Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Scary Stories for a Dark Night | Skinwalker, Ocean, Forest, Deep Woods, Cryptid, Missing 411

Episode Date: March 29, 2023

These are 6 Scary Stories for a Dark Night | Skinwalker, Ocean, Forest, Deep Woods, Cryptid, Missing 411 Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►https://www.reddit.com/user/Su_Blime_/ ►https://www.reddit.com/user/flowers4boys/ ►https://www.reddit.com/user/JLGoodwin1990/►https://www.reddit.com/user/SzyMeX335/►https://www.reddit.com/user/rainmaker_183/►https://www.reddit.com/user/hddynarider18/ Music by: ► Myuu's channel http://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Music http://bit.ly/2f9WQpe Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #forest #justcreepy 💀As always thanks for watching! 💀

Every time I glanced at my leg, I'm haunted by memories. The pain was gone, as was most of the injury, but the scar was still there. It looked like something tried to bite my leg clean off, and that's usually the story I tell people when they ask. Fighting off an animal is a lot more believable than what actually happened. The other boys in my cabin had decided to skip out on the campfire one night and investigate the forest. Much to my surprise, they invited me, blinded by the idea of having to be. blinded by the idea of having friends, I didn't think twice about joining them. I've come to regret that day ever since.

Once the campfire started and we told the cabin counselor that we were going to sleep, we set out to the forest. The leader of the group, a kid named Braden, took the lead and led us deeper and deeper into the woods. Camp Nightingale had a rumor that there was a monster lurking within its woods. Of course, no one believed it. Or at least, I thought they didn't. As I looked to my left, I noticed that Daniel, a kid with a body type more similar to mine, was wielding a slingshot. Any good that would do, I thought, we're not actually going to find anything. You guys know that, right?

I asked, looking around the group of laughing and joking boys who were all sporting various amounts of weapons. They just laughed. Probably not, but it would be awesome if we did. The kid said, aiming his slingshot at me and preparing to launch whatever he was aiming at. I flinched, instantly stopping my walk as the group chuckled. Still the butt of the joke, I thought. That's when I heard it. It was so synced with my footsteps that I almost missed it, but the moment I stopped, something behind me took another step before pausing.

I froze, tilting my head around to see what it was. Unfortunately, without Braden's flashlight, I had no luck in finding what it was. Yo, can you shine your light on something behind me? I stammered. Braden was confused but did so. I studied his expression, which turned into irritation. Aside from the hundreds of trees, there was nothing behind me. Stop being such a wimp.

Like you said, we're not actually going to find anything. I rolled my eyes jogging to catch up with them. Duh, I just thought it might be a bear. That caused an uproar and laughter. A bear. Out here. Man, you're dumb. The third kid Thomas spoke. For the next ten minutes,

things went smoothly and nothing happened. We had only been traveling in one direction, which Braden thought was good enough to act as our way back. Also, I have this. He shook the smartphone in the air proudly, the Google Maps app open. It didn't make me feel all that much relieved, but I dropped it.

Once we reached the edge of the forest, I started getting the feeling that we were being watched yet again, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Then something rustled in the bushes. This time, I wasn't the only one who heard it. Braden pointed at the bush. Daniel aimed his slingshot and Thomas pulled out a pocket knife I never knew he had. With nothing in my possession to fight back, I picked up a stick I found beneath me,

pointing it at whatever was behind the bush. I expected that after a tense moment, a rabbit would pop out as the cartoons would show. But that moment of silence never came. Something emerged from the shadows, lanky and covered in fur. Its shape was unlike any other animal I'd ever seen. In fact, I wasn't even sure it was an animal. Its body was long, limbs gripping onto a tree, scurrying away the moment the light hit its face. But those few seconds gave me all the time I needed to make out the beast's features.

It had a snout like a deer, yet it walked upright. Though fur coated its skin, I could tell that it was almost decaying, with black spots on its flesh. Its face was hideous, with black gums lining yellow teeth. Instantly, all of us let out a shriek and dashed in the opposite direction. I was able to keep up with them for the first 30 yards, but they were all much more athletically built, and I soon fell behind. As I tried to shout, my lungs burned, muffling my voice. I felt like I was coughing up fluid.

Soon, the light projected by the flashlight diminished behind the ever-growing sea of trees. I took in the air, trying to call up. out for one last time. But before I got the chance, I collided with a tree and I lost consciousness. The first hint of daylight crept through the treetops and the birds welcomed the dawn with their songs. My bones ached from having slept on the uneven ground, but, despite it all, my eyes had finally opened. Memories of the encounter drove me to jump to my feet, no matter how dizzy that made me. I looked around, searching the surrounding area for both anyone from the camp, and the thing I saw earlier.

But there was no sign of either. However, there remained another problem. I didn't know how I was going to get back. After being unconscious for quite some time, I forgot which way I was running to. I swallowed back fear, realizing that the monster I saw could still be lurking in the forest. With nothing else to do, I began walking,

my legs feeling like lead. That was when I took a step, landing on what felt like hard metal. I barely had the opportunity to look down, before the jaws of a bear trap clamped down, coming close to severing my right foot. Cartoonishly triangular blades dug into my skin, one completely piercing through my bone. It took everything I had to not pass out right there. I tried to let out a scream, but my throat choked up and all I could manage was a dry rasp. As I fell to the ground, the bear trap flipped with me. My first thought was to open it. However, it wasn't like what I'd

seen in the movies. It was bolted shut with several parts, and components that I couldn't dream of ever figuring out. Once I realized I wasn't going to open it, my heart rate spiked and I began yelling. My frail voice barely left my throat, sobs overtaking the words. A deafening silence surrounded me. I kept calling out for help with no response, and I must have lost a lot of liquid because I got light-headed. I tried to keep moving, but I could barely lift my arms, forcing me to stop.

I know that it was probably my paranoia getting to me, but it's seemed that there was always something in my peripherals, only making an effort to move when I wasn't looking. It got so bad that after a few hours, I considered ripping my leg off. Of course, when I so much as touched it, an excruciating pain shot through my entire body. After letting go, I lay on the hard ground, just beginning to drift to sleep, hoping that someone would come back for me. That's when I heard branches cracking. My eyes immediately shot open, the idea of sleeping suddenly becoming foreign to me. My body jumped to life, frantically searching my surroundings to see where the noise came from. Noticing the rock beside me,

I picked it up before immediately looking back up. How I wish I hadn't. There was something there. Two large white orbs floated in the air about eight or nine feet away. They were far too big to belong to a small critter, and it was positioned at least seven feet tall, giving them considerable size. The creature's body was long, with thin legs supporting a frail torso, that looked like it was made of sticks. Its body was covered in matted fur, except for its head. Its jaw was unhinged, open, and revealing rows of teeth. However, what was interesting was that the teeth weren't all that sharp.

