Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 6 Spine-Chilling Encounters: Scary Stories from the Forest | Deep Woods, Cryptid

Episode Date: May 13, 2024

These are 6 Spine-Chilling Encounters: Scary Stories from the Forest | Deep Woods, Cryptid Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to www.justcreepy.net Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:11:08 Story 2 00:17:59 Story 3 00:28:30 Story 4 00:39:44 Story 5 00:56:07 Story 6 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #cryptids #deepwoods 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

You're great at protecting your data, but lots of places could still expose you to identity theft. I thought it was safe. If that happens, LifeLock gives you a U.S.-based restoration agent who will stick by your side from start to finish. Phone calls, filing documentation, preparing insurance claims, your agent handles it all. In fact, we're so confident restoration is guaranteed. Pour your money back. Isn't it nice to have someone like that on your side? Save up to 40% your first year at LifeLock.com slash Spotify.

Terms apply. Hey, you, feeling hungry? Run the Denny's four. The new attorney. And see the new Masters of the Universe movie, only in theaters June 5th. This spring Uber Eats has you covered. Whether you're celebrating mom, dad, or your favorite grad. Not all of us are great planners, and with the Uber Eats Gift Hub, you don't have to be.

Send flowers, perfume, champagne, or just their favorite meal straight to their door. Gifts arrive in as little as 25 minutes. And you can add a personalized video message for that additional. so not last minute touch. So this spring, get a leg up on gift giving with Uber Eats. Last minute gifts that land every time. Must be 21 or older to purchase alcohol. Product availability varies per regency app for details.

The old Ford Ranger rattled and hummed as we rolled onto the familiar dirt path that led to our favorite spot on Vancouver Island. I glanced at Danny, her face lit by the late afternoon sun slipping through the pines. Her eyes reflecting a piece I felt swelling in my own chest. back again, I said, the words mingling with the scent of salt and spruce that streamed through our open windows. Yeah, she replied, her smile broadening. Feels like coming home. We'd been making these trips for years, each time weaving our way farther from the hum of civilization into the quiet embrace of nature. This island, with its seamless blend of rugged beaches and dense forests, had become our sanctuary, a place where

the world couldn't quite reach us. Setting up camp was second nature to us. We worked in comfortable silence, pitching the tent with practiced ease near the lapping waves, our movements synchronized. As I hammered the last stake into the soft earth, I paused to take in the sweeping view of the cove, untouched, expansive, with the kind of beauty that made you forget about emails, meetings, or news. Late afternoon faded into early evening, and I began to gathering driftwood for the fire. The air was crisp, a hint of pine resin mingling with the briny tang of the sea. With a fire crackling in the sky painted in strokes of orange and purple, we settled into our canvas chairs, the day's fatigue easing out of our bones. It was then we noticed another

camper, a lone figure meandering along the shoreline. I raised my hand in greeting, and he veered off his path towards us. His name was Leon, from New Zealand. with a rucksack slung over one shoulder and a warm grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "'Mind if I join you for a bit?' he asked, his accent rounding out his words. "'Not at all,' Danny said, waving him over. We've got plenty of fire and stories to share. Leon settled down with us, pulling a bottle of wine from his bag, an offering that was gratefully received. We exchanged tales of travels and trails as the bottle made its rounds, each sip loosening our tongues and laughter mingling with the crackle of the fire. As the sun dipped below the horizon,

the beach was bathed in twilight, the fire casting dancing shadows on our faces. It was perfect, serene, until a faint rustling from the bushes caught our ears. Did you hear that? Danny's voice was low, her eyes narrowing toward the dark line of forest behind us. Probably just a deer, I suggested, though a sliver of unease wedged itself in my mind. the island was mostly peaceful, but the wild was still the wild, unpredictable. Leon, looking between us, shrugged. Could be, or maybe other hikers, sound carries in strange ways out here. We listened, but there was nothing more, just the crackle of fire, the distant crash of waves.

Reassured, we let ourselves relax again, the unsettling moment passing as quickly as it had come. yet as I gazed at the flickering flames, the ghost of that rustling lingered in my mind, a reminder that in the vast whispering wilds around us, anything was possible, and not all possibilities were welcome. As night embraced the island, the flames of our campfire seemed to burn brighter against the encroaching darkness. Danny pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders, her eyes occasionally darting to the thick line of trees that bordered the beach. I threw another log onto the fire, sending a cascade of sparks into the night sky, a futile attempt to ward off the growing chill that wasn't entirely from the cold. It's getting darker, Danny murmured more to herself

than to me. Her voice carried a slight tremor that she tried to mask with a sip of her wine. Yeah, but it's peaceful, isn't it? I tried to keep my tone light, though I couldn't ignore the tightness in my own chest, a primal alertness waking within me. The last echoes of laughter from our earlier conversation with Leon, lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the silence that now settled over us. He had left just as the sun dipped below the horizon, aiming to get back to his van before night fully set in. I remembered the firmness of his handshake, the easy smile, and the slight concern in his eyes when he glanced back at the forest. It wasn't long after his departure that we first heard it, soft at first, like whispers carried on the breeze. Voices

unmistakably female, drifted from the woods. I stood, straining to hear more clearly. The sounds were too rhythmic for the wind, too deliberate. Ethan, do you hear that? Danny stood beside me now, her body tense. I hear it, I replied, scanning the tree line with our flashlight. The beam cut through the darkness, but revealed nothing. Could be other campers, maybe. Voices carry in weird ways out here. But as the night deepened, the voices grew neither louder nor clearer. They wove in and out of the wind's sighs, a soft murmur that seemed both near and far. The forest remained impassively dark, its secrets cloaked beneath layers of shadow and sighing leaves.

We maintained our vigil by the fire, each crack and pop from the burning logs punctuating the stillness. Danny kept close to my side, her unease palpable. Our conversation dwindled to nothing. our senses heightened, tuned to the natural amphitheater around us. Hours passed, marked only by the gradual decline of our fire. The voices continued, a ghostly chorus that seemed to mock our growing dread. Then, as suddenly as they had begun, they stopped. The silence that followed was oppressive, heavy with unspoken fears.

We should try to get some sleep, I finally said, though the suggestion felt hollow even to my ears. Danny nodded, though I could tell she was far from reassured. We doused the fire, plunging our camp into darkness, save for the pale glow of the moon reflected on the water. We retreated to our tent, the fabric walls a thin barrier against the night. Inside, we lay in our sleeping bags, listening to the sound of our own breathing and the distant wash of waves.

But sleep was elusive, chased away by the memory of those whispering voices. What had they been? Who had they been? The questions circled in my mind, restless and unyielding. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the outlines of the tent seemed to close in around us. Every sound was magnified, a rustle of fabric, a sigh of wind, a distant crash of waves. But beneath them all, waiting, was the deeper silence where those voices had once been, now hauntingly empty. The fabric of our tents seemed too thin, too fragile a barrier between us, and the vast, unknowable dark outside.

