Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 7 Scary REDDIT Stories For When It's Snowy & Cold Outside | Forest, Cryptid, Skinwalker

Episode Date: December 14, 2023

These are 7 Scary REDDIT Stories For When It's Snowy & Cold Outside | Forest, Cryptid, Skinwalker Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►All Stories sent in on www.justcreepy.net Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:19:22 Story 2 00:23:14 Story 3 00:27:37 Story 4 00:30:58 Story 5 00:48:06 Story 6 00:55:02 Story 7 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #forest #deepwoods #redditstories 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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confident that I would never be swayed by tales of the paranormal. But then, something happened that shattered my condition. convictions, leaving me questioning not only the nature of reality, but my own sanity as well. I feel compelled to share my story here, hoping that others might lend their perspective, whether they are fellow skeptics like I once was, or true believers in the supernatural. I invite you to judge for yourself, whether my account is the product of a disturbed mind, or if it truly represents an encounter with the unexplained. This is the chilling tale of the wraith I encountered in the dead.

depths of a remote forest. It all began on a warm summer weekend when my son, Oliver and I embarked on a camping trip. Our destination was a relatively remote campsite, a bit farther from home than we were used to, but promising tranquility and the opportunity for some fishing, a hobby we had taken up together as a bonding experience. Of course, we were well prepared with a cooler stocked full of provisions, just in case our fishing expedition yielded no substantial catch. Our journey commenced in the early hours of the morning, geared up for the nearly four-hour drive, with hopes of reaching our destination by late morning or early afternoon. The drive proved lengthy, with one minor detour along the way, which only served to test the patience of my 10-year-old

son Oliver. His incessant, are we there yet, soon became the soundtrack of the trip. I assured him, for what felt like the hundredth time, that we were almost there, earning nothing more than an exasperated sigh in response. Thankfully, we truly were close, and after a mere ten minutes we arrived at Crescent Lake Park. The photographs on the website had failed to do justice to the breathtaking beauty of the place. Despite its remote location, it seemed well worth the journey. As we drove towards the campground, we spotted numerous hiking trails, a boat launch near the picturesque lake, and the promise of a peaceful fishing experience, even during the peak

summer camping season. Oddly, there was no sign of the park ranger, but I assumed to be a little bit of the park ranger, but I assumed they were occupied elsewhere. Upon entering the campground, we located our reserved spot, which, for the time being, appeared to have no neighboring campers. We parked, unloaded our supplies, and set up our tent. I began assembling the tent while Oliver occupied himself by playing with a stick he'd found, pretending to battle imaginary foes in our campsite. After a while, he stopped and stood by the corner of the campsite, clutching a piece of paper in his small hand. Hey there, buddy, what's that? that you've got, I inquired, raising an eyebrow as I took the paper from him. A missing person's

poster stared back at me, bearing the name Miss Sadie Marie Johnston and a plea for information regarding her whereabouts. I shared Oliver's sentiment, expressing hope that they would find her, but my heart sank when I noticed the date on the flyer. Missing persons' cases that remained unsolved for more than 72 hours often resulted in grim outcomes. Suppressing my pessimistic thoughts, I reassured Oliver, I'm sure she'll be okay. They'll find her. Placing the paper on the nearby bench, I returned to setting up the tent. Once our campsite was ready, we enjoyed lunch and decided to embark on a hiking adventure. We finally encountered a few fellow campers as we explored the area, waving to them, although they seemed somewhat uninterested in exchanging pleasantries,

wearing expressions of mild annoyance. I brushed it off as a case of grumpiness or social avoidance. While hiking, we crossed paths with a man on an adjacent trail who immediately struck me as unpleasant. His face wore a scowl, his eyes harbored barely concealed anger, and he was dressed in a heavy coat over camouflage attire, sporting a bloodied skinning knife and a cattle hammer attached to his belt. I couldn't determine if hunting was even allowed in this park, but I instinctively grabbed Oliver's shoulder, guiding us out of sight, wanting to avoid any interaction with this unsettling figure. Looking back, I wish I had taken immediate action, contacting the authorities right then and there. As the day drew to a close, we returned to our campsite, had dinner, and prepared for a quiet night's rest.

Oliver had requested spooky stories, but I lacked any good ones, promising to share some the following night. After indulging in some smores for dessert, we sat in the peaceful evening, the only sound being the crackling of our campfire. Although I had initially welcomed the tranquility and the absence of neighbors, an eerie silence soon descended, casting an unsettling atmosphere over our campsite. A faint, unpleasant odor wafted through the night air, cutting through the usual sense of campfire and forest. The temperature also inexplicably dropped, despite the mild summer evening promised. As I contemplated these eerie occurrences, Oliver mentioned that he was tired. His early awakening had taken a toll, and he retired to his sleeping bag, falling asleep earlier than usual.

I assured him that I would stay up for a while to tidy up after dinner before joining him. I threw another log onto the fire, even though it was no longer necessary, wanting to postpone the unsettling silence that seemed to creep in when the last embers faded. I reassured myself, attributing my unease to fatigue from the long drive in a busy day. I needed rest, and once I got some sleep, I'd surely feel better. I decided to step behind a tree for a quick bathroom break, when I heard a sudden snap of a branch. My head darted in the direction of the sound,

but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. All that met my ears were the campfires crackle and Oliver's soft snores. I hesitated for a moment, my mind racing with thoughts of the ominous figure we had encountered on the trail and the absence of the park ranger since our arrival. Shaking off these unsettling thoughts as mere paranoia, I returned to the tent, attempting to get some much-needed sleep. After what felt like in eternity, I was on the verge of drifting off when I was jolted awake by what I believed was the faint sound of our tent zipper being slowly pulled open. I sat upright, heart-pounding, my flashlight aimed at the tent door.

My breath caught in my throat as I realized that the door had not been opened. Oliver stirred, raising his head and murmuring, What is it, Dad? I replied. It's nothing. Don't worry about it. I thought I heard something. But even as I spoke those words, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Did you leave the tent to go to the bathroom while I was asleep? I asked, unable to let go of the unsettling sound I thought I had heard. No, I'm still really tired. I haven't gotten up, Oliver replied.

