Just Creepy: Scary Stories - TERRIFYING SKINWALKER SCARY STORIES

Episode Date: April 10, 2024

These are 2 TERRIFYING SKINWALKER SCARY STORIES Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►https://www.reddit.com/user/Zchaupt/ ►https://www.reddit.com/user/Physical-Speaker-457/ Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:15:11 Story 2 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #skinwalker #cryptids #wendigo #dogman #nationalpark #deepwoods #forest 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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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.

Bad advice? You talking to me? Kayak, got that right. Growing up in Arizona, myths and legends are a part of life. Native traditions, mystic places, vortexes, UFO abductions, and dozens of other stories of the unknown that I always found fascinating. I grew up spending a lot of time wandering around the desert and the mountains, hunting, camping, etc., so I felt very at home in the wilderness. One late spring day on one of my many hiking adventures, I wandered off the trail and after several hours came upon a small group of old mud adobe houses. A few people heard me coming and came out of the houses to investigate, and after apparently making the collective decision that I was not a threat, one of the elders,

dressed in old-style traditional native clothing, and a headdress came over to greet me. The man spoke slowly and told me that I had wandered onto a Navajo reservation and asked me if I was lost, or if I needed help. When I told him no, I was lost. But intentionally, he chuckled and invited me in to eat with his family. The next several hours were one of the great experiences of my life. The whole thing was like being thrown back in time. While we ate and talked, others from the surrounding houses began coming over to join us, and I got the feeling they didn't get many outside visitors. We shared stories for hours about life, family, their history in the area, and time spent in the wild, and the longer we talked, the more they opened up and the more

interesting the elder's stories got. Throughout the time, there was one man who never spoke. He just sat out of the circle listening and watching me. At one point, I told them I did what I called my walkabouts every year around September, where I would go out by myself into the wilderness for three to four weeks at a time, and this got the attention of the one silent old man. When I finished, he came over to the circle around the fire, sat directly on the ground in front of me, and asked me to join him on the ground. He told me that years ago he used to do the same thing and went on to tell me about the canyon he went to. He described it as a dangerous but magic place, and that I would see the world differently if I came back. If? It must be for dramatic

effect. When he finished, he invited me over to his home. The house was small, and through an open door in the back room, I could see it was filled with various animal pelts, coyotes, and wolves. He walked over and closed that door, then picked up and handed me an old map and some written directions that seemed like he had been holding on to them for a long time, and just walked away into that back room and closed the door behind him. It was late, and one of the families had invited me to stay the night, which I gladly did. The next morning, as I prepared to leave, one of the old women came over to me with something in her hands, handed me a talisman, and simply said, dip your bullets in the white ash at the hottest part of the fire. Then, just walk

away. September came, and as I packed for my walkabout, I saw the talisman in a drawer, and something felt right about taking it with me. After a beautiful drive, I was very happy to find the Forest Service Road marked on the old map. The entrance to the area was remote and overgrown, and tough to get to, even in my Jeep. It took me much longer to get to than expected, so I decided to make camp and start the hike in the morning. After a few hours on a trail that looked like it had been forgotten, I came to a stream and the entrance to the secret valley. It was a narrow crack in the tall cliffs with about four feet of water running gently through, but too narrow for a kayak or canoe. I hoisted my gear over my head and began to wade sideways through the chest-deep water.

The crack and the cliffs seemed to go on forever, but after almost two hours I came to the place where it opened up into a small lake in an incredible valley surrounded by tall rock faces. This may have been the most remote place I have ever been, in the sense that there was no sign that people had ever been there, no trash, no bullet casings, not even the evidence of campfires. My first night there was the quietest night I have ever spent in the wild. No birds, no frogs, not even crickets, but I didn't feel like I was alone there. In the morning after breakfast, I headed out on my first exploratory hike to explore my new home for the next couple of weeks. After being stalked by a mountain lion on a hike about ten years ago, I make a point of now bringing a pistol with me when I'm out wilderness hiking. After some looking around, I found a narrow path that appeared to be a game trail that led up the side of one of the cliffs and towards what looked like caves from the canyon floor.

I made my way up to them and came upon an entrance that was much larger than it appeared from below. I made some noise to alert any possible animals I was there and made my way inside. The cave was an expansive single chamber that went back a couple of hundred feet. As I walked, I inspected as much as I could see with my light, but there were no tracks of any kind in the dirt besides mine. So I decided I was alone in there and pushed on toward the rear of the cave. As I came around the last bend in the cave and approached the end, my headlamp panned across a large pile of bones, some animal, some human, and a very old-looking small candle sitting on a natural stone shelf.

This is the first thing that has scared me for as long as I can remember. But focusing on my wits, I remembered that there were no other tracks in the cave, and figured it was all from a long time ago. I was still a little uneasy as I exited the cave and was ready to get back. to camp. As I came out into the light, about 75 feet away, there was the largest wolf I have ever seen that looked like it was coming down from standing on its hind legs. It dropped down to all fours on a rock and just began staring at me, not growling or bearing its teeth, just staring. I pulled my 45 and fired two shots to the side of it to scare it away, but it didn't even flinch.

