Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Terrifying Tales Unleashed: 9 True Scary Stories

Episode Date: February 2, 2024

These are Terrifying Tales Unleashed: 9 True Scary Stories Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to www.justcreepy.net Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:04:26 Story 2 00:14:15 Story 3 00:19:05 Story 4 00:24:44 Story 5 00:32:40 Story 6 00:38:47 Story 7 00:46:05 Story 8 00:59:54 Story 9 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #redditstories #truestories 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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when I was about nine years old. Back then, the house was a vacation home, a refurbished water mill that had been in our family for over two centuries. This particular incident occurred in the summer. It was during those childhood summer breaks, a time when even my parents would take vacation days so we could all relish our time together.

It wasn't just us either. A friend of mine and his mother were also there. We spent our days playing. running through the woods in the streams, exploring every nook and cranny. However, the event I'm about to recount happened on the third day. It was just after lunch when I noticed something peculiar. All of the adults, and even I, started feeling unusually lethargic and sleepy, which was odd because we had all talked about staying active that day.

My friend, however, didn't seem sleepy or tired at all, feeling a pang of guilt for leaving him awake by himself, I reluctantly agreed to take an afternoon nap. But as I lay my head on the pillow, a strange urge surged within me. I forced myself to get up, wander down the stairs, and step outside. The brightness outside was blinding,

even for a midday sun. I stepped on to the veranda and saw my friend approaching with an annoyed expression. I couldn't understand why he looked so irked, but something inside me urged me to look up, and so I did. High above in the sky, beyond the clouds, I saw something extraordinary, a cigar-shaped object. It was too high to be a plane, and it had no wings. It hovered motionless in the sky.

In disbelief I shouted at my friend to look up, but his expression remained unchanged. As we watched, the object began to move forward, slowly at first. then gaining speed, before it zipped away so quickly, it seemed like something out of a sci-fi movie. I ran back into the house, trying to wake my mom to tell her what we had seen. But of course, no one believed two kids claiming to have seen a UFO, especially when one of them didn't seem to be putting much effort into convincing them. For a long time, I tried to dismiss the incident as a hallucination, but years later, after losing touch with that friend, I had a frightening revelation.

I remembered seeing my friend at the end of a grass clearing by the creek, standing near two bizarre figures. One was exceptionally tall, around six feet, and the other was much shorter, about three feet tall. They seemed to be talking, and when the taller one noticed me, they looked upset. My friend then started walking towards me, and the two figures vanished in a yellowish flash, shooting skyward. After this revelation, other details started making sense, like the discolored patch of grass where those figures had stood, which remained for almost two decades, or why that friend never returned to our house, and why everyone had been so unnaturally sleepy that day. I later learned from my grandmother about the valley's history as a refuge from raids and its

numerous shrines, a self-proclaimed witch even called it a lay-like, nexus, a safe haven from evil. I'm not sure what to believe, but that memory remains vividly etched in my mind, a strange and unsettling reminder of an event that forever altered my life. I want to share a chilling story with you, but before I dive into it, let me address something. Cannibals have existed throughout history, and I'd venture to say that nearly every country has its own unsettling tale of a serial killer or cannibal. It's a disturbing part of our shared human history, and some of these stories have even inspired songs and legends, which is both unsettling and strangely fascinating. It's as if these dark tales become woven into our culture,

a sinister part of our folklore. The story I'm about to recount took place over two decades ago in a city and a state far removed from the capital of my country. I'll keep the details vague. You can try to piece it together later. I was just a kid, maybe seven or eight years old, and my friends and I used to spend our summer breaks engaging in all sorts of activities. We'd ride bikes, play soccer, or football, as we called it, baseball, hide and seek, you name it. We were a bunch of energetic, adventurous kids, and the long summer days were ours for the taking. I was the youngest among five boys, also the smallest in stature, which often made me the target of our group's mischief. but I always tried to rise to the challenges posed by my bigger friends,

and I usually managed to keep up. However, one particular day, I knew I was in for something different. To provide some context, we lived in a very impoverished area, with houses made of exposed cord bricks and zinc roofing panels. Yet, compared to some other families, we were considered relatively well off. As daring young boys, we sometimes ventured into even poorer areas, as nearby, where the homes were little more than shacks. In one of these areas there was a man who struck us as particularly peculiar. We didn't see him often, but when we did, we instinctively

steered clear of him. His dwelling sat atop a small hill on the outskirts of our neighborhood, which, as kids, we defined as our territory. One day, my friend Ricky, not his real name, but he was our de facto leader, came up with a daring idea. He suggested, suggested we get as close as possible to that man's shack. He framed it as a test of our bravery as young men, and while we all pretended to be up for the challenge, I could sense fear lurking beneath the surface. I didn't want to be left out,

so I reluctantly agreed, thinking that maybe nothing would come of it. After all, it was the middle of the day, and daylight often made things seem less intimidating. As we peddled closer to the area with the ramshackle shacks, a sense of unease settled over me. I wasn't particularly book smart, but I had a knack for reading my instincts.

We reached the vicinity of the worst off homes, and I couldn't suppress my growing apprehension. I halted my bike and told my friends that we should reconsider, perhaps test our bravery in a different way. I even suggested we try something like racing our bikes down a treacherous hill, anything to distract them from this reckless idea. Two of my friends, Wancho and Carlos, nodded in agreement with my suggestion. But Ricky, ever the instigator, began mocking me, insinuating that I was afraid.