I brushed off my unease as imagination and laid back down. reassuring myself that it was just my nerves playing tricks on me. But then I noticed something that sent shivers down my spine. In the corner near the door, where I had heard the zipper sound, I saw the missing person flyer, Oliver had found earlier. The eyes of Sadie Johnston on the poster seemed to bore into mine, and I fought back a scream. Oliver, I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. Why did you bring that into the tent? Oliver got up and rubbed his eyes, annoyed at being awakened. Dad, what are you talking about? I didn't bring anything in here. I left that flyer on the bench. I didn't take it in, he replied. I sat there, confused, and wondering how the flyer had ended up in our

tent. Oliver wouldn't lie about something like that, but I couldn't fathom how it had appeared inside. I retrieved the paper and returned it to the bench, placing a plate on top of it, to prevent it from blowing into our tent. Then I attempted to get some sleep once more, pushing the strange occurrence to the back of my mind. I managed to drift off for a couple of hours, fitfully, before waking up, hoping for a brighter and less eerie day. As I woke and kindled a fire to prepare breakfast,

my eyes fell on the missing poster once again, and an inexplicable chill washed over me. Guilt gnawed at me as I did something I knew was wrong. I took the flyer and threw it in the track. I justified my actions by assuming that if anyone had information about the missing person, they would have already come forward. Yet I couldn't shake the eerie feeling that the flyer had a presence of its own, as if it were watching me.

I quickly moved on, cooking breakfast and finishing just as Oliver woke up. Our plan for the day involved fishing, and the early morning hours usually provided the best opportunity for a successful catch. Lake Crescent's waters glistened beautifully through, the morning fog. Several times I reminded Oliver not to wander off the trail, as dense overgrowth and trees surrounded the lake, posing potential dangers. We set up our fishing gear and spent a couple of hours by the water's edge. It was during this time that we noticed a boat out on the lake, quite far from us, veering towards a secluded corner, before abruptly speeding away,

creating ripples that reached our shoreline. Hey, Dad, what are those guys doing? Oliver asked, a note of concern in his voice. I tried to reassure him, suggesting that they might have forgotten something and had to hurry back. However, doubt nod at me, considering the strange events of the previous day. Then a sudden gunshot rang out, echoing across the water. Oliver exclaimed, Was that a gun? My thoughts raced, wondering if hunting was allowed so close to the campground.

Let's head back to the camp, I decided, as it no longer felt safe to stay by the lake when there might be gunfire nearby. We began our trek back, and as we were leaving, Oliver tugged at my shirt and pointed across the lake. Dad, look, someone is waving at us. They need help, he exclaimed.

I followed his gaze and saw a figure in the distance, a slim silhouette, slowly waving its hand overhead in our direction. Straining my eyes, I looked around and realized that there were no other people on our side of the lake.

It seemed the gesture was meant for us. I hesitated, my unease growing, as I thought of the boat speeding away earlier. We have to go check, Oliver insisted. I tried to think of reasons to dissuade him, but if someone needed help, we were the only ones nearby,

aside from the people on that boat who had hurriedly left. Reluctantly, I agreed on the condition that Oliver stay behind me, ready to run back to camp if there was any danger. As we made our way to the other side of the lake, cutting through a shortcut to reach it quickly, Oliver remained vigilant, and I watched him closely. We reached the area where we thought we had seen the figure,

but to our surprise, no one was there. The air felt heavy and the fog seemed to have intensified, shrouding the surroundings. A sense of foreboding settled over me as I called out. Hello? Is anyone here? We saw you from across the lake and thought you might need help. Oliver joined in, his voice trembling. We want to help.

Are you okay? You can come out if you need help. We stood in silence waiting for a response, but only the oppressive silence greeted us. Desperation and confusion hung in the air, and I could feel Oliver's fear growing. Oliver, I called out once more. Where are you? We can help. After a few minutes of silence, we heard a faint muffled sobbing, like someone crying softly. We searched frantically for the source of the sound, but couldn't locate it. The crying grew louder, yet we still couldn't pinpoint its origin. Oliver, now visibly frightened, asked,

Dad, where is it coming from? What's wrong with them? I had no answer, and I wanted to leave that eerie place. I shouted once more, hello, where are you? We can help. This time the crying abruptly ceased, and a chill wind swept past us, carrying a foul odor that clung to the air. The atmosphere grew colder, despite the mild summer evening. Despite my fear, I told Oliver, let's get out of here. Something doesn't feel right.

we should head back to camp. Someone might be playing a prank or up to something strange out here. I tried to sound confident, hoping to reassure both him and myself. We returned to camp, with me constantly glancing over my shoulder, half expecting someone or something to follow us. I wished we had brought some sort of self-defense weapon, considering the strange events and the unsettling presence in the woods. The memory of the eerie man we had seen on the trail returned, the one with the hunting equipment and the unsettling look in his eyes. I wondered if that man was still out there. When night fell, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled over me.

We had dinner in silence, avoiding any mention of the peculiar occurrences earlier that day. We decided to turn in early, hoping for a better night's sleep. But that night, the true horrors began. I was awakened by a cold breeze that sent shivers down my spine, sitting up I realized that Oliver's sleeping bag was empty and the tent door stood wide open. Panic surged through me as I remembered telling him not to leave the tent without waking me up. I reached for my flashlight and realized that his was still in the tent. Fear gripped my heart as I considered the possibility of him wandering off into the forest alone at night.

I called out for him, first softly and then more urgently. But there was no response. I couldn't fathom why he would leave without his flashlight. I grabbed both flashlights, rushed out of the tent, and shouted his name, desperately hoping to hear his voice in return. I stumbled upon a small boot print that appeared to be Oliver's size, leading in the direction of the lake. My heart pounded as I followed the trail, calling out to him.

Then I heard an odd noise, like crackling, or the sound of wood burning in a campfire, followed by a sharp snap. I whirled around, only to see that our campfire, which had been extinguished, for hours, was now burning brightly once again. It wasn't just a few embers, it was a full-blown fire. My mind raced, and I couldn't comprehend how the fire had reignited on its own. My confusion turned to terror when I saw the missing person flyer by the campfire. The picture of Sadie Marie Johnston had changed. Her eyes were now hollow, as if burned out, and a dark red stain adorned her forehead. I was horrified and couldn't understand how the flyer had returned.