In fact, it didn't seem like any part of the creature could be of any trouble. Its body was way too skinny for it to actually attack. It was more like a sickly animal, with no strength to speak of. As I waited to see what it was going to do, wondering if it was trying to hurt me, I began to realize something. It wasn't trying to attack me. Instead, it simply watched, wide unblinking eyes not taking the slightest interest in anything around me.

I glared back as if it was the only thing I could do. Though the sun began to shine, it remained motionless. At night the creature looked terrifying. But in the sunlight where I could make out every detail, even more so. clutching the rock, I throw it as hard as I can. It hit the creature in the shoulder, but aside from awkwardly shuffling back, it didn't seem to notice it. Dehydration had begun to set in, and I was feeling dizzy. As the creature watched, it reminded me of something. The way it watched its prey to the end before I could only assume it eats me, reminded me of vultures. It's funny,

as I was asking myself if dehydration or hunger would get me first, the creature was thinking the same exact question. As my vision slowly began to blur, I noticed that it was slowly getting closer. When my eyes would close for a moment, I'd open them and its head would only be an inch away from mine, causing me to jump. The creature would do the same, bolting behind the safety of a tree. But as this act of hours repeated for several times, the creature would be less afraid each time, until, eventually, it would no longer move. I wave my arms violently, but still no response. My stamina was running low and there was no sign of anyone else coming for me. The more exhausted I got, the more I wanted to give into the idea of passing.

The pain in my right leg was becoming unbearable, and, at this point, death was a preferable outcome to continuing. In the very bottom of the pit of despair, I lay there, limp and completely spent, not moving another muscle. Despite the fact the creature was glaring down in me, I couldn't care anymore. My eyelids began to grow heavy, my consciousness growing cloudier by the second. But just before I could be taken away, a voice rang out. Oh my God.

It was loud, startling me awake. I looked toward the source of the noise and found that it was Brayden and his friends, along with the camp staff. They all rushed in. The creature, jolting its head up to face them, scurried off before everyone else could even get to me. The next couple of minutes passed by in a blur. the camp staff managed to free my leg from the bear trap. I was sent to the infirmary for treatment,

then released with instructions to remain on crutches for the rest of the month. When I asked them about the creature, they said they thought it was just a bear, but couldn't tell for sure. Maybe I was just imagining the whole thing. All that mattered was that I survived. However, lingers of the despair I felt from that day never left. For some reason, I can't shake the memory of that creature from my mind

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so now I want to share my little story. My childhood best friend, Marie and I, were around 11 or 12 years old at the time. Marie's family had their own campsite in a provincial park about two hours from our hometown, and would spend the entire summer each year living in their camper out there. This particular summer, I was able to go and stay with them for a week, and we were excited to spend our time adventuring around the forest. On the last night that I was there, we decided we wanted to hurry down to the ice cream shop by the lake before it closed.

It was early evening at this point, still pretty bright out but beginning to lose light. The path we took was down a short slope right next to the main road with maybe 10 feet of thick brush and trees in between. On the other side was the forest, with more tall, thick brush. So we were walking along, not seeing a single, other person on the path in front or behind us. We hear a sudden rustling and snapping of branches similar to the sound of maybe a deer moving through the woods. I wouldn't have thought anything of it,

but then the sound of running footsteps follows. Marie glances back and suddenly grabs my arm, urging me under her breath not to look back. At the same time, the running stops. I don't know why I didn't ignore her and get a look myself. I guess I could sense the very real fear in her voice and chose to listen. We both start to panic, getting that feeling like when you're running up the stairs after turning the basement light off. We pick up speed as much as we can

without breaking into a sprint, knowing the ice cream shop is only about a minute walk away at this point. The path soon breaks and we are in the parking lot. Suddenly Marie steers me hard to the left, heading towards the lake and the boat rental instead of continuing straight to the ice cream shop, and I go along with it silently, understanding ice cream is no longer in interest right now.

Marie is clearly panicking at this point. We are both looking around but it seems whatever scared her is nowhere in sight at this point. Marie walks up to the boat rental and gets us a kayak, and we climb in and begin to paddle out into the middle of the lake. As we paddle, she tells me that there was a man behind us and that the man had stopped running at us very abruptly upon making eye contact with her. He had been wearing a long black coat with the hood up to spiked. it being the middle of July. He had a terrible smirk on his face, and she swore that as he stopped

running, she saw him put something shiny away into his coat. He appeared to have just emerged out of the bushes after we walked past, given the sounds we heard right before he came running onto the path. We reached the center of the lake and stop paddling. I pull out my Nokia brick phone that my parents had, thank God, given me just in case. I handed to Marie and tell her to call her parents to come pick us up. As the phone rings, I see her look out past me to the shore and go pale, lifting a hand to point to what she's seeing. I turn, and there was the man, stalking his way around the path that circled the edge of the lake, staring out at us. We sat in the middle of the lake and watched him do two full laps, never looking away from us, before finally disappearing.

It took a few tries to get a hold of her family. We were freaking out so bad the whole time, as the sun got lower and lower. We did manage to have someone come with the truck, but by the time we reached the shore, it was pretty dark outside. I don't know what we would have done if we hadn't been able to call for a ride. Looking back, I don't know why we didn't just go up to the ice cream shop, inform an adult there and ask her parents to come get us then. But it worked out, we got back safe, and we thankfully never saw the man again.

To your family, you're lucky to make it out alive. Streaming on Peacock. are going to come after me. Taking them out. It's my only chance. Put a bullet in her head. From the co-creator of Ozark. Looks like a family was running drugs.

Execution style, killing it's rare for the keys. And it leads on who they might have been running for. The cartel killed my family. I'm going to kill them. All of them. M.I.A. Streaming now. Only on Peacock.

And someone who loves to take long walks on the beach in the early mornings when very little to nobody else is there. The sea spray on my face. and the salt air in my nostrils always help make the eight-hour shifts I spend behind a desk somewhat tolerable, and the sight of the sun rising out on the misty waves has always filled me with a sense of calm. However, that changed yesterday when I was out for my walk. It was a slightly rougher day, the waves were crashing on shore a bit harder than normal, and the wind was whipping something fierce. As I strode across the beach, I noticed something out of place being pummeled around in the surf like it was a pinball.