Not only have I never seen a wolf in this part of northern Arizona, but I have never seen a wild animal that did not at least flinch at the sound of a gunshot. We both stood there staring at each other for a moment. I turned and set my backpack down to grab my binoculars and get a little closer look, but when I turned back, the wolf was gone. I made my way cautiously down the path back towards camp. I have encountered wolves before, and usually it's not the one wolf you can see that should worry you. It's the ones you can't see, so I was extra cautious for the return trip. Back at camp I made sure my gun was fully loaded and got my recurve bow strung just in case the wolves came back. I have seen plenty of predatory animals on my adventures. It's a part of being in the wilderness, so I wasn't too worried, just prepared myself the best I could, and went over to the lake to go fishing. Within about 20 minutes, I caught two of the biggest brown trout I've ever caught, so I decided to stop fishing for the day and take a swim. Back at camp, I made a fire,

cleaned my trout, and made dinner while the sun went down. As soon as the sun went down, all of the life in the canyon seemed to go silent again. As I put out my fire and prepared for bed, I noticed there was a small flicker of light coming from the area where the cave I had explored earlier up the cliffside, which didn't make sense. It was a moonless night, and stars don't reflect that way. It couldn't have been the candle I had seen. It was too old and would not have burned so bright. I decided to keep my gun close and try to get some sleep.

I would investigate the cave again the next day. When I woke at sunrise, there was a haze along the ground throughout the whole canyon floor, but as the sun rose, it disappeared quickly, and the area came back to life. I made my breakfast, gathered my gun and bow, and headed back up towards the cave. when i reached the entrance i saw there were still no tracks besides mine around the entrance and decided to push up the hill further just a little further up i came upon the entrance to another cave much smaller than the first one there was a small flat landing with a large heavily twisted juniper tree that to my absolute surprise had many small objects hanging from thin old-looking ropes tied to the branches there were bones but there were also old things definitely made by humans and looked like they were old Native American artifacts. Thinking I might have found the spot where the old man I met on the reservation had stayed,

when he was there decades ago, I went into the cave. This cave was much different from the first one. Just a few feet in, I noticed the walls were covered in what looked like ceremonial cave paintings. As I pushed further back, the cave got dramatically colder, much colder than it should have been, and the walls were completely covered with the paintings the entire way. When I reached the back of the cave, I was not prepared for what I saw. There was what looked like an old altar made of wood and bones.

As I looked around, I saw that a little before the back of the cave, there was another shaft in the ceiling that went up, and on a ledge about 25 feet up sat the small figure of what appeared to be a woman. She was small and pale with her face painted white, and wearing something like a crown made of woven branches with two small antlers at the front. I stopped and stared for a few minutes, and the figure did not move,

so I assumed that it was mummified remains from a long time ago. Not wanting to disturb a burial site, I turned to walk back out of the cave, but I began to walk. I heard what sounded like a faint voice in an unknown, ancient language. I instinctively looked back up towards the figure, but it was gone.

I was immediately terrified and ran from the cave as fast as I could get out, but my headlamp flickered and died. I made my way out, feeling along the wall to find my way, and the whole way I felt like there was something right behind me. When I saw the first light from the cave entrance, I began to sprint toward it. Just before I made it out, I looked back, and there was nothing, so I slowed down, but I could still hear the faint voice, and the volume never changed. When I got outside, all the bones and artifacts hanging from the tree, and I was were gone. I ran down the path as fast as I could, headed back to my campsite by the lake.

Just as I reached the floor of the canyon, I noticed the large wolf at the tree line to my left, but this time it stayed standing upright on its hind legs. I stopped running, hoping not to initiate its predatory response to chase me, and again, it just stood there staring at me. I reached my campsite safely, and immediately began packing up. It was a little bit of the camp site. It was too late in the day to make it out before dark, and I did not want to make the hike out at night with all that was going on. I moved my tent so it would back up to the canyon wall by the crack in the cliffside, so I didn't have to worry about anything sneaking up behind me. I built my fire much larger and knew I wasn't going to get any sleep that night. Just as the sun was going

down, I began to hear noises coming from the trees, and I felt like I was being hunted. Finally, in the last light of day, I saw the wolf slowly walking around by, where the path led out of the trees, and it began to slowly walk towards me. This time I drew my gun and fired towards the creature intending to hit it, and while I saw a couple hit the dirt around it, several bullets hit it. Several rounds from a 45 will at least slow down anything I've ever encountered, but this giant wolf kept walking towards me like nothing had happened. I continued to fire at it until the inevitable click of an empty magazine. I reached down and fumbled around in my backpack looking for my other magazines to reload, and as I lifted it, the talisman the old woman gave me fell out onto the ground. I picked it up and put it around my neck and immediately remembered what she had told me.

Dip your bullets in the white ash. I looked around but didn't see my backup magazines, so I grabbed my bow, pulled an arrow that was tipped with a hunting broadhead, and dipped it into the white ashes, drew, and fired. I hit the creature just in front of its right hip, and it let out a noise somewhere between a growl and a person screaming that made my blood curdle. I can hear that noise in my head to this day.

It immediately turned and ran back to the trees, and in the flicker of the firelight, I saw the small woman with the antler crown standing there waiting for it. They both retreated into the trees, and for the rest of the night, I could hear the same faint voice I had heard in the cave. I spent the night outside of my tent, as awake as I had ever been, but no longer afraid,

and at dawn I finished packing up so I could get out of that canyon. The next spring, I went back to the small group of houses on the Navajo reservation I had found the year before. I was wearing the talisman as a necklace, and the first person to greet me was the woman who had given it to me, and she ran up to give me a big hug. You heard me, was all she said. I asked the group about the man who had given me the map,

as I was almost desperate to talk to him about the experience I had, so I could compare it to his own. They told me that he had disappeared shortly after I had visited them the first time and had not been back. Strangely, when I tried to tell them what had happened to me, no one would let me tell the story. And the oldest man there who sat in the corner kept mumbling the words, Yenal Lushie.