Dad! Oliver's voice brought me back to reality. He was terrified and bewildered by the scene before him. I asked him about the flyer, but he insisted that he hadn't brought it into the tent. I took the flyer and placed it back on the bench, covering it with a plate to prevent it from returning to our tent. We both felt uneasy and didn't discuss what had just occurred. I tried to reassure Oliver that everything would be fine and that we should get some rest. As I lay down, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. The night seemed too quiet and an eerie, unnatural chill hung in the air, despite the summer evening. I closed my eyes, hoping to drift into a peaceful sleep, but my unease persisted. In the middle of the night, a sudden and intense pressure gripped my head, accompanied by excruciating pain.

I felt as though something was grasping at my mind, imploring me to listen. At first I resisted, but the sensation became overpowering, and I was plunged into a whirlwind of a emotions and scattered memories. I couldn't remember who I was or where I was. My head throbbed with pain, and I tried to make sense of the jumbled images and thoughts. I saw a face, an evil-looking man, and I couldn't comprehend what he was doing. A voice not my own spoke inside my head, and I heard pleas for mercy, for understanding, for forgiveness. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the sensation faded, leaving me gasping for breath. My own consciousness returned, and I realized I had been screaming.

Oliver told me later that I had screamed for nearly two minutes, unresponsive to his attempts to calm me. I touched my face, feeling my own skin and features, and gradually recognize myself again. My thoughts were in turmoil as I tried to make sense of what had just transpired. It was as if I had briefly inhabited another person's memories and emotions, In that disjointed experience, I had seen the face of a man, and a sense of dread enveloped me as I recognized that face from somewhere. It was the same face I had seen on the missing person flyer of Sadie Marie Johnston.

It was also the same face I had seen looking down at a lifeless body in my vision, a body submerged in water. I knew then that something sinister had occurred in those woods, something that connected the missing person, the strange man we had encountered, and the unsettling occurrences that had haunted. us. Fear and a determination to uncover the truth consume me as I considered the possibility of danger lurking nearby. Oliver and I wasted no time. We left camp immediately, driving until we regained cell phone signal and called the police. We provided them with all the information we had, including the strange man we had encountered and the mysterious boat on the lake. The police showed me a mugshot of Sadie's boyfriend, and I was chilled to the bone when I recognized him as the the man we had seen hiking in the woods. A thorough investigation revealed that Sadie Marie

Johnston had been a victim of homicide, her body concealed in a lake alcove. She had been struck on the head and left to drown. The police discovered evidence linking her boyfriend to the crime, a man with a violent criminal history. The realization of how close we had come to danger shook me to my core. I couldn't help but wonder if the eerie occurrences in the forest were somehow connected to Sadie's spirit, guiding us to her body. The question of the supernatural, of ghosts and their influence on the living, plagued my thoughts. Months had passed since that harrowing experience, but it continued to haunt me. As I wrote about it, I couldn't help but question the existence of the paranormal.

Had I truly encountered a ghost in those woods? Had Sadie's spirit reached out to us, leading us to her body? The wraith in the woods had forever altered my perspective on the supernatural, leaving me with more questions than answers. Crispy chicken sandwich from 7-Eleven, people always call me loud.

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Chosen Foods. I have to admit, the events that unfolded that night still send shivers down my spine whenever I think about them. For safety reasons, I won't use our actual names. Let's call us Alan, Dave, and Willie. Alan Dave and I had been lifelong friends, growing up in a small town where our parents were all close friends. Six months before that fateful night, Willie moved to our town.

We decided to stay at Allen's house because her parents would be out of town for two nights. It was around 11 p.m. And Alan and I decided to introduce the boys to cryptids through an online channel. By 1 a.m., boredom had overtaken us, and we hatched a plan to go for a late-night drive. I had recently gotten my driver's license, and we gathered blankets, snacks, and drinks for the adventure. As we discussed where to go, Willie suggested we drive down to Gundu Windy, since he had never been there before. Stupidly, we all agreed, even though we'd grown up hearing spine-chilling stories about that particular highway.

At 1.30 a.m., we were on our way. The drive between Pittsworth and Gundoo Windy was quiet and uneventful. Occasionally we would spot kangaroos or foxes crossing the road, but nothing out of the ordinary. We had the windows down, enjoying the warm summer night, with music playing loudly in the car. As we entered the town of Mill Moran, Dave began recounting the eerie stories we'd heard about the highway, sending chills down Willie's spine. We begged Dave to stop, and with a laugh he complied. Allen turned the music back up, and we continued on our journey. About 10 minutes further down the highway, we started entering a denser area of the forest surrounding the road.

There was no longer any light pollution, and our car's headlights only illuminated about 10 feet to the sides and 100 feet in front of us. Alan pointed out a group of four kangaroos, which we assumed were roadkill, not uncommon in our area. But then a putrid smell filled the car, causing us to roll up the windows and lower the music. Willie, with his city upbringing, rolled down his window and vomited outside. It didn't surprise us. He wasn't accustomed to the foul smells of the countryside. After emptying his stomach, Willie rolled the window back up, and Dave remarked on how hideous the smell was, likening it to roadkill mixed with the heat of a scorching summer day. Alan and I nodded in agreement. Then, a massive kangaroo darted onto the road as if trying

to escape something, which struck us as odd. That's when Dave shouted, what the hell is that? About 20 meters ahead of our car, in our lane, stood an inhuman creature, about six to seven feet tall, with glowing red eyes and arms that nearly touched the road. Panic set in as I swerved around it just in time, and Alan, looking in the side view mirror, screamed, It's running after us! I turned my head and saw it indeed pursuing our car relentlessly, even though I was already speeding at 86 miles per hour trying to escape. The car began to fish tail and I could hear loud thumps on the back of the vehicle. The road was flat, so I pushed the speed to around 100 to 110 miles per hour,

just enough to put some distance between us and that terrifying creature. But we couldn't escape without enduring sheer terror and trauma that I couldn't put into words. It took us about 40 miles to reach the next town, and only then did we feel slightly safer when we saw some parked cars. We stayed in the car until 8.30 a.m. before deciding it was safe to drive back home. It was, without a doubt, the most terrifying experience of my life. I doubt any of us will ever drive on that highway by ourselves or at night again. I can still vividly recall that ominous night when the mist enshrouded everything,

