'd answer. My sister tried to speak, but her voice sounded muffled, like the air itself was resisting her words. She looked pale, struggling just to breathe. A few yards later we stopped cold. It felt like my nerves were humming with electricity. My sister gripped my arm, whispering that she couldn't even hear me clearly, though we were only inches apart. At the same time, I picked up on a low vibration, more pressure than sound. The shadows around us seemed to shift whenever I focused on them. Without really discussing it, we both knew we had to leave. My sister turned first, and I stumbled after her. slipping on damp leaves and tripping over hidden roots.

The fence seemed miles away, as if the woods were stretching out to keep us there. By the time we finally saw the barbed wire, I was shaking, and my sister looked as white as a sheet. Crossing back onto our own field felt like gulping fresh air after nearly drowning. We stood there, catching our breath, neither of us willing to speak about what we'd just experienced. It was too bizarre, too heavy. All we knew was that these woods didn't want us inside, and we had two missing cows to prove it. Still no real explanation, only the horrible certainty that it was worse than we'd ever imagined. When we rejoined my husband, we skipped details about the suffocating atmosphere.

We just told him we'd found no broken branches, no footprints, nothing. He looked grim. The sun was almost gone, and we knew better than to hang around those trees after dark. sister decided to head home. I lingered in the yard letting the dim light play tricks on my eyes while I stared at the distant tree line. Another cow was missing, and now we had firsthand evidence of something lurking in those woods, something that could still the forest itself. I promised myself I wouldn't stop digging until I found a real answer. If I didn't, we might lose more than just cattle. Even after I went inside, I couldn't settle. My mind kept circling back to the way

those woods felt alive, as if the trees themselves had pushed us away. By the time I crawled into bed, the house was eerily silent. The usual nighttime murmurs of the farm, cows shifting, wind rattling the barn, only made me more uneasy. Every creek sounded menacing, every shadow threatening. I rose before dawn, not that I'd slept. I poured coffee and stared out the window at the dark fields. The orphaned calf was pacing near the fence, letting out sorrowful cries that tore at my heart. It looked weaker, and no matter how many times I looked away, I kept glancing back, praying for a mother that would never return. That morning, my husband and I gathered family, parents, siblings, cousins from down the road, hoping to devise a plan. They arrived shortly

after sunrise, and though it felt strange to meet so formally, it reminded us how serious things had become. Two cows missing, no leads, and a sense of dread clinging to our land. Everyone offered theories, thieves, predators, old folklore about lights dancing in the hollers, or people vanishing into the woods. Normally our family avoids ghost stories, but desperation was making us consider anything. By evening, I stood on the back porch, scanning the horizon for movement. It felt like the farm itself was holding its breath, waiting, I wanted to march straight to the fence again, but my legs refused. Whether it was fear or common sense, I don't know.

I pretended I'd try to sleep. Inside I checked every door and window, again and again, peering into the yard lights glow. The darkness beyond seemed endless, and my heart hammered, half expecting to catch sight of something slipping across the pasture. I hated feeling so powerless in a place I once loved. Eventually, I forced myself to sit in the dark living room, letting my eyes adjust. Was it foolish to keep poking around, knowing something dangerous might be out there? But I couldn't just let it be. Two missing cows and the stifling menace in the woods were reason enough to keep searching.

I resolved that in the morning, I'd rope in more help if I had to, no more tiptoeing around. Even if it meant heading back into those trees with nothing but flashlights and a good dose of fear, I needed real answers. I must have dozed off at some point, only to jerk awake at a distant rumble. Thunder maybe, or something else. I never heard any storm. My pulse thundered as I scanned the living room shadows.

Eventually, I whispered a few calming words to myself and curled tighter under a blanket. Dawn felt impossibly far away. Yet by sunrise, the farm looked almost serene. The calf lay still, its energy drew. draining by the hour, I gathered supplies for another search, a mixture of determination and dread boiling in my stomach. This land, once a place of comfort, now felt like a battlefield, and I was tired of waiting for the next strike. I tried to imagine what might solve the mystery, maybe we'd

find a hidden ravine or a gap in the fence, or maybe the truth was darker than any of us dared guess. Either way, I was ready to face it, for the farm's sake, and for hours. Never did I expect I'd walk away from this property. It's been in my family for generations, a site of summer picnics and lively cattle auctions, a piece of land I believed would always be mine. But these last few days changed everything. It started that morning, right after we agreed on one final search of the woods.