He taunted me, making chicken sounds and flapping his arms like wings. His laughter stung, and a surge of anger mixed with shame coursed through me. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that this entire endeavor was foolish. At that moment, it dawned on me that our mothers might have been right, when they warned us not to bother anyone in that part of the neighborhood, to steer clear and find adventures elsewhere. Ricky continued to ridicule me, challenging my courage. Frustrated and unwilling to be labeled a coward, I snapped back at him, calling him an idiot and threatening to tattle on him to our mothers. He countered with a threat of his own, promising to beat me up if I said

anything. In the end, I had no choice but to leave. I peddled away from them, my pride wounded, my friendships hanging by a thread. Little did I know that this seemingly innocuous decision would have far-reaching consequences, not for me, but for the man in the shack. A few days later, the adults in the neighborhood were a buzz with an air of secrecy. My mother and the others wouldn't reveal anything to me, and I was still apprehensive about Ricky's threats. To avoid their questioning, I decided to venture out alone, taking my bike for a solitary ride. However, it wasn't long before Ricky and the gang flagged me down. Dude, where have you been? You missed everything, they exclaimed. Their earlier animosity forgotten in the excitement. I couldn't believe

my ears. It seemed that they had either forgiven me for my lack of bravery, or simply forgotten about it. I was relieved that my friendships were intact. They eagerly began recounting. the strange events that had unfolded in the neighborhood. Ricky and Carlos had been the first to approach the mysterious shack, but their courage had waned when they saw what appeared to be human hands and feet strewn about the dirt nearby. Panic had set in, and they had fled the scene, alerting the rest of our gang. Together they had rushed back to safety. It wasn't long before they informed some older kids in the neighborhood, teenagers aged between 16 and 18, who in our seemed impossibly older, like college students.

These older kids, sensing the gravity of the situation, had promptly contacted the local authorities. The police had arrived, but they were baffled by the bizarre discovery. They found more than just body parts. They uncovered an array of human remains, as well as jars filled with decaying meat, which they suspected was human flesh. I didn't witness any of this firsthand, but I watched the news report. at home, where everyone was gripped by a sense of unease. As the investigation progressed, the authorities made a shocking revelation.

The bodies were tied to unsolved missing persons cases, dating back years. The park in our neighborhood, a small but well-used space, had seen its fair share of disappearances, particularly at night. Nighttime danger was a grim reality, and it was almost commonplace for people to report missing loved ones. missing loved ones. It's a harsh reality, but it's the truth in my country. The police struggled to identify the remains, and it was only when they combed through missing persons reports that they made significant breakthroughs. With this disturbing evidence in hand, they launched a manhunt that eventually led to the arrest of the man who lived in that ominous shack.

I didn't witness his arrest, but I heard about it through news reports and gossip. It was later revealed that this man, who would become infamous as the people-eater, had killed approximately ten men, all between the ages of thirty and forty. His modus operandi involved bludgeoning his victims with rocks, before taking their lifeless bodies to his shack, where he cooked them using firewood. Shockingly, he had even distributed the cooked remains to some of his impoverished neighbors, who, in their desperation and ignorance, had consumed the horrifying meals with gratitude. initially i dismissed this gruesome detail as just another tall tale from rickie however as i grew older and had access to more information i realized that the truth was even darker and more unsettling than i had imagined the people-eater had been previously taken into custody for cannibalism albeit with just one known victim he had been diagnosed with schizophrenia and had been confined to a psychiatric institution where doctors deemed him non-threatening to society

Eventually, he had been released, only to be arrested again years later. This time, due to his deteriorating mental state, he couldn't be simply thrown into prison. Instead, he was undergoing psychiatric treatment, even as his infamy grew. As I mentioned earlier, some of the darkest stories become embedded in our culture, and for months all my friends and I could talk about was the people-eater. Ricky would occasionally jest that we had narrowly escaped becoming victims ourselves, considering we had seen him wandering around the neighborhood, even at the park. However, I believed that the people-eater intentionally avoided women and children,

a notion I must have read somewhere. In truth, I never felt personally endangered, but living in proximity to a cannibal and serial killer was a disconcerting thought. While I didn't know any of the victims personally, I witnessed the anguish of their grieving families, who had searched tirelessly for their loved ones, unaware of the horrors that had befallen them. Our mothers kept a watchful eye on us for quite some time after the ordeal. We were given strict curfews, ordered to return home before nightfall. Eventually, as is often the case, people moved on and forgot about the horrors that had unfolded

in our neighborhood. Still, I'm grateful that I never had a chance to meet the people-eater, not even for a passing wave or a casual smile, something I frequently exchanged with strangers. I'm equally relieved that I didn't witness the grotesque evidence of his crimes firsthand, as the trauma of that experience would have haunted me for the rest of my life. USAA knows dynamic duos can save the day, like superheroes and sidekicks, or auto and home insurance. With USAA, you can bundle your auto and home and save up to 10%. Tap the banner to learn more and get a quote at usaa.com slash bundle. Restrictions apply.

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and get your trip right. Kayak, got that right. Almost two years ago, I used to live in a somewhat isolated little neighborhood nestled in the high desert of California. My home sat on a dirt road, and since the houses were spread out quite generously, wildlife encounters were not uncommon. Rabbits, coyotes, snakes, and occasionally deer

would wander around the area during the late hours of the day. As a Native American, I often appreciated the closeness of these creatures to my home. However, there was one entity, a creature my tribe referred to as a skinwalker, that I was not supposed to even utter the name of. But here I am, typing it out, hoping no bad omens would befall me as a result. This creature is what I believe I encountered one chilling night. The house I lived in had a very spacious backyard in a driveway made of gravel mixed with dirt, creating an open expanse to observe the surroundings from my room. Every night, if I left my window open, I would inevitably find myself gazing out towards the front gate of our driveway.

The nights were usually quiet, except for the occasional distant coyote howls. The area had its fair share of strange occurrences, and I wasn't the only one in the family who experienced them. Both my boyfriend and my mother had their own eerie stories, but today I will share mine. At that time I was being homeschooled, and on this particular day, I sat in the office, engrossed in my work. The room was silent, and suddenly I swear I heard a faint knock coming from the window. I strained my eyes to peer outside, but this window lacked blinds or curtains. Instead, it had sliding barn doors.