Lying in the stark silence that followed the eerie whispers, every small noise seemed amplified, as if the night itself was holding its breath. Danny's hand found mine, her grip tight, her silence speaking volumes. We lay there, our eyes wide open, staring up at the tense ceiling as if it could offer some protection, some answers.

Time stretched, elastised, and unending, marked only by the rhythm of our quiet breaths and the occasional distant crash of the surf against the shore. My mind raced, replaying the earlier sounds, trying to impose logic where there was none. It was a fruitless effort. Whatever was out there defied simple explanations. Then abruptly, the stillness shattered. Footsteps. Not the soft, familiar padding of an animal, but the unmistakable sound of human gait, crunching on the dry leaves and twigs that littered the ground just beyond our temporary home. My heart kicked against my chest, every instinct screaming that this was wrong, all wrong. Their back, Danny whispered, her voice barely audible.

I nodded, unable to speak, my throat tight with fear. The footsteps circled our tent, slow and deliberate, pausing now and then, as if whoever or whatever was out there was listening, deciding. The night air carried their voices again, this time louder, harsher, a jumble of sounds that might have been words once, but were now just a cacophony of eerie gibberish. They spoke over each other, two voices, both distinctly female, yet nothing about them was reassuring or human. It was as if the forest itself had found a voice, a twisted mimicry of conversation that chilled me to the bone. The voices grew closer, the words, if you could call it. them that, spinning around our tent, enveloping us in sound. I could feel Danny's body tense

next to mine, her breath quickening. We were trapped, caught in a web of darkness and sound from which there seemed no escape. Then, just as suddenly as they had come, the voices stopped. The footsteps moved away, receding into the forest, leaving a silence so profound it was almost a presence in itself. We lay there, paralyzed, not just a presence in itself. We lay there, paralyzed, not daring to move, not until the first faint hints of dawn began to seep through the fabric of our tent. The light of morning felt like a reprieve, a return to normalcy, but it was a hollow victory. The fear of the night had seeped into our bones, a chill that the sun's rays couldn't quite dispel. We spoke little as we packed up our camp, each movement deliberate,

our eyes constantly scanning the surrounding woods. As we loaded the last of our gear into the truck, I took one last look at the spot that had been our refuge, now tainted with the memory of unexplained terror. We drove away without a backward glance. The island's beauty marred by the shadows of the night. The decision to stay quiet, to hide in our tent had probably saved us. Whatever had been out there hadn't found us, hadn't pushed past the thin nylon to reach us. But the questions remained, haunting us long after we left the island's shores. What had we heard? Why us? We never returned to find out.

And some nights when the wind is just right, I still hear those voices, whispering their unintelligible secrets on the breeze. 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 Yamava Theater.com, only at Yamava Resort and Casino, celebrating its 40th anniversary. You in? Must be 21 to enter. Kayak gets my flight, hotel, and rental car right, so I can tune out travel advice that's just plain wrong.

Bro, Skycoin, way better than points. Never fly during a Scorpio full moon. Just tell the manager you'll sue. Instant room upgrade. Stop taking bad travel advice. Start comparing hundreds of sites with kayak. and get your trip right. Kayak, got that right.

Before I share this story, there is something you must know. A premonition is a vision or a dream about the future. In my family, premonitions are common. Most notably, when my father was 12 years old, he had a dream about a large lady wearing a floral dress and a round-brimmed hat. He believed it was a sign from God that this person would be important in his life.

Years later, in his 20s, my father moved into a house some church members ran as an Airbnb. To cut a long story short, the lady from his dream owned the house. This is also where he met my mother for the first time. Now, I am no stranger to premonitions. I've had dreams about the future that ended up coming true. I consider this to be God telling me it will be all right. However, this dream, or premonition, whatever you want to call it,

was the most confusing, grisly, scary, and bone-chilling thing I've ever experienced. And I kid you not, this is 100% true through and through. This experience happened years ago, and I just found out about your channel a few months ago, so if some things don't make sense, I apologize in advance. Anyway, my dream started when I was six years old. My father and I were in a car I didn't recognize. I later found out the car was a custom Toyota product, with a bull bar and a snorkel.

These details will be necessary, so try to remember that. We were driving to my grandmother's house in Canberra. To get there, we would have to journey down the highway through seemingly endless bands of Australian bush and farmland surrounding us. In the dream, my phone, which I didn't even own at the time, had recently died, so I decided to look out the window to pass the time. With that, I saw a vast, gnarly-looking cat keeping pace

with the car. It had piercing green eyes and a leopard print. It remained for a few seconds, then disappeared into the bush. Being naive and a young kid, I woke up from my dream thinking of how cool it was that I could have dreams like that. Fast forward 10 years, and my family was taking a trip to see my grandmother in Canberra. At the time, my dad had recently purchased a new car, and would you believe it, it was precisely the exact same car from my dream, Snorkel, Bull Bar, and all. This was the first trip we had gone on in this specific car. We were driving down the highway with the same endless expanse of bush, just like in my dream. It was picture-perfect, as if the tiniest details were accurate in the dreamscape. It was at sunrise that we noticed

exactly where we were driving. My phone had recently died on the trip. Being a biology fanatic, I decided to look out the car's windows to survey the land and enjoy the surrounding wildlife. I did this for about five, maybe ten minutes. I was about to look away when something caught my eye. I diverted my attention back from the Australian bush. There, just 20 meters away from the car, was the shape of a large cat running through the trees. I rubbed my eyes to make sure what I was seeing was actually true. The shape soon emerged from the tree line for just a brief second.

It was now 10 meters from the car in closing. This cat was speedy, with a leopard-like pattern and piercing green eyes. As it started to keep pace with the car, it ran onto the lane beside our vehicle on the left. As I got closer, my jaw almost ripped out of my mouth from how fast it dropped to the floor. There, just mere meters from the car, was what I can only describe as a Smilodon. For those who do not know, a Smilodon is the official scientific task. for the commonly used umbrella term, saber-toothed cat. From memory, the Smilodon was at least lengthwise the size of the car and as tall as the average man. It also had piercing green eyes and

leopard patterning, sharp claws attached to powerful, muscular, sleek arms, a stub for a tail, and two substantial razor-sharp sabres about 30 centimeters long. It kept pace with the car for a few seconds. However, those mere seconds felt like hours. It led out a guttural, terrifying, primitive roar that shook the spine inside of me and sent ripples of dread through my freaking body. Its green eyes pierced me like sharp spears. I could feel it. It could sense my fear. When I thought it would ram the car off the road into the ditches and ravines below, it quickly disappeared into the tree line. I rubbed my eyes again and then saw nothing. I don't remember much after that. When I awoke the next day, I was in an unfamiliar room. We had stopped at a hotel near a country

town for the night. My mother was beside me, praying I'd wake up. She noticed I was awake and hugged me while thanking God in Greek. I asked my mother what happened and why we were here, and that's when she told me she found me passed out in the car and I would not wake up. I felt exhausted once again and fell back asleep. We checked out of the hotel the next day and continued the drive to Grandma's house. We spent two days there and came back home without issue. However, years later, I'm in bed reading some articles. Something caught my eye.