My sister, my husband, and I prepared like we were heading into hostile territory, flashlights, boots, walking sticks. We didn't talk much. We knew it was risky, maybe foolish, but we also knew we needed closure. We crossed the fields at first light, dew soaking our pants. The missing cow's calf followed us to the fence, bleeding mournfully. It was losing weight and stumbling, and I wished I could do more than leave extra feed. Yet we had to see if anything in those woods could explain how two cows had vanished.

Stepping over the barbed wire felt like entering another world. The air was thick, the trees unnaturally tall, and the forest floor strangely quiet. My sister led with her flashlight, cutting a path through brambles. My instincts screamed this was a terrible idea, but none of us wanted to be the first to back out. The farther we went, the more we noticed faint pops, like distant static echoing through the trees. At first we saw no real clues, no animal remains, no footwork. prints, no sign of disturbance, but the sense of being watched wouldn't let up. Then we stumbled on a small clearing where the leaves were scorched in a neat circle, as though blasted by intense heat.

My sister felt a charge in the air and backed away. My husband and I stepped closer, but we found only charred leaves and a suffocating heaviness that made it hard to breathe. We stayed longer than we should have, flashlights moving in jittery arcs, our hearts thudding in our ears. The silence grew crushing, not a single bird or breeze to break it. We shared a look that said we had to leave immediately. Turning to go, we realized the trees seemed to have shifted, as if blocking our way out. My husband moved first, flashlight trembling in his grip, until a sharp crack of a branch froze us in place. The shadows seemed to pulse. My sister urged us onward, so we pushed through the brush, trying not to panic with each step.

I've heard stories about people seeing horrifying shapes or floating lights in the wilderness, but we never glimpsed anything solid. Instead, it was the pervasive sense of something closing in. Branches snapped, leaves rustled, but there was nothing to see. It felt like we were being guided, or herded, out. I kept checking over my shoulder,

terrified one of us would vanish if I looked away too long. Stumbling back out onto our own land was a shock, like bursting through the surface after being underwater. We gasped for air, and the sunlight felt unnaturally bright. My sister almost collapsed, and my husband steadied her. We all stared at the tree line, expecting to see a figure lurking, but there was only the still wall of trees. We made our decision right then. No debate, no argument. We hurried to the house, hearts hammering and legs weak. even in broad daylight everything seemed ghostly.

After a rush talk, we agreed we couldn't stay, waiting for the next disappearance or the next moment of sheer terror. The farm had become a place of dread. The rest of the day was a blur, packing our essentials, calling family, arranging for the remaining cattle. Nobody opposed our plan. Most admitted they too felt the looming threat.

A few relatives stayed behind long enough to sell or move the herd. Walking away from generations of family history cut deep, but not as deeply as facing whatever was in those woods. By sunset, my sister, my husband, and I were in our vehicles, driving off in a small convoy. We didn't dare look back at the house or fields we had once cherished. My hands shook on the steering wheel, and a voice in my head warned me not to glance in the rearview mirror, afraid I'd see something I could never forget. We barely spoke on that drive, but our unspoken promise was clear. We weren't coming back.

Fear, survival instinct, whatever you want to call it, we had reached our limit. That old farm could keep its secrets. Whatever lurked there had claimed the land for itself, and we were done fighting. I don't know if anyone else will ever set foot on that property, or if future owners will discover what lies hidden in those trees. All I know is that we left. alive but shaken searching for any peace we could find maybe these memories will fade some day but right now i still feel the echo of that oppressive silence and i have no intention of letting it drag me back i know i'm just a random person on reddit so there isn't any reason for you to take my word at face value none the less i swear on the life of my family that every word is true this is going to be a long post but i want to be as detailed as possible about this event

I'm a 32-year-old man from, and currently living in, Cumberland County, New Jersey. This location puts me about 45 minutes away from Philadelphia and about 45 minutes away from the Atlantic Ocean, while being only about 15 minutes away from the Delaware Bay. After high school, I joined the Army as an intelligence analyst for a while. When I got out, I moved to New York City and worked as a project manager for a construction company until I met my wife. We decided to move back to New Jersey to be closer to our families, especially since she was pregnant with our daughter. That's just some background on me. This happened in October of 2018.