As I turned in that direction, the world outside fell silent again. moments later I began to hear footsteps. It was a distinct crunching sound, which was strange considering the gravel outside. These were unmistakably footsteps, but not of a small animal like a rabbit or coyote. These were heavier, more deliberate. Panic gripped me as I froze in my seat, unsure of what to do. The entity outside could potentially hear me. After what felt like an eternity, I abandoned my computer and

retreated to the safety of my room, where I stayed for the remainder of the day. A month or two after this incident, I changed rooms, moving from the office to make it my bedroom. My previous room was too small, and my father believed I needed more space. One ominous night I found myself once again gazing out of the same window that had witnessed those eerie footsteps. It was dark outside, making it difficult to discern much, but I was fixated on the gate blocking the driveway's entrance. I often enjoyed gazing at the night's sky, but this time, an uneasy feeling crept over me. I stared out for about ten minutes, attempting to stargaze when I saw a figure on the other side of the gate. At first glance it resembled a coyote, but something was profoundly off about it. It was

unnaturally long, and the way it moved, it was as if a human were trying to mimic the motions of a dog walking on all fours. Initially, fear did not grip me. I simply watched, waiting to see what it would do. For a moment, it continued to move past the gate, resembling a typical coyote or dog. Then it turned its head to look at the house. In the darkness, I couldn't discern its eyes, but the silhouette of this lanky coyote-shaped entity sent shivers down my spine. Typing this account now, the unease resurfaces. Suddenly, it stood up on its hind legs, attempting to climb over our gate. Panic consumed me, and I rushed to shut the barn door window.

However, this seemed to enrage the creature further. It scrambled to climb faster, and before long, it had successfully crossed to our side of the gate. I could hear it running toward my window as I finally managed to shut it just in time. As the window closed, the eerie sounds outside abruptly ceased, leaving me in complete silence, aside from the sound of my own rapid breathing. In that house, I had many other strange experiences, but that night marked the last time I ever kept my window open at night. I have not seen that terrifying creature since, and I am grateful for it.

When we eventually moved away, I felt a tinge of sadness and longing for that house, which I had considered my real home. However, I am thankful that I won't ever have to lay eyes on that dreadful entity again. I was just 16 years old at the time, living with my grandparents and my mother in the remote northwest region of Pennsylvania. Our house nestled in a heavily wooded area surrounded by thick forests, with hardly any neighbors nearby. My grandparents owned vast acres of land, including the dense woods encircling our home. It was safe to say we had a lot of land, but it came with its share of peculiar occurrences.

Tresspassers were an occasional nuisance, hunters who ventured onto our woods or campers who set up their tents, seemingly unaware that they were trespassing on private property. My grandpa, always watchful, wasn't thrilled about these intrusions. He was wary of strangers encroaching onto our land, especially with our chickens to protect. You see, we also had a coop of chickens, and they had to be securely locked up before sundown. Given our wooded surroundings, coyotes and raccoons occasionally breached the unlocked coop, making off with our poultry. However, my grandpa had recently suffered a stroke, leaving him unable to secure the coop himself. So, it became my responsibility to venture outside at dusk,

to take care of our feathery friends. I wasn't one to scare easily. I had grown up in this area my entire life. Encounters with raccoons, possums, and even the occasional coyote were everyday occurrences. My deep love for nature led me to build my campfire and sleep outside in my tent during the summer months. I cherished the outdoors and the soothing sounds of wildlife at night.

On that fateful night, it was a typical summer evening. I had already set up my tent, and the fire crackled merrily. Our family dog, Molly, a pit bull we had rescued from an abusive past, was my companion. Though she bore the scars of her troubled history, Molly was far from the stereotype of a pit bull. She was a sweetheart. As I finished up with the chickens and headed towards my campsite, a strange sound emanated from the woods to my right. Molly's head snapped towards the source, her keen senses on high alert. Ordinarily, I would have dismissed such noises as the routine sounds of wildlife,

but this was different, unsettling. The noise was akin to a strange clicking, like the measured ticking of a clock. The darkness was so thick that I couldn't see much beyond the tree line, so I shrugged it off as my imagination playing tricks on me. I called Molly to my side, continuing my chores. But then, it happened again. The same eerie clicking and tapping noise. Molly was now visibly agitated, her hair standing on end.

There were snapping branches and what sounded like a low moaning in the distance. Molly's posture changed. She was hunched back, ears erect, fully alert. I slowly stood up, feeling a nod of unease forming in my stomach. Retrieving my flashlight from my bag, I scanned the area where the noise had originated. I couldn't make out much, but there was a dark shadow near one particular tree. At first I thought it might be a bear or a deer, but it was far larger than any of those creatures.

Though details were scarce, I could discern an enormous figure, at least eight feet tall. Molly, now in a frenzy, darted toward it, but I yelled for her to return, fearing for her safety. The figure emerged from the shadows, and what I saw chilled me to me. the bone. This massive creature had antlers like a buck, but its skin or fur seemed matted and rotting. Its skeletal frame was elongated, with bones protruding in unnatural directions. The stench was unbearable, a noxious mix of rotten meat and decaying eggs. I wanted to flee, but I was paralyzed by fear. Its yellow eyes reflecting my flashlight's beam, locked onto mine. Molly, in a wild panic, sprinted towards the house, leaving me alone. I couldn't move. The creature had me

in its terrifying grip. I had never seen anything like it, and I prayed I would never see it again. Suddenly the creature took a jerky, awkward step forward, breaking the spell. I turned and ran as fast as my legs could carry me, my heart pounding in my chest. The house was still a three-minute sprint away, but I had to get there. I finally burst through the door, breathless and shaking. My grandmother had been waiting, and she immediately let Molly inside. She looked at me, the sheer terror on my face confirming her suspicions. You saw it, didn't you? She asked quietly. In all the years she had lived there, she had never encountered or heard of something like this. Neither my grandmother nor my grandfather had ever shared stories like this with me

before. They had probably wanted to shield me from the fear of the unknown. That night shook me profoundly, and it took a long time before I could muster the courage to venture back into the woods for camping, or to close the chicken coop at night. I couldn't help but wonder if what I had seen was a skin walker, a creature that, as I later learned, was rumored to lurk in the northeastern part of North America. It might not be a climactic story, but for me, it was an utterly terrifying and unforgettable encounter. It's said everything happens for a reason, but maybe everything