I clicked on an article in the recommended section. My eyes slowly widened as I read the article. The headline read, biotech engineering company Colosso pumps $15 million into funding the mammoth cloning project. I read further down the article in disbelief. The article continued. However, the mammoth isn't the only prehistoric animal Colosso is resurrecting from the dead. They also have reported on cloning several more species, such as the styline, the dodo, and the smilodon. I started to get cold sweats, and a wave of dizziness and nashire.

nausea overwhelmed me as those memories of that bone-chilling morning came rushing back. I could hear the primitive roar of the Smelodon in my ears all these years later. It's like recounting a haunting that you lived through or something. It's kind of weird I still get minor premonitions, though they're minor, like a storm that happens on this date or something like that. They still have caused quite a bit of trouble in my life. I'm still scared of the capabilities my brain and the Lord have given me. But despite all this, I still have unanswered questions. Was this a vivid hallucination? Did I actually encounter the Smilodon? What do you guys think? Introducing the new best skin ever ultra-slim precision concealer from Sephora collection. It's full

coverage with a matte finish and perfect for any look, whether you're building it up for a full glam moment or targeting correction for a more natural vibe. At only $12, it's great for affordable touch-ups on the go. Get this new must-have concealer at Sephora or at Sephora.com today. You said this place was steps from the water. We just haven't found the steps yet. How much did we save? Enough.

Enough to get lost. Or you could book a stay with Hilton. Welcome to your oceanfront room. Just steps from the water. The Hilton sale is on now. Book on Hilton.com. or the Hilton app and save up to 20% to get the stay you expected. When you want savings, not surprises.

It matters where you stay. Hilton, for the stay. Growing up in a small lake town in central Wisconsin was about as peaceful as you'd expect. We knew everyone, and everyone knew us. Our town had no more than a thousand people, and serious crimes were just stories from places far away. The worst we got was a bunch of high schoolers

partying too hard on the weekends. I lived on the very edge of this small town, where the houses started to get scarce, and the woods behind my house stretched for miles. Behind those woods was the lake, huge and quiet, like a giant mirror reflecting the sky. The place was so serene, sometimes it felt surreal, like living in one of those picture-perfect postcards. That Saturday started off like any other. I met up with Jake, my friend who had moved right across the street last summer. There wasn't much to do around here, so we usually ended up riding our bikes. It was our way to kill time, cruising the five miles into town and back,

stopping at our only gas station for some soda and chips. We took the back road that afternoon, the one that runs through the woods. This road was always quiet, no sidewalks, no streetlights, just the occasional lake home hidden behind long, narrow driveways cut through the thick trees. The other side was all forest. We hardly ever saw anyone else, except maybe for an occasional walker or a runner. As we were pedaling back home, I remember the sky was a clear, cold blue. It was that kind of sharp chill you only get in the fall, right before the world turns gray and white with winter.

We were just chatting about school and some video game, the usual stuff, when this old beat-up Ford truck pulled up alongside us. It was the kind of truck you'd think twice about getting into. Rusty. cloud of exhaust darker than the woods around us. The man driving looked rough, his face unshaven, his clothes like he had been working in a field all day. The woman next to him was even more unsettling. She looked straight ahead, not even blinking, her hair a tangled mess, her face grimy. They were strangers, which was weird because in our town, strangers stood out like sore thumbs. Is it okay if we park here? The man

asked in a flat, monotone voice. His eyes were fixed on us, but there was something off about the way he spoke, like he wasn't really asking, but just going through the motions. Jake and I exchanged a look. Uh, sure, I said. We were kids. What did we know about where people could park? But it was strange. This road didn't have any real shoulder, just ditches filled with last fall's leaves and the springs run off. The fancy lake homes are around here wouldn't tolerate a truck like that for long. He nodded, rolled up his window, and slowed down the truck. We didn't stick around to see if they actually parked. Something about the whole thing felt off. We peddled faster, the uneasy feeling growing in my stomach.

We got home just as the shadow started to stretch long across the road, the sun dipping low. I remember tossing my bike down in the yard, that uneasy feeling still nagging at me. There was something about that couple, something not right. Little did I know, this was just the beginning of what would become the scariest night of my life. As the sun set below the horizon, the idea of toilet papering some houses seemed more exciting than ever. It was one of those things that made total sense to a bunch of middle school kids with too much energy and not enough to do. The fact that my parents were out of town just added to the thrill. We felt like outlaws, rebels without a cause, except our cause was toilet paper, and the targets were our neighbors.

After dinner, my friends Chris, Matt, and Tyler showed up at my house, each armed with backpacks bulging with rolls of toilet paper. We all dressed in dark clothes, the unofficial uniform for a night of mischief. Our target was an acquaintance's house. His mom was known to be a bit over the top about everything, which somehow made her house the perfect candidate for our prank. We set off just before midnight. The moon was almost full, casting a silver glow that made the woods less intimidating,

and more like a scene from an adventure movie. We made our way through the neighborhood, avoiding streetlights and keeping our laughter to hushed chuckles. Our spirits were high, and the crisp night air only added to the excitement. The route took us down a familiar road, lined with thick trees that reached into the sky, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. The moonlight dappled through the leaves, creating patterns. on the ground. We were halfway through our trek, the mood light and carefree, when everything

changed. As we rounded a curve, the world suddenly snapped from playful to petrifying. Headlights flared to life about 50 yards ahead of us. The abruptness of it sent us scattering into the ditch by the roadside. My heart thudded painfully against my ribs, the sound of it almost as loud as our frantic breaths. We have you now. You can't hide from us. The man, man's voice boomed through the darkness, tinged with a sinister chuckle that sent chills down my spine. He was out there, somewhere close, his presence turning the night's air thick with fear. We didn't think. We just ran. The cornfield by the side of the road offered a meager cover as we plunged through it, the dry stalks scratching at our faces and hands. I could hear him,

that man, crashing through the underbrush, his taunts echoing, I'm going to find you. It was like a nightmare, only there was no waking up. We were in it, living every terrifying second. My friend Tyler's phone started ringing suddenly, its shrill tone slicing through the silence. In a panic, I grabbed his backpack and slammed it to the ground, muffling the noise. But it was too late. The footsteps seemed to quicken, coming our way. We didn't wait around to see what would happen next, adrenaline fueling our legs, we tore through the field, not caring about the direction as long as it was away from that voice. The woods were thick here, but our familiarity with the area gave us an edge.

