Snook - 4 Hours of Scary 4Chan Stories

Episode Date: July 26, 2026

This is 4+ hours of some Scary 4Chan Threads! This is a megacompilation of some of the most wild, disturbing and scary stories I have ever read from 4Chan... I hope you enjoy! And let me know if you would like to see more videos like this in the future! Thank you all for listening! Make sure you rate the podcast 5 stars and follow! Thank you all so much for listening! Make sure to subscribe to the Patreon for early access videos and many more perks! ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.patreon.com/SnookYT⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Also! Go follow me on Spotify and Instagram! Yes, my voice is human. The channels subscriber goal is 1 million, so subscribe! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

B-13, living in Marindella, a small city in the north of Portugal, pick-related. Starting my ninth grade, decent circle of friends, but nonetheless a bit of a loner most of the time. Notice a new girl joined the class, Kie Burnett, also seemingly around my age. Had a bit of a goth style to her, not to the point of piercings and black nails, but almost always stressed in black. Get paired up with her for project on the first week and end up chatting. Find out we have the same taste in music and movies and inevitably. become good friends. She was fatherless, moved into town with her mother recently, ridiculously intelligent, far more than you'd expect from anyone her age, was even enthusiastic

about philosophy and got me reading into Schopenhauer and Sartthe at fucking 13. It was also a loner, didn't hang out with many colleagues other than me, mainly because their long existentialist reflections seemed to bore anyone, eventually became really close friends, almost platonic lovers. One day she invites me to her house for dinner. Actually, a little surprised by how long it took to get invited to her place, given how often she dropped by mine. That evening, we meet by the school when she leads the way. We start heading out of town. Half an hour later, we're walking around tall grass fields and dirt paths as night settles in. Can't help but feel a little scared since I don't want to be out in complete darkness.

She tells me not to worry and kindly holds my hand. After maybe another half hour, with almost total darkness setting in the night, we follow a dirt road into a forested area. Fear is really kicking in, about to beg her to go back when she suddenly says we arrived. In front of us is an old, large, integrated house, heavily obstructed by darkness, but nonetheless being a striking sight,

not exactly a mansion but still really large, with three floors and an old Alpha Romeo parked on the driveway. The door is unlocked. We walk in. She turns on the lights. The interior actually looks decent. Lots of old furniture, but all of it relatively well taken care of, unlike the torn-up exterior implied.

My fear turns into curiosity. I can't help but feel intrigued by the house and bombard her with questions about it. The best she can say is that her mother got it as heritage from her distant uncle a few years ago and only now felt like it would be fitting to move here. After showing me the bottom floor round, proudly displaying her collection of LPs and VHS in the living room,

the 80s Phillips VHS player, was the closest to a modern apparatus in the entire house, and are packed up and thoroughly organized bookshelves in the office. She takes me to the dining room, asked me to wait there while she goes upstairs to call her mother for dinner. As she leaves the room, I contemplate, how silent the house is, the only audible sounds being the tremulous tree tops in the surrounding woods,

exposed to the wind and the light hum of an electric. electricity generator, probably around the back. Someone confused with the whole situation, but far more intrigued by my friend and her mother's eccentric lifestyle than scared by it, in a moment she comes back, tells me her mother is working in the attic and wants us to have dinner there. Now I'm really confused. What is her mother working on the attic and why can't she just come down for dinner instead? She explains her mother as a dressmaker and uses the attic as her studio and as such spends the entire day there and doesn't want to interrupt her work to go downstairs. Unsatisfactory explanation, but all right. As we get to the upper floor, I notice it is in significantly

poorer condition than the lower. The walls of the corridor we pass by look slightly dirty and much of the wooden floor covering seems to be torn off. She tells me not to mind that division and explains her mother is still on the process of refurnishing the house. The attic stairs are at the end of the corridor. We climb them up. The attic is an ample but poorly lit space. I am assaulted by a labyrinth of dresses, hanged in washing lines, spread across the attic.

Most of them looked ripped and dirty. Definitely unlike anything a dressmaker would be producing. A disgusting smell reeked across the room. I can't even properly describe how unpleasant it was. She just calmly makes her way through all the clothes, I try to keep up while covering my face and disgust. Hey, Mom, here's the friend I told you about, I hear my friend say. Finally come out at the end of the mess.

Regret doing so in the following second as my brain processes what I'm suddenly looking at. Right in front of me is a morbidly decaying corpse, with almost more bone visible than the horrendous rotting flesh, sitting on a chair in front of a small table with a lit candle over it. I can't even properly react to. What the fuck is this goddamn thing? Now that we're all here together, we can finally have dinner at last, my friend says,

seemingly talking to the rotting cadaver before her. Nope, nope, nope, nope, the fuck out. Heart pounding faster than it ever did in my entire life, run through the labyrinth of dresses and quickly head downstairs, rush to the front door of the house as fast as I can. She starts screaming angrily at me. I have no idea of what, the fuck she's saying and I don't even take the time to listen to it.

Smash through the front door. Run away into the surrounding forest with no idea of where to go. The only thing I can make out of all our spontaneous screaming is an almost tear jerked, don't leave me as I rush into the woods. Run through the pitch black forest for what seemed like torturous hours from my young teenager brain, crying until I'm out of tears to pour out. End up finding a highway. The first driver that passes by and notices me on the side of the road miraculously stops

and gives me a ride back into town. Get back home. Parents are surprised to hear me arrive close to midnight, but immediately understood something happened as soon as they see me walking to the living room, covered in sweat, with my clothes torn up from running through the middle of woods. Tell them the shit I went through.

Needless to say, they were skeptical about such an absurd-sounding story, but nonetheless, presumed that. Was I telling the truth? I must have been the victim of a prank from her, eventually involving a false corpse dummy or similar. Decide they're going to talk with her teachers to track down her parents and shed some light on her inappropriate attitude. They go to the school the next day to clear it up.

Far too damn scared to leave my house. And at the same time, I was terrified to be in my house given she knew where I lived, invited over the beefiest friend I had at the time under the paranoia of her showing up. Parents came back, told her she was registered into the school by her mother, during early summer vacations. The school management wasn't able to contact the mother ever since. No phone calls were picked up and, given no one understood where her address was located, all letters were returned to send her.

Give how any problems the lack of contact or their mother was causing. They tried calling the girl to clear everything up on that exact moment. But she was missing that day. And so was she missing throughout the rest of the week. And so was she missing throughout the next week. and so was she missing throughout the rest of the month. I was invaded by a mist of self-concern and a legitimate concern for her. On one hand, my juvenile couldn't help, but imagine she could be up to something.

On the other hand, I was seriously worried about her and fearing for what could have happened to that poor, desperate lunatic. We tried filing a missing personal report to the police, but we didn't have her face, hardly knew anyone who spoke to her, and still weren't capable of reaching her mother. It eventually ended up being futile when we had nothing but her name to prove she even existed. But she was never heard of again.

It's been close to an entire decade since that happened. Some years after I moved to the capital, Lisbon, but I still often go north to visit my family, and I still know that town like the palm of my hand, and I still have no idea where that damn house of terror is. Scary Story slash Urban Legend thread. Here's one that happened to me a few months back. I want to stress that you can literally Google this incident if you want proof,

although the articles I've been reading have been highly sanitized, which is part of the reason I'm posting this. Be me, South African, going on a trip to Botswana. My sister is marrying a guy who's a game ranger, and I'm going on this trip to spend time with the dude and get to know him. I'm supposed to be the best man at the wedding, even though we barely know each other. I arrive after a really long drive. Spend first day drinking and driving dirt bikes around, generally having a great time. Next day, sister's fiancee suggests we go driving around the outskirts

of the Acovejo Delta in an attempt to see some wildlife. I agree. We go driving around and manage to spot some giraffes, hippos, and some different birds. Really fun but insanely fucking hot. No elephant spotted. This comes up later. Eventually we head back to the place we've and staying at each night. We start to cook and drink. Sister's fiancé. I'll just call him John. Gets a call as the son's going down.

I notice how weirded out he is by what he's being told on the phone. He hangs up but definitely seems freaked out as we eat dinner. I ask what's up, but John just dismisses it. Says it's nothing serious. After dinner, we start drinking more and more. John starts ranting about his boss. That's who was on the phone. Says they found some dead elephant and he wants John to go check it out.

John tells him it's too dark to see anything, but he'll go tomorrow. John apologizes to me. Tells me he'll be busy working tomorrow. I say it's no problem. John, kind of drunk, feels really bad. Says we're supposed to be bonding, but now he's leaving me in a shitty little shallot with no company. Night goes on. After a few more beers, John tells me that I should come with him tomorrow.

I'm reluctant. I don't love the idea of inspecting dead elephants. John insists. says they'll go by helicopter. Says it'll be much better than driving in the heat. I agree to go along. Next day, we eat breakfast and head to a small airstrip. Helicopter looks riggedy as fuck, but I feel like complaining would be rude.

There are lots of pre-flight procedures and we end up taking off just after midday. We fly around for about an hour, able to search a huge amount of area really quickly. There's me, John, another ranger, a dude who I think was a ranger in training and the pilot. John and other ranger have trank rifles ready in case they need to inspect a live elephant up close. Finally spot something. About three elephants line in the sun. We land a few meters away and hop out. The stench is horrible.

Flies are everywhere. The corpses are half rotten and half eaten. I think it's weird that three elephants are dead together, but not too shocking beyond that. John and others are discussing something. Conversation seemed pretty intense. I try to join the conversation, so I don't seem like these silent autists of the group lurking in the background. Uh, so I'm guessing some poachers shot them? Huh? Everyone looks at me, and they all seem annoyed.

I think they were pissed at John invited in Normie, who didn't know shit along with them. Eventually, John says, doesn't seem like poachers. The elephants still have their tusks. I hadn't thought of that, and now I felt like a dumb ass. They keep inspecting the bodies, and both rangers seemed really interesting. interested in one of the smaller ones. It was lying on its side, but its face was pointed at an odd angle towards the ground like it had been trying to stick its head in the ground. Finally, the other Ranger suggests we keep looking to see if there are any others. We get back up into the air and

fly around for about another hour. Ranger seems really troubled, but we see nothing. We land and they have another conversation about what to do next while I just sit there awkwardly in the helicopter with my feet hanging out. We have some lunch and John informs me that we're going to do. do search before heading back as we only have fuel for about another hour. We're flying back in force, so we're only about 45 minutes from the airstrip. Before we finish eating, I overhear the ranger tell John that the smaller elephant really seemed like it had a broken neck. I blurred out. How the fuck does that happen? Ranger just glares at me and keeps eating. We finish eating and take off again and continue searching. After about 30 minutes, the pilot tells us we're

heading back and turns towards home, but after just five minutes, the ranger in training starts pointing and shouting. Lying on the ground near a clearing of trees are about a dozen dead elephants. The sun's going down and the shadows from their corpses are easy to see, stretching along the ground. We land nearby and make our way over. Smell is even worse than last time, and the bodies are ruined. I'm not much of the nature lover, so I don't know exactly what animals can do to other animals, even so I could tell some bodies have been picked at by scavengers. Their stomachs were torn open and intestines spewed out everywhere. Again, all the tusses were present.