When I drew closer, I saw it was a plastic bag which had been sealed with duct tape at the top. Inside was what looked like a book of some sort, and driven by curiosity, I waited into the waves up to my ankles to retrieve it. When I got back to my car, I managed to open the bag and found that the book was actually somebody's journal, as stated by the inscription on the inside of the cover. It declared it belonged to a man named Anthony Hodgson as part of an ocean crossing sailing trip from almost 20 years ago, As I was late for work, I didn't read any more of it and instead tucked it into my briefcase for safekeeping. I figured I could find out more information later on that night and try and return it to its rightful owner. When I got home that night, I immediately took the journal out and began reading excitedly. However, as I got further and further towards the last entry, my intrigue and excitement crumbled to dust,

and it was replaced by some of the strongest dread and horror that I have ever felt. I wasn't sure what to do with it once I finished reading. There's not much I can do. I can't send it to anyone, and if I turned it over to any newspaper or TV station, I'm sure it'd be dismissed as a hoax. Finally, I decided that the only place I could come to share it would be here, as I know many others come to share what they've seen and found. Let me know what your thoughts are on this.

But, for me personally, what I've read has given me some of the worst nightmares I've had since I was a child, and will probably keep me out of the ocean. Forever. Here are the entries. July 15th, 2004, 3.34 p.m. Well, here we are, Journal. Today is the day I've been dreaming about for most of my life. Ever since I was a little child,

spending time at my aunt and uncle's house in Maine, reading their old sailing magazines, I've always had the desire to make an oceanic crossing, using nothing more than my skills, knowledge, and determination to get me to the other. side. After almost 30 years of waiting, it's now finally my turn. And thanks in no small part to the group of friends I've forged in this journey called life. All in total, there are six of us who will be making this trip. Myself, Darrell, Zander, Winston, Holly, and Anastasia. It was

Zander's idea for us to begin saving and pooling together our money to purchase a sailboat over 12 years ago, and now I sit in my cabin on what took what seems like an eternity to attain. Her name is the Lunging Lion, a 52-foot sparkman in Stevens Yawl from 1950, and God, is she one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. And for something almost 55 years old, she looks as good as the day she first entered the water. We're currently docked at a pier in Boston, and I can hear the others loading the final crates of supplies and barrels of diesel fuel on board. Tomorrow we will sail at the crack of dawn from here, with our bow squarely aimed for none other than jolly old England. I've done the calculations, and if we can average between 10 to 15 knots with the wind, it should be no more than a week and change to make it there.

Almost 3,000 nautical miles of the Atlantic lie between us and the end of a journey that we will remember for the rest of our lives. I would love to keep writing, maybe even wax a bit poetic about this undertaking, but I can hear the other. is calling to me to help them, so this is where I have to end this entry. For a first one, and as someone who's never written in one of these things, I don't think it was that bad. I'll write later. July 16, 2004, 11.17 a.m. Good morning, journal.

We are officially on our way. We woke up at just a little after 6 in the morning, and after a last few consultations of our charts and farewells with the Harbourmaster, we cast off our lines and use the diesel end. to motor out of Boston Harbor. Once we were clear of the last marker buoy, we floored it and opened up the sails. I'm happy to report that the second they did, the wind blowing from the west caught them,

and we shot off like a bullet. Currently, according to the readout, we're sailing along at a pleasant nine knots. Not what we were hoping for, but still adequate. I do have to say, though, there is an extreme, almost sense of peace already. Boston and all the rest of land is slowly, but steadily turning into just a thin line behind us,

and with the lunging lion under only sail power. The only sounds that can be heard are the creaking of the boat's wooden hull as she slices through the water, the sails and the rigging as they are slapped by the wind, and the cries of the seabirds as they follow us out to sea. And, of course, the shouts and laughs of my friends. Everyone's spirits are at a crescendo as the object of many late-night conversations turns from the stuff of drunken speculation to reality.

I should point out that everyone on board has a job to do. Daryl and Winston are the two with the most practical knowledge on sailing, as they've actually sailed from Washington State down to Baja four or five years ago as part of a competition. They'll serve as the captain and the navigator for our trip. Thank God for them, or we being way over our heads here. Zander and myself have some knowledge, but only from small trips, usually from Portsmouth up to Bar Harbor in Maine, so we are to help with piloting. While Holly and Anastasia will be working the rigging, raising, and lowering the sails as needed, with our help, of course.

Additionally, Anastasia will be serving as our cook for the duration of our trip. And considering some of the meals she's made, I am all for that. I just took a look at the depth finder mounted just beside the main hatch in the cockpit. According to it, the bottom is already over 3,000 feet below us. I know many other people might find such a revelation scary, but as someone, who's loved the sea as long as I can remember, it's thrilling. I can only imagine what strange and wonderful creatures swim and float beneath us in the dark and cold waters, listening to the sounds of our hull creaking, reverberating for miles away as sound travels farther in water than air.

Darrell just asked me to take over the helm for a while, so I'll end this entry here. Right again soon. July 18, 2004, 137 p.m. Well, I can't exactly say, good afternoon, as things aren't as smooth sailing as I would have liked. You see, we've come across a rather large fog bank, which almost seems to have risen up from the waves and ensnared all in its reach, ourselves included. You can't even see 20 feet in any direction, and whenever a sound is made, it tends to bounce off the fog back to you in a rather sharp echo. We've had to pull some sails down and reduce our speed to six knots to be safe. To tell you the truth, journal, it's really rather eerie. It almost feels like the entire world has been swallowed up and

disappeared, and we're all that's left. Thankfully, though, Winston told me that he's seen fog like this before and that it won't last longer than a few hours. I'm grateful for that, honestly, if it lasted longer, I feel it might pull on my sanity a little. The magazine articles and photos never showed or spoke about this, and I wish they would. It wouldn't have changed my mind on this trip, but it would have prepared me for what to expect. Something loud just splashed out in the gloom. None of us could see what caused it, but everyone topside heard it. It was only a single splash, one which echoed like the crack of a gunshot in the fog. When I asked Darrell what it could have been, he shrugged his shoulders. It could be anything, Tony, he said.