We zigzagged through the dense trees, dodging branches and jumping over fallen logs, driven by sheer terror. Finally, breathless and exhausted, we spilled out onto the road that led back to my house. We didn't stop running until we were safely inside, the door bolted behind us. The laughter and excitement from earlier were gone, replaced by a heavy silence as we all tried to process what had just happened. That night, the adventure we had sought turned into a chilling ordeal, a stark reminder that sometimes, the darkness holds more than just shadows. The morning light filtered through my curtains, too cheerful for the heaviness in my chest. The house was silent, a stark contrast to last night's chaos.

My friends had crashed in various corners of the living room, their sleeping forms a reminder of the ordeal we'd barely escaped. As I sat on the edge of my bed, the terror of the previous night replayed in my mind like a horror movie stuck on loop. We had all gathered around the kitchen table late last night after our narrow escape, whispering frantically about what happened. The fear was still fresh. our hands trembling, our eyes wide with the adrenaline that hadn't quite left our systems.

We tried to make sense of it all. How had a simple prank turned into a night of terror? The truck. The same beat-up Ford from earlier in the day had been at the heart of our nightmare. It wasn't just coincidence, that much was clear. The man and that emotionless woman they had been waiting for us, or someone like us. And it struck me then how little we knew about the true dangers lurking in the shadows of our own hometown.

Determined to unravel this mystery, we spent the morning scouring the internet for any mention of similar incidents. But the search turned up nothing. It was as if the couple in the truck had vanished into thin air, leaving no trace behind except the memories that haunted us. I couldn't shake the image of the woman's blank stare, or the menacing tone of the man's voice. It felt like we had stumbled into a nightmare that was meant for someone else. A script we weren't supposed to read.

The realization that we might have been mere steps away from a darker fate sent shivers down my spine. Later that day I rode my bike past the spot where the truck had first appeared. The road was empty, the eerie calm, a stark contrast to last night's terror. I stopped, my gaze lingering on the ditch we had hidden in, half expecting to see the truck lurking nearby. But there was nothing, just the rustle of the wind through the trees and the distant call of a bird.

The encounter left a mark on all of us. Over the next few weeks, our group was more cautious, our rides into town less frequent. The shadows seemed deeper, the nights longer, and every unexpected noise had us jumping. The fear eventually dimmed, but it never completely disappeared. Years later, after watching a movie that mirrored our own experience, the memories resurfaced with a vengeance. The similarities were uncanny. The truck, the remote setting, the palpable sense of evil. It was as if the filmmakers had plucked the images right out of my head. I couldn't help but wonder, what if? What if we hadn't run? What if one of us had been caught? These questions

linger, unanswered, haunting my dreams. Sometimes I think back to that night and feel that same rush of fear, a reminder of how close we came to a different ending. It's a story I rarely share, because how do you explain a night that sounds like a ghost story, except it was all too real? And so, I carry the lesson of that night always with me. Sometimes, the true stories are the ones you wish were just make-believe. It was a bit past midnight when I was jerked awake by voices, angry, loud, cutting through the quiet like a chainsaw through pine. From my bed, I could just make out the shadows flickering under the door, the distant clink of glass in the kitchen, voices rising and falling in a heated exchange.

Get the hell out of my house with this old country crap, Sylvia. I'm serious. Dad's voice, usually so calm, now thundered up the stairs with a force that made the floorboards tremble. I'd never heard him this furious, not even when the elk broke through our fence last winter. I give children and idiots three warnings. That's your first. Aunt Sylvia replied, her tone ice-cold and menacing.

I rarely saw her, maybe a handful of times in my life, but her voice cut through the night like a blade. Curled up against my pillow, I felt the chill creep under the covers. This wasn't just another family spat. This was something else, something darker. Mom tried to mediate, her voice a soothing balm. Sil, he's right, this is crazy. I'm Roma.

I'm proud, but your part of the family and mine are two separate things. Silence followed, a heavy, thick kind that seemed to press down from the ceiling. So you say, but just because you ignore the other side doesn't mean the other side ignores you, Sylvia shot back. There was something in her voice, a sinister hint that made me shiver. What was she talking about? What did all this mean? The sound of a chair scraping violently against the tile,

dragged me out of bed. I crept to my door, heart hammering against my ribs, and pressed my ear to the cool wood. The next words froze me in place. That's too, Sylvia said quietly. A moment later, a loud crash echoed through the house as something heavy hit the floor. Fear clawed at my throat. I cracked the door just enough to peek through. The hallway was dark, empty, the soft glow from the staircase the only light. The arguing had stopped, replaced by a stifling silence that seemed to spread through the house like a stain. Then, a cough, weak and stifled, broke the quiet. Dad. The sound twisted something deep inside me. It wasn't right. His coughs muffled like he was struggling to breathe. Sill, Jesus, that's my husband. Mom's voice, more offended than scared,

failed to mask her fear. I could hear it, a quiver that didn't belong in the tone of the woman who'd faced down a charging moose with nothing but a broom. I wanted to shout, to run downstairs and demand it all stop, but my legs wouldn't move. I was rooted to the spot by an inexplicable terror, my breaths shallow and quick. The situation spiraled faster than a dust devil picking up speed across the plains. Happy now, Nicholas and I have a long drive ahead of us. He's 16. He has a license, yes. Sylvia's footsteps were heavy on the stairs, coming up. Mom was pleading now, a desperate tone threading through her usually composed demeanor.

No, he's not interested in driving. You can't take him, Sil. But it was too late. I knew it. Just as I knew the howl of the wind outside wasn't just a storm coming. It was something worse, something that had been there all along, hidden just beneath the surface of our family's calm exterior. and now it had come to claim me. The car's engine hummed a steady, ominous tune as the landscape blurred past us.

Sylvia drove with a kind of controlled recklessness, her eyes fixed on the road, her face illuminated intermittently by the passing lights. I sat stiffly beside her, the seatbelt digging into my shoulder, feeling every bit the captive. She hadn't said much since we left the house. the silence between us heavy with unasked questions and unspoken answers. I glanced at her occasionally, trying to piece together the aunt I thought I knew from the stranger she had become tonight. She was dressed in a mix of hippie and punk rock that seemed to clash as much as it made sense,

a visual metaphor for the night itself. You understand why we're doing this, right? She finally said, breaking the silence without taking her eyes off the road. I shook my head, my voice barely above a way. whisper, no, I don't. How could I understand something so abruptly forced upon me? Sylvia sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to come from a place of profound frustration. Our family, we're different, Nicholas. We deal in the unseen, the unspoken. There are things in this world that normal people shouldn't know about, things they can't handle. We handle them. I wanted to

scoff, to dismiss everything as the ramblings of a madwoman, but the memory of my father's cough, the crash of the chair, and the palpable fear in my mother's voice kept me silent. We're going to a place where you'll learn what it means to be part of our family, she continued, her tone softening slightly. You might not understand now, but you will. You have to. The rest of the drive passed in a blur of half-sleep and restless thoughts. When we finally stopped, the sun was just beginning to hint at rising, touching the edges of the horizon with a pale light that seemed too gentle for the world Sylvia was describing.