I asked John if maybe somebody had shot at them just for the fuck of it. He says probably not. To kill this many, you need a helicopter to fire from above, and when that happens, like when they're tranked, they form a circle around the younger ones. But these bodies were all spread out over a distance of a kilometer or two, like they had been running away in a full-on panic. He then pointed out the state of some of the other bodies.

A couple had feet and legs missing, which may be possible after being chewed on for a few days, but I can't imagine why some lions and hyenas would go for the legs and feet first while leaving the stomach untouched. After some inspecting, we all ended up standing around the body of a smaller elephant, maybe a teenager, who was missing its head. I don't mean its skin and flesh had been picked off by birds and wild dogs. I mean, its head, neck, and right shoulder were gone like they had been pulled off. Also, while this body was the smaller, it was still probably a couple tons and twice the height of a human. I actually wondered if someone had magically fed this thing a stick of dynamite or something.

At this point, John and the other ranger are swearing and ranting about how fuck this all is, but I think the rest of us knew that they were using anger to cover up their growing confusion and worry. After I let them vent a little, I ask, what we do now? The other ranger snaps at me and says, we're going to go home and try to figure out how to explain this to the Department of Environmental Affairs. We all start to head back to the helicopter when the ranger in training says, What about the hole? We all turn and look at him and John says, what hole?

The ranger in training starts leading us towards a small hill while saying, I thought you all saw it when we flew overhead. Sure enough, there is the side of this hill is a hole. at maybe a 15 or 20 degree angle downward. This thing is fucking massive. It looks like a mole's hill, except that it's as big as a subway tunnel. I asked John what I'm looking at,

still thinking that this is some natural phenomena I've never heard about, but he just mumbles like he has no idea. Finally, the pilot asks if we're going in. What the fuck? What does this man just say? I just look at him like he's a fucking crazy person. Why the fuck would we go in there?

Luckily, the other ranger says, nah, it's almost dark. Let's just take some pictures and get back. We'll report this and let someone else figure it out. I'm beginning to like this dude. We start walking back. The pilot and I take our time checking the body some more because the other three are taking pictures

and there's no hurry. Although I did feel really creeped out, I didn't say anything. Eventually, we all end up in a helicopter except for the ranger who had climbed up a body and is taking his last pictures. For some reason, I only noticed that how silent it was. No animals except flies,

when I thought about, which was weird considering how much raw meat was present. As the ranger jumps off the body and starts heading back, we all hear a massive grating noise. It sounded like something huge was shifting against the sand. I immediately assume one of the elephants is still alive and is trying to stand up. We all pile out of the helicopter and make our way towards the noise. I can't see anything because the lights are fading fast and the horizon is dotted with giant elephant carcasses. I noticed John and the others are making their way up some bodies, and I just don't. jump onto a nearby, fairly intact corpse to get a vantage point. As I crest the elephant,

never thought I'd type that sentence, I stare out at the black silhouettes lying on the ground against the afternoon sky. For a while, I'd see nothing but suddenly my eyes pick up movement. At first, I think it's something coming out of a hole, like it's a fucking worm from Dune or something, and I tactically shit my pants. Then I noticed as it seems to be an elephant trying to drag itself into the hole. John and the other ranger are already down the carcasset. and heading for the hole and the rest of us are following. I'm not sure why. Maybe we just wanted to see a living elephant after all these dead ones.

I won't pretend it was rational, and I can't speak for the others, but I just felt like, if we saw this thing up close, we might be able to get some understanding of what happened here. We all come around the side of a truly massive dead elephant and stare towards the entrance to the hole. At this point, the light was dying fast, and a lot of detail was lost in shadow of the tunnel, but I swear to God,

I saw enough to know I wasn't imagining anything. Standing at the entrance to the hole is a person, crouched over like a gorilla. The hair was long and matted and they were completely naked. But the real problem was their size. This person was crouched over the elephant. Their body was actually slightly cramped in this subway-sized hole. The elephant's body looked like big gray dog next to this literal giant.

Its proportions were completely fucked. Its top half was stretched out in spiretery with arms as long as a truck, folded so that it could fit inside the tunnel, ending in these wiry fingers with needle-like claws. Meanwhile, its bottom half was stubby and emaciated. This thing's legs were human enough in appearance, though each was the size of a fully grown man, but they were so withered compared to the rest of it that they almost seemed vestigial. We came to see it just as it was getting back into the tunnel. What had seemed like an elephant crawling into the hole had actually been an elephant body being dragged by the leg into the earth. We all stood in abject horror as this thing pulled at the elephant's corpse like a sack of potatoes.

We hadn't made a sound, but at some point it turned its head around. Not like it heard something, but rather like it was a wild animal checking its surroundings from time to time. Its eyes immediately snapped towards us. This thing's face was so fucked up. The eyes were white and milky, but I could still tell that it saw us. The nose was upturned like a bat, and its mouth hung slightly open as it breathed, revealing massive slab-like teeth like something you'd see in a hippo's mouth. They were all crooked, and some protruded out at odd angles, but they all looked as hard as

steel, and I could immediately imagine them tearing through the legs and heads of the bodies we had seen so far. The strangest part was the shape of its head. It seemed as figured and bulbous, like a fetus's skull. It also bent in on one side more than the other. The best way I can describe it is like. the lady, from the painting in it, except wider and obviously fair larger. The skin was very vainy, and although its shoulders and back were covered in dirt, it was as white as a sheet,

almost to the point of being translucent. The skin around its eyes had enough wrinkles to almost act like eyebrows, which gave it a very surprise, slightly confused look. After a split second of confusion, this thing's face contorts into a look of absolute rage. It lets out this fucking awful roar. Sounds almost like the screen. a deaf person might make, sort of low and monotone, but it's loud enough that my hands instinctively slam into my ears to try to block out the sound. We all start sprinting towards the helicopter. John's shouting something but my ears are ringing, and it's too muffled to make out.

We all climb into the helicopter in complete terror. I strap myself in and look back towards the hole. This giant fucking monster is clawing its way towards us. It's clearly moving as fast as it can, but it's still pretty slow. Its back legs are dragging along limply and is only moving by clon at the ground in elfin corpses. It moves like someone who's paralyzed from the waist down. We all just sit there, petrified, and stare at it while the pilot starts the helicopter. I remember watching it grab at one of the larger elephants to try to use it as an anchor to pull itself along.

The elephant corpse literally slid towards it. Like a fucking elephant corpse was not heavy enough for it to use it as a weight. The helicopter starts to lift off and this thing reaches out for it. for us. It's still a long way off, but it came as hell of a lot closer than I would have thought possible. Its whole body is probably longer than two school buses placed end-to-end. Ranger fires his trank gun at it, but I honestly didn't even see if it hit it or not, although I'd be amazed if you miss that thing. We don't stay around. Pilot turns the helicopter towards home. We shoot back faster than I thought possible. I think I heard another dull roar as we flew away,

but my ears were still ringing too much to be certain. The rest of the night was a blur. I don't remember much of the conversations after we landed, but I wasn't content with just being back at the chalet. I just felt like that thing was still crawling towards us in the night. It would eventually smash through the little wind in chalet I was in. I told John I was leaving right away and drove for about six hours before pulling it into a petrol station and falling asleep in my car. When I woke up the next morning, I kept driving until I got home. I got in the shower and just stood there under the water for about an hour. Eventually, I called John. We spoke for a while about everything that happened. Apparently, they had a massive group to go together to go search the area,

but when they arrived, they only found eight bodies, and the hole had partially collapsed. Over the next few weeks, John told me about the attempts to track down whatever that thing was, but eventually they gave up, and some of the other rangers started to think that maybe we all just had a few too many beers and came up with all this shit. Apparently, he had quite a few arguments over what happened that night. Elfin corpses keep showing up near those holes, but nobody's willing to go walking into them to see what's inside. After another week or two, John quit that job, and now he's working as a delivering man. Now you're probably wondering why you haven't heard about any of this. Well, you can find some stories about it, but most of them

attribute the deaths to some kind of pandemic that spread through the population. You'll also notice that they emit most of the pictures. They'll only show you pictures of the more intact elephants that you don't wonder how such a massive creature can get pulled limb from limb. And they'll never show you the holes dug in and out of the ground. A friend of my dad's would babysit me sometimes when I was little. Mom wasn't in the picture, and he used to tell a story to me that scares the absolute shit out of me to this day. Dad's friend, I'll call him Bob, is driving a rig out in the middle of bum fuck nowhere

organ. Had to make the delivery by the following morning, so he decides to just drive through the night. It's like one in the morning. No one else is out of the roads. hasn't seen another car in probably a hundred miles. He's literally in the middle of nowhere. Suddenly the entire skylights up, instantly like daylight. Bob fucking slams on the brakes. Has no idea what the hell is going on. Everything stays lit up for a good solid 10 seconds. He can see anything. Whatever's happening? It's not lightning. It doesn't stop or flicker at all.

Bob hunkers down anticipating imminent nuclear devastation, but suddenly the sky goes dark again. No sound, no blast wave. He sits there in the middle of the road, waiting for almost five minutes, then decides to keep going. Figures it was a meteor or something. Goes about two miles up the road and sees a car with its flashes on stopped in the middle of the road. It stops a good distance away from it. There's not enough room to go around it. Front end of the car is crumpled like it hit something.

Bob figures they probably hit a deer that got spooked whenever the meteor went over and ran into the road. He gets out of the cabin, goes to see if the driver is okay. driver is sitting on the ground by the driver's side door, has his knees up and is resting his head on his arms. Hey buddy, you okay? Bob calls. He stops about 10 feet away for seemingly no reason. Something about the whole situation just feels weird. Bob is one of those guys that always listens to his gut so he stays put. God, my head is killing me, the guy says, but he doesn't lift his head up so it's muffled. Did he hit a deer? Bob asked. He's getting more and more uneasy. something's wrong.

But he still can't figure out what exactly it is. The guy says he thinks he may have hurt his head, asked Bob to please help him. Bob takes a step forward, but his instincts are going apeshit. He looks at everything again. That's when he notices it. The fucking car is all wrong. It looks like when someone thinks a car looks like. Like they tried to draw it.

It has all the right pieces, but there's nothing extra, if that makes sense. Bob says it looked like a cheap hot wheel's not. It just looked wonky and it wrong. He looks around at the back of the car and realizes that not only is there no license plate, there's not even a trunk. It's just one solid piece of material with taillights put in it. There's no manufacturer or model names. Bob knows cars, and this thing is nothing he's ever seen before.

