Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I'm A Small Town Police Officer. These Are My Confidential Reports | Scary Stories

Episode Date: September 30, 2023

They're terrifying.    Story from mikerich15 Make sure to check out more of their work at r/MikeRich15  Original Post: The Ghost on the Lake, and other confidential reports from a lake town police officer. : r/nosleep                                     Original YouTube link: I'm A Small Town Police Officer. These Are My Confidential Reports              For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Merch: lighthousehorror.com  Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Darren Curtis Music - YouTube  Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every day, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

Listen, okay? I know I'm not supposed to be doing this. The council was very clear in its decision not to go public, and I voted with them. The things happening here would not be believed. Actually, they should not be believed. Because to believe in these things, these events would mean the very concept of our perception of reality is wrong. That kind of information can be dangerous in the wrong hands.

I won't be responsible for mass public panic. I won't be responsible for this town going bankrupt. I do, however, have to tell somebody something. The weight of it is too much to bear by myself. Our town surrounds a lake. The lake is huge, so big that when you're in the middle of it, the surrounding landscape is but a flat edge on the horizon. There are virtually no islands, and it is deep.

than most lakes I've ever come across. The lake is also the single biggest contributor to our economy, mostly through tourism, fisheries, housing developments, and cottage rentals. I'd been on the town's police force for a few years before the summer of 2013, and it was your typical, picturesque, small cottage town, with only the occasional bar fight or break-in to deal with. There were only a handful of police to begin with, because our town had to have. I didn't seen a murder in over 30 years until 2013.

We were a haven, a place where people could and did feel safe. I can't give you many more details than that. I can't tell you where we are. I won't give you real names. We've covered these events up for good reasons, I hope. These are my personal observations occurring over the past few years. July 16, 2013, several reports of an abandoned boat in the middle of the lake were sent to investigate because no one will go near it.

Townspeople who observe the boat tell me they feel compelled not to go near it, as if they were being controlled against their will. Superstition runs rampant among these parts, so I shrug it off, and I chalk it up to creative excuses not to haul the thing in themselves. I take my partner in our police issue aluminum 10-footer to see who this boat belongs to. After about 10 minutes, we spotted, and I immediately sensed something. The feeling's hard to describe. It was comparable to when you're walking through the woods and you come into unfamiliar territory, your senses become heightened, and you can almost taste the foreign nature of the land. It was like that out on the water, as if we'd floated into an alien

landscape. I no longer laughed to myself about what the townspeople had said as I cut the motor and glided toward the small wooden boat. My partner, usually intolerably talkative, went silent. No, no, that's not right. Everything was silent. The wind died. The water went still. The day that had been clear and sunny seemed to dull and darken quickly, like someone had pulled down a dimmer switch on the world. I used our oars to guide ourselves parallel to the abandoned vessel, reaching out with my hand to grab the side of whoever's boat it was. As soon as I touched the railing, I felt a chill run at my body. I mean that quite literally. A cold sensation station seemed to crawl under my hand and then up my arm and into my chest.

My partner started screaming frantically. He was panicked and terrified beyond anything I'd ever seen from a grown man. I decided to leave without the boat and get my partner back to the station immediately. Later that evening, when he calmed down, he whispered to me that he'd seen something when I touched the boat. He said it was a figure, a sack of meat and bones that rose out of the water in front of him. It had raised a skeletal arm and pointed at him, chattering exposed teeth together with a jawbone that flailed back and forth. He never came back to work after that, and I never found the boat again.

July 27, 2013. Any town's worst nightmare? A visiting family of four. A man and his wife with two children. One, a ten-year-old boy. And the other a six-year-old girl. They rented a small fishing charter boat in the morning and headed out. A beautiful, clear day in the forecast.

I got a call in the evening. A call I never wanted to hear. hear. The charter had returned with only the mother on board. She was hysterical and covered in blood, muttering incomprehensibly. I arrived just after the ambulance, and I expected to find a woman beside herself with fear and panic. What I found was worse in a way. She was calm, composed, and talking to the paramedics logically and sensibly. I asked her what happened, and she told me that during lunch, she'd been suddenly overwhelmed with a compulsion to pick up a bait knife on the deck and stab her husband and children to death.