We were at an old farmhouse that looked like it had been forgotten by time. The paint was peeling, the garden overgrown, but the inside was alive with activity. People buzzed around, their movements purposeful, and their conversations filled with a language of urgency I didn't understand. This is where it starts, Sylvia said as she led me inside. These people, they're like us. They know the burden of the unseen.

I was introduced to a few of them, their name slipping through my memory like water. They looked at me with a mix of curiosity and sympathy, as if they knew what was coming and pitied me for it. We moved through a series of back rooms until we reached a large, dimly lit space that smelled of metal and old earth. In the center, encased in a makeshift cage of bars and electronic locks, was something I couldn't

quite process, a creature that seemed pulled from a nightmare. It was large, its skin a patchwork of scars and rough stitches, its eyes glinting with a kind of intelligent malevolence. "'This is what we deal with,' Sylvia said, her voice steady but her hands clasped tightly together. This is why we need you. I stared at the creature, feeling a cold dread settle into my bones. How was I, a 16-year-old kid with no particular skills, supposed to deal with this? What was expected of me. You'll learn, we all do, Sylvia said, reading my expression. Welcome to the family, Nicholas. And with those words, any illusion I had of escaping this new, terrifying reality shattered. I was part of something much larger and much darker than I could have

ever imagined. The place that Sylvia took me to wasn't a house or anything resembling a home. It was an abandoned theme restaurant that looked like it had seen better decades, with boarded-up windows and graffiti crawling up its walls like vines. The parking lot was packed, the air thick with a mixture of anticipation, and something darker, almost feral. The neon sign flickered sporadically. half-lit letters spelling out Farron's Fun House. Inside, the atmosphere shifted palpably. The interior was an eerie juxtaposition of dilapidation and meticulous organization. Hundreds of people milled around, their voices a low, continuous murmur under the buzz of old fluorescent lights.

The center of the room featured a massive, clear leucite cube that seemed out of place amid the decay. It was filled with what looked like children's play equipment, ballpits, slides, and climbing frames, now repurposed into an arena of sorts. Sylvia's grip on my shoulder tightened as we approached. This is it, she whispered. Her voice tinged with a gravity that made my stomach churn. You'll see what I mean soon. The cube was a fighting pit, and tonight I was part of the spectacle.

We watched as creatures, things I'd only ever imagined in my worst nightmares, were paraded and then forced into combat. The crowd cheered. a sound grotesque in its glee. Sylvia nudged me forward as a gate to the cube opened. Your turn, she said, a stern push accompanying her words. I stumbled into the cube, the gate clanging shut behind me, sealing me in with a creature that looked human in shape but was monstrous in every other aspect.

It towered over me, its skin a sickly shade, eyes hollow with a hunger that was palpable. The creature moved towards me and every instinct screamed to run, to escape. But there was nowhere. to go. I was trapped, with hundreds of eyes watching me, expecting me to fight, to survive, or to die for their entertainment. Time seemed to slow as the creature approached, its steps thudding heavily against the leucite floor. I could feel the crowd's excitement building, their shouts becoming a deafening cacophony. Then, out of sheer desperation, I grabbed a piece

of broken playground equipment and swung with all my might. The makeshift weapon connected with a sickening thud, and for a moment the creature staggered. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I struck again and again, each hit less about hope and more about delaying the inevitable. The creature roared, a sound so fearsome it shook the cube and lunged. I dodged barely, and it crashed into the lusite wall, the impact reverberating through the cube. Sylvia watched, her expression unreadable. Whether she was rooting for me or for the creature, I couldn't tell. The fight drew on, each second stretching impossibly long.

Finally, with a desperate, lucky thrust, I managed to wound the creature seriously enough to incapacitate it. The crowd erupted into a roar of approval, exhausted, covered in grime and blood. I looked up to find Sylvia smiling, a grim sort of pride in her eyes. You're one of us now, truly, she said, her voice carrying over the noise. As I was led out of the cube, the adrenaline, faded, replaced by a bone-deep weariness. I had survived, yes, but at what cost? The night had

changed me, stripped away any remaining innocence. I was part of Sylvia's world now, a world of monsters and men, where the lines between the two blurred indistinguishably. We gather here tonight to bring women back to their rightful place. The Testaments, a new Hulu original series from the executive producers of the handmade sale. It's easier to accept a story then believe that the people around you are monsters. The battle isn't over. There comes to time when you have to take action when you have to choose your own destiny.

Watch the new Hulu original series, The Testaments. Streaming on Hulu and Hulu on Disney Plus for bundle subscribers. Terms apply. Looking for the best place to shop this Mother's Day? Go with the brand that makes it easy to send something thoughtful to everyone on your list. 1-800flowers.com. Right now at 1-800 Flowers, order one dozen roses and get another dozen free.

More flowers mean more smiles, all backed by the quality, attention to detail, and trusted delivery experience that make 1,800 flowers my top choice to send something beautiful mom will love. Make Mom's Day at 1,800flowers.com slash Spotify. That's 1,800flowers.com slash Spotify. I was never one for the great outdoors, at least not the way dad saw it. Vast landscapes a man could dominate if only he had the right gear and gumption. At eight, I didn't see the mountains.

as he did. To me, they were colossal, shadowy figures lurking in the distance, ready to swallow up little boys who'd rather be tucked away in their rooms with a good video game. But there I was, zipped up in a bright orange jacket that smelled like mothballs and plastic, sitting on the dusty seat of a bus filled with chatter and excitement, all except for mine. Jake Kerrigan was bouncing in his seat two rows ahead, tossing words over his shoulder like darts that didn't quite stick but stung all the same. Jake was a scout born and bred, with a badge-littered sash to prove it. His dad, Mr. Carrigan, the camp counselor, was at the wheel, leading us to some mountain in company awfully for what was supposed to be the adventure of our young lives. The bus trundled through the countryside,

fields sprawling out like a patchwork quilt made by giants. My reflection in the window looks sullen, eyes fixed on the moving scenery, trying to ignore the growing knot in my stomach. It wasn't just the motion of the bus or the scent of packed lunches. It was dread, thick and suffocating, about stepping into those woods. Scared, are you? Jake's voice cut through my thoughts like a cold draft. Not even, I muttered without conviction, eyes glued to the passing trees that seemed to grow denser and darker as we neared our destination. The bus shuddered to a stop in a gravel parking lot that was bordered by towering pines. They stood like sentinel,

guarding the secrets of the forest. As we filed out, the air hit me, crisp, with an undercurrent of something rotten. I thought of a dead fox I'd seen once by the roadside, its presence marked only by a similar stench and the halo of flies that reveled in its decay. We're here, lads, fresh mountain air. Mr. Carrigan clapped his hands,

his voice booming across the lot. He was a large man, his cheer as outsized as his frame, commanding immediate attention and obedience. Counselor Murphy, from the Offaly Scouts, was there to meet us. Her smile was wide but didn't quite reach her eyes as she started listing off rules and checking our gear. I hung back tightening the straps on my backpack, trying to make myself smaller, less noticeable. Jake and his friends were already forming a plan to find the best spot by the cabin to set up their tents, their laughter easy and carefree.