From where he's standing, you can see there's no tailpipe or even hubcaps. It's just the shape of a car. He starts to back up and the guy asks him for help again. Bob tells him he can't help him and that he'll call a tow truck when he gets to the next town. next town. The guy lifts his head and looks at Bob, tells him he thinks he may have a concussion. Something is really, really wrong with his guy's face. But again, it takes a second for Bob to figure it out. The next part is exactly how Bob described it. Everything on the man's face was where it should have been in their normal position. He looked totally normal, except for the

fact that his eyes and mouth were on upside down. Bob goes a ship and sprints back to his rig, climbs in, locks the door just in time for the man to slam into the door behind him. How the fuck did he get there so fast? He knocks on the glass and smiles at Bob, but because his mouth is upside down, it looks like he's screaming. Tells Bob to open the door so he can come in. Bob fucking floors it. Doesn't care if he hits the guy or not. His truck easily pushes the car out of the way.

Whatever it is, it's light, and it makes no sound when he hits it. Unfortunately, it's an anti-climatic ending. Bob got where he was going fine with no. other problems. My dad knows this story, but I don't think he believes it, but Bob tells it to everyone he meets, so he obviously does. He's absolutely adamant about the guy being an alien. Years later, I heard about the Thatcher effect and nearly had a fucking heart attack when I saw it. I showed one of the pictures to Bob, and he wouldn't even look at it. He says it's exactly what the guy looked like. Pick very much related. This is the story of how I first heard about the Osage reign of terror.

the story of a man named Darrell, whose grandson Frank told me the story, and it starts off with what Frank called a ghost storm. I'm working in Oklahoma for a month. Boss man unexpectedly gives everyone the day off, with pay. Nice. I'm at my motel that night, sitting in the doorway, in a little collapsible chair, staring out at the field across from my room. It's late. Everyone else is asleep. I don't remember what I was thinking about, but at some point I hear a storm approaching. I love storms, so I sit there waiting for it. I hear it roll across the field towards me. It comes right up to my doorstep where I'm sitting.

There is not a single drop of rain. In fact, the sky is perfectly clear, and I can see the stars. Not a cloud in sight. But I can literally hear what sounds like a heavy rain all around me. I kind of feel something brushed past my face as the storm moves over the motel. Then everything goes quiet again. I wasn't spooked, just confused. ended up concluding that it was probably some natural phenomenon, maybe electrical, because I

definitely felt it around my face and hair. Next morning, it's my day off, so I get up late, decide to hit up a diner down the road for some grub. I missed the breakfast rush, so it's a ghost town in there. Just me and some old man drinking coffee at the counter. He strikes up a conversation with me. Basic small talk bullshit. I mentioned the weird occurrence the night before.

Keep in mind, I'm still looking for a normal explanation. I asked the guy if he knows what it might have been. He seems interested. Asked me what I heard. I described the sound to him. I mentioned how I thought it was a storm at first, but there was no rain. The old guys looking at me real intently now. He asked if I felt anything.

Yeah, I felt something on my face and hair, kind of like walking through spider webs. Long story short, he mentions how there are stories of a ghost storm that passes through the area. people describe it as an intense hissing that sounds just like heavy rainfall pretty much exactly what i heard he says in the stories the storm passes over the person and that's it talk about a lame fucking legend i'm in snoresville but the guy seems interested i apparently witnessed it he says most stories are from long ago none really from the present day he also mentions that the ghost storm is sometimes associated with death kind of like a banshee i guess for you clue of this fuckers people People claim to hear the scream of a banshee, then later someone dies. I mentioned this to the old man. Suggests that maybe the ghost storm is some sort of electrical phenomenon. Maybe Europeans experienced it when they came over.

Associated the londois with the banshee from back home. And boom, you've got the local legend he describes. I pat myself on the back for solving the mystery. But the guy says no. According to him, the legend goes back to a meeting between the Osage and the Cherokee. He tells me that his actually. actually part of the Osage nation. His grandpa's hold him the legend as a kid. He used to tell to us every year, he says. Then he'd tell us about his own experiences. Okay, no more Snoresville. I love

native history and especially love native lore. I ask if he'd mind telling me his grandpa's stories. He's reluctant at first. It's really long, he says. There's kind of a lot of it. I tell him it's my day off, so I've got nothing but time. I have to prod him a bit, but he finally agrees. So he hobbles over to my bruth, introduces himself as Frank, and slides into the seat across from me. Then he begins to tell me a crazy fucking story. It's got a lot of history, a bit of folklore, and a nice little murder mystery too. And it goes a little something like this. Cue Native American drums. The Osage were once considered to be one of the fiercest Native American tribes. At upwards of six feet, they were much taller than most Europeans, and they loved rating. Early on,

in American history, the fur trappers who were drawn near the Osage territories were constantly attacked and killed. The United States decides that it's time to stop playing around. So they armed the enemies of the Osage and encouraged them to go to battle with each other. A series of intertribal skirmishes follow. Eventually, the raids are quelled and the Osage are pacified. They ultimately sign a series of treaties with the U.S., and that, my friends, is the beginning of dark times for the Osage people. Soon after signing away their traditional lands, smallpox ravages the tribe. Right around this time, the U.S. tells them, you guys got a skid-addle. We need more room for white settlers. Most of the Osage lay dead or dying. The rest are forcibly moved out of West

into Cherokee territory where the survivors make rough camps. The land's not very good for farming. The Osage began to starve. Then the American Civil War breaks out. At the same time, the Cherokee the creek are vying for control over native tribal politics. They fight bloody battles against each other. The Osage are right in the middle of all of this, surrounded by war and starving to death. As if to add insult to injury, the United States never paid them what they were owed for their traditional lands. This once proud tribe of fierce warriors doesn't even have a place that they can call their own. When the wars were over, the Osage send a delegation to Washington, D.C. They plead their case. They beg the United States to honor its debt and to pay the Osage what they're owed

for giving up their ancestral home. Congress debates the matter, and they decide the Osage have a point. A resolution has passed. The U.S. honors its debt and pays the Osage in full. The tribe is saved, but they still need a home. The Osage decides they'll use some of the money they received to purchase the piece of the Cherokee reservation that they've been occupying all this time. But the Cherokee are hesitant to sell. They tell the Osage a really weird story. The land they're attempting to buy is home to a mysterious spirit. The Cherokee encountered it during the famous Trail of Tears. They heard it passing overhead one day, like thunder. It seems to be following them. Its presence was like a roar of a river, and it scared the people. But their medicine man assured them,

it's just an old spirit, he said. It doesn't like being disturbed. They asked him what sort of spirit it was. It protects the land, and it is the land, he said. He told them all to keep marching and to stay out of its way and it would leave them alone. The medicine man was old, and he died not long after. But the Cherokee did as he said. They kept away from the place where the spirit was most often heard. Over time, they simply stopped speaking of it altogether. The elders broke this taboo to warn the Osage. The land they were trying to purchase it. That's where the spirit lived. Obviously, the the Osage are scared by this, but they're also not deterred. They've been living on that land now for quite a while, and they've never encountered the spirit the Cherokee speak of. Besides, they need a

home, and they don't know what else to do. They insist on purchasing the land, and the Cherokee eventually sell. The Osage reservation is born, and they lived happily ever after, right? Yeah, not exactly. Settlers continue to push further west. The Osage were concerned that ultimately they'd be shoved off their land again. The elders came together for a meeting to decide what to do. It's during this meeting, according to the legend, that a spirit appeared to them. It was just how the Cherokee described it. The spirit's presence was like a roaring of a river. The spirit told the Osage that dark days still lie ahead, that their home would be occupied by foreigners, that the land would be ripped apart and ravaged. It told them that it had watched over this place for a very long time,

garden it, but its time was coming to an end. It told the elders that they would need to watch over the land themselves now, and in exchange for taking on this burden, the spirit would reveal something to them that would allow the Osage to maintain control over their home. So the elders listened as the spirit explained everything. When it was finished, the spirit told them that it would always be there in the land and that the Osage needed to remember it. Then it left.

The sound of the roaring river left with it. The Osage leaders were amazed. One more time, they sent a delegation to Washington, D.C. This time, they didn't go to beg and plead. They went to negotiate. Following the spirit's advice, they sacrificed their land. They opened it for outsiders to use on the condition that the Osage would retain the rights to the subsurface of their reservation.

The federal government agreed and passed a resolution stealing the deal. The terms laid out by the Osage meant that any minerals that might be discovered on their land, tin, gold, whatever, belonged to the Osage people. And as it turned out, their reservation was sitting on a gold mine, not literal gold, black gold. One of the largest oil deposits in the entire United States, the Osage nation was rich. The riches were evenly divided among the tribal members. Every Osage man and woman was given an equal right of the oil. This equal share was called a headwright. Upon death, one's headwrights would go to the next of the kin. Everything changed for the Osage overnight. Luxury cars and chauffeurs, fine clothes, you name it. And that's where

Daryl comes in. Frank tells me, that lifestyle attracted some real bad people. My grandpa told me about it. Daryl, Frank's grandpa, lived next door to a woman named Anna. She was a friendly, talkative lady, nice as could be. She was also Daryl's closest friend. Normally she'd be out in the yard tending her garden, but one day, Daryl doesn't see her all day. He doesn't find this odd at first. He knows for a fact that Anna went to her sister's house the night before. Usually she's back the same night, but maybe she stayed. But a couple of days passed and Anna's still not back. Daryl's worried. He decides to pay Anna's sister a visit to make sure everything's okay. She was right here the other night. Anna's sister tells Daryl,

but she left. I thought she went home. Now Daryl's really worried. He suspects the worst. He marches up to the sheriff's office and reports Anna missing. A few days later, Anna is found. Or rather, her body is. Down in a gulch, gunshot to the back of the head. Daryl and Anna's sister go down to identify the body together. It's hard on both of them. For days afterward, Daryl can't get the image out of his head. Anna's lifeless face. She actually looked at peace. He thinks about Anna's final moments, imagining what it must have been like for her. He weeps.

And that's just the beginning. When Anna's body is found, her head right goes to her mother, but two months later, her mother turns up dead too. Even stranger, the sheriff's office has ruled Anna's death as accidental. Accidental my ass, thanks Darrell. She had a bullet hole in her head. Daryl knows there was foul play, but can he prove it? and who would want to kill Anna and her mother anyway.

It suddenly dawns on him. Maybe Anna was killed for her head right. Head rights go to next to the kin. Maybe someone in her family is trying to cash in on that oil money. But this theory doesn't seem to pan out. First of all, Anna's cousin winds up dead, so that means no head right for him. Then Anna's sister dies. Her house blows up in a freak accident and kills her instantly.

Her husband succumbs to his injury stays late. Later, no head right for either of them. Later, Darrell learns that the freak accident was no accident at all. Police discovered a bomb had been planted under the house. The evidence is piling up for Darrell. This is serial murder, plain and simple. What he can't figure out is who might be behind it. It's beginning to drive him a little crazy.