Lots of things splash around in deep water. Pibia whale breaching could be a shark going after a school of fish. Hell, it could even be a piece of flotsam getting tossed about by a particularly tall white cap. The explanation brought me more comfort. Instead of a sense of unease about the unknown, my mind is now filled with natural explanations. According to the radar, we are about 400 miles off the coast of the U.S., and the depth sounder shows the bottom has dropped away to 6,000 feet. We all need to keep a sharp eye out, so I'll stop writing for now to help the others. Write again soon. July 19th, 2004, 11.m. What the actual hell just happened.

Not even four hours ago, myself, Zander, and Holly laid down to get some sleep, as we've worked out a schedule where we sleep three at a time, changing out during the night to allow the other team to rest. I just managed to drift off when I flew out of my bunk onto the floor. It literally felt as if the boat had slammed into another vessel. For a moment, that was my biggest fear, and after checking on the other two down below with me, who both had slight bruises from their own unexpected flights,

I dashed topside to the sounds of chaos. Winston and Daryl were shouting back and forth to each other in confusion, and I could hear Anastasia moaning somewhere closer to the bow. When I asked what had happened, they told me they didn't know. It was like we sailed straight into a damn block of concrete. Winston exclaimed to me, When I went to check on Anastasia, I found her lying on her back on the dead.

She had cracked her head on the main mast, giving her a rather nasty bump on her left temple and received a cut on her cheek. The three of us carried her down below and laid her down in the forward berth, where Holly is looking after her. She says she'll be okay, but she needs to rest for the rest of the night. I, for the life of me, can't understand what we hit. It could have been a whale or a large piece of wood, but nobody saw anything, and it was a perfectly clear night, something that Darrell tells me will end the night after tomorrow as a storm is coming our way. And I'm fairly certain that the two most experienced of our crew wouldn't jeopardize us so carelessly. If they say they didn't see anything, then I believe them.

I've gone back down below to try and catch at least an hour's more rest before I help take over the late night to early morning shift at the helm. According to the charts and radar, we're now about 850 miles off the coast, though I didn't look at the depth sounder this time. One additional thing to note, that may not have any meaning, but I'm still going to write down. There was one strange thing I noticed

when I went topside and went to help Anastasia. There was a rather putrid scent in the air, something I couldn't place. If I didn't know any better, I would have said it was ammonia, but we have none aboard which could have spilled, so I don't know what to make of it.

Probably nothing, but still noting. Anyways, good night. hopefully no more surprises July 20th 2004 437 p.m. Good morning journal. Things happily seem to be more on track today than they have been the last two. I'm currently sitting behind the helm,

using my foot to keep it straight as I write. Most of the others have gone below to have dinner, which I'll have myself when they're finished. Someone needs to steer, after all, I'm happy to report that Anastasia is back up aside from the bump on her head, seems to be in good spirits. She's currently making clam chowder, a favorite of all of ours. We've picked speed back up to about 11 to 12 knots with a strong tailwind,

although earlier it quit, causing us to have to tack back and forth before, regrettably, having to fire up the engine to carry us a bit farther. The sound of it was almost heresy out here in the silence, only broken by the wind and the waves. It was worth it, though, as I saw a truly amazing story. about half an hour ago. A whale, it breached out of the water not more than a half a mile away from us. Seeing that gigantic black leviathan leaping from the waves is a sight that filled me with joy to tell you. It did so a few more times, seeming to move around in a circle before disappearing below the waves.

I've honestly never heard of a whale doing multiple breaches in such a short succession, but there's a first time for everything, I guess. Anyways, I look ahead now, and in the distance, I can see the storm clouds on the horizon, lightning occasionally flashing in the dark gray fluff. According to the report we got from a tanker on the ship's radio, it will be a bad one, meaning our initial plan to make it to England in just over a week is going to be extended to just about two weeks. Fine by me as despite our setbacks and problems, I still am thoroughly enjoying this journey. Good Lord, did that just startle me? I heard a loud splashing sound off our stern behind me and swooned around.

There was nothing there, but it was so close I swear I could feel the water droplets hitting me on the back of the neck. Anyways, Zander's coming up to take over helm duties, so it's time for me to head below to eat. According to the radar, we're now over 1,300 miles out to sea, close to the halfway mark of our trip. The depth sounder says 12,000 feet of water lie between us and the seafloor. Right later. July 21st, 2004, 7.18am. I don't even know where to begin with this entry. I'm honestly lost for words, both in my shock, and my grief.

I suppose there's no other way to put it other than bluntly. Polly's gone. Last night, we sailed into the storm at just a little after eight. The waves and wind became something fierce, something that I only read when reading novels like the perfect storm and the old man and the sea. The waves crashed down on the deck with all. the ferocity of a freight train and the howling of the wind sounded like a banshee screaming into our ears. All of us, save for Anastasia, who was cleaning up dinner dishes and the

galley were topside to keep the lunging lion straight and true. But the storm battered about our sailboat like it was a child's plaything in the bath. I don't know how big the swells became, but we would ride up one and almost drop in a 75 or 80 degree angle down into the trough before the next set. The lightning flashed, momentarily illuminating the hell we'd sailed into like it was the middle of daytime, and the thunder boomed and rattled my eardrums. Daryl and I were at the helm, fighting to keep the rudder straight while the others were working the rigging, and the sails. Polly was working the rigging underneath the mainsail, when it happened. A sudden change of wind slammed into us from the port side, shifting the boat sideways.

It also caused the boom to change direction suddenly, swinging. swinging across the deck like a charging bowl. Sander and Winston managed to duck under it, but Holly didn't. A huge wood and fiberglass projectile caught my friend on the side of the head and shoulders in its arc, and before anyone knew what was happening, she was gone, knocked over the railing and into the churning waves.

For a moment as we panicked and looked around us, I thought I saw her in a flash of lightning, about 15 yards behind the boat, waving her arms and her mouth open in a scream she bobbed in the waves, kept afloat by her life jacket. But when the next flash came, not even four seconds later, I saw nothing. We couldn't turn around in the storm, not unless we wanted to swamp ourselves and sink. We could do nothing but helplessly sail away from our friend. Zander hasn't been able to stop crying. Holly and he were an item, and losing his life partner

has destroyed him in a way I can only imagine. The waves have lessened some sense, but our boat has taken major damage. Both the radio and radar have been damaged in the storm, making any kind of call for help impossible, as well as knowing our exact location. To make matters worse, there seems to be something wrong with the propeller for the diesel engine, as when we discovered some tiers in the mainsail, we lowered them to repair and continue under engine power. But though the engine roared, we didn't move at all. Darrell says he'll check it out once the storm lets up a little more. For now, all happiness of this trip has flooded out of all of us. Now it's marked by the loss of one of us. I just honestly want to get to England at this point. We'll write later.