We'll be hiking for about 45 minutes to the cabin. Stick together and let's enjoy the hike." Counselor Murphy announced, her voice a mix of enthusiasm and command. Last one there has to set up the bonfire. The thought of being last appealed to me. I'd be glad for something to do, a reason to stay busy and avoid conversation. As the group began the trek, I deliberately slowed my steps, letting the others get ahead. The mountain closed around us, a tunnel of green and brown, light filtering through leaves in haphazard patterns.

The deeper we walked into the woods, the heavier my heart felt. Every crunch underfoot seemed to echo too loudly, every rustle a whisper to turn back. But turning back wasn't an option, not for a scout, not for my dad's son. So I walked on, following the trail blazed by those more eager, more brave, or maybe just more naive. As I walked, the forest seemed to close in, the chatter of my troopmates fading ahead, leaving me wrapped in a cloak of silence and that inexplicable smell of decay, feeling more an intruder in this ancient land than a visitor. The others had marched off, their flashlights bobbing like fireflies in the thickening dusk.

I stayed behind, my heart thumping a frantic rhythm that echoed the distant laughter and calls of the scout group fading into the woods. The cabin, with its rough timber walls and a promise of safety, stood silently behind me as I lingered near the dying embers of the bonfire. Counselor Murphy was wrapping up some gear when she noticed me standing alone, my flashlight dimming with each passing minute. Not up for the night hike, huh?

Her voice was soft, almost understanding. I shook my head, my throat tight. Not really. She nodded, considering me with a tilt of her head. Well, how about a little adventure just up the road? I know a spot, perfect for a ghost story. I'll even bring the marshmallows and hot chocolate. What do you say?

Reluctance warred with the part of me starved for a distraction, anything to feel less alone with my fears. Okay, I whispered, and something like relief flickered across her face. We walked in silence, our path lit only by her bright LED lantern, and the weak beam from my dying flashlight. The road was steep, lined with sharp stones that crunched under our boots.

Every step seemed to take us deeper into another world, one veiled in shadows and thick with the scent of pine and decay. The clearing she led me to was nothing more than a small open space surrounded by dark towering trees. It felt isolated, far from the safety of the cabin and the laughter of my peers. Murphy sat on a rock, patting another as she invited me to join her. The lantern cast eerie shadows over her face, deepening the grooves and hollows until she looked like a part of the woods herself. We'll just wait here for the others to loop back, she said as she opened a bag of marshmallows and handed me the thermos filled with hot chocolate.

I sat, the cold seeping through my clothes, the darkness pressing in. I sipped the hot chocolate, but it did little to warm me. The sweet smell of marshmallows mixed oddly with the rotting undercurrent of the forest air, turning my stomach. Murphy began a story about mound people, ancient creatures. said to roam these lands. Her voice was a low monotone, almost hypnotic. As she spoke, the lantern flickered, its light dimming to a sinister glow. My eyes darted around the clearing, heart pounding, skin prickling with the intensity of her tail and the chilling atmosphere. Then the lantern died

completely. Darkness enveloped us, thick and absolute. The smell of decay grew overwhelming. Panic clawed at my chest as I fumbled with my flashlight, desperate for any light. When the beam finally clicked on, the light revealed a horror that stole my breath. Counselor Murphy, or what I thought was Murphy, had transformed. Her body was elongated, twisted, her skin pale and modelled. Too many fingers sprouted from her hands, grasping at the air. Her mouth was too wide, teeth sharp and gleaming dimly in the flashlight's tremulous glow. I stumbled back, terror rooting with, me to the spot as the creature advanced with a jerky, unnatural motion. Its eyes too numerous, fixated on me with an intensity that promised nothing but malice. With a scream, I turned and ran,

the creature's grotesque form haunting my every step. Branches whipped my face, roots threatened to trip me, but fear lent speed to my legs. I could hear it behind me, the soft thud of its strange limbs hitting the ground. The raspy breath it exhaled. I didn't stop until I burst into the clearing by the cabin, the lights from the returning scout group, a beacon in the night. I collapsed, gasping for air, my story spilling out in disjointed fragments to anyone who would listen. But even as they gathered around, their faces etched with concern and disbelief, I knew nothing would ever be the same again. I had seen the true face of the forest, and it was monstrous. years ground by like so many cold seasons changing each one leaving a little more weight on my shoulders

i found ways to cope ways to ignore the shadows that lingered at the edges of my mind work life mundane routines they all helped but nothing ever erased that night from my memory the fear the stench of decay the monstrous face of what had once been counselor murphy then out of the blue a message popped up on my social media, Jake Carrigan. Just seeing his name brought a rush of old anxieties, the echoes of taunts, and the chill of dark woods. His message was unexpected, a plea for a meeting, a hint at needing to discuss that night, and an apology that seemed as deep as the hollows of those mountains we'd once camped near. Curiosity, more than forgiveness, drew me to accept. We met at an old pub, the kind where every corner is filled with whispered histories and lingering looks.