including my judgment and courage. It all began innocently enough, with our group of trainees completing a rigorous block of training in the Smoky Mountains. Our instructor, Buck, was a stern and wiry man, known for his seriousness in preparing us for the challenges we'd face as Rangers. He invited most of us for drinks, and despite the late hour, I welcomed the company. As the night wore on, Buck's stern exterior softened, revealing a genuine concern for our well-being. He slapped a hand on my shoulder, his drooping eyelids holding an intensity that shook me to my core. The smoky mountains are a remarkable place, but promise me

one thing, don't follow the voices in the mist, he cautioned. Little did I know that these words would haunt me for years to come. Five years later, I found myself responding to a distress call in the early afternoon. A child had gone missing from a campsite not far from our ranger station. Such incidents were not uncommon, and most resolved themselves with stern warnings, but this time felt different. The photo of Jessica, a girl who had gone missing the summer before I started, still hung on our notice board. Her disappearance was an unrelenting reminder of the stakes. We arrived at the campsite to find Polly's frantic mother,

her bright red beanie contrasting sharply with her anxiety-stricken face. Kyle, with his calm demeanor, skillfully extracted the necessary information. Polly, a six-year-old girl, had wandered off, and the family last saw her while hiking up to a waterfall. They had decided to return due to thickening mist and cold, but somehow Polly had vanished during their descent. Kyle divided us into two teams. One would search around the campsite

and the other would retrace the family's steps up the trail. Mark and I ended up on the trail team and I couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment. I wanted to be the one to find Polly, but my gut told me she was still around the campsite. As we ventured further up the trail, an eerie silence enveloped us, an unsettling absence of fellow hikers

that I'd never encountered before. The mist descended swiftly, thick and ominous, blocking out the world beyond a few yards. I called out Polly's name sporadically, but it was Mark who noticed something peculiar. He pointed to a vague shape in the mist to the right, insisting he saw movement. I squinted but saw nothing definitive. Mark couldn't provide more details, but the sudden, unnatural arrival of the mist unnerved us both. We continued cautiously, our footsteps echoing eerily on the deserted trail. The forest seemed to close in around us, and visibility worsened rapidly.

I turned to check on Mark, but he was gone. Panic gnawed at me. I called out to him repeatedly, but there was no response. I retraced my steps, desperately searching for any sign of Mark, but he had vanished without a trace. Fear gripped me as I ventured deeper into the thickening mist. Warm air washed over my neck like a breath, and I spun around, only to find nothing but the encroaching mist. The mist began to take on a menacing quality, and I sprinted toward the trail, desperate to escape whatever had claimed Mark. But as I reached the trail, I hit an invisible barrier and tumbled to the ground.

It was Mark, and he looked as terrified as I felt. He spoke of something he had seen, but my fear-stricken mind couldn't comprehend his words. Together we fled down the trail, leaving behind whatever horrors lurked in the mist. But as we sprinted, we encountered Polly, or something that appeared to be her. beckoning us into the forest. I couldn't believe my eyes. Her face shifted between Jessica's and Polly's. It was as if reality itself had fractured. Terrified and disoriented, I yelled at the faces in the mist to stop, and miraculously, they did. The warmth of the sun washed over us, and we were free from the suffocating mist. We returned to the campsite, shaken and unable to

explain what we had experienced. Polly remained missing, and her photo joined Jessica's on our notice board. Two girls taken by something sinister lurking in the mist. 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 Yamavatheater.com. Only at Yamava Resort and Casino, celebrating its 40th anniversary. must be 21 to enter.

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to a Verizon store today and we'll give you a better deal on the best network. A better deal. No surprises. That's Verizon. Best Network based on Route Metrics, best overall mobile network performance U.S. second half 2025. All rights reserved. It must provide a recent consumer mobile bill in the name of the person who gave me the deal, additional terms, conditions, and restrictions apply. During the summer of 2021, shortly after my high school graduation,

a spine-chilling incident unfolded in my small North Dakota hometown. I was with my group of friends, the stereotypical rednecks of our city, known for our loud trucks and always having some form of weaponry at hand. We were just doing what most Midwestern teenagers did for fun, driving around and shooting signs. However, our adventure took an eerie turn when we ran low on ammunition. One of my buddies, Gary, suggested we explore a snowmobiling warming hut where he claimed to have experienced some paranormal activity. Despite our strong Christian beliefs and skepticism about the supernatural, we couldn't resist the allure of such an opportunity,

whether due to the buzz of the evening or sheer teenage curiosity. So we headed to the old shack, parked by Larry's F-150 truck, and turned off the headlights and dashlights. It was an unusually hot North Dakota evening, and the darkness enveloped us completely. Despite my disbelief in the paranormal, I felt a strange reassurance knowing that I had my AK with me. We all sat in silence, gazing into the impenetrable darkness trying to listen intently. A sense of unease began to creep over us as someone in the back seat. suddenly whispered, it feels like we're being watched. In response to this eerie declaration, I quietly flipped the safety off my AK, my senses on high alert. Then, from the back seat,

a voice suddenly erupted, filled with terror and helplessness, urging us to look in Larry's rearview mirror. My heart pounded in my chest as I turned to see what had instilled such fear in my friend. What I saw in that rearview mirror was nothing short of horrifying. A towering figure, glowing with an eerie white light, stood about seven or eight feet tall, lurking behind a tree just thirty yards away from us. Panic surged through my veins. But before I could react, Larry immediately turned on the truck's engine and slammed it into reverse to get a better look. Yet, just as abruptly as it had appeared, the ominous figure vanished into thin air. In my fear and disbelief, I fired a few rounds in the figure's general direction, hoping to dispelow the eerie

presence that had haunted us. But my shots seemed to echo into the abyss, and the air around us grew icy cold in response. Larry wasted no time, flooring the accelerator and tearing out of that forsaken place, the truck roaring like the dukes of hazard escaping a perilous situation. We were all left shaken to our very core, our bones chilled by the inexplicable terror that had unfolded before our eyes. But the most unsettling part of this chilling encounter was yet to come. my friends, whom we'll call Barry, remained oblivious to the apparition that had tormented the rest of us. As we exchanged bewildered glances and recounted the harrowing event, Barry insisted that he had seen nothing. This discrepancy in our experiences left us with more questions than answers,

casting a shadow of uncertainty over our terrifying encounter that summer night in 2021. My name is Henrich, and I live in Sweden. I'll never forget the night that changed my life forever, a night filled with terror that still haunts my dreams. My apologies for my imperfect English. It's not my first language, but I hope my story still resonates with you. It was the year 2007, and I was working as a forklift driver at a furniture company in the small town of Huskvarna, Sweden. My job involved loading and unloading trucks and managing goods that were being shipped. I had moved to Huskvarna after school, with some friends, and life seemed to be going well. I even met a girl. and for a while everything was great.