He goes up to Anna's sister's house on day and just stands there staring at the rubble. But all he can see is the image of Anna's lifeless body in his mind. And that's the first time he hears it. He's crying as a thunderstorm approaches. He barely notices as the sound of it passes over him. He feels a sensation like something soft brushing past his face, and he looks up. He hears the rain all around him, only there's no rain. He listens as this thunderstorm passes overhead.

Then it's all quiet again. Daryl is stunned. He takes it as a sign. And his spirits is restless. She's calling him to do something so that she can be at peace. Darrell marches up to the sheriff's office. He volunteers to help with the investigation, says he can help make phone calls, dig through the files, whatever they need. But the sheriff tells Darrell that his grief will only get in the way. Go home and let us do our job.

The sheriff stares him right in the eye as he says, I don't want you, getting yourself hurt. It comes off as a threat. Daryl reluctantly leaves. But he's paying close attention now. He's paying attention when the sheriff's office arrests a man in connection to the deaths. He's paying attention when the man is released. No charges. Darrell asks around. Nobody really knows much about this man. He's not Osage.

There are rumors he's affiliated with some local gangs, but nothing concrete. Daryl's paying attention to the papers, too. An Osage man, unrelated to Anna, is found shot dead in his car. Another, found poisoned on a train. Darry's not the only one paying attention now. He's been going around asking questions. other tribal members notice. They think, what if he's right?

They begin to fear what Daryl suspected all along. Someone is targeting the Osage for their head rights. Nobody is safe. Then, as if to prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt, the son of an Osage chief dies. His name was George Bighart, and he was poisoned. Doctors call it accidental poisoning, whatever that means. Big Hart dies in a crowded ward in Oklahoma City Hospital,

But luckily, not before making a call. He was frantic on the phone, telling his attorney that he had damning evidence linking someone to the murders on the reservation. The specifics of the conversation are unknown. But whatever Big Hart said, the attorney came away spooked. He rang the sheriff's office immediately. Hospital staff recalled him speaking angrily on the phone. The attorney informed the sheriff's office that he was currently in possession of certain documents

provided to him by Big Hart. They were related to the murders. The attorney intended to raise a big stink over it. He got off the phone and hopped on a train bound for the reservation. He carried a briefcase with him. He was going to meet with the sheriff in person. Unfortunately, the attorney never made it. His body was found tossed off the train.

His skull bashed in. The briefcase was missing. By this point, Daryl's at his wits ends. He knows whoever killed Anna is still out there, and they're going to keep killing unless somebody. does something. Well, somebody tries. It seems the mysterious stats attract some attention. A group of well-dressed white men arrive on the reservation. They claim to work for a little government outfit called the Bureau of Investigation, later to become the FBI. Right away,

it's clear that there's tension between the Sheriff's Office and the Bureau Boys. There's never any public statement made about this, of course. A rumor spread. The Sheriff's Office is stonewalling the investigation, people say. Someone was found destroying evidence, documents. There's another rumor too. The non-ostage man that the sheriff's office originally arrested, the one who was never charged. People say he made a confession while in custody.

In his confession, he implicated a man named Bill Hale. According to this man, Hale offered him money to kill Anna and her family. This revelation stuns Daryl. It stuns everybody. Actually, Bill Hale is no obscure figure. He's a white man who's lived on the reservation for decades. Whereas the Osage tribe became wealthy overnight through their oil reserves, Hale earned his fortune slowly over time through the cattle trade.

He's known to be shrewd, stubborn, and tough. People say he's got every local politician in his back pocket, tribal law enforcement too. He's been accused of crimes before, but never faced any jail time. If Hale was indeed involved in Anna's death, it would explain why the sheriff's office is stonewalling the Bureau Boys. It might explain what George Bighart knew too and why he was poisoned. It would also explain the sheriff's odd warning to Daryl. I don't want you getting yourself hurt.

It's not perfect, but at least Daryl now has a theory. Hale is attempting to increase his fortune by going after people's headwrites. He's hiring men to do his killing for him. Maybe he's even got people on the inside too, family members that he splits the oil money with. The sheriff's office knows something about this. But are they really in on the murders, or are their hands simply tied by Bill Hale's power and influence. It doesn't really matter. Daryl's been looking for a fight for a way to make himself feel like he's bringing Anna's killer to justice. It's decided. Bill Hale

is behind the murders. That's all there is to it. Law enforcement is either protecting the cattleman or they're afraid to go after him. Either way, Daryl has no choice. He's got to take the law into his own hands. Daryl imagines Hale ordering Anna's murder. He thinks of the sign he received from Anna that day and his sister's house. These things cloud his mind. It's late in the day when he's driving home from work. The sun is setting when he enters his house to grab his gun. The reservation is dark as he marches towards Bill Hale's Ranch.

He's all alone. In the distance, a storm is coming. Hiking up a small hill that overlooks Hale's Ranch. Daryl can make out four men who appear to be guarding the entrance. They're all armed. But Daryl doesn't care. He isn't thinking anymore. From where he's standing, he can see the main house on the ranch.

Bill Hale's probably in there right now. He has a wife and children all around him. They're all still alive, and Anna's dead. Darrell makes his way down the hill. Like a possessed man, he marches towards his own death. The men guarding the entrance don't notice him at first. He manages to get pretty close before they do. One of the men shouts a warning, tells Darrell he's approaching private property.

The man draws his weapon. Shouts another warning. Daryl is almost at the gate now. He lifts his gun. fire's off two shots hits one man square in the chest another in the arm they both drop to the ground the two men left standing draw their weapons and fire at darrell but he rushes behind a large barn the sound of approaching rain is momentarily drowned out by a hail of gunfire darrell is concerned here and he knows it the moment that he steps out from all around the barn the men will unload their pistols but he's not

given up the plan was to reach the main house darrell's not going to stop till he's gets there. Darrell's going to make Bill Hale pay. He readies himself to face the two men. He thinks, this is it. That's when the storm comes in. The roar spreads over the ranch. It sounds like rain, but there's not a drop in sight. Darrell feels the familiar sensation of something brushing past its faced. On the other side of the barn, the men are shouting. They fire off a few rounds. But at what? The storm sound is almost deafening now. There's more shouting, but the gunshots have stopped. Darrell peaks out. The men are racing towards the main house. The air is filled with the hissing sound of a heavy rain. Darrell's eyes are drawn to the first too many shot. They're lying on the ground. Daryl goes over and kneels beside them.

The one he's shot in the chest is obviously dead. But the one he shot in the arm? What happened to him? His face is swollen and purple like he took a severe beating. He's not breathing. In the distance, the shouts of the men have become screams of agony. Darrell is frightened. What the hell is going on here? Somehow in the midst of his fear, the image of Anna flashes in his mind. He looks at the too many killed. The feeling of guilt overwhelms him. His fingers go numb, and he drops his gun. He scrambles to his feet and hurries away from the ranch. As he raises home, he continues to hear the roar of a storm in the distance, and just under that, he can just make out the men's agonized screams. The next day, when Darrell wakes up, there's one thought on his mind. What the hell happened last night? He's not sure how to explain it.

It's the same thing he experienced at Anna's sister's house, but more intense. It felt angry. Was it Anna's spirit? Or something else? Whatever it was, it saved Darrell's life. If it hadn't shown up when it did, Darrell would have stepped out from behind that barn, and Hale's men would have filled them with bullets. As he's thinking this, he remembers.

I left my gun at the ranch last night. night. His heart sinks. The sheriff's office will find his gun. Or maybe the bureau boys will. It doesn't matter. They'll trace it back to Daryl. Then they'll haul him off to prison. For a brief moment, Darrell considers skipping town, but instead he sits down and waits to be arrested. Maybe it's the guilt from killing those two men. Maybe it's the fact that he failed Anna. He was supposed to bring her justice. Whatever the reason, he sits there and waits for the authorities. While he waits, he picks up a book it begins to read. It's a book on Osage history. It's as he's reading it that he remembers a weird legend, a story about how the Osage bought their land from the Cherokee, and now the Cherokee warned

them about a spirit that resided on the land. He remembers the description of it, a roaring like a river. Is that what he heard? According to the stories, the spirit went away, never to return. Did it come back last night for some reason? And if so, why? A squad car rolls up to Darrell's house right. right about then. It's the sheriff. He's alone. He calls Darrell over and says, We heard there was a gunfight out on Bill Hale's property last night. Daryl is silent. He sees his gun sitting in the sheriff's passenger seat. Four men are dead, says the sheriff. One man shot through the chest, three bludged into death. Daryl thinks about the man with a swollen face. Or the other two men also found this way? That's four murders total. The sheriff should be arresting him by now.

But instead he grabs Darrell's gun and hands it to him. Unfortunately, no evidence was found linking enemies of the crime. Darrell doesn't move. The sheriff forces the gun into Darrell's hand. Be careful out there, he says. Whoever killed those men hasn't been caught. I don't need anybody else getting hurt. Before he leaves, he says one last thing.

I'm going to make things right. Then the sheriff pulls out of the driveway and drives away. Not long afterwards, Bill Hale is arrested. The Bureau boys were able to. to put a case together with the sheriff's help, the reservation breathes a collective sigh of relief. The murders have come to an end. Later, Darrell learns that Hale won't be charged for Anna's murder.

There's too much missing evidence for that, but the Bureau was able to link Hale to the murder of Anna's cousin. He'll face life in prison for it. It's not exactly justice for Anna, but Daryl accepts it. A year later, he's visiting Anna's grave. It's the first time he's seen her stone. He realizes that all this time, He hasn't actually been looking to find peace for Anna's spirit.

He never accepted her to death. He didn't know how to let her go. So he wasn't able to find peace within himself. Seeing her grave makes it real for the first time. Darrell breaks down in tears. In the distance, a storm approaches. It rumbles over the country. It rolls over the cemetery.

It passes over Darryl. As he cries, he feels the raindrops falling from the sky. They land on his hands. They cover him completely. When the storm passes, he's all out of tears. That's a hell of a story I tell Frank. I can't think of anything else to say. Frank says his grandpa used to sit him down every spring and tell that story.

Always in the spring, he said, because that's when Anna died. Later in his life, Frank wondered if his grandpa made the whole thing up. He read everything he could on Osage history. In his readings, he came upon something. They call it the Osage reign of terror. A string of murders linked to the Osage. headwrites. Most of the information Frank found matches the story his grandpa told him. Some things never turned up, though. He can never find anything about the Cherokees believing in a spirit

that lived on the Osage Reservation, or of the meeting between the Cherokee elders and the Osage. But he grew up hearing stories about the ghost storm from people in town. His grandpa used to tell him that was the same spirit he encountered. It was just weaker now. I asked Frank if he believes that. Frank shrugs. If you heard my grandpa tell it, you'd believe it too. After that, Frank and I parted ways, but I'm going to be honest. His story hit me later that night. Hard. I was just standing in the doorway of my motel, staring out to the field across the parking lot. I had worked the next day and I needed to get to bed, but I ended up daydreaming for a long time. I thought about the Osage, marching through that field, starving, looking for a place to say.