July 21st, 2004, 3.13 p.m. The storm finally abated enough for Daryl to check on the prop. As the waves petered out, and we seemed to move into the eye of the storm, he donned a pair of flippers and a mask and jumped overboard to inspect it. When he popped his head above the waves, his face bore a look of confusion and worry. Treading water beside the boat, he told us that the prop had been sheared half off by something. The one remaining blade had been bent so that it couldn't turn anymore, but the rest was just gone. I remember his exact words. I've sailed for 15 years, and I've never seen something like that happen in open water.

You usually have to run aground to do damage like that. Unnerved myself, I asked him to come back aboard. As he swam back to the swim ladder on the stern, I swear I saw something below the waves. A shape darker than the rest of the ocean, one that seemed to move on its own power, slowly rising up towards us. Whatever it was, it looked big.

I fully admit, when I saw that dark shape, I couldn't help but reach over the transom and grab Darrell by the arm, almost wrenching him out of the water. It's beyond ridiculous, I know, but, divin our recent events, I feel on edge. Hell, we all do. Now, I sit behind the helm in the cockpit as I watch Anastasia, and Xander try and sew up the torn sails.

I hope they'll do good progress soon. I want to be out of this area before nightfall, and more unnerving is the fact that that ammonia-like smell is back. This time, Winston smelled it as well, holding his nose and complaining about that god-awful stench. We looked around but saw nothing. I'm beginning to regret being the one who thought this trip of ours up over a decade ago. Right later.

July 21st, 2004, 6.13 p.m. Daryl's gone. What the actual hell is going on. Just before dusk fell, he came back topside, in one arm holding a waterproof flashlight, in the other, a brand new propeller. He told us that he'd brought a spare along in case of any emergency, and we felt a wave of relief wash over us that we'd be able to get moving. The storm wall was fast approaching, and Zander and Anastasia hadn't finished mending the sails yet. He also had a yellow pony bottle, which he pushed the regulator into his mouth, and after picking up a wrench, put on his

flippers and mask, and slipped back overboard. We all saw his light click on, and he slipped out of sight underneath the boat. Every couple of seconds, we saw a burst of bubbles break the surface, as he breathed out and a quick flash of his flashlight swing around. For a few minutes, we felt the tension ease up, and despite the grim mood from Holly's death, Winston told us a joke about sharks and a razor-lined surfboard, which made us laugh a bit. But then, that jovial mood deflated as quickly as a bully popping a kid's party balloon.

Hey, what's going on? We all heard Anastasia cry, and we looked over the railing down into the water. Darrell's light was dancing about as if he was turning. rapidly around from one side to the other, the air bubbles coming in faster streams. Then two things happened in rapid succession. The first was that the beam from his light disappeared. It was as if he just snapped it off, one second it was there, whipping around, the next it was gone. And the second was that a huge stream of bubbles came to the surface at once. It was only for a second and then, nothing. We waited and waited, the seconds drawing into minutes, but our friend, and one of our,

two leaders never resurfaced. It was as if he'd never even been there. We debated for a few minutes about having someone else go into the water and after many refusals, I finally relented and grabbed a mask. I wouldn't be going in all the way, though, I would just drop down the swim ladder enough to see under the boat, and that was it. As I stepped down and felt the freezing water touch my feet, I felt goose bumps rise all over my arms and legs. I couldn't understand why, but I felt my primal flight or fight instincts kicking in as I stuck my head in the water and pointed another flashlight around. I saw no sign of him.

The water under the boat was completely empty of life. No fish, no sharks, nothing. And no darrell. I swung my head around, looking off into the gathering gloom, but still saw nothing. As I turned and looked down into the depths, however, I swear I saw a flash of changing color. It could have been a trick of the ocean. but I swear I saw one patch turn from dark blue, almost black, to a very dark maroon. That was enough to make me yank my head out of the water and climb back up from the swim platform.

He's not there, I said to the others. He has just disappeared. We all agreed then that nobody else would enter the water. We take our chances being battered around by the storm. Currently we've started the bilge pumps before it reaches us. I can hear them roaring away in the recesses of the hull as I sit at the gate. galley table and write this, and I can't help but feel a creeping sense of dread as I close my eyes and recall, that dark shape I thought I saw, plus the change in color I swear I saw in the deep, but I can't let myself lose my cool. We all need to keep a level head if we hope to get back to dry

land. I'll write again soon. I hope to God it's with better news. July 23, 2004, 2.30 in the morning. If you gaze too long into the abyss, you'll find the abyss also gazes back at you. That may not be the exact quote, but who gives a dam? Not when you've looked into the eye of a monster. Still, I should tell you what happened. The storm reached us that night, and all throughout it and much of the next day we were battered by it. I thought so many times that the wooden hull would break apart, dropping us all into the monstrous waves and stinging rain. But somehow, she stayed afloat. It's true what they say, they don't make them like this anymore.

As daylight broke, though, the storm increased in its ferocity, and we were forced to venture topside to steer the boat into the waves to keep from capsizing. Myself, Zander, and Winston went up after dawning life jackets. We told Anastasia to stay below for her own safety. When we emerged, it was like stepping directly into hell. The rain tore at our faces and the wind almost completely drowned out the sound of our voices. Lightning pierced the dark and we worked with our remaining flashlights to raise what little sails we had left whole and then began to try and steer towards what our compass and charts indicated was England.

We had no idea how far we were from it or how blown off course the storm had shoved us, but we had to try. For three hours we were battered and beaten, but we seemed to make headway. That was when a familiar sensation struck our boat. The same concrete slamming sensation as before, making it feel as if we'd come to a dead stop in the waves, which began to wash hard down into the cockpit. Thankfully the main hatch was closed, so no water got down below.

What the hell did we hit? I heard Winston shout to be heard over the howling wind. Hell if I know. Zander called back to him, and I saw his flashlight beam shine down into the water. I don't see anything. His voice cut off. You don't see what?

Winston yelled back, but there was no answer from him. Feeling a piercing fear sees me, I pointed my own flashlight beam up to where he'd been, near the bow. It illuminated him, still kneeling and clutching at the railing, staring down into the sea. Zander, what the hell's the matter with you? I screamed as loud as I could. Slowly, he turned to look up and back at me.