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We were an eclectic mix of five individuals, my sister B, our close friends C and D, and myself. We all shared a fascination for ghost hunting, which led us to embark on this eerie adventure. As we set out on our hike around 4 o'clock, I took the lead alongside A, who happened to be visually impaired. My role was to assist A through the muddy trail, a consequence of recent rains. I was no stranger to outdoor environments, given my profession, but the woods had an unpredictable and mystifying aura, even for someone like me. The rustling leaves and mysterious sounds that permeated the forest added an extra layer of excitement to our journey. Our chosen destination, this particular nature preserve, was a hidden gem close to home, boasting enchanting trails, recreational areas, and even camping spots. Towering trees, some of which dwarfed buildings in our town lined the dirt trails.

We felt entirely at home, enveloped by the embrace of nature. On this day, we decided to tackle the winding longer trail, relishing every moment of our adventure. The sun began its descent as the early March dusk crept upon us. It was getting darker by the minute, but we were determined to complete the trail before nightfall. As we delve deeper into the woods, we spotted glimpses of wildlife, a testament to the vibrant ecosystem that thrived here. As twilight gradually descended, we knew we didn't have much trail left to conquer. With a sense of resolve, we retrieved the flashlights we had brought along. A. My visually impaired friend had reached a point of complete blindness by this time.

They gripped my backpack in one hand while clutching their cane in the other, relying on me for guidance. Meanwhile, C walked close to us, our collective presence creating a semblance of comfort. Amidst our light-hearted chatter about favorite games and movies, a woodpecker's rhythmic pecking provided a humorous interruption. C, not as accustomed to the outdoors as the rest of us, jumped at the sound and inquired about its origin. It was moments like these that made our adventures memorable, as we reveled in the bonding experience. The day transitioned into night rapidly due to the time of year, and darkness began to envelop us. We had only a small portion of the trail left to conquer, so we decided to soldier on. The flashlights cut through the darkness, casting eerie shadows on the trees around us.

However, our carefree banter gradually faded into silence. Suddenly, it happened. A whistle pierced the quiet, long, purposeful, and unnaturally loud. At first I attributed it to a distant coyote, but as the pitch evolved into something more melodic, I realized it couldn't be an animal. It sounded eerily human, sending shivers down my spine. A, gripping me even tighter, whispered that the sound had emanated from behind us, uncomfortably close for our liking. In a panic, we turned off all the flashlights, plunging ourselves into absolute darkness. D, perhaps fueled by fear or curiosity,

thought it would be a brilliant idea to call back into the void, uttering a hesitant, hello, hello. The rest of us urgently hushed him, desperately clinging to the hope that it had been a bird or some other harmless creature. I had never heard a bird whistle like that, though, and my love for birds gave me no solace. I desperately clung to the hope that it was a mere anomaly, a strange occurrence in the wilderness.

We continued walking in silence for another ten minutes, our flashlights kept off, our pace quickening. Then, it happened again, the exact same whistle, as if it were a recording on repeat, only closer this time. Fear gripped me like never before, despite my lifetime of woodland experiences. I had roamed the woods since I was a child, accompanying my grandmother on mushroom foraging expeditions

when I could barely walk. Yet this trail, this moment, was unlike any other, I was paralyzed by a sense of dread, fearing that I might not be able to lead my friends out of this chilling predicament. Desperation seized us, and we hastily debated our options. Should we follow the trail deeper into the woods and make it to our cars? Or should we make a break for the nearby road, about a hundred feet to our left? We opted for the road, believing it offered a safer escape route. To reach the road, we had to ascend a steep hill.

A and I struggled to climb it. it together, but they eventually let go and sprinted ahead. In the chaos of the moment, I stumbled over a rock, falling backward and bruising my back. With aching muscles, I regained my footing and joined the others on the road. We formed a protective formation, with B and C leading the way, A and I in the middle, and D bringing up the rear. D was the toughest among us, and would be our last line of defense if whatever lurked in the woods pursued us. As we trudged along the road, our eyes darted nervously behind us, feeling the weight of an unseen presence watching our every move. The hairs on my body stood on end, not from the cold, but from an eerie, unshakable fear. A's condition was deteriorating,

and given their heart condition, we couldn't take any chances. My primary concern was getting my friends to safety, even if it meant putting myself in harm's way. My eyes remained fixed on the shadowy woods, as if expecting something to emerge from the darkness. In our moment of desperation, I made a call to a relative who lived a mere three minutes down the road, pleading for them to come to our rescue. Our Savior arrived swiftly, driving us back to our cars. A. insisted on accompanying me during the ride, refusing to let me face this ordeal alone. As well, we were to, we in a we sped away, the woods remained visible from my relative's house, a haunting reminder of the horrors we had experienced. We found temporary solace there, changing into fresh clothes and

attempting to calm our adrenaline-fueled nerves. The journey back to A's house was marked by an uncomfortable silence, as we contemplated the unnerving encounter we had just survived. The evening passed in a blur, filled with uneasy discussions and frantic research about what that mysterious whistling presence could have been. In the aftermath of our unsettling adventure, I turned to colleagues at work for answers. Yet not a single one of them could identify an animal capable of producing such a peculiar whistle. The eerie part was that despite our harrowing experience, we found ourselves contemplating a return to that enigmatic preserve, better prepared this time. The allure of its natural beauty remained undeniable, but lurking within those woods was a