We all once again sat and shared other stories of life and a meal. Before I left the next morning, I found the old woman who had given me the talisman and offered it back to her. She smiled and told me I had a good heart, then just closed my hands around it telling me to keep it to watch over my next walkabout. I went back to that small village on the reservation several times over the next ten years or so, till I moved to Oregon. But they never let me tell them what happened. I never went back to the canyon, and while curiosity sometimes gets the best of me, I don't think I ever will. I've been lurking around on the forums for a while now, and I was about to give up until I found this thread. I've read some similar experiences to my own, so I figured you all would be able to bring more clarity to all of this.

This all happened back during this past summer in the state of Kentucky. To protect his identity, and out of respect for his family, I will refer to my friends, as James. I was spending time together with James, celebrating his completion of finals and my recent promotion, drinking to our hearts content, and we had the thirst of a Norse warrior at a midsummer festival. Starting with a nice bottle of Japanese whiskey that lasted all but 30 minutes, we moved on to something a little classier, Jim Beam. We sipped until day became night, and everything got fuzzy around the edges. James took a long pull off the bottle before he turned to me and asked if I wanted to go for a night walk

to our favorite stargazing spot. I obliged by taking the final swig. This was just one of the things James and I would do every weekend, and surprisingly, our parents were okay with it. Ever since we had science class together as kids, we loved stars in outer space, and the clearing was like our own private research facility. We had a large amount of forested area near where we lived,

and the clearing was just a mile and a half into the wood, I would pack my budget telescope and we would get nice views of the moon in its differing phases, as well as nearby planets and visible galaxies. After high school, James had saved up a couple of thousand dollars to spend on one of those fancy scopes that could be remote controlled and could take HD videos. We would often talk about black holes, the inevitable heat death of the universe, or if there were other Earth-like planets out there with life like ours. We could even recite all the differing spectral types of stars from memory.

It was the foundation of our friendship, though James was much more serious and even talked about going to college for a degree in astronomy once he had finished his general education courses at the local community college. He was the only kid from class who said he wanted to be an astronaut and was serious about it. I was content looking at the stars through my telescope from my backyard, beer in hand, and not being in debt. It was a bad idea, but we did not care. And off into the night we went. Along the way, there was this drainage ditch we would pass by, alluring today as it was back then,

for no good reason other than it was creepy. Being as inebriated as we were, we took the bait and headed down. Being extra careful to scale down the steep incline of the ditch walls we made it inside. It was your standard drainage ditch, a large concrete canal stretching out about ten miles in both directions, dividing the forested land in two. There was an overpass that ran across a small portion of the ditch like a bridge, connecting the two pieces of land so that people could walk across. Along the graffiti-riddled walls of the canals were drainage holes to help disperse the water should the levels rise high enough. One of these was a drainage tube about two meters wide and 50 meters long, what we dubbed the butt. The other end of the butt led into the forest on the other side.

kids, we would crawl through it and act like it was a portal to another dimension, or it would take us back in time. James could not resist. Dude, look the butt. I'm going in, man, he exclaimed. I can't believe you actually said that out loud. Be careful you're going to scrape your knees or bonk your head, I warned. Once he got further in, he stopped moving. Any xenomorphs in there? I asked. Nah, you hear this frog man? Indeed, I could hear the thing from where I was standing. As I approached, I noticed the croaks sounded guttural, throaty, and wet. If you've ever seen the grudge, it sounded like the noise the girl makes, but not as drawn out. At that moment, I just chalked it up to my imagination, alcohol intoxication,

or a big frog, though my anxiety was already setting in. But what was strange was that there was a little water still running through the ditch from last week's rain, and typically where there was water, there were frogs, though the croaks were coming from one source. Come to think of it, I do not recall any other noises, no bugs, no animals, no typical forest sounds. Dead silence except for the frog. What's wrong with Kermit, he said. I don't know, man, just come out, I'm starting to lose my buzz. With that, he scooted out backward, still a bit tipsy. He fell on his way out, then stood up to face me. We climbed out of the drainage ditch and continued along the dirt path. I could still hear the croaking, but it was faint. The sounds of insects and small critters

rustling in the foliage eventually returned and filled the unnerving silence. The croaking becoming a distant memory, and I settled down a bit. It was a clear night. The moon was clearly visible, and stars dotted the sky like tinsel strewn about a black canvas. The trees reached tall, towering above us, and a nice cool breeze blew the refreshing smell of pine to our nostrils. It was a few minutes before we arrived at the clearing that James broke the silence. Hey man, what's up? Look, I am not sure how to even say this, but there's something I've been meaning to tell you for a while now.

It's been weighing heavy on my heart, and I just need to get it off my chest. Of course, you know it's just you and I out here. I'm here for you, man. You can tell me anything. Thanks, he sighed. It's just, lately I've been thinking I might... Whoa, dude, do you see that? Wide-eyed, he pointed his finger ahead.

I followed and saw what he was seeing. A young buck, a ten-pointer still with velvet around the antlers. Wow, he's beautiful, I said. We had a staring contest for about five minutes. Everything seemed normal about the deer. but most of its body was cloaked by the shadows casted by the trees overhead. What I could see was its head and a portion of its neck. It could have been the glare from the moon overhead,

but the eyes looked glossed over, like thick cataracts, or like it had been dead for a while. It was also trembling, which could have been because of us. The tips of the antlers I can remember clearly too, the way the moonlight gleamed off them, like the surface was glossy. I tried to take a step closer, and then suddenly the buck sprinted off into the woods. It looked like right before the buck ran off, the antlers twitched, like fingers clenching to form a fist. But I brushed that off too, trying to stave my anxiety once more, and we started walking again.