It was about 1145 at night, and I decided to sit on my front steps to smoke a couple of cigarettes before trying to fall asleep. Everyone else in the house was already sleeping. It was a pretty clear night, with not many clouds in the sky, but there was some fog on the ground. As I was smoking, I was looking at the fog, and to me it seemed like there was movement in it, almost as if there were invisible or camouflaged things out there that I wouldn't have seen if not for the fog. While watching the fog, I noticed a white truck that had driven by twice already. I could hear a man and a woman yelling at each other. The truck stopped at the stop sign in front of my house, and the woman got out, screaming at the man,

then slammed the door. He drove off fast. and she proceeded to walk into the woods across the street from me, which was strange because there's nothing back there except for blue holes until you reach the bay. If I walk straight out my front door, there are no houses or civilization. Only trees in those artificial lakes, blue holes, left over from sandplants, until you hit the Delaware Bay. About five minutes after the woman walked into the woods,

things went from weird to absolutely unbelievably scary and strange, the most reality-shattering event that has ever happened to me. I was still looking at the movement I'd been seeing in the fog when I heard a very loud noise coming from the woods. It sounded like metal being ripped apart. There isn't a good comparison for this sound because it was so unearthly. I'm sure it wasn't natural. That sound lasted about 10 to 15 seconds,

then abruptly stopped and was replaced by another noise, which I felt more than I heard. Imagine being aware of a huge sound happening near you, but it's at a frequency your ears can't quite pick up. That's the best way I can describe it. This sound remained constant through the rest of the experience. At this point, I'll probably lose some people, and I know how crazy this sounds, but as I was getting used to the sound, it felt like something reached out to me mentally, without words, conveying a feeling of calm and a heads up or warning about what was about to happen. It felt as if it was checking my reaction to what I was currently experiencing, like a security check. While I felt this sense of calm, I noticed a light in the sky that seemed to have risen out of the woods,

maybe five or six miles away. It was just a ball of light in the distance, but somehow I knew it was coming toward me, even though it wasn't moving very fast. Right after noticing the light in the sky, I got more freaked out than I have ever been in my life. In the woods across the street from me, no more than 50 yards away, these orbs of light started to appear. I could see some flicker into existence. They were all white lights, which didn't illuminate the area around them as you would expect from flashlights. There were probably 12 to 16 of these orbs, and they moved in a totally smooth manner. Besides the trail to get into the woods, the area is dense and filled with thorn bushes, so it just wouldn't be possible for people to move where these lights were moving,

let alone do it so smoothly. I'm positive they weren't people with flashlights because of the terrain and the characteristics of the orbs themselves. I watched the orbs move around for about a minute, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Then I looked back up at the sky and saw a craft coming practically right toward me, only about 1,000 yards away by that point. I was going back and forth between watching the orbs on the ground and the craft, which I could see more clearly now. It was flying very low, maybe only three and a half to four stories off the ground. I could see the path it was taking, and it was going to pass in front of me at an angle where I'd see both underneath and the side at the same time.

The craft was a single-story dull black rectangle. From underneath, I could see that it was made of three smaller rectangular panels that fit together to form a larger rectangle. I very clearly saw these three panels. Estimating size is harder, but I'd say it was about 35 yards long and 20 yards across. Underneath, there were lights flashing in a pattern, cycling one way and then back the other way. In the moment, I thought the craft was signaling to the orbs on the ground. It made no sound at all. I only heard that same buzzing and humming noise that I felt more than I heard. While it was in

front of me, it moved really slowly. At a speed I don't think a plane with normal propulsion could manage while staying airborne. I took my eyes off the craft for just a moment to look at the orbs again, and when I looked back up, the craft was gone. For whatever reason, see a little. See, Being it vanished like that made the reality of what I was witnessing hit home. I got really scared, especially since my daughter, wife, and mom were all inside, no more than 50 feet from this craziness. So I went in and locked the doors. I felt I might have investigated further if it were just my life at risk, but I wasn't willing

to take that chance with my family. I might have been paranoid at this point, but I felt like I was being watched for the next two hours. I didn't experience any lost time. The entire event happened over 20 to 30 minutes. Looking back on this event, I questioned what was going on with the white truck and the woman who walked into the woods at the beginning. I've also done some research and found that there are quite a few reports of people seeing a glimmer man in the woods, which makes me think of the movement I saw in the fog. Where I live is a very active area for UFO phenomena, which makes sense if something wanted access to major cities like Philadelphia, New York City, Baltimore, and D.C.