She proceeded to dump their bodies into the lake and return home. As the only licensed rescue diver within the department, I took my boat out and followed the woman's GPS coordinates from her vessel and dove down to where she said she'd dumped the bodies. After six hours and over three dives, I was unable to recover any evidence. Later on, the woman threw up her husband's finger on the police station floor. August 18, 2013. Over the last week, we'd received many calls from different people,

claiming they'd been hearing screams coming from the north side of the lake. Some said the scream sounded like a woman. Some said a man. Others said it was a child screaming. I'd been stalking out various locations over the past few nights in my car when all of a sudden I heard it. The unmistakable sound of someone screaming, not in pain or distress, but of pure terror, definitely a woman screaming. The sound was originating offshore, coming from somewhere on the lake. I radioed. in and had my new partner bring a patrol boat my way. She arrived and I hopped in, telling her the direction from which I last heard the scream. The sky was starless, overcast and pitch black.

We swiveled our searchlight across the water, searching for the source of the screaming. The search went on for hours. And we were about to give up when our light caught a glimpse of something. That's something, actually. Someone. Maybe. Maybe I can't even be sure now. Because they weren't on a boat. They weren't swimming or floating in the water.

This thing. This person was hovering above the water. If I didn't see it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it. Their back was turned to us, and they were shrouded in some sort of long, dark, dark, cloak. They hovered there, feet a few inches above the water as my partner and I froze on the spot. Then the thing slowly began to turn, rotating towards us. I'll admit it. I closed my eyes. I didn't want to see. My partner later told me she did the same. All we know is that a few seconds after closing our eyes, we heard the scream again, and this time it sounded like a baby

screaming. I panicked, fumbled for the motor, and blindly directed our boat anywhere that wasn't where we were. I opened my eyes again and dared for a split second to glance back. The thing was still there. I could tell even without the light. And then, I swear, It waved at me. My partner and I didn't talk about it on the way back to the station. In fact, we never talked about it. September 28, 2013. I was on the overnight shift.

I hadn't been on the water since the last time, but I was alone in the station and I knew it was my duty to go out if I got a call. Sure enough, I got an anonymous report. of a capsized boat near the south edge of the lake. Someone had been driving on the lakeshore road and spotted it offshore. I took a patrol boat out to the location given and spotted the overturned vessel pretty easily. Her belly was exposed, and I knew I was going to have to go under and check for survivors. I geared up and dove into the pitch black waters, my patrol boat lights barely able to penetrate the darkness.

Visibility was low. Something had churned up the silt and mud on the bottom. The boat was small, and it didn't take me long to search it. I found him tucked away in one of the closets. I didn't recognize him, but I wasn't sure anybody would have. His legs had been wrenched up so that his body was essentially folded in on itself. I will never forget. image of his feet up near his head, his toes pointing behind him.

His face was contorted into something inhuman. His gaunt cheeks were stretched out, and his eyes were almost bulging out of their sockets, like he died in the middle of a most terrifying scream. I turned around and began to ascend. When I saw another body floating below the boat, At least, I thought they were floating. And then it wasn't a body. It was actually a person walking on the bottom.

But they didn't have any gear on. No vest. No snorkel. Nothing. And they weren't exactly walking. This person was, for lack of a better term, dancing. kicking their heels out. I started to swim toward them, but at that moment my light died.

I was cast into almost complete darkness, my boat lights on the surface, my only source of illumination. I ascended then, momentarily forgetting about the person on the bottom in my panic. But I know. I just know that I heard something before I broke. onto the surface, I'm pretty sure it was someone singing. When people start dying around you, everyone has a different way of coping. I suspect most people are like me.

And when the years go by, you think back and realize that most of that time is blurred together. There's no cohesive linear timeline. There are only points on the edge of a circle. Snapshots of things you remember. Going over these reports, I realize that my memories, the things I flash back to, are so incomplete. There are so many details that I've shuffled away in some drawer in my mind that I decided should never be opened. I think I can start to see patterns emerging. It was after I found the man who'd been murdered on his boat that the mayor decided to pay the station a visit.