I really should have turned back at this point. After an additional three minutes, we arrived at the clearing. James and I began walking to the middle, where we lay down on our backs, staring at our hands, staring at the clearing. up at the sky. We were far enough from the city where light pollution wasn't visible. We could see a portion of the Milky Way galaxy, and the moon was in its waning gibbous phase. This almost would have been a perfect night for the telescope. In hindsight, I am glad we didn't bring it because it was heavy and might have weighed me down. Okay, I said, you didn't finish what you were going to say back there. What's going on with you? Oh yeah, right. Well, I'm

thinking about moving to, before he could finish, he was interrupted by a scream. It sounded like a young girl, if I had to guess, around the age of 10. Help, help me, who's there? I could not move my body. I couldn't even speak. I felt bad that I wasn't jumping into action, but for reasons I couldn't understand at the time, I was paralyzed. A primal fear had awoken in me, and I could only manage to turn my head slowly towards James. Our gaze locked. It felt like hours had passed. I broke out in a cold sweat and had trouble swallowing. My words kept catching in my throat, but eventually I managed to form words and spoke to James in a low whisper. What should we do? Call the police? They'd never get here in time, and how do we explain where we are? Yes, officer, we are in some woods. There's dirt and

rocks. She sounds hurt. We might need to help her ourselves, he reasoned. James was the first to get up, once he did. He extended his hand out to me and hoisted me up. The direction of the scream had come from our right, a little way past the tree line. We waited a while longer to see if the girl would call out again. I think we should head over there, call out to her. She might be lost or hurt, man, James said. I don't know. Something doesn't feel right. Don't you feel weird about this? I asked. It's probably the booze, man. Regardless of how this feels we need to go over there. We took a few careful steps towards the tree line, and before we got within three feet of the first tree, we heard a noise that has scarred me indefinitely for the rest of my life.

For context, when I was younger, me and my friends would love to jump off the swing set at its peak because it gave us the sensation of flying. One time I managed to get some good height before I let go, but I bow. botched the landing and all my weight landed on my right shoulder. It had become dislocated, and I had to go to the hospital to have in popped back into its place. I am not sure if you all ever had something like that happened to you, but the noise from the shoulder bone being re-inserted back into the socket is disgusting. You'd never forget it. This noise was similar, but incredibly loud and wet. I could hear the bones shifting and adjusting even from this distance,

muscles, tissues, and sinew being torn with the sound of wet fabric ripping. Then a rustling of leaves and brush, followed by silence. Once again, frozen by fear, we could only wait for what would happen next. A voice called out to us, voices to be precise. The girl's voice, but two other voices spoke with it at the same time and with the same cadence. One was a significantly lower pitch, and the other sounded like my own. Stop. That hurts. Wow. He's beautiful.

Hearing my own words and voice was enough. I nearly wet myself in that moment. I don't know much about trauma and how the human brain reacts, but what happened next comes back to me only in fragments. Thinking about it too hard always results in a panic attack. I remember multiple gaunt limbs, a misshapen head with horns, matted and patchy blonde hair, and a tall and lanky body with saggy leathery skin and pushtules all over. I remember it running towards us on all fours, body turned sideways. Then came the gunshots, running through the woods. I remember hearing a deer bleat mixed with the sound of a death rattle of a dying old man. And the rest is a blur, but I remember waking up in my own bed. I haven't seen James since that

night. Anytime I would reach out to him, there's no reply, and his phone goes straight to voicemail. I want to know if that was real, or if we were just drunk and imagining things. I'm thankful he was carrying his firearm that night, because I'm not sure if we would have made it back, but I don't understand why he won't talk to me. I just feel crazy. What was that thing? Has anyone else encountered something similar in the area? I've heard of things called Skinwalkers from the forums on here. Could that be what that was? It was capable of mimicry, albeit not particularly good. I received a text message from James today, and it was one of the reasons I decided to share.

It simply read, You left me. So I took the last few days of last week off, per the suggestion of some individuals in the comments, to make appointments with a shaman and a hypnotist. My boss also gave me this week off because I was visibly tired, and my performance was suffering, so I am appreciative of that. I haven't slept well since that night, and now, since receiving the text message from James, I keep having this reoccurring nightmare.

The dream takes place back in the clearing. My limbs are locked in place, and no matter how hard I think or try to move them, they won't budge. On the other side of the clearing is what looks to be a deer or some four-legged animal. However, the head region is obscured and blurry, so I am not entirely sure what it is.

There is an overwhelming sense of doom and darkness that seems to linger, even after the dream has long ended. On Friday, I was able to meet with the hypnotist. During the whole drive there, I was incredibly uneasy and in disbelief. This whole situation felt like a horror movie. However, reality set in once I pulled up to her shack. I cannot believe I am doing this, I whispered to myself. I parked my vehicle and then began to walk towards the building hut,

cautiously scaling up the wooden steps and wrapping on the door a few times. The shaman opened almost immediately, and the sweet smell of incense assaulted my nostrils. Hello, you must be Mr. A? Yes, ma'am. Thank you so much for meeting me. Absolutely, it's my pleasure. Come in. I followed her inside where she closed the large round door behind me.

The interior was not what I was expecting, from the alternative practitioner. I had imagined dirt walls, fur rugs, potion bottles, animal bones, and a wicked green fire roaring in a cauldron

or something of the like. Rather, this looked like your contemporary doctor's office, albeit with a few ornate light fixtures, feathers, and framed insect carcasses on the wall, and a shelf with some herb-filled glass bottles and CBD oils.