It was early, the morning light barely touched the stained windows. Jake was there, already waiting with two pints of stout sitting heavy on the table between us. He'd changed. The years had smoothed out some of the harshness of his youth, but his eyes were still restless, searching. We exchanged pleasantries, the kind that stretch out like a thin veil over the surface of deeper, darker waters. Then, without much prompting, he brought out a camcorder. Old, battered, the sort of thing no one used anymore except to look back at times best forgotten. Bredas, he said, his voice low, found it in the attic, thought maybe, well, thought it might help make sense of things. The footage was grainy, the sound filled with the static hiss of old technology, but it was what it showed,

or rather suggested that turned my stomach. Breda, younger, laughing, then alone for a moment. The woods behind her breathed with an unseen life, a crack, a rustle, then a face, pale, too elongated, slipping between shadow and light with a grin that could haunt the bravest soul. Jake paused the footage, looked at me. She never talked about it much, but whatever it was, it scared her more than just that night. she's got kids now, thinks it's best to leave these woods in the past. But how could we? It was there, that unspoken agreement between us, that the past wasn't done with us. Not yet. Not while those

woods still stood, not while whatever haunted them still roamed free. We need to find out, don't we? Jake's question was rhetorical. He was already there, already decided. I found myself nodding, drawn into the gravity of his resolve. He talked then, not just of the past, but of what he'd seen that night after we'd all fled back to the cabin. His words painted a picture of a creature from nightmares, not just a distorted face in a camcorder's viewfinder, but something far more terrifying. He spoke of plans, of needing to face what lurked in those woods, of needing to know if it was still there, if it was waiting. I listened, the weight of years and the way of years and the chill of old fears settling around me like a cloak. This was it then, our return, not just

to those dark woods, but to the very heart of our childhood terrors. We would go back, armed not just with flashlights and old brave words, but with a need to understand, to challenge the darkness with the light of truth, however dim it might be. And so we set a date, a time to meet, not just to talk, but to walk those paths once more, to find answers, or perhaps, to find peace in knowing we dared to seek them. The morning was gray, the kind that blankets the earth in a hush of mist and whispered warnings. Jake and I met at the edge of the town, the mountains looming in the distance like dark specters of our past. We were older now, our steps heavier, our eyes wary, but our resolve was ironclad. Today we would confront our fears head on.

Jake's truck was loaded with more than just the usual camping gear. Ropes, salt, silver, items that sounded more at home in a supernatural thriller than our reality. Yet, after what we had seen, what we had survived, we left nothing to chance. We ready? Jake asked. His voice steady, but his hands betraying a slight tremor as he checked over the gear one last time. As will ever be, I replied, climbing into the passenger seat. The engine roared to life, and with it, the old familiar thrill of fear mixed with anticipation surged through me. The drive was quiet, each of us lost in our thoughts, the scenery passing by a blur of greens and browns.

When the cabin came into view, dilapidated and swallowed by overgrowth, a shiver ran down my spine. It looked as haunted as our memories. We didn't speak as we unloaded the gear and prepared. There was an unspoken understanding between us. a shared memory of terror that no words could bridge. Our plan was simple. Find the clearing. Find whatever evidence of those creatures we could,

and if possible, confront them. The woods welcomed us with an eerie silence, the kind that feels like a breath held too long. Our steps were cautious, our eyes scanning the underbrush, our hands gripping the makeshift weapons we hoped we wouldn't need. We should have brought more people, I muttered, my voice low.

And tell them what? That we're hunting monsters? Jake's reply was a whisper, His eyes never leaving the shadowed path ahead. He was right, of course. This was our burden to bear, our story to finish. Hours passed, the shadows lengthening, and the air growing colder. Every snapped twig, every rustle of leaves, tightened the knot of anxiety in my gut.

Then, as we neared the clearing, the smell hit us, foul, rotting, unmistakable. This is it, Jake said, his voice barely audible. We edged into the clearing, every sense strained to its limit. There was nothing at first, just the oppressive silence. Then the ground shifted, leaves and soil disturbed, as if something had just vacated the spot. My heart raced, terror and adrenaline flooding my veins. A rustle to our right, a flash of movement, then stillness. We turned slowly, and there it was.

The creature, as horrific as we remembered, its body and amalgamation of nightmares, eyes gleaming with malevolence. It didn't hesitate. The creature lunged, faster than seemed natural, its form blurring into motion. We reacted purely on instinct, Jake swinging a silver-laced club, me throwing salt, an old wives' tail turned last-ditch defense. The creature recoiled, its scream piercing the silence, a sound so unernered. earthly, it froze the blood in my veins, but it was retreating, hurt perhaps, or merely surprised by our resistance. We did it, Jake breathed, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and triumph.

We did something, I corrected, knowing deep down that we hadn't killed it, only driven it away. We left the woods quickly after that, the darkness creeping closer with every heartbeat. We didn't speak. each lost in our own relief and dread, knowing we had faced our past, our monster, and survived. But the fight wasn't over, it might never be. As we drove away, the cabin and the woods shrinking in the rear-view mirror, a grim satisfaction settled over me. We had come looking for answers, and while we hadn't found them all, we had found enough to know that some childhood nightmares never fully disappear. They only wait in the dark, biding their time.

Some things work better together. Like Nars's soft matte complete concealer and radiant creamy concealer. Soft matte complete concealer erases and blurs and perfections with full coverage. Then, radiant creamy concealer evens and brightens with a luxurious texture

and radiant finish. Two concealers. One, flawless look. Perfect for a no foundation base. NARS, better together. Visit Sephora to shop now. You tell yourself, No one wants your college-era band teas. But on Deepop, people are searching for exactly what you've got.

You once paid a small fortune for them at merch stands. Now, a teenager who calls them vintage will offer that same small fortune back. Sell them easily on Deepop. Just snap a few photos and we'll take care of the rest. Who knew your questionable music taste would be a money-making machine? Your style can make you cash. Start selling on Deepop, where Taste recognizes taste. There's something about the Finger Lakes that suggest the possibility of supernatural and mysterious occurrences.

Legends and stories abound of hauntings, spirit happenings, utopian communities, ancient ruins, inexplicable phenomena, extraterrestrial visits, and the occasional glimpse of even Sasquatch. Among the most intriguing stories are the numerous reported sightings in the deepest parts of the lake of an aquatic creature, a lake monster, if you will. Each of the Finger Lakes has its own personality, of course, but Seneca and Cayuga Lakes seem to fit within a different, more mysterious category. Their waters are colder, their moods are darker, and their waves are bigger. You can travel on boats to and from the sea to these two lakes, and their sheer size seems to hint at the possibility of ancient aquatic megafauna.

Native Americans believed Seneca Lake to be a bottomless lake with a monster that lived within its depths, almost 40 miles long, deep, and one to three miles wide, the pitch-black depths of both lakes, hundreds of feet deeper than sunlight can penetrate, descend to depths below sea level. Reports of monsters in Cayuga Lake were numerous, perhaps even routine in the 1800s. It can be inferred from a story from January 5, 1897,

in an edition of the Ithaca Journal that a recent citing marked the 69th consecutive year in which there was a confirmed encounter with the monster, nicknamed Old Greenie. The story went on to recount that a member of the newspaper staff had been living in daily anticipation of Old Greenie's appearance, and had refused reporting assignments that would have taken them near the lake because they were afraid of the monster. The 1897 incident was reported by an Ithaca resident who was driving along the lake's eastern shore and saw what he knew must be the large, long sea serpent.