secret we were determined to uncover. As I delved into books on cryptozoology, paranormal phenomena, and the history of those specific woods, our intentions became clear, we would return, armed with knowledge and equipment to confront the enigma that awaited us. Those dark Illinois woods held secrets, and we were committed to unlocking them, no matter how chilling they might be. It seemed like any other business conference. Arrive, check in, attend meetings, check out, and go home. In May 2010, I was scheduled to stay at the Menger Hotel in San Antonio over several days for a conference. When I checked in, I was pleasantly surprised that my room was on the third floor in the older section of the hotel. I love history, and the fact that

the hotel was located just across the street from the Alamo made my stay even more special. Before I got to the Menger, I had heard of the legendary personalities that had stayed in the hotel, Babe Ruth, Richard King, and others had been repeat guests. I remembered the larger-than-life stories told by my favorite Texas history teacher, Mrs. Beck. Her accounts made me wish I had witnessed firsthand Teddy Roosevelt and the rough riders charging through San Antonio's back streets, saloons, hotels, and promenades, recruiting volunteers from horseback, or the brave volunteers who gave their lives standing for a Texas ideal. My room was spacious and old, with white paint covering the aging walls.

The huge window frames overlooked an outdoor open-air patio, nothing fancy like newer hotels, but special just the same. I dropped my small carry-on case and purse and hurried downstairs to check in at the conference registration table. The desk attendant assured me that my luggage would be brought up shortly after check-in. I also learned there would be a business mixer downstairs, so I decided to freshen up my makeup since I had driven to San Antonio that afternoon from the Rio Grande Valley. When I stepped into the room, I noticed the television and closet light were on. I quickly turned them off, assuming that the housekeeper had left them on and left the room,

which I found a bit strange. After the mixer, people were going to dinner, and I wanted to go upstairs to shower and change. However, when I returned to my room, the television, ceiling fan, clock radio, room lights, bathroom lights, and closet lights were all on. I called the front desk and asked if the housekeeper or porter had come in, or if someone might have mistakenly entered my room thinking it was theirs. The answer was no on both accounts. At this point, I assumed it was an electrical problem. The front desk sent someone up to check, but they couldn't find anything wrong,

and suggested that if I had any further issues and if they had any other rooms available, I could change rooms. As soon as I stepped into the bathroom, an uneasiness settled in, as if someone was watching me. I was alone. The windows were high, and the angled shutter slats

confirmed that nobody could see in. I was on the third floor, so I decided to dismiss my worries. However, the feeling grew more intense as I took a shower. There was a sudden burst of air as if someone had opened the bathroom door. I told myself

it was just a quick blast from the ace, see through one of the nearby vents. I continued to shower and began to shampoo my hair, but I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was in there with me. If they weren't in the bathroom, maybe they were in the other room. How embarrassing if the porter had come back for something. I yelled out, hello! Quickly rinsing my hair off, I got ready to go out that night. When I returned to the hotel and prepared for bed, I felt the same eerie sensation of being watched, but I managed to shrug it off. After laying my clothes out for the next day,

I lay down and drifted off, hearing footsteps coming down the hall and whispers outside my door. I thought it might be people from nearby rooms returning late, but during the night, the feeling of being touched awakened me. At first, I thought it was a dream. I felt an impression in the bed,

and I could even feel an arm around my shoulder. It felt solid and real. Slowly, I realized I wasn't dreaming. Fear washed over me, and with whatever courage I could muster, I kept my eyes shut and mumbled. Leave me alone. Once I said this, the feeling of the arms around me faded. After that night, aside from finding things in different places in my room,

a missing shoe, a hairbrush placed somewhere else, or the closet light left on when I returned, I wasn't bothered again. However, I still got the feeling that I wasn't alone, even though I was the only person walking in a hallway. I would often sing or hum to myself as I walked to and from my conference events. Coincidentally, my husband was in Austin for a business trip and wanted to have lunch at the Menger Colonial Room restaurant. I had a little while to wait while he drove in to meet me. Before he arrived, I used the bathroom downstairs in the lobby across from the gift shop. While I was in a stall, I heard the bathroom door open from the hallway.

I heard nobody and saw no shadow, but I did hear a stall door open and close. I was curious, so I cautiously took a quick look around. I was the only one there. Days later, on my elevator ride to check out of my room, I had a conversation with the porter. He asked about my stay, and I told him it was interesting for sure. When he asked why, I told him about the first. feeling of being bothered by a presence the whole time. I didn't go into detail because I feared being looked at like a crazed guest. He then asked which room I stayed in, and when I told him,

he revealed that that part of the hotel, in particular that floor, was the most active. Since my stay at the Mengar Hotel, I've discovered that more people have come forward with similar spectral happenings at the very same place. Some have even posted their experiences on YouTube. If you don't believe me, I say you should check it out yourself. Own it all. Pay off your home, travel for life, drive a Ferrari. In celebration of the world premiere of the Monopoly Big Board Buckslot machine by Aristocrat Gaming, Yamava Resort and Casino and San Manuel is giving one person a $1.6 million dream package. The biggest prize in Yamava's history. Club Serrano members can earn daily instant prizes and secure a spot