We walked into her office, where she pulled a chair, chair in front of her desk, and then took a seat behind it. Sat across for me was an older woman. I'd guess late 60s, of a parent Native American, Dexent. She wore a couple of ornate bracelets and necklaces. But for clothing choice, she wore a striped light blue button up and black dress pants. I know we spoke briefly on the phone.

You had mentioned being troubled by the disappearance of your friend. I first want to tell you how sorry I am, truly. She spoke. I really appreciate that, I replied. She smiled warmly. Now, typically, my customer bases are looking for diet and nutritional advice, ancestral relationship building, or emotional trauma. I'd love to start my program with you if you are trying to recover from this experience

and move on in a healthy and natural way. Grieving the lost is tough, and I must let you know that this process will take some time. I swallowed hard. confessing to another soul as to what I saw. I knew I was going to sound crazy. I didn't want to come off as a lunatic and be told to take some herbs and forget about it. Beads of sweat began to form on my forehead.

My palms began to perspire. I managed to choke out the first few words. I am actually not here for any of those options. I want to ask you about something, I muttered. A look of genuine concern fell upon her face. Of course, what would you like to ask me about? She spoke, well, I was there the night when James went missing, but I don't think he just got lost or hurt by some animal. Something that night tried to bait he and I into walking into a

thicket of woods. It sounded like a little girl, but when it finally revealed itself, it looked like something out of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, an ungodly hodgepodge of animal and human body parts. She only stared. Her positive and happy demeanor shifted to one of disappointed and irritated. She folded her hands and cast her eyes down. The Yi Nald Lushi. Do you understand the danger you bring here by acknowledging the being? The Navajo do not share this information with outsiders for good reason. It is my professional opinion that you consider moving on from this ordeal. Or leave. You only put your family and yourself in danger by prodding further. She growled.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend, but I can't just leave him out there. Is there something I can do? A spell to cast to make it die and he come back? Can't it die like everything else? I asked. The shaman practically leaped up from her chair and leaned across the table, bringing her face closer to mine. Wisps of wisdom mixed with her onyx black hair

and the wrinkles of time wriggling on her forehead. No shaman is alive today that can reverse the magic those Cretans have cast upon themselves. Our best remedy is to forget. Seconds of silence had passed between us before I blurted out. If he's alive, I am going after him. Can you help me or not? With that, she stormed off.

For an older lady, she sure had some speed. I sat twiddling my thumbs as I heard her rummage through things in a separate room. She returned with the fury of the gods and flung a brown satchel at my chest. Ow, seriously, what the— White Ash, now leave. Do not come back. Do not say I did not warn you. Your people are stubborn.

This is the only way you will learn. Leave, she yelled. The woman pointed, trembling with rage, at the rounded wooden door. I grabbed the satchel and took my leave, not wanting to irritate her any further. I turned back once more as I stood on the balcony. She stood there, scowling at me before she barked. Do not look it in the eyes, and promptly slammed the door with the strength of an ox. I sped walk to my car and got in, key in ignition, and then placed the brown satchel in the passenger seat.

After that ordeal, I was tired and incredibly thirsty. On my way home, I stopped by the liquor store for some alcohol, paying with cash and dropping the change into the make-a-wish bucket. At least a portion of my bad habit can go to a noble cause, right. Once I got back to my apartment, I kicked my shoes off and put the alcohol in the fridge except for one. I shuffled over to the couch and sat down, beer on my left, satchel on my right. I sat the bag down in front of me on the coffee table, and then opened the beer. I stared for a few minutes before taking a big gulp, and then pulled out my phone to get on Google. The shaman said white ash before she threw the bag at me, so I researched white ash and its uses for the next hour or so,

From what I could turn up, it could be used to hurt and even kill a skinwalker. Some have made white ash bullets. Others have made a paste and coated a blade with the substance. I exhaled loudly, overwhelmed by everything. Was I really going to try to fight this thing? Should I just give up? I was already five beers in and decided to go to bed. The weekend was another opportunity to sulk,

and think so I wanted to get a jumpstart by calling it an early night. The dream came again. Only this time the animal had covered a great distance between us. It was close enough that now I could make out finer details. For a lack of words, it was disgusting and fetid. It was in the shape of a deer but had pink human skin, modelled and diseased. The antlers were shaped like large bony fingers, nails torn, leaking blood and pus, folded over the face of the beast. Hovering above the ground in front of me, it was shaking and convulsing violently.

limbs thrashing about. The fingers opened, revealing a mass of glossy white eyes. It opened an insect-like maw, the lower jaw extending farther than any normal animal could manage. The jaw bones dislocated with a sickening pop, and the skin surrounding them tore like paper. It led out a halacious bleat. The terror was indescribable. I fought inside the prison of my mind for control of my limbs, but they moved to no avail. The acrid stench of sulfur and rot insulted my nostrils. The beast took a long, flemy inhale and began to move towards me, twitching and writhing with excitement.