What I saw made me feel like ice. I have never seen Xander even a tiny bit afraid before. We always said he was the most courageous out of our group. But now his face had turned a shade of pale I thought only corpses could hold, and his eyes were about as wide as they could get. His hand holding his flashlight trembled. As I looked, I smelled that putrid stench once more. This time, though, it was overpowering.

That was when I heard Winston's scream. I swung my beam back portside, and the beam. Oh, good God Almighty, the beam landed. on a scene that, however much longer am I alive. I'll see whenever I close my eyes. Winston was still there, but so was something else, something which had come from the sea itself. My hand trembles as I write this next part.

It was a tentacle, an honest-to-god tentacle, looking like something out of the old 20,000 leagues under the sea movie from the 50s. But, unlike that, this was very much alive. I saw every detail in slow motion. The giant club of the tentacle, big enough to wrap around the mast and filled with dozens of huge, wide suckers. The arm of the tentacle, as thick as two men standing next to each other, it all was a dark maroon color. And then I saw Winston.

Oh, God, no. The tentacle had wrapped around my friend with the strength of seven boa constrictors, squeezing him so tightly I saw his face turn red, even in the biting wind and rain. He feebly pressed his hands to it, trying in vain to push it away. And then, as quick as one of the bolts of lightning flashing overhead, he was gone. It was so quick I only saw it as a blur, hearing a gigantic splash as he was yanked below the waves. I forgot all about steering the boat and scrambled for the side in some misguided, and foolish attempt to save him. I pointed the lights beam down into the dark waters, and me running, do I wish I hadn't?

because it pointed directly into an eye, an inhuman eye the size of a wall clock, one which looked back at me with a cold and predatory gaze. The pupil contracted in the light, and it shot back underneath the boat. To the other side, Zander, I turned to scream for my other friend to get away from the railing, but he was already gone. I hadn't even heard him get taken over the wind and the rain. His flashlight rolled around on the deck near where he'd been kneeling, but he was gone, That's when I saw another tentacle rise above the railing a few feet in front of me.

It felt around on the deck, seeming to move by a sense of touch as it searched for its next meal. From me, all courage left me, and I abandoned anything topside, and dashed below. I slammed the hatch close behind me and locked it, knowing full well if it really wanted to, the tentacles could easily rip it off its track. Anastasia was shaking when I ducked down below and saw her. She'd been looking through the side windows and seen what had happened to the other two. To Winston, her husband, as much as I was terrified, I went to her. I held her in my arms to console her, and we sat there, sitting on the hardwood floor,

listening to the sickening sounds of the tentacles moving underneath us over the hole and breaching the waves to search the deck. After a while, it stopped. The storm lessened a little, the waves ceasing their merciless battering of our boat. Anastasia finally drifted off to sleep in my arms, and I carried her to the forward birth. She needs sleep. So do I, but I can't bring myself to fall asleep. I know I'll be haunted by nightmares of that tentacle, and I, and I know it's still there. I can still smell that ammonia scent even through the closed windows and hatch. For now, though, I'll just curl up

on the galley seats. I don't know what else to do. There's nothing else I can do. Who gives a crap about the date. This will be my final entry in this journal. I don't even know how many days we've drifted aimlessly on the waves anymore. The storm finally passed and the waves have remained relatively calm ever since. If it weren't for knowing what lies beneath them, I might almost call it peaceful. It's anything but though. Our food and fresh water is almost completely used up. All our remaining sails tore in the storm and Anastasias in no shape to sew them up. And, Unfortunately, I never learned how. It wouldn't matter anyways.

Our rudder is gone. I know because when I opened the main hatch and stuck my head out, I saw it floating on its side about a half mile away from us. No doubt torn off by that creature, leaving us completely dead in the water. I know what it is now. I was too terrified and confused to put together the pieces in my mind, but now, all the marine biology knowledge and my brain has allowed me to identify it. The orchidthewth is ducks, a giant squid, one far larger than has been seen by scientists,

before, at least 60 or 70 feet long, judging by the size of the eye I saw. A creature that has for centuries terrorized sailors, giving rise to the legend of the Cracken, pulling ships below the waves and preying upon the floating sailors. So many marine biologists and historians said that the stories of ships being pulled down to their doom were conjecture, wise tales. I can confidently say that they're absolutely full of crap. The stories were right on the money. The lunging lion is slowly sinking.

The pumps gave out yesterday, both Anastasia and I heard them quit. When I went topside to check on them, looking around as if I were an owl to make sure I wouldn't be grabbed, and lifted the hatch to the engine compartment, I saw water in it. For a while, we tried bailing it out, but soon gave up. What's the point, anyways? We can't call for help. we can't escape and the dinghy lashed to the deck as we be set upon by the beast. That damn smell is always here now, one that signals its presence,

along with the scrapes of its tentacles along the hull. We're screwed any way we look at it. And this morning, Anastasia stepped overboard. I don't think she could take the waiting anymore. I awoke just in time to see it. She'd become closed off since the day before, barely saying a word. I couldn't make out what she was thinking. But I awoke and saw the hatch to the cockpit was open.

Feeling a new sense of dread course through my veins, I ran to the open hatch, just in time to see her step off the stern railing. I heard the splash of her dropping into the water, the sound of the tentacles rubbing on the hull stopped, and then nothing. Silence. I'm alone now.

Well, not completely alone. That thing is still there. The rubbing and scraping has started again. As I write this, the boat has sunk lower into the water. The entire transom is almost underwater, and as it bobs up and down in the waves, I can see it, sitting just below the surface behind the boat and waiting patiently, staring at me with that cold, unblinking eye.

It knows as well as I do that I don't have lung, which is why I'm going to place this journal into a bag after I'm finished writing this. I'll seal it with a roll of duct tape which floats around near my feet, and then I'll throw it overboard, as far away as I can. Maybe, with some luck, it'll wash ashore somewhere, so someone can know what happened to us. The transom is lower in the water now,

and the tentacles are beginning to reach over into the cockpit. I'm going to stuff myself into the forward berth as far as I can, and shut the cabin door. If I'm lucky, maybe I'll drown before it can reach me. I don't want to be torn apart by that monster's beak, like the others were. Please, whatever you do. Beware the open ocean.

Monsters, real ones, dwell out here. Dubai. 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. This episode is brought to you by Netflix's remarkably bright creatures. What if a Pacific octopus held the key to a mystery that could heal your heart? Well, that's Tova's reality. An elderly widow working at an aquarium.