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At Sephora, spritz on lush notes of rainforest orchid and crisp sea breeze with hafresco paraizo. Embrace a floral and fruity scent inspired by Rio's nude beach with chiqui bikini. Or capture sun-kissed bliss with limonada gelada, where zesty Brazilian lemonade accord meets coconut milk and golden-brown sugar. Don't miss Sol de Janeiro's limited edition perfume mist collection only at Sephora. I'm a 24-year-old female, and I've been working as a private home caregiver for seven years now. Over the years, I've had my fair share of clients, each with their unique quirks and needs. Adapting to spending extended periods in someone else's home has become second nature to me. At first, I used to work a lot of overnight shifts because I'm a night owl, but even then, I had the

luxury of sleeping if I wanted to. My routine with this particular client had been ongoing for about three years. Typically, I'd spend an hour or two watching TV with him, and then I'd assist him in getting ready for bed. He was in his 80s, so he would often wake up during the night for trips to the bathroom, and I'd help him navigate safely. In the beginning, I worked two to three overnights a week, and I grew quite comfortable in his house. I became accustomed to the peculiar sounds that echoed through the house at night, mostly the banging of pipes. It was eerie initially, but after three years, I hardly even noticed it anymore. However, one week things took a sinister turn. My first shift that week was a Thursday overnight. When I entered the house,

an immediate wave of dread washed over me, a heavy feeling as if an invisible presence sat on my chest. I've always been sensitive to certain energies and presences, and I knew that something was terribly wrong. Despite my unease, I did my best to shake it off and put on a cheerful facade for my client. The caregiver who was leaving assured me that everything had been uneventful during her shift, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. I went through our usual routine with my client, put him to bed, and then went around the house, closing blinds and double-checking doors and windows. I wanted to ensure that no one could get in, and the sense of being watched was still overwhelming.

As I usually did, I texted my fiancé to check in on our daughter and say goodnight. I let him know how uneasy I felt and how wrong the house seemed that night. He chalked it up to me listening to too many horror podcasts, suggesting that maybe they were getting to me. I said my good night and attempted to distract myself by scrolling aimlessly through social media. Most of my clients loved sleeping with the heat turned up, but I despised it. so I opened the window next to the bed I was lying in to get some fresh air. My room was only two doors down from my client's bedroom,

which allowed me to be close if he needed assistance, but also gave me some personal space. My client's home was situated in a wealthy neighborhood, surrounded by Native American reservation land. I was used to hearing and seeing various wildlife like turkeys, foxes, deer, and coyotes. Around midnight, after helping my client to the bed, bathroom for the third time that night, I lay back down and immediately heard a pack of coyotes howling in the distance. I grew up with coyotes behind my childhood home, so I was familiar with their

haunting howls. However, these howls were different. They started as distant sounds, but within a minute, they felt as though the coyotes were right on the deck outside my window. The howls were distorted, as if played through a staticy radio. I can't quite explain it, but they just sounded horribly wrong. I attempted to record the sounds on my phone, but to my shock, when I played the recording back, there was no sound at all. In reality, they sounded as though they were right beside me. This bizarre chorus continued for about 15 minutes straight until my client called for my help again. That night, my client called me over ten times, a significant departure from our usual routine, where he would call me three times on a normal night, and then I'd get some rest.

My next shift was on the following Saturday, and I spent the entire day dreading going back to work. I couldn't shake the unease and fear that had taken hold of me. My fiancée insisted it was just my imagination, assuring me that everything would be fine, but I was reluctant as I headed back to work that night. When I arrived, the caregiver I was relieving informed me that my client had been having trouble sleeping the previous night as well, leaving him exhausted. He looked dreadful, with dark circles under his eyes, and he was fast asleep in his chair. I put him to bed that night and went around the house, checking doors and windows, ensuring the house was secure, and the blinds were drawn. Throughout the night, my client struggled to sleep,

calling me every 30 to 40 minutes. I was drained, as I was accustomed to getting some rest during my overnight shifts. When morning came, I prepared my client's usual breakfast, and we sat at the table together. Suddenly, he looked up at me and asked, can I ask you something? I nodded, and he continued. These past three nights when I tried to fall asleep, this black shadow appears and sits at the end of my bed, staring at me. It just stares at me and doesn't go away for hours. Could I be hallucinating? As he recounted this, all the color drained from my face. This client was deeply religious

and had never spoken about anything of this nature before. I felt blindsided and scared. I asked if the shadow had a face, or if he recognized it, but he described it as a stranger that frightened him. That's why he had been continuously calling me to the room and going to the bathroom. He was trying to get the shadow to leave.

I told him that I wasn't sure if it was a hallucination, but I would inform his daughter and ask her to look into it immediately. When I left work that day, I called my fiancé and recounted everything to him. He asked me what I was going to do about it, and I decided to do some research to find the best way to cleanse the house without alarming the client. I decided to bless some tourmaline and brought it with me to work, placing it above his bedroom doorway. Tourmaline is a black stone used for protection in many cultures.

If it didn't alleviate the heaviness in the house, I was seriously considering quitting. On my next shift, I did just that. My client didn't wake up as frequently that night, but the unease still lingered. I had a week off, and on my next shift, I noticed immediately that something had changed. The house felt different,

and when I asked my client if he had been experiencing anything strange, he said no. He looked like a new man. The exhaustion and sickly appearance were completely gone. I couldn't explain who or what had been tormenting my patient, but I was relieved that I had managed to bring some peace back to the house. Whatever its intentions were, I wasn't willing to sit idly by or continue working there if it refused to leave.

I had never experienced such fear in my life, and I hoped I never would again. There are indeed malevolent entities lurking in the shadows, so I urge everyone to stay safe and trust their intuition. Ever since I was little, I always dreamed of the day I'd go hunting with Dad. He's like this hero in our family, a legend with a rifle. And me? Well, I was just a 12-year-old kid practically bouncing off the walls when I got my hunting license last summer. I remember staring at it, feeling like I was holding a golden ticket to some grand adventure.

Ready for the big day? Dad's voice broke through my thoughts that chilly morning. It was still dark outside, the kind of dark that makes 3.30 in the morning feel like the middle of the night. I nodded, unable to hide my excitement. We had a quick breakfast, the kind where you're too excited to taste anything. I pulled on my hunting gear, the newness of it making me feel like a real hunter. Dad had this calm, collected look on his face. I tried to mimic it, but who was I kidding?