I screamed. I woke to the sound of my own screams, drenched in sweat. The cat shot straight up from his bed to turn and look at me. With a slow blink, he hoisted up his leg, licked it, and promptly went back to sleep. Sorry to disturb you, buddy, I apologize. I rolled over to check my phone to see it was only 3 a.m. There was no way I was going to get back to sleep, so I made some coffee and started my Saturday morning. I did a little more research on white ash, and decided to opt for the ash-coated knife route. I have no experience making munitions, so this was my only option for defense. I made the mixture of water and ash and put in a plastic bag. I had an old hunting knife around, so I decided it would be the one I used. The rest of the of the day and Sunday was spent drinking and playing video games. Not much else to note other than

no nightmares each night. I got some decent sleep those days. I woke up to the sound of my alarm at 6 a.m., though my appointment with the hypnotist was at 10 a.m. I spent the first two hours drinking an entire pot of coffee. I then hopped in the shower, got ready, and got in the car to go to the appointment. I haven't tried recalling that night for a long time, so I was a bit anxious to be reliving it all again. I pulled into the lot and began walking towards the office. I sat in the waiting room for about 30 minutes, nervously bouncing my leg up and down. I was the only one in there other than the receptionist. I began nervously chewing my jaw, tasting iron in my mouth as the door to the waiting room opened, and a balding, slightly overweight man stepped in. Mr. A,

he looked around the empty room jokingly until our eyes met. Ah, it must be you then, he laughed. Looks like it? I chuckled. I'll admit that the joke made me a little less tense. He wasn't as scary as the shaman lady. Well, if you wouldn't mind following me to my office, we just need to get a little more paperwork done, and then we can begin.

I followed his lead. He led me into his office, and thankfully there were no scorpions, rattlesnakes, or shrunken heads. The room was quite cozy. There was a nice gray leather sofa on one side, an oak desk and two blue leather chairs. A large ornate rug lay in the middle of the room, and I am not sure if he had sprayed air freshener, but it smelled like lavender. I took a seat on the sofa, and he sat at the desk at the far side of the office.

Our records show that you haven't visited with us before. Is this your first time with hypnotic therapy? He asked. Yes, it is, I replied. Great, it's super simple. I'll dangle some swirly object in front of your eyes, say some magic words, and you'll think you're a duck. He laughed. Quack? I sneered. Exactly. It's already working. But really, it's a little different than that. Before we begin, I'd like to know the reason you think hypnotic therapy is right for you. I took a long pause, searching for the words. I'm dealing with trauma from a particular event, and to move on with my life, I feel that it would be healthy for me to embrace the entirety of that moment, instead of drowning it out with alcohol or tasks, to face

my emotions. But any time I try on my own terms, I end up having a panic attack. He stroked his chin, tapped his pen a few times, and then jotted something down in his notebook. I see, the road to recovering from trauma is not one I would recommend traveling alone. The good news is that I believe I can be of use to you today. Now if you wouldn't mind lying down on that sofa and just take some time getting comfortable, I obliged, as I rest my head against the arm of the sofa, the doctor got up from his desk and walked over to one of the chairs. He began scooting it closer to me and then sat patiently. Now, keep your eyes closed and begin focusing on your breathing. As you do this, I want you to let go of anything and everything in your mind. Troubles,

stresses, to-dos that you left at the door when you walked in. Focus on having an empty mind and take as much time as you need. It took me a while, but eventually I was able to clear my head. I felt relaxed, calm, and even a bit sleepy. When I began drifting off into sleep, he spoke softly into the silence. Now in your mind, I want you to envision where you were before the events of the ordeal, before the memories become inaccessible. Imagine that you are there now, both fully in mind and body.

Immediately the terror crept in. I began breathing faster, sweat building on my brow. In the theater of my mind, the horror show began to play out just as it did that night. I spoke aloud the events that took place, and in the order in which they did. I got right to the point before the creature came out of the clearing and stopped. Okay, now, take a deep breath, focus, dig deep, recall to me the events as they come to you. I took a deep breath, holding for a few seconds. The memories began to materialize amidst the mental fog. The creature galloped out of the woods towards us.

We both took a step back. It began to swipe a claw at me when I saw James raise his hands, taking aim with a small handgun. James fired five times, the bullets hitting the beast in the neck and cheek area. Thick, oily crimson spurting, the creature spun around to face him. Guilt and regret crashing down upon my soul in a wave of sorrow. I recalled running as soon as the creature lost interest in me.

Right before I made it past the trail leading into the clearing, I looked back one last time to see James lying on the ground, the beast towering above him. It stood on its hind legs, and in a moment its ribcage spayed open in hungry gullet, it began to come down on James as he fired three more shots, and trying to kick the monstrosity away. I turned away and kept running and running,

my legs numb and lungs burning. I heard James scream then. Hey, hey, help, no, ah! I recalled the bleeding and gurgling on the run home, fumbling my keys in the lock, pushing the door open and slamming it shut behind me. I locked the door, ran into the bathroom, locking that door as well,

and then climbing in the bathtub where I shook and cried until I couldn't cry anymore. Then I remember waking up in the bed. I could feel the warmth of tears streaking down my face. My body convulsing as I fought unavoidable sobs. I opened my eyes to see the doctor holding out a tissue. You don't think I am crazy, do you?

I spoke. Not at all, son. You won't tell anyone about this? Dr. Patient confidentiality. You don't have to worry. I wiped the tears from my face and then began to sit up. I felt as though in a little.

enormous weight had lifted from my soul. In its place, enmity began to kindle, for myself, but two for the beast. I turned to face the doctor, who was scribbling furiously on his notepad to ask him, What should I do? I left my friend out there to die. That thing needs to be stopped. I owe it to him. It's all my fault, I shouted in between sobs. I can understand your frustration, it's natural to feel a sort of obligation or responsibility to the departed. What happened out there was a freak thing. You acted on instinct. You are not required to be a hero in those circumstances. He spoke. Animals act on instinct as well. I know that some male deer can be aggressive and territorial, and Kentucky is home to a few species of black bear.