He looked about a hundred years older than the last time I'd seen him. The stressful days and office, withering him away like a rock in a permanent sandstorm. I only caught a few of the lines spoken between him and our chief before they went into his office. Essential and imperative. I knew then and there I had to continue documenting everything that was happening in our town. Winter hit us very badly. in 2013 and 14, temperatures never rising above freezing, and the wind bringing with it a cold. You could feel in your bones every time you stood outside.

December 17, 2013. I get this call from Ruth Hallman telling me her husband's missing. Temperatures are 20 degrees below freezing, mine is the same with a wind chill. I know Ruth. She's reliable. Her husband is the same. If she believes he's missing and outside, then he has very little time. I grab my partner and we hauled tail to replace one of the nicer homes on the edge of the east side of the lake.

She runs out frantically to meet us, telling us immediately that her husband was supposed to have been home three hours ago. The real worry comes when she tells me he was crossing the lake. I look to our massive body of water, the choppy surface frozen in a moment of chaos, as it tore up and down all throughout the fall before finally turning to ice for the season. I am not immediately worried about him falling through the surface, which is and always has been thick and sturdy every winter. I worry more about the possibility that he is unconscious somewhere from a fall, the risk of

hypothermia probable in these conditions. The lake is currently engulfed in a terrific windstorm and visibility on the ice is subpar at best. My partner and I sprint towards the lake, knowing time for Ruth's husband is quickly running out. We start from the edge of his property and find his boot tracks pretty quickly. The wind is fierce, but not powerful enough to bury the footsteps, which have been made by a heavy boot and crusted over with. ice, leaving a solid boot print in the snow. We get out to about halfway across the lake, and his footsteps seemed to get further apart, indicating he was running.

I can't think of any good reason why he'd be doing this. As we continue, the steps get even further apart, like he was full out sprinting. Suddenly, in the middle of the lake, the tracks stop. It doesn't even appear like he slowed down. or stop running. There are tracks. And then there's nothing. I look over to my partner, and it's clear she's come to the same conclusion because she has a puzzled look about her. It really does look like Ben was here one second, and then simply gone the next. I look back and can't help but believe that he was running from something. I just know it in my gut.

And whatever he was running from, he wasn't fast enough. Even today in quieter moments. I swear I can still hear Ruth wailing in anguish like she did that day. We never found Ben. Ruth died two months later. January 8th, 2014. New Year's has come and gone without incident. I start to calm myself.

Fall into the daily winter routine. A call comes in at 4.30 p.m. just before my shift is over. I hear heavy breathing, but no one speaks. I'm about to hang up when a steady voice breaks the silence. I've transcribed this from the recording of the phone call. Hello. Jordan. Is that you? Yes.

Is everything all right? What's happened? Had to. You had to what, Jordan? I had to do it. What did you do? Jordan, who is that? Is somebody hurt?

Jordan, tell me what's happening right now. Have you seen it? Have I seen what, Jordan? You have. I can tell. Jordan. The police are on their way. You at home?

No. You at a friend's place? No. Can you tell me where you are? Guess. Are you on the lake? Come find me. It takes us two hours to find his tent on the leg.

He'd been ice fishing with his mother. his mother. The evidence tells us that Jordan, at some point before calling us, decided to carve up his mother like you would have freshly caught fish. There was no spot in the tent that wasn't covered with some part of her. After he finished his conversation with me, Jordan carved away at the hole in the ice until it was big enough to stick his head through and he held himself under until he drowned. That's what the official report says anyway. According to testimony from his friends and family, the 30-year-old Jordan was a loving son who didn't have a violent bone in his body. I don't go ice fishing anymore. February 14, 2014. A man walks into the station, decked out in