I thought about the sheriff finding Anna's body out there. I thought about Frank's grandpa marching through the night to avenge his friend. It made me think. When I first saw the field, I thought it was dry and ugly. But some people spent their lives on that land. They killed and died for it. It's crazy that we'll never even know the half of it. Anyways, good night, X.

I hope you sleep well tonight. And wow, that was a great story. This is probably one of my favorite stories I've ever read on the channel. I think just the real life, you know, connections, the history, the murder mystery. That was so ridiculously entertaining. I love that story. And during reading that, I kept thinking, how good of a movie would this be? And it's actually already been made, Killers of the Flower Moon with Leonardo DiCaprio.

And so if you really love this story, there's a movie, a full feature length of film on this. And yeah, it's a great story. I love that. be really cool that this guy experienced this kind of firsthand telling of the story. That is so interesting. And if you enjoyed it as much as I did, please comment down below. I don't know if you guys will enjoy it as much as I did, but I love this story. This is probably one of the best four-hand stories I've ever read. Please leave your thoughts down below. But yeah, that was phenomenal. On to the next one. I want to tell you a story. It's the story of a man. You see, my great-grandma was a real

nice old lady. She had a nice little old lady house. We used to go there a lot before she passed away several years ago, and my grandparents torn it down to build a new house for themselves on top. One thing I distinctly remember was her attic. Boy, was it scary. It was dark, only one light bulb would work, and you had to be real careful because there was a lot of exposed insulation, so if you stepped off the boards to get around, you'd probably fall straight through the ceiling into the room below. But it wasn't so much the atmosphere of the attic. The fact it was dark, dusty, and smelt a little weird. It was a story my uncle and my dad used to tell me about the attic, and now I'm going to tell you. A very long time ago, when my grandpa was just a little boy that

moved into the house, it was nice. Two bedrooms, a nice bathroom, dining room, kitchen. My great-grandparents made a very decent living. My great-grandfather owned a very successful body shop. My great-grandmother sold Avon. And one day, my grandpa was playing in the living room when there was a knock at the door. He answered, and there stood a man. He was wearing a nice suit, holding a nice hat against his chest with a polite smile on his face. Hello there, junior, he said. Is your father home? My great-grandfather approached the door. Suspicious. If you're selling anything, I'm not interested. Thanks. He said. said before trying to close the door.

But no, this stranger interrupted with a start. No, no, sir, I promise I'm no salesman. I'd just like to talk to you, if you wouldn't mind. About what? My great-grandfather asked. I was wondering if I could take a look in your attic. You see, I used to live here, and it would be really bring back some memories. The man was nervous, but my great-grandfather wasn't about to fall for a con man.

Sorry, sir, my wife's about a finished dinner. I'm not interested. So we shut the door and ushered my young grandfather away. A day passed and it was another hot summer day. My great-grandmother was fixing my grandpa lunch when she heard a knock. Wallace, could you get the door? She called to great-grandpa, who sighed and obeyed his wife. It was the man again. Now see here, mister, I already told you. I don't want some stranger in my house. You leave me and my family alone before you upset my son and wife. And if you upset my son and wife, I think there's going to be some trouble. Please, sir, the man pleaded. Ringing his hands, it'll only take a moment. I absolutely must get up there if they're even for 10 minutes.

This time, my grandfather didn't give him the liberty of a goodbye, only a slam door. A few days passed, peaceful playing, working, the life of your average Canadian upper-middle-class family took place as usual. My great-grandfather, great-grandmother, and grandfather sat eating dinner one evening. I like to imagine they were having my grandmas. This is what I called her. Roasted chicken and potatoes, so delicious, but I digress. Again, a knock at the door. It sounded important. I swear if it's that son of a bitch again asking to get in our attic, I'll be tuning his clock for good. My great-grandpa muttered, getting up. Wallace, please, nothing in front of a little gym. My great-grandmother cried. It was the man again. He was not, however, alone. He was with another

man who looks similar. Now, sir, before you chase this away, please understand we're brothers and we absolutely must speak with you. He said before my great-grandfather could curse him out, up and down. Well, spit it out then, man. Now you've gone and interrupted my supper after a long day's work, and this had better be good, my grandfather threatened. Tell me, sir, have you ever heard strange noises in your house?

Scratching, shuffling, maybe even light moaning from your attic? The new man asked calmly. my grandfather turned stone cold. His son, my grandpa, had often whined of scratching and other sounds, to which both his parents attributed to maybe mice. Maybe we have, maybe we haven't. Why do you ask? He answered coolly, crossing his arms. The men at the door exchanged worried glances. If you'd let us come up to your attic, you could come if you like, but it would be better if you told your son to go to his room, your wife to the kitchen, and for us men to go upstairs. So, my great-grandfather told my grandpa to go play,

asked his wife to clear the table, and led the men up into the dank attic. They used it only for storage. There were no real reasons to come up here, ever. The two men looked around. They knock on the wood of the walls in the attic in various different spots. Knock, knock, hollow. Knock, knock, hollow.

Knock, knock. Not hollow. My grandfather froze as they nodded at one of another before turning to my great-grandfather. Now, sir, please believe us when we say we'll pay for any damages that need to be fixed. And that what we're about to do may be very shocking, maybe even frightening to you. So you may very well not want to see what's about to happen. My great-grandfather pondered right then and there about turning his heel and waiting downstairs, but no, he had to be the man and stay for his family's sake.

Go ahead then. What's in there? He asked. He wished he added. The two men pulled at the boards, peeling away the old wood fairly easy. My great-grandfather felt vicious bile building his stomach and throat. The smell. Oh, God, the smell.

His body was frail and gnarled. His skin was a ghostly white. his bare teeth yellow as freshly boiled sweet corn. His eyes were open, glazed over and staring. The pupils were milky. He was blind. The white were barely that. Instead, they were bloodshot to a point that was almost unbelievable.

His fingernails resembles long, brown talons. Horror filled my great-grandfather as the two men bowed their heads. It's him, said one. the other one sighed and covered his nose with his sleeve. This thing, this remnant of a once-living man, was dead. But freshly, that was when my great-grandfather had reached his boiling point. Now, you both had better get explained to me right now. Just what in God's name is going on here?

Is this some sort of sick joke? I ought to know. Blow your brains out of both of you. Where are you, stand? He bellowed. Sam, go get the blankets from the car. I'll explain. One man said as Sam nodded and left.

Sir, please isn't. understand. We're no monsters, you see. This is our brother. He began fretfully, looking at the mangled creature in the wall. Your brother? You sick sons of bitches locked up your own brother in the wall? My great-grandfather cried out, placing a hand on his squeezy stomach. Never, sir, never, said the man. My father just passed. We never even knew this poor boy existed out of entire lives. My other brother and I. Now it was seen our brother here was born with some sort of mental retardation, something that my father and mother couldn't handle his parents so they chose to do the unthinkable rather than face the public with their shame, he explained, motioning for the

shell of a man. Mind you, this story takes place in a time when something like a mental defect was seen as a terribly embarrassing thing. My grandfather held his head. He looked at the dead man in the attic. Then back to the stranger. Get this, this thing out of my house. Send someone over to patch up your mess and then never, ever come near my family again. You hear me? He ordered. You can rely on that, sir. We had not wanted to bother you in the first place, but we couldn't sleep at night, knowing some poor family was stuck with him living up in your walls. You see, he probably was sucking the moisture from the ceiling and eating bugs and mold, I would think. It's amazing he could survived. My grandfather solemnly said nothing. He only watched as Sam returned and the two men

bundled their strange, demented and dead brother, leaving with a courteous thank you, followed by repairman, and a generous fruit basket a day later. When my grandmother asked what had happened, my grandfather could not bear telling her. Rats, he said. Just rats. Something is happening. I live out the middle of nowhere. I moved here two months ago and my parents are coming to visit me. When I searched my house on Google to give them directions, I noticed a small box behind my house, which seems to be a trailer of some sort. I own a lot of land out here. It's my property. I own about three square miles. Now, I went out a few minutes ago and the trailer is a three to four minute walk into the woods. There's a light on in the trailer, but there's no road

or anything that connects it. It's pretty deep in the woods. The road I live on goes far out, and I'm the last house on the street. I'm thinking about going to investigate. Should I? Here is a layout of my property. The trailer seems to be in decent condition. Not the best condition. So let's say fair condition.

Yes, but I'm kind of scared somebody is living in it. It's known that homeless people take shelter in old barns out around here. Yep, I have a shotgun and a rifle and a few handguns. woods are deep and heavy. Tons of weeds and shit. It's hard to get through. Well, it's possible they are using some power source rather than country power, such as generator or something. I'm not very rich. This property costs about 25 grand with the land. It's in the middle of nowhere. The closest McDonald's is an hour away. The closest Walmart is a good 20 to 30 minutes. The biggest town near me has a population of 15,000 people, and that's 30 minutes away. I have three square miles and

never been anywhere except the barn on my property. There was a river somewhere on it, but I've never been to it. I have no clue, to be honest. I know a friend of mine had a whole city of homeless people living in the woods on his property a mile from civilization and tents. I wouldn't doubt if there's a homeless camp somewhere in my property too. Anyways, I'm going to go check it. It takes three to four minutes to get there, so I'll be back in like 15.

All right, guys, sorry to break the bad news. It turns out somebody is in fact living there and has been living off the land for around a year now. When I walked up to the house, I saw a shadow looking out the window, so at that point I really had no choice but to go up and knock. So I did, and there was a man in his late 40s or early 50s. He admitted that he was stealing power from me. However, other than that, he has been living off the land,

and even as garden, and really hunts for food. I'm probably not going to evict him or anything. I could care less as long as the guy is friendly. I'd hold him to come over tomorrow and we can talk. I was going to take some pictures, but it was dark, and he would know I was taking pictures because of the flash. I didn't want to anger him or something. So I guess I'm going to talk with him in the morning. I will most likely let him stay.

Sorry for the boring ending. Nobody died tonight. But wait, there's more. Well, fuck, now I heard a gunshot. I didn't shoot off a gun and it sounded like he was from a distance. He wasn't shooting at me. Somebody's knocking at my door. I see two shadows, not one.

This guy's not alone. I'm not answering the door. I'm staying in my house. I have a shotgun and I'm in a good position. I have a handgun and a assault rifle as well. I'm in a corner so I don't have to watch my back. I fired a warning shot from my handgun and they are now yelling at me. I'm not entirely sure what they are yelling at.

I shot at my wall. They are ugly anyways and need repainted. Fuck, they just broke my window now. I'm just shooting the general area of where they are. They have not fired back in me except from the gunshot I heard earlier. I've now called the police and they are on their way. They should be here in 15 to 20 minutes. I shot one and killed one.

The other is retreated. The police are on their way but one of them is on the porch with a gunshot wound at the chest. I'm going to take a picture real fast for you guys. I'm kind of scared to go out and get a picture so I hope a picture through the window is okay. Guys, my house is on fucking fire. The other guy lit and on fire. I'm now in my car going down the road. Also, to be clear, I'm not driving and using 4chan.