I know that the females can be very protective of their young. It's very unfortunate that some people can end up in the wrong place in time with these animals, and I would advise not to travel back to the area to search for him. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My situation was being downplayed, and I began to grow irritated with the doctor. I took a sharp inhale and then spoke. It wasn't a bear or a deer. It was something that could make itself look like an animal.

So what? You suggest I just forget about him, do nothing. No, not at all. I can begin a program with you starting. I don't want to do a program. I want my friend back or that thing dead, I interrupted. I jumped up off the sofa and began to walk towards the door. On the way out, I turned to look back at the doctor, a look of empathy on his face. Look, I appreciate what you've done for me, and I'll pay for today's session. But my mind is made up, either this ends with me or it, and I'm okay with that.

With that I left the office and began to plan my next visit to our favorite spot once more. I've heard that hatred weakens the heart, ironic how it feels like it's the only thing keeping mind pumping. I hate that creature, hate it for taking his life, but I hate myself even more. I should have told James no that night. We shouldn't have been walking around at night intoxicated in the first place. I hate myself for running away, for doing nothing for so long. I sat in my car, arms folded over the steering wheel, head resting on top. A light rain began to tap on the roof of my car.

I didn't leave the parking lot until about an hour had passed. Like the rain, I let all the memories wash over me. Then I made my way back to the apartment. I opened the door, dripping water all over the carpet, but it was the least of my concerns. It didn't keep the cat away, though. He jumped from his cat tower and made his way towards me, rubbing up against my soaked pant legs, he always knew when I was upset. I bent down to pet him on the neck, his eyes closing in a moment of bliss. I had it set in my mind and soul that I would go back there and end that

thing, or it end me. I needed to prepare, though. I didn't have any experience killing ancient shape-shifting beings, but I knew just going out there with a knife was a brainless idea. Odds are I was going to die either way, but I didn't want to go down without giving a good fight. I recalled the gift my parents had given me for my 16th birthday. It was an older model, a browning 12-gauge shotgun from the 1960s. Originally owned by my grandfather, it was given to my mother and then passed on to me. In the past, I had shot it multiple times. Only at non-living and non-moving targets, though, it was a semi-automatic shotgun, so no pumping was needed.

You would load the shells in from the bottom, pull back the slacks, pull back the slide, and it was ready to fire, and as fast as you could pull the trigger. I had kept it under my bed for years with the intent of using it as a self-defense weapon, but completely forgot about it. I knelt beside the bed, and bending down, I reached under and grabbed the case handle. A nice layer of dust had accumulated on the top. Unlatching the locks, I lifted the lid up, and behold, there it lay. I don't really care for vintage things. but I had to admit there was an undeniable attraction to this weapon. The stock was made of fine-grained mahogany,

and the steel was black with a blue sheen. Despite the years, it hadn't sustained much damage, save for a few scrapes on the metal and scratches in the wood. I reached in and picked it up, mindful to grab it by the wooden parts, a habit deeply rooted inside my brain thanks to my old man. I brought the stock up to my shoulder, widening my stance. I raised the barrel up and took aim. This would do fine. I kept it unloaded because a loaded

gun in the house just made me nervous, but I pulled the slide back to check, and with a metallic kachink sound, it was empty. As for ammunition, I only had a box of 12-gauge slugs, but there was no way I could open the shells and pour the ash in. I ended up buying an entire shell manufacturing kit, which would come in early Friday. I spent Saturday watching countless tutorials on how to build shotgun shells, how to mix the powder correctly, and practicing making the ammunition. Sunday, I even visited a friend who had a large plot of land and allowed me to assess my ammo.

I didn't add any ash. I just wanted to make sure I could make a round that wouldn't blow up on me. Once I verified that I could indeed fashion 12-gauge buckshot, I returned home to make the ash-laced slugs. The gun can hold eight slugs max. So I made the first eight and loaded them in, then an additional sixteen with the supplies I had left. I had bought a utility belt and a couple of satchels as well to hold my ammunition and a bag of the ash mixture for the knife. I had a sheath for the knife on the back of the belt, a satchel of ammunition on my left, and ash on my right.

I hoped I didn't have to get close enough to use the knife. I decided Monday that I would head out during the night, even though I would have much preferred going during the day. The issue was being seen armed to the teeth, and people don't take kindly to that sort of behavior nowadays. I had left a note for my mom in the apartment. Surely after not returning her calls for a few days, she'd be over to see if I were okay. It was a farewell note. I told her everything regarding how I felt, and that I planned to take my life.

I didn't mention the creature. She wouldn't believe that part anyway. I left the entire bag of cat food open for the cat, so he could go. gorge himself over the next few days, which would be more than enough time until Mom started to panic. Around 11 p.m., I started my journey to the clearing. I bypassed the drainage ditch, having no interest in going down there anymore, and proceeded towards the trail. The trees loomed above me disconcertingly, and the moon shone above but in an unwelcoming way. Now that the fall season had come, most of the trees had shed their leaves, but there were still

a few tinged with red and yellow. An icy chill blew against me, but what made me shiver was that I heard nothing, no signs of life, just the swaying of trees and rusting of bushes from the wind. I had an overwhelming sense of being watched. I held the gun tighter to me, finger right above the trigger. I had to convince myself several times on the walk not to turn back, but finally, the clearing came into view. What once brought me so much joy and peace now brought contrition and despair. I walked upon the desecrated grounds until I reached the center of the clearing. As I reached the center, something caught my eye, the light cast by the moonlight glinting off a small, reflective surface. I bent down to investigate and discovered it was a