I was about to burst. We stepped out into the cold. the kind of cold that bites at your skin, but I barely felt it. My heart was racing with anticipation. The world was asleep, and here we were, about to embark on an adventure. The trek to the hunting stand was like a scene from an adventure movie. Dad led the way, his figure a shadow against the faint moonlight. I tried to keep up, stumbling over roots and stones, my breath making little clouds in the cold air.

It felt like a rite of passage. following Dad through the dark woods, a mile or two away from our camp. When we reached the stand, it looked like a fortress. We had to climb this tall ladder to get up there. I remember feeling a mix of excitement and a tiny bit of fear as I climbed after Dad. The stand was small, but it felt cozy, like our own little hideout in the trees. There were waist-high walls on three sides, and a roof, pretty fancy for a hunting stand. We settled in, with the darkness around us like a thick blanket.

I could hear the distant sounds of the forest, and my heart was pounding with the thrill of it all. We sat in silence, waiting for the first light of dawn. I felt like a real hunter then, like I was part of something ancient and important. It was just me and Dad, and the wild world around us. I leaned against the wall, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Dad was like a statue, his eyes scanning the forest. I wanted to impress him, to show him I could be as patient and as tough as he was. As the sky slowly began to change from black to a dark purple,

I felt a strange mix of peace and anticipation. I remember thinking how cool it was to be there in that moment with my dad. It was like we were on the edge of the world, just waiting for the sun to rise and bring the forest to life. I had no idea then how much that morning would change everything. But in that moment, it was just me and Dad, the cold air, and the promise of adventure, and I wouldn't have traded it for anything in the world. The stillness of the early morning was something I'd never really experienced before.

Sitting in our hunting stand, I could feel the world waking up around us. Dad was next to me, quiet and focused, his eyes scanning the forest for any sign of movement. I tried to do the same, mimicking his every move. It was exciting and a bit nerve-wracking, trying to be as good a hunter as he was. As the sky gradually lightened, turning from purple to a dim blue, the forest started to come alive. Birds began chirping, and the wind rustled the leaves, creating a symphony of nature. I felt so alive, so in tune with everything around me. It was like being part of the forest itself.

Then it happened. Out of nowhere, a blood-curdling scream pierced the morning air. It sounded like a woman, in the worst kind of agony. My heart jumped into my throat, and I nearly lost my balance. I looked at Dad, wide-eyed and scared out of my wits. He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder, his grip firm. It's just a bobcat, he whispered, trying to sound calm. They can sound just like a woman screaming.

It's creepy but nothing to worry about. I nodded, trying to believe him. I had heard about animals making weird sounds, but nothing had prepared me for this. The scream echoed through the woods, making my skin crawl. I swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything but the eerie sound. Dad kept his arm around me, and we sat there in silence, listening to the forest come back to life. The sun was rising slowly, casting long shadows between the trees. Everything seemed normal again, just the usual sounds of the woods.

But then, we heard it again. This time it was closer and even more chilling. I could see Dad tense up. He tried to laugh it off, saying it was probably just the bobcat hunting. But I could tell he was unnerved. The sound wasn't just creepy, it was unnatural. We went back to waiting, trying to act like nothing had happened. But the atmosphere had changed.

The tension was thick, and even the normal sounds of the forest seemed ominous. I kept looking over at Dad, hoping for some sign that everything was okay, but he looked just as on edge as I felt. The next half hour felt like an eternity. The sun was up enough now that we could see more clearly, but that only made things worse. Every shadow seemed like it could be hiding something. Every rustle of leaves made me jump.

Then the scream came again, louder and more terrifying than before. This time, it was all around us, echoing through the trees. It didn't sound like any animal I'd ever heard of. It was something else, something otherworldly. I buried my face in Dad's side, trying to hide from the sound. Tears were welling up in my eyes, fear gripping my heart. I wanted to run, to get as far away from that sound as possible. Dad stood up, his rifle in his hands. He was scanning the trees, his eyes darting back and forth.

I kept whispering to him, begging him to let us leave. But he was focused on something else, something out there in the forest. I had never been so scared in my life. I had no idea what was out there, but I knew it was something bad, something that shouldn't be in our world, and it was getting closer. The morning had started with excitement. but now it was turning into something out of a nightmare. The scream that echoed around us was no longer just unsettling. It was terrifying. It sounded like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

I tried to convince myself it was just a bobcat, like Dad said, but the fear gripping my heart said otherwise. Dad stood up, rifle in hand, his eyes scanning the forest with an intensity I'd never seen before. I wanted to stand too, to face whatever was out there with him, but my legs wouldn't move. I was frozen in fear, gripping the edge of the stand as if it could protect me. The forest seemed to hold its breath. Birds had stopped chirping, and even the wind seemed to have died down.

It was just us, the eerie silence, and that ungodly scream. Dad's posture was tense, his movement slow and deliberate as he looked through the scope of his rifle. I watched him, my heart pounding in my chest. He was always so brave, so sure of himself. But now, there was something else in his eyes, fear. It was the first time I'd ever seen Dad scared, and it made everything so much worse. Dad, what is it? I whispered, my voice trembling. But he didn't answer.

He was focused on whatever was out there, in the shadowy depths of the forest. Time seemed to slow down. Every second felt like an hour as Dad moved the rifle, scanning the area. Then he stopped. He had seen something. I could tell by the way his body tensed, the way his breathing changed. He was about to pull the trigger when a loud snap echoed from the direction he was aiming. He stumbled, almost falling, but caught himself.

Dad, what is it? What's out there? I whispered. My voice choked with tears. He didn't answer. Instead he quickly shouldered his rifle again, his eyes darting back to where he had been looking. I could see his hands shaking as he searched the area, his breaths coming out in short, sharp bursts. Then he lowered his rifle and slung it over his shoulder.