I'm stopped. The guy doesn't have a car, so I drove away and parked up the road a bit. I'm going to get a picture of the smoke coming from my house. Picture of the fire. I'm sorry, a timestamp is kind of dark. I have a shitty phone. The police are on the scene, along with a few fire trucks. They got here pretty fast. Much faster than they said. I actually parked a little away from the house. To be fair, I'm not really worried about the guy. I have a gun and I will just shoot him. I think he's on the run now. I don't think he's going to wait for the police. They brought two police cars and one ambulance. I told them I was being shot at, so I guess they went all out. I'm not really on my phone.

I'm on my tablet. Would you like a picture of it as well? I told you I was on my phone because it's easier than saying I'm on my tablet. My tablet doesn't have a camera. My phone does. Guys, I'm being detained and I have been asked to get out of my car. Sorry, I'm being arrested, it seems. Might just be temporary thing, but the cop isn't taking no for an answer. Sorry. Watch the news and mourning for this. Now we wait. beat op. Bamping with some O.C. Maybe not spooky, but scary when it happened. Still a little jumpy with noises. Background. Have an alcoholic mother with bad choice and boyfriend material. Part 1. I've been living in the forest near my house for about three weeks alone. Sleeping in trees,

dumpster diving for food, going to the YMCA to shower and do laundry somewhat regularly. I spend most of my time developing skills to not die, black bears and stuff in the region. I had my trusty bow for this whole thing. No fun's yet. One night while I'm trying to find a comfy tree to sleep in, I hear dogs barking. Figure it's just some redneck stupid dogs over at the farm on the edge of the woods, rustling in the distance. More barking. A lot closer this time. Decide to get into a tree. As soon as I get around six feet off the ground, dogs burst into the clearing I was walking in. Dogs were definitely not owned by anybody. Haggard looking, no collars, feral dogs. I keep climbing up to get more out of reach for the things because six feet felt a little low of the ground. Dogs noticed me and start running around the tree barking and jumping. One big fucking dog can jump a little higher than the low branch I was on. Definitely glad I moved up. Six dogs.

German Shepherd, two golden retrievers, a mutt, smallish bulldog, and big-ass Rotweiler. I begin throwing sticks to the dogs to scare them off. Smaller dogs move away from the bottom of the tree. Shepherd and Rott could be no less concerned with this. sticks. Consider shooting the dogs with my bow. Figure I shouldn't because the corpse could attract bears and I don't want to dig a hole or deal with more bears. The dogs eventually fuck off and I wait another hour before climbing out of the tree. Nearly dark so I find a tree with wide branches and post up as high as I could get. Tied myself in for the night, drift asleep holding my bow at the

ready in case of bears. Part two. Climb down out of the tree when the sun rises and visibility is up again. Luckily, no fog this morning, so nothing to worry about on the ground. Walk about four miles through the woods towards the river that runs through it. I follow the river to town because no roads bordered it, and there are convenient paths along it. On my way to town, I see paw prints from those dogs right along the river. I stop and listen for anything that sounds ominous. Continuing on my merry way because nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I get close to town and stash my boat to avoid getting harassed by cops.

Q washing clothes, dumpster diving for supplies, shower afterward and going back for the forest. Get close to where I stash my bow. Pau prints everywhere. The little fucks are following me. Grab my bow and climb a nearby tree for a vantage point. See the dogs on the other side of a little stream that runs into the river. Determined path to get around the buggers and take it. Walk back to the middle of the forest where I try to stay to avoid contact slash arrest as quietly as possible. Don't hear the dogs at all. Standard woodland noises like squirrels and bugs and birds. Immediately upon getting to the area I stay, smell wet dog and hear twigs snap in the underbrush, climbed the closest tree like I was getting paid for it. Three of the dogs react as soon as I make a move

and burst out of the bushes at me. I made it into the tree in time to not get killed, which is good. Dog circling tree. I decide that I'm not dealing with this the rest of the time I'm out here, however long that may be. Launch an arrow down at one of the bastards and it hits it right in the neck right behind the skull. Dead on impact and falls at the ground without a sound. No more mutt. Other dogs run over to it and drag it off into the woods. I hear them crunching bones and ripping flesh.

They took my arrow. I'm down to four until they leave the corpse. Part 3. I don't have enough arrows to kill the rest of the dogs, and if I miss or only wound them, then I could expect to be in this tree all day long. dogs leave the corpse about three hours of ripping into it. I can only hope a bear didn't wander up and scare them off.

Might not be able to kill a bear before it kills me if I go to the ground. I stay in the tree for a few more hours. It's getting dark again. Dark in the forest is what horror movie directors are dreaming of when they make a scene in the dark. I tactively out of the tree and wait a few minutes before moving away from the base to be sure that nothing is going to pop out of me. Wander over to the corpse of the dog.

I retrieve my arrow and dip out of the area. Make it about a half mile before I realize it's getting too dark to stay on the ground. Walk to the nearest visible tree that looks habitable. Here rustling in the underbrush and immediately pull up my bow up to the sound. A ridiculously fat squirrel pops out of the bush. I make it move towards it and it dips out. Consider killing the damn thing for food. Realized cooking it might be hard and dogs would probably just roll up as soon as they smelled it.

Climbed the tree that looked like a great choice and tie in for the night. Wake up early morning to what I hope is a raccoon fucking round on the sticks around my tree. Look down to see a black bear. Tactically shit my pants and stare at it to make sure it isn't going to climb the tree. I yell to scare the thing off. Looks at me like I'm R-worded, lumbers away. Recover from that and climb down after I can't hear it anymore. This morning is a bit chilly and the dew is just ridiculous.

Still no fog lookily. I start a small fire to get the cold out of my bones, barely got a cold. going because of due. After a bit, I douse the fire and loose dirt. Wait for it to die out and leave the area. No dogs yet today. Feeling pretty good. Still uneasy and jumping though. Part four. As the day drags on, I start getting more confident that the dogs might be off somewhere else after I killed their pal. Continue my daily routine of wandering around, looking at stuff, and trying to find places to sleep that look comfy. Suddenly barking. Really close barking. Run to a tree and climb up as fast as possible. Dogs come peeling into the clearing I'm in. They keep barking and

circling the tree and jumping. I pull back on my bow and aim for the big dog. Hopefully it'll fuck up the pack. I hit the big dog in the shoulder. He drops for a second, then starts ripping at the arrow, manage to pull it out and keep running around barking. Apparently it hit bone and just sort of stopped. Draw again and aim for a smaller dog so I can actually kill it. Hopefully, the other dogs. Hit ribs. Dog starts howling in pain and runs out of the clearing. Other dogs start chasing it and run it down quick.

Hear pitiful howling from the dog as the others eat it. Retriever down. Hideous bone crunching noises and flesh tearing noises accompanied by howling and growling. Weigh the dogs out and collect arrows. The first one was bent from the teeth of the Rottweiler. The second one was bent from the struggle. Three arrows left. Four dogs left.

I start making traps in my free time. hoping to kill the things more efficiently with less arrow loss. No such luck. Four days, not one trap has sprung, much less killed anything. Dogs are making forays into my area more at night. I start waking up from little noises. Sometimes the dog, sometimes not, even when it was the dogs I couldn't see them. Sleep deprivation seemed like a tactic way over the head of a dog, but these bastards were good at it, getting sluggish during the day because these fucks wouldn't let me sleep. Reaction time started dropping, and they seemed to know. Bastards started to make more runs at me during the day.

I'm glad they never really figured out laying in wait. Part 5. Almost done. Sleep deprived and too tired to do much else, I started sleeping during the day and just sitting in trees. The dogs wouldn't make attempts to get me in the trees during the day anymore. They went until night or when I was walking. I started getting really jumpy from random noises, and I was getting mild hallucinations from the lack of sleep. bad combo. About a week after I killed the most recent dog, they started coming in during the day while I was in a tree. I noticed some of them had new wounds. I first thought maybe a bear,

but I noticed that they were really aggressive with each other now, constantly trying to bite each other if one so much have bumped into another. I drew my bow again for the big one and hit square in the chest, right under the neck from the front. It made a hideous wheezy noise and started to run around aimlessly. The other dog started to start to run around aimlessly. The other dog started to to go for it, but it killed the small bulldog pretty quickly, and the rest backed off. Three dogs, another dying. Watching the dogs try to drag the bulldog and fight the rod at the same time was interesting. The rot was starting to hack up foamy blood.

As it was about to lay down, the shepherd ran from the side and bowed it, over bending my arrow and killing the rot. The remaining retriever and the shepherd didn't even bother to pull the dogs into the bushes, but started ripping them apart right under me. I think they'd forgotten I was there. I quietly drew back my second last arrow and caught the retriever behind the ear with it. Dropped immediately and did not make a noise.

I drew back my last arrow and tried to peg the shepherd with it, but he must have heard the last shot and ran away as soon as I was about to shoot. I still loosen the arrow. I thought I missed because he made it into the underbrush, but when I went to retrieve the arrows, I saw blood where he ran off to. Part six. Last bit. The next day I walks back to the clearing.

The dogs were ripped up and there were some bear tracks. I started to follow the blood trail to find the hopefully dead dog. It led to a stream and I couldn't find the dog or where he went from the stream. I heard growling after I crossed the stream. I couldn't figure out the source so I climbed up a little bit. It was dying and a clearing just past some rotting logs. I took my last arrow and launched it into the dog's chest to kill it quickly. Clean kill.

Could see it stopped breathing from where I was. retrieved my final functional arrow and decided I'd had it with the force for a while, went back to my mom's house totally unconcerned with her bullshit. The Jersey Devil Hello, I have lurked here and on 4chan in general for a while now, and I have read many scary and disturbing stories from you guys. Well, I think that it is high time that I share my own story with you. I don't really give a rat's ass whether you believe me or not.

I'm just recounting to you a nightmarriage experience that me and my friends had. Here we go. Be me, American, early 20s, about 13 years ago, just finished getting an engineering degree at college, relaxing in a cafe with the boys. We are all roommates, so we know each other pretty well. Me and three other friends, Greg, Maximilian, yes, that is his name and I'm really fucking jealous of him for that, since I think it sounds really fucking cool. And I'll be referring to him as Max occasionally.

And Franklin, or Frank, what most people call him, decided to go on a pro trip. We decide on camping. We are not exactly experienced at Inno Woods camping, but we have gone regular camping before and enjoyed it. Decide that, as we are not very experienced, we need a place that is not way out there in the event that we managed to fuck up something and need to leave. Franklin lived in New Jersey at the time. He's just camping in the Pine Barrens. It covers a surprisingly large area and is as remote as we are going to get considering our budget and where we live. Frank explains.