But in 2007, things took a turn for the worse when my girlfriend and my school friends started moving away. Feeling like I had nothing left for me in Huskvarna, I began considering a move back to my childhood town of Karlstad, which was 300 kilometers north, and closer to my parents and childhood friends. One of my friends, Tobias, had found work as a forklift driver for a Norwegian company in Oslo,

The prospect of earning almost three times more in Norway than in Sweden was tempting. So when Tobias offered me a chance to come to Oslo and look for a job with his company, I didn't hesitate. To get to Oslo from Huskvarna, you have to drive about an hour west towards Gothenburg, Sweden's second largest city, and then another four hours on a highway called E6. In the late summer months, E6 was relatively empty in the evenings and nights, since many truck drivers were on vacation. On August 24, 2007, I set out on my journey early in the morning,

hoping to reach Oslo by lunchtime. I met up with Tobias in Oslo, visited his workplace, and even submitted my job application. Afterward, we spent the day together, talking and enjoying each other's company. Time flew by, and it wasn't until 11 p.m. that I realized I needed to head back home. I bid farewell to my friend, got into my car, and embarked on the five-hour journey back to Huskvarna. The initial part of the drive was uneventful as I left Oslo and entered a dark, dense forest. The full moon provided some visibility despite the absence of streetlights.

About an hour into my drive, I noticed a Volvo 240 tailgating me closely in my rearview mirror. I maintained a steady speed, neither too fast nor too slow, assuming they could overtake me if they were in a hurry. Eventually, the Volvo did overtake me, but instead of continuing ahead, it abruptly turned right and blocked my path. I had to swerve into the left lane to avoid a collision. As I continued driving, the Volvo repeatedly pulled in front of me, forcing me to switch lanes and pass it. At this point, I started feeling extremely uneasy about the situation.

Soon, a massive man in his 30s jumped out of the Volvo and began approaching my car. Panic began to set in, and I had no intention of stopping. I swerved into the left lane, attempting to pass him, and saw him trying to grab the passenger-side door. The chase continued, with the Volvo repeatedly overtaking me and trying to block my path. Desperation was growing, and I decided not to let them overtake me again until I reached the Swedish border. I floored the accelerator, reaching speeds of 160 kilometers per hour, but they persisted, driving alongside my car, shouting and making attempts to ram my vehicle. I couldn't fathom their intentions, but all I wanted was to escape their pursuit.

As we approached a large suspension bridge spanning the border between Norway and Sweden, I imagined the horrifying consequences of losing control at such speeds. The thought of falling from the bridge sent shivers down my spine. However, we crossed the bridge safely, and shortly afterward I spotted a small truck stop. I pulled into the lot, hoping that the presence of other vehicles would deter my pursuers. I parked my car, locked the doors, and took a moment to catch my breath. The relief was short-lived as after 40 minutes, the police had not yet arrived. Frustration and fear crept in as I called the Swedish emergency number 112,

only to be told it wasn't in service in Norway. My next call was to my father, who unfortunately failed to grasp the gravity of the situation. He advised me to remain calm, pull over, and find out what the people in the Volvo wanted. Frustrated by my father's inability to comprehend the imminent danger, I threw my phone onto the passenger seat. Nearly 90 minutes had passed since I had first stopped at the truck stop, and with no sign of the police, I decided to continue my journey cautiously. I hoped the Volvo had given up or moved on, but my fear still lingered. My mobile phone had slipped under the seat during the time. the chaos and I couldn't retrieve it. I drove on, constantly checking my rearview mirror and noticed

that the Volvo was no longer in sight. For a moment, I believed I had escaped, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't over yet. As I made a left turn and reached the top of a hill, my heart sank. There, parked in a small lot beside the road, was the Volvo. I slammed on the brakes and panic overwhelmed me. They had somehow tracked my movements and were relentless in their pursuit. I contemplated turning around and driving against traffic to avoid passing them, but I didn't have time to think. Two individuals got out of the Volvo and began walking toward my car, while another person emerged from the passenger side. One of them opened the trunk, concealing whatever they were retrieving. I had no choice but to press the gas pedal to the floor and drive away.

In my rear-view mirror, I saw their silhouettes running back toward the Volvo, its headlights flashing to life as they resumed the chase. I continued driving, my fear intensifying with each passing moment. The Volvo kept pace with me, trying to ram my car and shouting something unintelligible. We approached a suspension bridge, and I envisioned a catastrophic scenario where I'd plummet from the railing if they managed to force me off the road. My heart raced, but we safely crossed the bridge, and the chase continued. Desperate to escape, I spotted a small exit on the left. I decided to take it, hoping to lose them. However, as I slowed down to exit, the Volvo blocked my path, preventing me from leaving the highway.

Panics surged through me as I realized I had no choice but to continue on the E6. For what felt like in eternity, I drove on, the Volvo trailing close behind. I couldn't let them overtake me, and my fear grew with each passing moment. It seemed like we were in a relentless loop of them overtaking me, trying to ram my car, and me trying to outrun them. Eventually we reached a point where I had no other option. I could no longer maintain my high speed, and my car was showing signs of strain from the chase. A feeling of desperation overwhelmed me,

and I knew I had to get off the E6. I spotted a minor exit on the left, and I turned on to it, hoping to find safety. But the Volvo swiftly followed, blocking the exit lane. My heart pounded in my chest as I realized they were still after me. The panic grew, and I had to come up. up with a plan, I quickly decided to exit the exit lane and continue on the E6, hoping to find a way to escape. I had been on the road for at least 90 minutes since I first stopped at the

truck stop, and it seemed like an eternity. I had no idea what these people wanted or why they were chasing me, and I was terrified of finding out. My mind raced with thoughts of my friends and family, wondering if they would ever find me or if I would become a missing person. With no sign of the police, I made the difficult decision to keep driving. My phone had slipped under the seat, and I couldn't retrieve it. The fear and anxiety were overwhelming, but I had to keep moving. As I continued driving, my car began to make a scraping noise, likely from the earlier collision with a badger.