Of course, there were many people trying to debunk it as some sort of hoax or misidentification of a muskrat. Spiratic and isolated reports of the creature would continue until about 1929, when people began reporting not one, but two creatures, seen together along the lake's eastern shore. The creatures were described by witnesses as being 12 to 15 feet in length. It was speculated that they might be members of the Seneca Lake Sea Serpent family that found their way into the local, waters through a subterranean channel which is believed to exist between the two lakes. Legends of tunnels connecting Cayuga and Seneca lakes have circulated for many years, which anyone with a rudimentary grasp of the notion of water seeking its own level knows could be

possible. Occasional other reports of Old Greenie have certainly been made since then, including a 1974 attack in which a teenage boy apparently had his arm broken and bitten by a large eel-like creature, and the local 1979 encounter by a professional diver of a submerged animal 30 to 35 feet in length. Still, all the reported sightings, save one, have been by one or two persons. The incident with the greatest number of witnesses, and therefore the most credible lake monster encounter, happened on the evening of July 14, 1890, on Seneca Lake. The side-wheel steamboat, Otaytiani, named to evoke the region's Iroquois. passed was traveling north toward Geneva from Watkins Glen, with several dozen passengers at about

7 p.m. sunset was at approximately 8.40, so there was plenty of daylight left, and it had been a sunny and seasonably warm day with a high of 79 degrees. Somewhere between Dresden on the west side of the lake and Willard on the east side, pilot Frederick Rose reported that approximately 400 yards ahead of the boat was what appeared to be an overturned boat. Captain Carlton Herandine examines examined the object with his telescope, later describing its appearance as being 25 feet long with a very sharp bow and long, narrow stern. Passengers began to gather. It was a group with some ostensibly credible witnesses, including two commissioners of public works, a police commissioner, the manager of the Geneva Telephone Company, and a geology professor. As Captain

Herndine completed his inspection, the pilot signaled the engineer to slow down the boat. The The steamboat approached to within 100 yards and lowered a boat to take a closer look. Suddenly, the object turned, began to move away, and the captain immediately ordered full speed ahead. As the thing was moving slowly, the steamboat gained on it easily. The object turned again, this time toward the steamboat, raising its head, looking in the direction of the boat and opening its mouth, displaying two rows of sharp white teeth. Captain Herendine declared that he would ram the creature and take it alive if possible. Otherwise, he would kill it and take it aboard or tow it to Geneva.

This was the United States in 1890, when conservation of flora and fauna was still somewhat fringe. Out west, the bison population, perhaps 10 million in 1850, had been reduced to fewer than a thousand, and passenger pigeons, numbering in the billions in 1860, were on the brink of extinction. So the boat was turned, so that it would approach the creature from the side at ramming speed. The deck of the steamboat was crowded with passengers who were ordered by the captain to put on life preservers. According to the Geneva Gazette, every eye on deck was fixed on the monster and hardly a person was breathing normally. While the boat was yet some distance from it, the monster again looked at the boat, sank out of sight, and the boat passed over the spot

where it had been. As the steamboat approached within 50 yards of the creature, the captain gave the order to turn the boat so that its paddle wheel would strike the creature midway between its head and tail. The boat went full steam ahead and struck the monster with enough impact that many of the passengers were thrown off their feet. The mortally wounded animal lay in the water next to the steamboat. It raised its head, gave a sound like a gasp, and lay quiet. Its spinal column had been broken, and it was dead. Lifeboats were immediately lowered, and lines were strung around the body. Passengers and crew tried to secure the carcass. In the end, though, it proved too heavy or unwieldy and dropped into the water, sinking 600 feet to the bottom of Seneca

Lake. The ship reached Geneva after dark, and the passengers began to tell their stories of the incident. While all agreed that a monster had been seen, different versions of the length of the monster, from 25 feet to as much as 90 feet, strained the credibility of the accounts. The Rochester Herald said that Professor George R. Elwood, the geologist on board who had been in one of the lifeboats trying to secure the body, gave what was considered the most careful and perhaps most trustworthy account. He thought it was a caddus, an extinct marine lizard from the Mosasaur family, that lived in what is now the United States, until it disappeared from the fossil record at the end of the Cretaceous period, about 66 million years ago. Now we can't let skepticism get the better of us. considering that in December of 1938, a South African fisherman caught a sealicant, which is a fish that was thought to have been extinct, and disappeared from the fossil record

at the end of the Cretaceous period, 66 million years ago. So, it is entirely possible that this thing could have existed. Professor Elwood went on to describe the creature as about 25 feet long, with a tail that tapered to within about five feet of the head, which then broadened out and looked much more like a whale. The creature weighed about 1,000 pounds. Its head was perhaps four feet long and triangular. Its mouth was very long, and it was armed with two rows of triangular white teeth, as sharp as those of a shark, but in the shape more like that of a sperm whale. Its body was covered with a gross substance, which was much like the carapace of a terrapin,

as anything else of which I know. This gross substance was brown in color and of a greenish tinge. The belly of the creature, which I saw after the rope slipped and the carcass was going down, was cream white. Its eyes were round like those of a fish, and it did not wink. For years now, what could it have been, has been the question that is speculated around the area, and even the country, and now the world. It hardly seems likely that so many people could have imagined something so vivid if there had been nothing there. Lake Sturgeon, indigenous to both big lakes, can live to be as old as one hundred years grow to nine feet long and weigh three hundred pounds their skin is like that of a shark dull gray eels are darker but smaller not getting much longer than five feet

muskelaunge can also get over five feet long and weigh seventy pounds plus they have rows of sharp teeth but none are apt to convince a boatload of people that they were in the presence of a twenty-five foot monster though it was suggested by a cynic that the whole thing that the whole thing that the whole thing that they were in the same thing that the whole thing that the whole thing that they were in the whole thing that they were in the whole thing was a hoax perpetuated by the passengers and crew, which is also exceedingly unlikely. Dozens of people would have had to have kept that secret for the rest of their lives, while human nature suggests that no group larger than three people can be trusted to reliably keep a secret for a long weekend. The Geneva Historical Society can document at least 20 separate reported sightings of the Seneca Lake Monster, most recently in 2003. Cayuga's old greenie has a Facebook page.

Clearly, the idea that Big Lakes Harbor mysteries beyond our knowledge is one that is held stubborn and collective in our imagination. It's part of the charm of living in small towns, I would say, especially Lake Towns. USAA knows dynamic duos can save the day, like superheroes and sidekicks or auto and home insurance. With USAA, you can bundle your auto and home and save up to 10%. Tap the banner to learn more and get a quote at usa.com slash bundle.

Restrictions apply. Spring just slid into your DMs. Grab that boho look for that rooftop dinner, those sandals that can keep up with you, and hang some string lights to give your patio a glow up. Spring's calling. Ross, work your magic.