Tova forms an unlikely friendship with the cramudgeonly Marcellus, whose remarkable intelligence leads her to a life-changing discovery. Watch remarkably bright creatures with your remarkable moms this Mother's Day weekend. Only on Netflix May 8th. I could hear the twigs cracking beneath my feet as I walked through the forest. The trees loomed ominously above me, their foliage blocking out the moonlight and casting a veil of darkness around me. I tried to keep calm, but my heart was racing with anticipation as I nervously surveyed the area. Suddenly, I spotted something in the corner of my eye, a shadow moving quickly between two trees in the distance.

I froze in fear as I watched it slowly slink away into the darkness and vanish from something. sight. That was when I started to notice them, figures in the shadows, standing still like statues and watching me from all directions with piercing eyes. Sweat was running down my face as I slowly backed away, trying to keep an eye on them at all times without drawing attention to myself. Then, without warning, they started to move towards me, slowly at first and then faster and faster until they were sprinting across the ground towards me with alarming speed. Panic said and as I nervously turned around and started running for my life, their footsteps echoing behind me in unison like an eerie chorus of death. As I ran, flashes of black figures made their way through my mind,

tall and slender humanoids with pale skin that seemed almost translucent in the moonlight. It was like a vision from some forgotten nightmare. It felt like hours before I finally reached safety, but by then my legs were trembling so badly that I could hardly stand up straight. Then suddenly it hit me. Those black figures weren't following me. They had been chasing something else, something that had been lurking in the shadows just like them. A chill ran down my spine as I realized what it was. A pack of wild creatures, black as night and completely silent in the darkness. I quickly made my way back home, never wanting to set foot in that place again. I still remember those black figures in the forest, their eyes filled with an eerie hunger that will haunt me forever.

I had heard rumors of mysterious creatures living in the depths of the woods, but nothing had prepared me for this. In the days and weeks that followed, I could still feel their presence lingering in the air around me, like an invisible cloak of fear that refused to leave my side. I started to avoid that part of the forest at all costs, making sure to keep a safe distance between myself and those dark figures. But deep down, I knew that this was only the beginning, if I ever wanted to find out what really lurked in those shadows, I would have to go back and face my fears head on. So one night I mustered up enough courage to venture out once more into the darkness, hoping against all odds that I would make it out alive. As I slowly approached the edge of the forest, I started to feel a strange

presence in the air around me, a presence that seemed to be emanating from those same black figures I had seen before. I could feel my heart pounding as they slowly emerged from the shadows, their pale skin glowing in the moonlight, and their eyes staring directly at me with a menacing hunger. They seemed to be waiting for something, almost as if they wanted me to join them in their hunt for whatever lurk beyond the trees. I was so scared that I could hardly speak, but eventually I managed to muster up enough courage to take a few tentative steps forward, somehow drawn towards them like a moth to a flame. And that was when it had to have to be. And that was when it happened, all at once, like some sort of silent command, all of them started running into the

darkness and disappeared from sight. They seemed to be leading me somewhere, but with each step I took, my fear grew stronger and stronger and my courage began to waver. Eventually we reached our destination, an old abandoned cabin deep in the woods, and without warning they stopped dead in their tracks and began to circle around it silently, like predators stalking their prey. Suddenly one of them stepped forward towards me and pointed towards the cabin door, it was almost as if he were asking me permission to enter. My heart was pounding so hard that I thought it might burst out of my chest. But before I could move or even think about what was happening, they all vanished into thin air. Left alone in total darkness, I tentatively stepped forward and opened up the door, only to find

myself face to face with what appeared to be an ancient ritual chamber filled with dozens of black figures wearing hooded cloaks. Tanick said, and as they all turned round to face me at once, my legs felt like jelly as they slowly advanced closer towards me. Were they going to hurt me? Were they going to off me? Before I knew it, one of them had grabbed hold of my arm. He had a firm grip on it, but his touch felt strangely warm and comforting,

almost as if he wanted nothing more than for me to understand something important. Suddenly he pulled back his hood revealing his face. He was a middle-aged man with kind eyes and an air of wisdom about him, and immediately my fear began to subside. He spoke in a gentle voice that seemed strangely familiar. You are not safe here, child, he said. These are dark forces at work here, forces you do not understand. So please go home now.

Then he let go of my arm, almost as if he knew that his words had been understood. Before turning back around and rejoining his companions, who then quickly vanished into thin air, without another word. I stood there for what felt like hours until finally gathering enough strength within myself to stumble home, shaken yet somehow reassured by this mysterious encounter. When morning came, it was as if nothing happened. Everything looked perfectly normal again, yet deep down inside something had changed forever from then on whenever night came calling, no matter how scared or tired I become,

I can't help but feel drawn back into those woods again. Hoping against hope that I will find answers hidden amongst those ever-present black figures. So every night I set off once more into the darkness hoping this time they'll make it out alive. Little by little I start understanding more about those mysterious beings, how they move together in unison like an army protecting something hidden behind those trees. Yet every time even after getting close enough, I still can't figure out what it's as these cloak protectors are so desperately trying to keep away from prying eyes. but then one night after months searching something happens,

one figure separates himself from the others. As though beckoning me closer, he starts walking away from them. A few moments later we stop before an ancient tree surrounded by thick fog. He pulls aside its heavy branches revealing what looks like an entrance. Without thinking twice, I enter. Inside is an underground chamber filled with statues depicting many strange creatures. Suddenly everything becomes clear. These creatures have been guarding something hidden from us humans for centuries.

Just when I turn around ready to leave, the figure stops me. His gaze remains fixed on mind for what feels like eternity until finally speaking. This place is not meant for your kind. He said, It is best you leave now. I tried going in, but he strongly pushed me out, and the entrance closed. I tried as hard as I could, but it wasn't possible. I had to go back to my house, but I will find them again. Introducing the new Best Skin Ever Ultra Slim Precision Concealer from Sephora Collection.

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in the world. Our day, however, was to go geocatching using a small GPS. that only told direction and distance to the cache. After several hours of stopping along the road, hiking a bit and finding several of these geocaches, we made it to the small town at the end of the road. We had a late lunch and we were planning to go back down, but my wife pointed out there was still time to find one more cache before it got dark.

All of us agreed and saw there was one fairly close, less than two miles away. Her family had a small sedan at the time and when we saw it was down the dirt road on the backside of the mountain, we parked and started walking there. It was only a little over half a mile at this point, so we didn't think anything of it. This road goes along a fairly steep section,

so there are lots of switchbacks. After what was probably an hour, the GPS said we still had just under a quarter mile to go. My wife, her father, and I were having no trouble, but her sister, who was 13 or 14 at the time, and her mom were not as fast so the pace was quite slow. Finally, we got within 20 feet of the cache, a dense patch of forest with lots of fallen trees and underbrush. The sun was really low now, maybe even already setting.