I feared my car might break down at any moment. Fortunately, I reached a small exit and turned on to it, hoping to get away from the E6 and the relentless pursuit. But my relief was short-lived. When I reached the crest of a new strait, I saw the Volvo parked in a small lot beside the road. Panic coursed through me as I slammed on the brakes. They had somehow tracked me down again. Two individuals got out of the Volvo and started walking toward my car,

and another person emerged from the passenger side. One of them opened the trunk, concealing whatever they were retrieving. Panic gripped me, and I had no choice but to press the gas pedal to the floor and drive away. In my rearview mirror, I saw their silhouettes running back toward the Volvo, its headlights flashing to life as they resumed the chase. I continued to drive, my heart racing, and fear gnawing at my insides. The Volvo persisted in trying to overtake me, shouting and making desperate attempts to ram my car. I couldn't comprehend their intentions, but I was determined to escape their clutches. As we approached a large suspension bridge that spanned the border between Norway and Sweden,

I envisioned a catastrophic scenario where I'd be forced off the road. The fear of falling from the bridge consumed me, but we crossed it without incident. Still, the chase continued, and I could see no end in sight. Desperate and exhausted, I spotted a small truck stop up ahead. I pulled into the lot, hoping that the presence of other vehicles would deter my pursuers. I parked my car, locked the doors, and took a moment to catch my breath. The relief was short-lived as after 40 minutes the police had not yet arrived. Frustration and fear crept in as I called the Swedish emergency number, 112,

only to be told it wasn't in service in Norway. My next call was to my father, who, unfortunately, failed to grasp the gravity of the situation. He advised me to remain calm, pull over, and find out what the people in the Volvo wanted. Frustrated by my father's inability to comprehend the imminent danger, I threw my phone onto the passenger seat. Nearly 90 minutes had passed since I had first stopped at the truck stop, and with no sign of the police, I decided to continue my journey cautiously. I hoped the Volvo had given up or moved on, but my fear still lingered.

My mobile phone had slipped under the seat during the chaos, and I couldn't retrieve it. I drove on, constantly checking my rearview mirror, and noticed that the Volvo was no longer in sight. For a moment, I believed I had escaped. But I couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't over yet. As I made a left turn and reached the top of a hill, my heart sank. There, parked in a small lot beside the road, was the Volvo. I slammed on the brakes and panic overwhelmed me. They had somehow tracked my movements and were relentless in their pursuit.

I contemplated turning around and driving against traffic to avoid passing them, but I didn't have time to think. Two individuals got out of the Volvo and began walking toward my car, while another person emerged from the passenger side. One of them opened the trunk, concealing whatever they were retrieving. I had no choice but to press the gas pedal to the floor and drive away. In my rearview mirror I saw their silhouettes running back toward the Volvo, its headlights flashing to life as they resumed the chase.

I continued driving, my fear intensifying with each passing moment. The Volvo kept pace with me, trying to ram my car and shouting something unintelligible. We approached a suspension bridge, and I envisioned a catastrophic scenario where I'd plummet from the railing if they managed to force me off the road. My heart raced, but we safely crossed the bridge, and the chase continued. Desperate to escape, I spotted a small exit on the left. I decided to take it, hoping to lose them. However, as I slowed down to exit, the Volvo blocked my path, preventing me from leaving the highway. Panic surged through me as I realized I had no choice but to continue on. on the E6. For what felt like an eternity, I drove on, the Volvo trailing close behind. I couldn't let

them overtake me, and my fear grew with each passing moment. It seemed like we were in a relentless loop of them overtaking me, trying to ram my car, and me trying to outrun them. Eventually, we reached a point where I had no other option. I could no longer maintain my high speed, and my car was showing signs of strain from the chase. A feeling of desperation overwhelmed me, and I knew I had to get off the E6. I spotted a minor exit on the left, and I turned on to it, hoping to get away from the E6 and the relentless pursuit.

But my relief was short-lived. When I reached the crest of a new strait, I saw the Volvo parked in a small lot beside the road. I slammed on the brakes, and panic overwhelmed me. They had somehow tracked my movements again. Two individuals got out of the Volvo and started walking toward my car,

and another person emerged from the passenger, side. One of them opened the trunk, concealing whatever they were retrieving. Panic gripped me, and I had no choice but to press the gas pedal to the floor and drive away. In my rearview mirror, I saw their silhouettes running back toward the Volvo, its headlights flashing to life as they resumed the chase. I continued to drive my heart racing and fear gnawing at my insides. The Volvo persisted in trying to overtake me, shouting and making desperate attention. attempts to ram my car, I couldn't comprehend their intentions, but I was determined to escape their clutches. As we approached a large suspension bridge that spanned the border between

Norway and Sweden, I envisioned a catastrophic scenario where I'd be forced off the road. The fear of falling from the bridge consumed me, but we crossed it without incident. Still, the chase continued and I could see no end in sight. Desperate and exhausted, I spotted a small truck stop up ahead. I parked my car, my hand. hands trembling as I locked the doors and looked around the dimly lit truck stop. The place was eerily quiet with only a few scattered trucks and vehicles. Panic continued to grip me as I desperately scanned for any signs of help. I waited, hoping against hope that the police would finally arrive, or that someone at the truck stop would come to my aid. But time stretched on, and the minutes felt like

hours. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the distant sound of the Volvo's engine approaching. my heart sank as I saw the ominous headlights of the Volvo creeping closer, casting long, sinister shadows across the empty lot. They had found me once more, and the terror I felt was indescribable. I realized that there was no escape, no one to help me. I was alone in this nightmare. As the Volvo came to a stop behind my car, the three figures stepped out, their faces obscured by the darkness.