The rest of us agree that the place sounds good. We start to plan out the trip. Decide that we need to go during the fall or summer as a cold camping trip would suck ass. Maximilian proposes that instead of camping at some basic bitch campsite with like 200 other people, why not just go hiking, find a suitable clearing off the trail and camp there for three or four days? We all like this idea. Greg says that his cousin could drop us off and pick us up, as we would not really have a place to park a car for several days while we romp around in the woods.

So fast forward a few days. We have the trip all planned out for the most part. Going to be out there for four days and three nights, leaving on Friday and returning on Monday. Greg's cousin will drop us off at the edge of the woods. Rendezvous with his cousin at the intersection of Long Island Expressway and Waiting River Road on the fourth day. We have the following. A one-shot 22 LR rifle for each of us. Additionally, Maximilian has a 45 ACP 1911 and Franklin has a revolver, a 38 or 22. I can't remember which. Cabin essentials, I'd rather not waste time describing all of

them. I think Greg brought a fishing rod, a few changes of clothes, and we decided against bringing our girlfriends, as Greg had just broken up with his and we didn't want him to feel alone. And the other ones were not too crazy about spending several nights in the woods. So fast forward to the Friday. I have all my ship packed and ready to go. At like 10 or 11 a.m., Greg's cousin pulls up to our house in a dark green Plymouth minivan. We toss our stuff in the back and head off. It was like a hour and a half drive from the house to where we would get dropped off. For the sake of brevity, I will refer to Greg's cousin as Carl. Carl seems like a pretty good guy.

He graduated uni a few years before we did. The drive there is fun. We mainly talk about what we were going to do, where we were going to hike, what we were going to eat, and fast forward to us driving along the forest's edge. Check for officers. Are we insecure? We pull off to the side of the road that we are on. Unpack and hop out. Wave and say goodbye to Greg's cousin. Head off into the woods. We plan on hiking for a few hours until we find a good clearing. Hike a mile or two into the woods. It has been pretty nice so far. Little amounts of trash, seeing a few chipmunks and squirrels. Here the birds singing, we definitely heard a few woodpeckers. We reached a clearing. It is roughly 45 or 50 feet in diameter. Worst part of it was a poison ivy patch on the northeast edge of the

clearing. We made sure to avoid this area. Here is a pick of the area. We set up our tents in the area. build a fire pit and gather firewood because why do that at night do you want to spray an ankle from tripping on some branch and color code for the map and this guy did it in ms paint so it's really low quality but the color code is light green is clearing dark green equals woods dark dark green equals poison ivy red equals tense orange equals fire pit brown equals logs and after setting up home base we decide to hike some more and plink some targets. Hike is going nicely. See some geese flying in the distance in their familiar V-formation.

Unfortunately, see a few plastic bottles and some bushes. Sort of depressing and annoying. We see some fucking jewel Osco grocery bag stuck on a tree. We aren't exactly Al Gore, but something about being so far into the woods and still seeing some lazy fuckers trash really annoyed us. Frank is somewhat good at climbing, so he decides to climb up there and pull it down.

says it's a pack on the ground it begins to climb. The plastic bag is about 15 feet above the ground. It takes Frank about three minutes to get it. Oh, fuck, he yells. What is it? You okay? Yeah, I'll tell you when I get down. Frank untangles the bag from the branches that it was caught on

and jumps back down to us. I saw some fucked up animal up there, he says. What was it? A fucked up raccoon, bro. Shit, like, how fucked up? Its head was mashed in, its chest was torn open. With all the ribs looking broken, also it smelled like burnt rubber. That's fucking gross.

You didn't touch you, did you? It might have some weird disease. Oh shit, I hadn't even considered that. Well, did you? No, but I'm going to put some hydrogen peroxide out of my hands just to be safe. What do you think did it? My guess is that some hawk was carrying it, dropped it, got it back, and was in the middle of eating it when we showed up.

It got scared and flew a safe distance away. Sounds about right. Anyway, what was your plan with the plastic bag now that you were stuck with it? I hadn't thought about that. What am I supposed to do with this? It's not like a, there's a dumpster nearby. Just put in your back pocket and let's get back to hiking. We've dicked around here for too long,

and I don't want to be hiking to Camp of the Dark. Sure thing, we continue on our hike. And some quick info. Since I live in the suburbs, I'm used to seeing a bunch of fat and slow squirrels and chipmunks right next to them. So it is for me to go in a woods and skinny squirrels and how rarely suburbs. So I was already due to how far. I was out of my self that everything was fine and that concerns of mine were just from

lens and technology. But you get what I mean. That it would be helpful in an attitude toward woods. Anyway, we're marching along. See, the sun just boys that and we start the same way that we came. We don't want. This guy has that orange yellow hit as the sun sets. We are passing the tree that Greg trips on a large. He falls face first as he stands and stuff back up. Hey, when I see a large on his jacket that wasn't there before, ask, huh? Maxx down at his jacket. See, the stain the fuck is this fuck i just got the old sarah was his girlfriend of the then maximilian grabs where gregg fell a exposing the corpse was not a fresh one chest ripped open surprisingly there was seeing that the corpse was fredg was starting to spurrack it was screaming little grubfuckers on me

fuck damn it or something similar wing is jacking into some tree hit the maggots and blood off the leaves and handed it to wipe it off as much scum as you can a handful of fucking leaves gonna do hose Greg barks at him. Shut the fuck up. Frank is just trying to best cleaning supplies so you can get. We're in the middle of the goddamn woods. Remember, about to fire a retort wall. Aon has a point, Greg.

We get back to our campsite before we act. Just a fucking jacket. Stop spats. We are on this to graduation, yelling at a machine about some gunk of relaxing. Greg, there are still a fish brown spot with most of the sunlight gone. This inspires us to move at a much faster pace,

since trying to find your way through unfamiliar woods at night is almost fucking hoping. and we can't just set up camp as all our sleeping gear was back at the clearing. Thankfully, we reached the clearing after roughly 30 minutes and don't get lost in the woods at night. Max and Millian gets the fire started as me and Frank get the food out. Greg is trying to remove the pause and blood with some dish soap, paper towels, and some of the distilled water we brought with us.

Max asked us what food we packed. Me and Frank take turns announcing each thing we packed as we pulled them out. Jerky, uh, refried beans. spam, the magical fruit. What? Wait. The magical fruit, Frank answers? Do you know beans? Greg, who must have been listening, adds in.

I've literally never heard a sane person refer to banked beans as the magical fruit. Why do you call it? It doesn't even look like it could be a fruit. My dad, and on his side of the family, have a goofy little song that they sing when they're eating beans. Frank responds, who wants to hear it? I egg them on saying, sure, dude.

Who wouldn't I want to hear some hillbilly song about eating beans? I'm not a hillbilly, you dick. Do you want to hear it or not? Okay, then, Frank says, here it is. Beans, beans, the magical fruit. The more you eat, the more you toot. The more you toot, the better you feel, so I have beans every meal. What do you think?

Funny? Maximilian speaks first. I wouldn't say those high-class humor, but I did find it funny to imagine you and like five other grown-ass men singing that at the dinner table. By the way, Frank is pretty buff, and so are all the other guys in his family. So the image of like six buff men singing the more you-tut is absurd enough for me and my friends to get a kek out of the song. We all enjoy a good, hearty meal, and Franklin seems quite pleased with himself.

The meal we decide on just happens to be baked beans. Max yells that it's dinner time. The rest of us head over, grab a plate. Max serves us our share, and we sit down on some large rocks. Frank immediately goes, and a one and a two and a three, we all break into the song and sing the song. We all cheer with completion of our badly synchronized recital and begin to consume our dish. In the middle of our ritual of the consumption of the baked beans, a loud shriek tears through the woods.

I don't really know how to describe it, since I don't hear animal cries where I live, but rest assured, it was really fucking loud. It was more painful to hear than being in a room full of people scratching their nails across a chalkboard. What hell was that? Was that some sort of animal's death screech, I asked my friends? I've heard the screams of dying animals before. That sounds nothing like one. It was too loud for a dying animal to make, too. You'd have to be sitting right next to the animal for that kind of volume, Greg tells me. Well, whatever it was, it made me drop my plate, Max Grones. I glance over at the ground in his direction.

Poor dude's plate landed upside down. None of his being survived. Greg offered some of him, and the problem is solved. They all resumed their meals like nothing happened while I sit stunned. What? What? That's it? None of you are going to, the slightest bit concerned or even curious? None of you have the slightest clue to what that was,

you guys have decided to just ignore it? I guess so. What are we planning to do? Go into the woods at night to try and figure out some source of a scary loud noise, replies Frank. Well, no, but. Then do your best to ignore it. We can sleep on shifts if you want. You can sleep on shifts. I want to get a good night's sleep, as in Greg. Okay, you're fine with this, Frank Isaiah? Yes, I am. Stop schooling about it before I change my mind, he answers. I shut up and finished my meal. Frank rolled up a couple of logs around the campfire. We had to have. head over and begin to talk about the campfire. We are sharing stories about college. As Max Millian and Greg are telling us about a shitty professor they both had, I look over at Frank.

He is staring wide-eyed past Max and Greg deep into the woods. I follow his line of sight and it takes a minute or two before I notice them. The hair on the back of my neck goes straight up and I get goosebumps on my skin. I can see a pair of two yellow-orange eyes about 20 yards away. I'm not exactly able to tell how high off the ground they were. Max and Greg, noticing that no one is listening to them and are instead looking into the forest, ask us what the fuck is so interesting? Right as they say this, something makes a loud snort slash grunt. This is followed by a long growl, like a large dog's growl, but deeper, louder, and far more medicine.

I get up and now realize how big this thing must be. The eyes are at my level, and I'm six-four. Max and Greg, who are the closest to the edge of the clearing bolt off of their logs and get to our out of the campfire. Frank snaps out of his gaze and grabs his revolver. He stands and aims it in the eyes, yelling it to fuck off. The rest of us start over to our tents and achieve our guns and spare ammo. I load mine. We get in the line. We aim. Frank says, on the count of three, fire. One, two, three. Fire. We shoot in a semi-unison. We can't hear if we hit anything because multiple guns firing at once in close proximity on an otherwise quiet night is really fucking loud. Once I

regain my full senses, I no longer see the eyes. Fuck. I don't know whether to feel relieved or to feel more concerned. What the fuck was that thing, said someone? Whatever that was, it's gone now. Okay, Aanon. It looks like if you got your wish, we're definitely sleeping in shifts tonight, if we sleep at all. We all reload and set up a sort of perimeter. We just cleared out all that would be blocked out of our field of view. Basically, all vegetation on rocks over six inches were cleared. We use the locks to make a barrier-ish thing. This barricade served more purpose for our own feeling of safety. It did not really serve any realistic purpose for defense.