What could be a better place to hide than almost inaccessible 1,000-foot deep lakes in the middle of the woods? I know this was a very long post, but I wanted to be thorough. I'd really like to hear what you all think about this, and if anyone has had a similar experience or knows somebody who has. The following is a story that happened to me about two years ago. I couldn't explain it then, and I can't explain it now. I live in Oregon City, Oregon, a short drive south of Portland. I'm on the outskirts, somewhere between suburban and rural housing. I have neighbors, but they're not exactly next door. I was 19 at the time of this story. I used to have a problem with sleep. I don't know what it was, but I'd get mentally crippling anxiety, and I'd go for a walk to calm my mind.

I live on a single lane road that follows a stream through the woods, so the scenery, mixed with the quiet trickle of water, was always quite calming. It was summertime, and it was a particularly rough night for me. I remember telling my dad I was going for a walk as I slipped on my shoes and hurried out. I still recall the worried look on his face as I tried to escape my own mental panic. My late-night walks were becoming more frequent, and I knew it concerned him. Nevertheless, I shut the door behind me and proceeded into the dark. I remember it being a clear night, but I don't recall seeing stars. The moon must have been full, because I could see the road without a light. But I don't remember actually seeing the moon either. I just started walking,

talking to myself about everything that had my anxiety spiked. I'm sure I looked insane, rambling out loud, but it sometimes helped me process my issues. From my home to the main road is about a mile. I was about two-thirds of the way there when I heard something rustle in the bushes to my right. This wasn't uncommon. I'd encounter deer, raccoons, a bobcat, and even a few coyotes on my walks. Still, I like to know what was around, so I pulled out my phone and switched on the light. For context, there's a hill to my right that slopes upward. That's where I heard the noise. To my left is about a ten-foot drop down to the creek. I shined my light into the bushes to see what I was dealing with. Usually, animals either freeze or run off, which helps me figure out

what they are. But there was nothing, no movement at all. Suddenly my hair stood on end. I felt scared, tense, and realized I should have been able to hear the creek trickling over the rocks. But I couldn't. Something was clearly wrong. I heard a branch snap in the bushes again. I moved my light back and saw two small red lights, like eyes, looking right at me. I shifted my phone to see if it was a reflection, but it wasn't. Then it started to get closer. I ran. I freaking ran. I ran in near silence.

I don't know if I screamed. Maybe it didn't matter. I couldn't hear my shoes hitting the road, my breathing, or even my heartbeat. All I heard was what sounded like an animal with human bare feet chasing me. Some primal survival instinct told me to find light. something bigger than my phone's light. My first thought was home, where there's a large barn light out front that illuminates the whole driveway. I ran like hell was on my heels, because for all I knew it was, I just remember hearing it

get closer. It felt like it was toying with me, because its footstep pattern didn't sound like an all-out sprint, more like a light gallop. It wasn't until I rounded the last corner and could see the light that it suddenly picked up speed and started closing in. I sprinted toward the light pole as fast as I could. I heard its furious steps come to an abrupt stop, but I didn't turn around. I practically tackled that tar-covered wooden post, clinging to it as I waited for the end,

waiting for whatever it was to tear me apart. It never did. I stayed there for about an hour in silence until my phone rang. I had three messages and two missed calls, all from my dad asking where I was. I lied and said I fell asleep in a field up the road. Then I noticed I could hear the world around me again, so I assumed it was gone. I ran inside the house and locked the doors. To this day, I don't walk alone on my road, day or night.

I know what you're probably thinking. It was just your mind playing tricks, or it was just an animal. But I've seen animals. I know what lives around here. Whatever this was, it's not something I've ever encountered before. This whole experience made me reflect on other strange incidents out here. Things I couldn't explain. A fully grown deer burned from the inside out, for instance.

The only visible clue was a single spot in its ribs where the flesh and bone had burned through, yet the rest of it looked perfectly preserved. There have also been moments where I seemed to slip through time. I'd set my alarm for 6 a.m. and wait outside for my ride for three hours, only to come back inside and find it was still just turning full. I've seen shadow figures by the side of the road. There have been a couple of unexplained deaths. The list goes on.

I'm telling you, something strange and terrifying is out here. Some nights I wonder, do my doors and windows really keep whatever it is out, or is it still just toying with me? Edit, if anyone has any ideas what the hell I'm dealing with, please let me know.