My mind raced, and my body, was paralyzed by fear. I could hear them whispering to each other, their voices carrying an eerie, otherworldly tone. It was a language I couldn't understand, filled with guttural, inhuman sounds. They approached my car, their movements slow and deliberate, like predators closing in on their prey. The air grew thick with malevolence, and I could feel the weight of their malevolent intentions pressing down on me. One of them raised a hand, and I watched in horror as long, gnarled fingers extended towards my window. With a sudden unnatural strength, they began to pry the glass open, inch by agonizing inch. I was trapped, helpless, and my breaths came in shallow,

panicked gasps. As the window finally gave way, a frigid gust of wind rushed into the car, carrying with it a stench that was both foul and putrid. I could see their faces now, twisted and contorted into grotesque masks of malevolence. Their eyes glowed with an unholy light, and their teeth were sharp and jagged, like those of a ravenous beast. They reached for me, their hands clammy and cold, and I knew that whatever they intended to do to me would be far worse than death itself. In that moment I screamed, a primal, guttural scream that echoed through the empty night, and then, just as their fingers were about to close around me,

I woke up, drenched in sweat, gasping for breath. It was all just a terrible, terrifying dream. The relief washed over me like a tidal wave, and I clutched my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. But as I lay there in my bed, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, a sense of unease lingered. The memory of that nightmarish chase, the relentless pursuit of those otherworldly figures, haunted me still. I knew that even though I had escaped the horrors of that dream, the terror would never truly leave me, and it would continue to haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. I remember it being a kind of cold night in October.

The day had been long and exhausting, with hours of driving for a work trip. I was a somewhat smaller man, and always considered myself a sort of pessimist. As fatigue weighed me down, I decided to pull over at what looked like a run-of-the-mill hotel right off the freeway. It was one of those places where road trippers could get a few hours of sleep without having to venture into a big city. The hotel looked like it had seen better days. The sign outside read, vacant.

and I didn't have to wonder why. The parking lot was practically empty, save for a few rusted up beaters. I parked my own car and made my way to the lobby. Inside, I was greeted by a disinterested clerk, who was too busy paying attention to his phone to even look up at me. I paid for a room and was handed a key, barely receiving a word during the whole interaction.

It was kind of weird, but I was too exhausted to care. Though my room was no better than the rest of the place, the curtains were torn and stained in multiple places, and the air smelled like mildew. I decided to take a quick shower and practically collapsed on the bed. My plan was to catch a few hours of sleep and get out of there before sunrise. I must have slept for no more than an hour when I was jolted awake by a loud argument coming from the room next door. It sounded like a couple of people arguing over something I couldn't quite make out.

I got out of bed and pressed my ear against the paper-thin-wall that separate. our rooms. I could hear the muffled voice of a man demanding, Where's my money, Dirk? There was a very gruff voice demanding this, and I remember specifically someone saying back, I swear, Joey, I'll get it to you by tomorrow. The other guy, who I'm guessing was probably this Derek person, sounded incredibly scared. It was kind of surreal in the moment, and I could hear the conversation escalating. It became clear that someone was going to get hurt. I knew I had to do something, but fear had me frozen in place. I contemplated calling the police but didn't have any concrete information to provide them.

Just as I was considering my options, the argument turned violent. I heard a loud crash echoing through the walls, followed by what I could only assume were punches being thrown. The walls were almost paper-thin, and I could hear everything. I couldn't be entirely sure I heard punches, but one could assume, considering they were both just yelling at each other. I exited my room and tiptoed to the door, peeking through the peephole into the neighboring room. The hotel was old and obviously hadn't bothered changing to one-way peepholes. What I saw at that moment gave me chills.

Derek was being held down by two men, both much larger and a lot scarier than he was. He was bruised, blood dripping from his nose and out of his mouth. His eyes were swollen shut, tears running down his face as I could now hear him begging for his life. The men had their backs to the door, and I knew I had no choice but to concentrate. somebody. It would have been wrong for me to not set my own personal opinions aside when someone else's life was in danger. I went back to my room immediately, grabbed my cell phone, and dialed 911. I whispered to the dispatcher about the situation, explaining my location as best I could, which was hard considering I didn't know the area at all. My heart pounded in my chest as I crept

back to that peephole, trying to keep tabs on the nightmare happening right next door. Just as I looked, I saw one of the men draw a gun from his waistband. Panic surged through me, and I sank to the floor, scared and unable to risk them seeing or hearing me through the door. The sound of those gunshots pierced the air, and I could hear Derek's screams of agony. Tears started to well up in my eyes as I felt completely helpless, and the minutes dragged on. I huddled on the floor just inside my room, the sound of Derek's suffering one of the worst things I'd ever heard. He was moaning and crying out in pain.

I listened as the other men made fun of him, finding him weak for showing that he was in that type of pain, which I found incredibly disgusting considering they had just shot him multiple times. I heard more shuffling in the room next door, and was relieved to hear what sounded like the men leaving, after what felt like a small eternity. I actually heard the sirens approaching the hotel, and relief washed over me as I looked through my own peephole and saw the police arriving, followed by paramedics.

The officers pounded on the door of the room next to me, demanding that whoever was inside, surrender. I guess they hadn't realized the men had already left. The only response they got was Derek now pleading for them to help him. I heard them break down the door and call for paramedics. I was full of fear and anxiety as I waited for the officers to clear the scene and hopefully get this guy the help he needed. Finally, an officer knocked on my door, identifying himself. I opened the door and was eager to tell them everything I had heard and seen. They told me that they'd have to take me down to the station to make a formal statement,

which I found odd, but I did what I had to do. I packed up my stuff from my room and headed down to the police station. As I sat there in that police station that night, providing my statement to a detective for what seemed like the hundredth time, I couldn't help but think about whether or not that Derek guy was okay. I had never met him or even interacted with him once, but somehow I just felt a connection with him in those split moments. In my eyes, no one deserves to die in such a violent way

just because they probably owed someone money. I wish that there was more I could have done, but being how small I am and not trained in really anything, if I had intervened, I probably would have been severely injured or even killed. no matter how many people like to say that they would, I just couldn't risk my own life for someone I didn't even know. Later that night, I was informed that Derek had passed away not long after arriving at the hospital.