He turned to me, trying to look calm, but I could see right through it. His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear. I'm going to climb down first, then you follow, he said. his voice barely above a whisper. We're going back to camp. I didn't want to leave the safety of the stand, but the fear in Dad's voice made me move. Okay, I said, my voice small.

He climbed down the ladder first, his movements quick and agile. Once he was on the ground, he looked up at me and motioned for me to follow. I climbed down as fast as I could, my heart racing. As soon as my feet hit the ground, Dad grabbed me and we started running. He ran with a speed and urgency I'd never seen before, carrying me when I couldn't keep up.

We ran all the way back to camp, not stopping once, not even to catch our breath. When we finally reached the safety of our cabin, Dad locked the door behind us and turned to face me. His face was still pale, his eyes haunted. I wanted to ask again what he had seen, but the look in his eyes stopped me. We just stood there, in the silence of the cabin, trying to understand what he was. what had just happened. But some things I realized were beyond understanding. We made it back to the cabin, Dad's heavy breaths echoing in the silent morning air. He set me down gently, locking the door with hands that were still shaking. The cabin, once a place of warmth and laughter, now felt like a

refuge from a horror I couldn't comprehend. Dad, what was out there? I asked again, my voice a quiver of fear and curiosity. He looked at me, his eyes reflecting a terror I'd never seen before. But he didn't answer. Instead, he took a step towards me, his knees buckling as he dropped into a hug. It was a long, tight hug, one that spoke volumes more than words ever could. That morning changed everything. For a while, people in town joked about what happened, some saying Dad was hallucinating, others guessing that the darkness had played tricks on his mind. But the joke stopped when they saw the change in him. Dad, who was once the life of every party became quiet, withdrawn. He started having nightmares,

the kind that left him screaming in the middle of the night. Mom told me about the medication he needed to sleep, how he'd whisper in the dark. I'm afraid I'll see it in my dreams. I never asked Dad about it again. The unspoken rule in our family was to never mention that day. The rifles gathered dust in the corner of our garage. We never went hunting again. It wasn't a spoken decision, more like a silent agreement. The joy and excitement of hunting were replaced by a lingering fear, an unshakable feeling of being watched, of being hunted. High school came and went, and I found other interests, other ways to connect with nature, but the memories of that day stayed with me, like a shadow that never quite fades. I'd catch myself staring into the woods

behind our house, half expecting to hear that scream again, to see something lurking in the shadows. Dad and I didn't talk much about hunting or the woods anymore. Instead, we found new ways to bond, like working on old cars or watching football. But there was always this unspoken understanding between us, a shared experience that was both our bond and our barrier. As I grew older, I realized that some experiences stay with you, changing the way you see the world. That morning in the stand, the fear, the scream, it wasn't just about losing the innocence of childhood. It was about understanding that there are things in this world that are beyond our understanding, things that can shake you to your core. Now, as I stand on the threshold of adulthood,

I often think back to that day. I wonder what it was that we heard, what Dad saw. But some part of me knows that it's better left a mystery. For in that mystery lies a lesson. A lesson about respect for the unknown, the power of fear, and the bond that forms when you face the unimaginable together. That day, I lost my interest in hunting,

but I gained something far more important, a deeper connection with my dad and a newfound respect for the mysteries of the natural world. It was the first and last time I ever went hunting, but it was also the beginning of a new understanding of life and its many unpredictable facets. You tell yourself, no one wants your college-era band teas, but on Deep Hop, people are searching for exactly what you've got.

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and hang some string lights to give your patio a glow-up. Spring's calling. Ross, work your magic. Living in a small town inland from the New South Wales coast, my home sits a few kilometers outside the town. It's one of those places where you can see your neighbors in the distance, but you'd have to scream bloody murder for anyone to really hear you. A bit further up the road, it turns into dense bushland in a national park, marked by an old dirt road flanked by trees,

usually quiet except for the occasional dirt bike riders on weekends, lost cars, four-wheel drives, or people collecting wood. Walking my dogs here was always a peaceful experience. On that particular day, I was out with my two dogs, a Great Dane and a Husky, and my mom's Scotty Terrier. My mischievous Husky was on an extender leash to prevent her from chasing kangaroos into the bush, while my loyal Dane roamed off leash, along with the Scotty, who tended to run off but usually came back.

As we walked along the bush road, which included what I think are fire roads, rough paths tougher than the dirt road, supposedly escape routes in case of bushfires, we were heading back home. Suddenly, all three dogs froze. I instinctively tightened my grip on the husky's leash, expecting her usual reaction to kangaroos, but they all stood still, the fur on my Dane's back bristling. They were staring towards a fire trail branching off.

At first, I thought they were on edge because of an unexpected person, but then I saw it, a brown shadow in the thinner trees before the dirt track, about 15 meters away. I knew every log in that area from my daily walks, and this was something different, something I hadn't seen before. This thing, whatever it was, suddenly moved. It was unnaturally fast, like a motorbike without the motor. I strained my ears but heard nothing. No cracking sticks, no rustling branches. It just vanished into the thicker trees. My dogs, still fixated in that direction, confirmed I wasn't imagining it.

After a tense 30 seconds I moved forward, passing the spot where it had been. My dogs behaved oddly. My brave husky kept her distance. The Dane circled the spot at the furthest point on the other side of the road, tail tucked, and the Scotty cowered in his shadow. They avoided the spot, unlike their usual behavior if it were an animal or a scent. If it were a person, my Dane would go into defense mode, so I doubted it was human. I knew the sounds of the local wildlife, but this thing moved silently, as if not touching the ground.

The bush fell eerily silent after it vanished, and I felt watched all the way back. Leaving the bushy area, I began to feel more at ease, and the dogs relaxed too, I've since been more cautious, often walking with others. What we saw that day was too big and solid to be a person, more like a bear on hind legs, but there are no bears in Australia. I wonder what it was, what spooked the dogs so much. They've never behaved like that again, and I've made sure not to go there alone.