snowmobiling gear. He sits down on the first chair he finds, and stares blankly at the wall for ten minutes before we can get him to say a word. He tells his story to no one in particular. He says he and his wife are visiting friends on the lake, and for Valentine's Day, he rented snowmobiles for the two of them. They'd been hitting the trails for about an hour before they decided to head back for lunch, cutting across the lake to save some time. He says everything was going fine until he heard a tremendous cracking sound. He stopped and turned his head back to see his wife stopped in the middle of the

ice, trembling and visibly afraid. He yelled that her not to move, and he started to slowly crawl back to her. He said he was about ten feet away from her. When he started to feel something below the ice, it was at this point that I ask him to describe what he means, but he simply shakes his head. He says there was no time. One moment he was within arm's reach of his wife, and then the next, the ice below broke upwards. On this, he was quite adamant. He says there was no way the snowmobile and his wife broke through. He saw something coming at her from beneath.

He said he had a few seconds to see his wife being dragged beneath the ice. and for a moment she was right under him, looking into his eyes, and then she was gone. It's at this point that the man breaks down and doesn't say another word for the rest of the night. We head out to where he said it happened. Sure enough, we find one snowmobile, and about 15 feet away there's this large hole in the ice. Later in the summer, we find the snowmobile. But we do not find her. February 28, 2014.

I come into the station after a few days off, mostly due to the terrible blizzard that has been hitting us for four days. I walk up to my partner to say hello, but I stop when I see her. She's just sitting on her chair, staring at the wall. She hasn't even heard me come in. Not until I put my hand on her shoulder, does she look up at me? And even then, she barely reacts. Before I can ask her what's wrong, she turns around and hands me a file folder. I open it to the first page and see that it's an incident report she's typed up.

Seems that yesterday Judith came into the station. She lives with her husband on one of the few private islands on the lake. My partner has transcribed what Judith told her. I feel silly for coming in. I could have called, but my story would sound even crazier on the phone. I can't even be sure it happened, but I need to tell it to you before I forget, before my mind represses it and makes it more plausible for when I think on it later. Last night, my husband, Dave and I are settled in on the couch with a fire going.

Pretty much like we've been doing for the last three days because of the blizzard. On our spot on the lake, the wind really does howl, especially during a storm like this. It beats on our windows and it shakes the walls. It was so loud last night that it took Dave and I a few minutes to realize that someone was knocking on the door. I looked at Dave and he looked back at me. Both of us thinking, who the heck could that be? No one in their right mind would have made the trek to our place, the nearest neighbor being at least a mile away. Instinctively, I get up to answer it, but the look he gives me makes me stop.

He whispers to me, asks if I can feel it, and suddenly I do. It hits me in the face, makes my knees weak. Dave told me later that it felt like that moment before everything went to hell in Vietnam. You can't touch it or grab it, you know, because it's just a feeling. But it's overwhelming. Something's wrong. The knocking continues. It's constant, but not forceful. It almost sounds like a tree branch tapping away at a window, but it's too rhythmic to be something like that. Dave and I go quietly to the door. When we're about a foot away from it, the knocking suddenly stops. Dave takes a deep breath and yells out in his most intimidating voice, Who is it? At first there isn't a response. I put my ear to the door, and that's when I

hear this terrible sucking sound. Like when someone smacks their lips together. I peel away from the door. I don't like that sound. I picture a rotting corpse decaying flesh bouncing up and down in the wind. It's jaw smacking together as it stands outside our door. Dave grabs his hunting rifle and he He rips the door open. Nothing. Nobody there. But I let out a gasp when I look down and see very clear footsteps coming towards our door. Dave closes and locks the door, panic in his eyes.

Dave doesn't get scared, ever. So this is what made me really scared. He told me to say nothing to anybody. We went back to the couch and after many drinks managed to get some sleep. I'm only coming to you today because, well, when I looked down, I saw footprints leading up to the door, but I didn't see any leading back out. My partner then tells me she was supposed to go this morning and check up on them. She tried calling first.

After it rang and rang, someone finally picked up, but she doesn't think it was Judith or Dave. All she heard was a horrible, sucking sound. She said she practically ran over there, only to find the door open and Dave and Judith missing. To this day, no sign of them has ever taken. turned up.