It was getting dark, fast, and we still hadn't found this cache. I looked at my wife, pointing out we didn't have any flashlights, and that we really needed to head back. She nodded and told her parents with her mom quickly agreeing that we all needed to head back. dejected the five of us started back up the road. It was even slower going than when we were going down and soon the dark closed around us. Luckily there was enough moonlight to let us see a few dozen feet in front of us, but not much else. I kept trying to push the pace even though my wife's mom and sister were struggling, telling them it's just a bit further. My wife came beside me,

holding my arm and pressing against me. Please be nice, my sister is really scared. I told her okay and apologize to her sister, saying that I'd walk more slowly for them. At this point I was leading us, my wife still holding my arm and her sister's hand, with her mom and dad right behind us. A weird sensation started running through me then. I told my wife to stay right behind me because I needed my hands to be free. My gate lowered and widened. Every noise from the dark caught my attention.

I didn't move my head, only my eyes. It didn't matter. Everything was dark except the faintest outlawed. line of trees, and the occasional boulder. I couldn't see much of anything, but I had to look. I need a knife. My wife made a sound which I took to be a question to my statement. I need a knife, almost grunting the words out, a big knife. Why do you need that? Her mom asked just above a whisper. I shook my head, barely moving it at all, I just do. Every hair on my body stood on end. That primal, animal instinct that takes hold with either fight or flight, I was ready to

to fight. The forest was quiet now, not even the sound of wind through the pines. I remembered hearing somewhere that when a predator moves, nothing else makes a sound. All I heard was the soft crunch of gravel beneath our feet, not even breathing. I'm not religious at all, in fact I'm a borderline atheist, but at that moment I was praying to the spirit of the forest, the mountain, sky, anything that would listen that I was that predator. After a few hours we finally reached the main road, and we relaxed. Got into the car and drove down the mountain in silence. The next day we went back to her parents' house to visit.

Nothing exciting. I was watching an NFL game and having to explain everything to my wife's mom, which was fun, especially the yellow line that she didn't know was superimposed on the broadcast, and not actually on the field for the players to see. At one point it was just my wife, her father, and I sitting alone in the living room, and I started talking about how weird I felt while we were watching. back to the car last night, telling him everything. Yeah, he looked at the two of us, speaking in his deadpan manner,

I really wanted a big gun, but I didn't want to scare your mother and sister. Why's that? He looked at both of us, there was something following us, some sort of predator. This wasn't deadpan. He was serious. I looked back a few times and saw eyes, big ones. That primal feeling took hold of me again, even inside a house during the day. It was big too, his gaze went.

into the distance as his mind replayed whatever it was he had seen the first time it was on the ground, maybe 50 feet away, then it was up in the trees, and I mean up in the trees. My body shook with every beat of my heart. The last time I saw it, it jumped from the ground into the treetops and was keeping pace with us there, hunting us from above. I kissed my wife the first time I had ever done so in front of either of her parents and told her I loved her more than anything. None of us ever spoke of it again. I still go hiking even more so since my wife passed. But now I have two rules. I only hike during the day. I always carry a big knife. This spring Uber Eats has you covered. Whether you're celebrating mom, dad, or your favorite grad. Not all of us are great planners,

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Additionally, during the week, my dad normally left for work at 2 a.m., so I had always felt like it my job to be the man of the house because he was gone during the times when you would imagine something sketchy happening. However, on this night, because it was the weekend, my dad was home. I woke up to the sound of my brother's voice trying to get my attention. We had separate rooms upstairs and coming out of our rooms you could look down over the banister and to see our front door. When I woke up, it took a few moments to get out of the haze and realize what was going on. I looked at the clock and it was around 2.30 a.m. and my brother told me there were two men at our front door. Now this really woke me up. We quietly walk out of my room and peek over to look down at

the front door. When we looked, there was no one at the door, but I noticed my parents off to the side, out of view of the glass on the front door. I whispered down to my dad, and he told me there were two guys who had been talking to each other and knocking on the door. Hearing my dad say this freaked me out even more. I went back into my room and grabbed my pistol,

quickly shuffling down the stairs after looking to make sure they weren't at the door. If they had been, they would have easily seen me coming down the stairs as it is in direct view of the door. My brother is right behind me as we head over to where my parents are, whispering to try and find out what is going on.

My parents had awoken to the sound of our dog barking and had come out to find these two men knocking loudly at the door. At this point, the men return and begin knocking again, despite the fact that no one had come to the door and our dog was still actively barking. The fact that they were there at this time, in a location where houses are spread out hundreds of yards, and still knocking with a dog barking, made the situation even more terrifying.

After a couple of minutes the men walked away, and we all shuffle across the kitchen into the family room to peek out the windows into our driveway, which is lit up by our outside light. There was a black Cadillac sitting there, but no one was inside from what we could see. Immediately the question was where did these guys go. They weren't in their car and they were no longer at the front door. Unfortunately, we figured out the answer when the handles on our back French doors started jiggling. They were actively trying to enter the back of our house which enters into the kitchen. At this point, I just remember my mom frantically saying David, to my dad, as pure terror, overwhelmed her. Then two things happened, adrenaline filled my body as I prepared my handgun,

horrified at the very real possibility that I might have to shoot these men. Secondly, my dad finally grabbed the phone, called the police, and calmly told them what was happening. Thankfully, after a minute of jiggling, they stopped at the back door and disappeared again, only to return to their knocking at the front. However, at this point, several minutes had gone by and suddenly we saw the local police fly up in multiple cruisers with their lights on. As they whipped into our driveway and front yard, the two men bolted away, attempting to run the long way around the house across the driveway. One of them disappeared out of our view, but the other one was intercepted by an officer yelling,

for him to get on the ground. He didn't, and he was immediately tased, and fell on the ground. Some of the officers went around the house after the other guy, and one of them came to talk to my dad, and I as we came out the front, they ended up finding the other man hiding in my sister's little playhouse in the backyard. It appears both of them were drunk and her high, as the one who hid had cocaine on him.

While they were both arrested that night, we never did find out what they were charged with or what happened to them. Needless to say, the whole experience was not fun. So, random men at our door in the middle of the night. Let's not meet again.