His gunshot wounds were pretty severe, and there was nothing they could do. The detective assured me that I had done the right thing by calling the police, and that my testimony would be important in bringing the men responsible to justice if and when they were found. Unfortunately, as I'm writing this, it's been almost, nine years, and there's been no news on this case. I'm sad Derek's family hasn't received justice for his murder. The events of that night have left me completely traumatized, but I have to remember

how lucky I am to still have my own life. That's something that guy will never have, and the only thing separating the two of us that night was a wall. Different life decisions led us to the same place at the same time, but still, somehow, we were worlds away from each other. I was 25 years old when I decided to decided to embark on a trip into the city. The decision came in the wake of my mother's sudden and unexpected passing. I had been living with her at the time, and the house had become a haunting reminder of her absence. I desperately needed to escape its walls, to breathe in fresh air and find some semblance of solace. With a mix of curiosity and desperation, I scoured the internet for a hotel that could provide a temporary refuge. Eventually, I stumbled upon a hotel with glowing

and a room rate that seemed too good to pass up, I won't divulge its name for reasons that will soon become evident. The hotel exuded an old-world charm that instantly drew me in. As I checked in, I couldn't help but marvel at the immaculate cleanliness and the picturesque surroundings. It was the kind of place you'd expect to see on postcards, and I looked forward to finally settling into my room after the tumultuous month I'd endured. My room was situated on the second floor, offering a lovely view of the hotel garden. The staff greeted me warmly and everything appeared to be perfect. At first, my stay seemed uneventful, even idyllic. However, it all began to unravel on the first night. I ventured down to the hotel's restaurant, seeking a solitary dinner experience. As I sat alone

at a corner table, my eyes inadvertently met those of a tall, disheveled man at the bar. He looked to be in his forties, clad in a faded leather jacket and jeans. I couldn't fathom why I couldn't fathom why I would remember such mundane details, but I do. Our gazes briefly locked and he gave me a nod. My natural awkwardness compelled me to avert my eyes, pretending not to notice the brief encounter. The evening progressed and I tried to put the encounter out of my mind. After dinner, I retreated to my room, eager to unwind. I watched some TV, read a book, and eventually drifted into slumber. However, when I awoke the next morning, a subtle unease lingered in the air. Stepping out of my room, I made my way toward the elevator, and there, lurking just a few feet

from my door, was the same man from the previous night. His eyes were fixated on me, sending a shiver down my spine, the kind of shiver that chills you to the core. I attempted to dismiss the eerie feeling as mere coincidence, but an insistent voice in my head warned that something was awry. I should have heated that inner voice. In an attempt to carry on with my day without succumbing to paranoia, I ventured out to explore the city's sights. Yet no matter where I roamed, I felt an eerie sensation of being watched, followed even. The overwhelming sense of being constantly observed clung to me like a shadow. That night, I returned to the hotel and reluctantly chose to dine in the restaurant once more, despite my desire to avoid encountering the enigmatic

man again. The convenience of dining and heading straight to my room outweighed my apprehension. I also hoped that the presence of other diners would quell my unease. As I sat at my table, I noticed the same man entering the restaurant yet again. This time, he sat at the bar, much closer, facing me directly. A drink in hand, he stared at me with unwavering intensity. I tried not to acknowledge him, but when someone's gaze is so intrusive and unrelenting, you can't help at sneak glances to confirm their continued scrutiny. After a brief while, his lips curled into a sinister smile,

and I was thoroughly unnerved. I decided to cut my dinner short and leave, only to realize that he rose from his seat simultaneously. He followed closely behind me, an eerie presence that seemed to breathe down my neck. I even thought I could feel his breath on my skin as we walked. Politely I asked him to maintain some distance, but his response was laughter. He trailed me all the way to my floor, stopping a few doors away from my room. I entered my room, nervously checking the hallway, and saw that he lingered there, just as before, wordlessly waiting. I couldn't ignore this any longer. Fear and confusion gripped me, prompting me to approach the hotel staff about the situation. I felt that involving the police might be premature, as the man had not yet physically harmed me.

Explaining my discomfort and the recurring sightings of the man near my room, the staff displayed understanding and promised to keep an eye on things. For the next few days, I remained close to the hotel. mostly inside my room. The thought of cutting my trip short crossed my mind, but I refused to let fear dictate my choices. This was meant to be my time to heal, and I wouldn't allow a stranger to rob me of that opportunity. As a solo traveler, I resolved to reclaim my sense of security. However, as each day passed, the man continued to surface, like a relentless specter. Sometimes he loitered in the lobby, other times in the hallways, and occasionally he occupied a seat at the restaurant. He even managed to infiltrate the gym on a few occasions when I impulsively

decided to work out. It felt like he was playing a twisted game of cat and mouse, and my paranoia grew with each appearance. One night, approximately a week into my stay, I returned to my room after dinner, only to find a disconcerting note slipped under my door. The handwriting appeared hurried and almost illegible, yet its message was clear, watching you. My heart raced as I read the words repeatedly. I had an inkling that it was from him. Panicked, I immediately called the front desk and reported the unsettling note. The staff assured me that they were taking the situation seriously and advised me to lock my door, stay inside, and wait for them to review the security tapes. They promised to resolve the matter, and if necessary, involved the police. I sat in my room,

anxiously awaiting word on the progress of their investigation. Minutes stretched into agonizing hours, and my sense of dread intensified. What if the staff couldn't locate the man? What if he was lurking somewhere in the hotel, ready to strike? What if he had infiltrated my room unnoticed? It felt as though I was being hunted. Finally, a knock at my door shattered the silence. The hotel manager, accompanied by a security guard, informed me that they had found the man and were escorting him off the premises. They assured me that he wouldn't be permitted to return, and that the police were becoming involved to ensure my safety. I thank them profusely for their swift response

and for believing my distress. Soon after I was contacted by a detective who relayed the grim truth. The man had been arrested, and they had discovered multiple pictures of me in his coat pocket. It turned out that he had been stalking me for nearly a year, unbeknownst to me. His apartment was a sinister shrine, filled with photographs of me in my hometown,

carrying out everyday activities. There were even chilling images of me at my mother's funeral, and inside my own home, taken through my windows. I couldn't fathom how I had failed to notice someone perpetually tailing me. Nonetheless, I felt relief that I had acted before the situation escalated into physical harm. The man was charged with aggravated stalking. Reflecting on this harrowing experience, I learned the invaluable lesson of trusting my instincts and taking action when I felt unsafe. It was a sobering reminder that danger can lurk in the most unexpected places and that vigilance is often our greatest defense against the unknown.

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