phone, James's phone to be exact. It was face down, riddle with cracks. I picked it up and turned it to its front side. The front had sustained even more damage. but it was undoubtedly his, a blue Samsung S-21. As I examined the phone even further, attempting to turn it on, I had completely missed the thunderous pounding of hooves against the earth and looked up to see the beast was charging me on all fours, gaining ground fast. I stood there, petrified, as it continued to close the gap between us. Right as it was a few feet in front of me, fear gave way to rage,

and I lifted the shotgun up and took aim. Five shots rang out, ears ringing, and the overwhelming smell of gunpowder in my nostrils. I tried to regain my composure from the recoil as the creature slammed into me. The force of the beast had launched me several feet away where I landed on my back, the wind knocked out of me. I inhaled deeply, pushing myself up into a sitting position,

and then as I began to shift onto my knees, I looked up to see the creature again. It was moving towards me once more. Now it appeared as if it were bleeding, thick viscous blood leaking out of unseen wounds. It stood on its hind legs and turned to face me, opening its maw and letting out a voracious growl. Then it started to run at me.

In a panic I grasped for my gun, but it was about a foot away. I only had a few seconds before it would reach me, my body already starting to ache and stiffen from the trauma. I leaped out for the gun, grabbed it and swung it up to aim at the creature, but I was too late. Before I could even pull the trigger, the beast had slapped it out of my hand, my hand nearly flying off my wrist as I watched the shotgun soar off into the distance and crash into the trees. It was over. I had no right thinking this would work. At least I went down fighting. It grabbed me by the shoulders, digging its claws deep,

through skin, muscle tissue, all the way down to bone. The pain made me nauseous. I began screaming and writhing in pain as it pinned me down to the ground. I began losing consciousness when it brought its misshapen head towards my face. I caught a glimpse of something familiar. Illuminated in the moonlight I saw the eyes first, then the nose. It was James' face. But the skin was stretched far too thin over its large skull, tearing in various places and revealing red tissue underneath.

The eyes bloodshot. the jaw hung on by a single sinew and a long black tongue hung haphazardly flopping as it moved then it stood up and to keep me in place it brought a hoof down hard onto my shin splintering the bone into hundreds of pieces i wasn't going anywhere now i let out another scream still looming it stared at me through his eyes before it began to gurgle out words i just need to get It off my chest. With that, its ribcage spayed open in a macabre explosion of bone and viscera. It began to lower its torso over me. A void stared back. It was though a black hole had nestled into this creature's bosom, and it was going to suck me in and pull me apart from every direction imaginable.

I thought of how I was going to be consumed, how it would go on to masquerade itself as me, how it would lure my mom or friends out in the woods and then mutilate them and continue the cycle. I thought of how it spoke with James' voice. How much that angered me. Was I going to just let this thing eat me like it did James? I was going to die no matter what, so it didn't matter what I did at this point. As it brought its body on top of mine, the ribcage began to close in on my sides, puncturing the skin.

An unseen force began to pull me deep inside, like a large, vacuum. I arced my back and reached under to pull the knife from the sheath. I brought it up and then quickly stabbed into my satchel, making sure to move it around and coat the blade enough, accidentally stabbing myself in the process. With my other hand, I grabbed the beast's neck to leverage myself up and plunge the blade into its neck. James' eyes stared at me and widened. The creature yelped like a wounded dog and immediately jumped up and off me. I watched as it brought a claw up to its neck and pulled at the blade. It came out with a thunk, more oily liquid shooting out

in a geyser-like fashion. It writhed and thrashed about swinging its claws aimlessly before collapsing on the ground next to me. I watched it as it went through its death throes, taking long, labored, and flemy breaths. The breathing eventually stopped, and it was dead. I watched it for a while longer, not sure if I was out of danger just yet,

and then I noticed the skin began to be. shift and bubble. The beast was shrinking in size, reshaping itself. The horns, claws, and fur began to shrivel away, and it began to take the form of something else. It happened so fast, but right before it disintegrated into a plume of ash, it looked like a middle-aged man with long black hair. The knife lay in the pile of ash. I crawled over to pick it up and put it back into the sheath. I lay on my back for a few beats to catch my breath before pulling out my phone and dialing emergency services. They managed to dispatch a helicopter since they wouldn't have been able to get an ambulance on the trail, and due to the severity of my injuries. I was losing a lot of

blood, so I barely remember being strapped into the gurney and lifted onto the helicopter. I spent the rest of the week in bandages and a leg cast, enduring hospital food, and my overly concerned mother. I was discharged Thursday and would have to walk on crutches for a little while, but I was glad to be home. My furry friend was thrilled to see me and hasn't left my side since. The first thing I did when I got home was sit down on the couch, and then I cried. I didn't cry that much other than the first night, not even at the funeral we had for James. I don't do well with my emotions. I tend to drown them out with hard liquor or fixate on something else. I avoid them. But all the teeth, but all the that had been stored up came out like a dam opening its gates. It was over. I felt like James was

at peace, and I sat with my emotions for the first time, embracing them even. I don't know what I will do from now on. I suppose continue with my life now that I have closure. I am sure I need some sort of psychological help from all of this, and will plan to get that soon. The last few days of this week, I spent a lot of time sleeping, and I had the dream about the clear again. But this time, when I revisit the dream, I am always in a different place. I feel nothing, though, just emptiness. And I've been feeling that way all week now, come to think of it. Anyway, thank you for reading this and for all the suggestions. This will be my last post. Stay out of the woods at night, especially when drinking, and ignore any 10-year-old girls

you may hear calling out to you amidst the trees.