The forest is now dead quiet. Shit is really creepy. And here is our plan. One sleeps while three are awake. One man has the 1911. One man has the revolver and the other has the four 22 rifles. The second at person sees something yellow or orange in the woods. They immediately fire warning shot into the air to wake the other boys up

and hopefully scare it off. Me, Frank, and Greg take the first shift. All is well. Second shift is me, Max, and Greg. At some point, Greg gets spooked by what he says is something shuffling in the woods. He fires at it. He and Max nearly jump out of the skin. Frank wakes up. We are pissed at Greg, but nothing else happened that night. Fast forward to the morning. We hastily pack up. We immediately go back to the way we think we came, as we will somewhat have an idea of how far we must go. Greg says that he is going to check on the area that he shot at last night. We tell him to wait a few minutes so that the rest of us can go with them for safety reasons. About five minutes later, we are fully packed and head over to the area.

We are looking around for signs that show that there was some sort of animal here last night. Max shouts at us to have a look at what he found. There is a distinct trail of hoof prints. These were not deer tracks. They were bigger and were cloven. My blood runs cold. is pleased to see that he was correct to fire. Max reminds him that if this was a human, he would be feeling otherwise. Frank says that maybe this was from a cow or a horse. I tell him

that these woods are not a good environment for a fully grown cow and that it would have been much louder last night if it was a horse that Greg shot at. Greg shuts up. We are all thoroughly spooked and decide to get the fuck out. We begin our trip back to the highway. Our plan is to get to the highway before sundown and then try to hitch a ride. We make sure that our guns are loaded and head off. We are hiking through the undergrowth as fast as possible now. We aren't the fittest people, so we are not moving very fast. However, the hike back is very different from the hike to here.

Landmarks are different, or look different, or are not there at all. Fallen logs that are remembered to be covered in mushrooms are instead covered in thick layers of moss. This may not sound scarier or anything, but when you're trying to get the fuck out of the woods and you think that there may or may not be an animal stalking you, it is different. These differences in the landmarks and environment throw us off a bit. At roughly noon, we decide that we do not know where we're going. Greg starts to freak out, and we all start to freak out. Like the retards that we are, we did not think to bring any sort of flares.

It takes the four of us like 30 minutes to get our shit together. Thankfully, me and Frank had packed compasses. When we entered the woods, we went northeast. We decide that our best option is to go straight south. About a half an hour after devising the new plan, Frank spots a half-eaten deer. The deer has had its stomach torn open. Intestines aren't visible. Its thighs have been mostly consumed.

Its eyes are also eaten. This creeps us out more, but we aren't too concerned by it since. Frank suggested that it was left behind by some coyotes, but I didn't believe that for a second. I don't think that the other guys noticed this, but like 20 yards past the deer carcass, I saw four other half-eaten deer. At least one of them was a buck with a full rack of antlers.

I chose not to tell them, as I believe that fear will not help us escape the woods. I was probably right to do so. Unfortunate for us, the first deer was not the only carcass that the group of us came across. Every 10 to 15 minutes, we would come across a new animal corpse, more deer, birds, rabbits, and squirrels, all partially eaten. All have the same parts of them eaten as the first deer. Each corpse we find only adds to our anxiety and fear, but we still tell ourselves that is probably just a pack of coyotes.

This possibility brings us a sense of security. However, small sense of security. That was until we found a coyote. It's half-feetton, just like the others. Judging from what was left of the creature, it was all healthy and muscular. This shatters our theory that coyotes were responsible for all the dead animals. I don't know very much about coyotes, but I don't see why a pack would just turn on one,

kill it, and eat it in the same fashion as every other animal. Max is the first to put two and two together. The dude goes pale. It takes a second or two for the rest of the rest of the same thing. us to catch on. Oh, fuck me. This epiphany shatters our last nerve. We break into a full sprint in the direction that we've been hiking in. This part is sort of a blur of sticks hitting my face, thorny plants scratching my skin, and sheer panic. I have no idea how long we ran for, but when we stopped running and regrouped, my watch at 4.45 p.m. We have two hours before sunset.

Thankfully, no one got separated or hurt themselves during our mad dash, so we're good to go. We re-check our orientation with the compasses and continue our trek south. We are no longer finding dead animals, which puts our mind at more of an ease. We start to believe that the worst is over, how fucking wrong we were. The next half an hour is mundane, with the most action being Greg almost tripping and falling into a poison ivy patch. It was actually kind of relaxing to just hike through the woods, believing the illusion in that it's safe. But after that calm half hour, shit hit the fan and fast.

Max was the first to notice it. He whispers at the rest of us to though to stay quiet. We shut up and hear it. The distant beating of wings. If you have ever been close to a large bird when it flies, then you have an idea of what it sounded like. Only problem was there were no words in sight. Hide, Max whispers. Each of us scramble for a bush or a log to hide under. We are dead quiet. It takes what felt like hours for the sound of the wing to dissipate, but it was probably only 20 minutes. The fuck was that, Greg, ass. I have no idea, but whatever it was. My guess is that it was responsible for all those dead animals, Frank responds, and let's not be the next meal. We resume our journey yet again, but this time we are on high

alert. We freeze every a branch snaps, or a squirrel rustles through the tree, or a woodpecker drills a hole. We're moving a lot slower, and it is getting closer and closer to sundown. Nothing really happens for a while. At 6.30, we stopped to catch a breath. Orange is starting to appear on the horizon. I check my compass, and we are still on track. We decide on what to do. No one wants to stay another night in the woods, but Max and Greg are against hiking through unknown terrain at night, while me and Frank are convinced that if we don't continue on, we are going to be a midnight snack for the thing that killed all of those other animals. I end up convincing them to go by pointing out the imminent danger of staying and pointing out that the road

that we came down here on shouldn't be more than two miles away, which should only take us another 40 to 50 minutes. Unfortunately, this took a grand total of 15 minutes for us to decide. and the sky is orange from the sunset. After 25 minutes, the only light is from the moon, which is very bright as there were a few clouds and an old oil lantern that Greg brought with. So we are now walking in a single file line with Greg leading the way like a bunch of kindergartners.

And it's here where shit hits the fan. Greg asks, Hey guys, is it? Raining? There are literally no clouds in the sky and we tell him so. Then why am I feeling water dripping onto me? He asks and he shines the light of the lantern into the trees. Why did God leave us? The light illuminates the face of the ugliest and most

terrifying thing I've ever seen. It is a cross of a goat and a horse is shape with bright yellow eyes, but without any fur. It opens its mouth and roars the same roar that we heard last night, but a thousand times louder. Its gums are black, its tongue is pink and like that of a dog, and its teeth are almost as yellow as its eyes. This thing's canines were at least an inch and a half long. Its chin has a few dark brown or black hairs. The rest of it is not illuminated enough to make out. It catches all of us by surprise. For one long-ass second, we all look on in a mixture of shock, fear, and awe. Then our fight or flight instincts kick in, and we bolt. It roars again and takes flight. In the distance, we see these streetlights of a road and run even faster. I'm crying like a bitch

with my tears from joy and fear. We make it to the road and continue running down it. Max is ahead of everyone. I'm behind him. Frank is behind me. Greg is behind Frank, but then Greg trips, stumbles for a second, and faceplants. I screeched to a halt and turn around and get a good look at the thing for the first time. Unless I get Alzheimer's or dementia, I will never forget the sight of that abomination approaching my friend. It is a massive beast, and it has the same kind of muscle tone as a Russian powerlifter. It has the body of a hairless horse, and is covered in scars of all different shapes and sizes. Some look like the scars of a knife wound. but others look more like bullet holes.

Its skin is a pooched, pinkish red color. It has the hind legs of a horse, but instead of having four legs, it has a pair of massive, muscular human arms with human hands. The nails of the hands are at least an inch long, sharp-looking, and black in color. It has a long rat-like tail. I'd estimate a length of roughly 7 to 8 feet with a few sparse patches of dark brown or black hair. The abomination is at least 20 feet long and 6 feet at the shoulder.

Its neck is like a foot long, but probably like two feet in diameter. I now notice the long semi-curved horns protruding from its head like those of a goat. You probably know what I'm talking about now. And if you don't, it's the Jersey Devil. It touches down on all fours like 30 or 40 feet in front of Greg. Greg fires his 22 at it and hits it square in the chest. It doesn't acknowledge being shot at all. It walks on all fours and reaches for Greg, who is in the middle of reloading his rifle.

I don't want this fucking thing eating my friend. I call it some racial slurs, can't remember which. Slide the bolt into place. I take aim, pull the trigger and fire. I hit it right next to its right eye. This, it notices. It roars up on a time legs,

clutching its eye, roaring louder than a police siren. Roar is different this time. It is still loud and deep, but now it also has the sound of a dying cat. Frank and Max stop running and see the predicament that me and Greg are in. They draw the rifles and fire at it.

Drop the rifles. their handguns and sprint over to where I am. This only seems to anger the beast more as it grabs Greg. Greg screams in pain and several audible snaps are heard. Max and Frank shoot at its torso. It throws Greg into a light post and begins to advance on us and we back up. I see something behind it, a light? I squint my eyes. It's a cop car. I'm hoping that he can call backup or help us shoot at it. As the monster quickens its pace, the cop arrives. To everyone's surprise, the car slams into the monster. sprawling. Two cops exit the vehicle and pull out very shiny lever action rifles. I think that they were here for 45 to 70 government and start to shoot at it. It screams like it did when I hit in the head

and contours its body and pain each time one of the cops fire another round into it. We get the idea and join in the shooting. At some point the abomination must have decided that we were not worth the pain, got up on all fours, and ran into the woods. After we were sure that it had left, the three of us ran over to check on Greg. We make sure that he is still alive. He is. He is. and then me, Max, and Frank talked to the cops. What in the hell was that? Max asks. They asked, as he had said nothing. You boys sure are lucky that the two of us were driving down the road.

One of the cops, a blonde, chubby guy says, those rabbed buck are violent as hell and damn sure menace with their antlers. You were not packing anywhere near enough firepower. Me and Frank are about to call his lie, but the other cop, an older-looking man, gives us a death stare that shuts us up. The only thing that you ever saw attack your friend

was a large buck with a bad case of rabies, he flatly says. Nothing else. The cops got an ambulance to for Greg and took us to the hospital. Greg had fractured his tailbone, broken several ribs, and broke his right shoulder blade. No one at the hospital asked us what happened after we tell them it was a rabid buck. Frank calls up Greg's cousin and explains the scenario, minus the monster. The rest of us were fine, minus bruises and scratches. And there you have it.

Greg recovered, though he will never be a little. as fit or capable as he used to be, the four of us still keep in touch as our only validation that this was real, that this really did happen, is the fact that we all know what we saw, and we all saw the same thing. I'm the only one of us who still enjoys hiking in the woods, but that is probably because I live in Colorado, far away from New Jersey or the Pine Barrens. But every once in a while, if I have an exceptionally bad day at work, or go to sleep very stressed it visits me in my dreams, chasing me and my friends through the woods and down that road. I'll be checking into here throughout today and tomorrow if anyone wants to talk.

And I kind of like that story. I'm just going to add my input after that one. That was a long story, like 30 minutes almost. But I enjoyed that because I've always heard about the Jersey devil, but I've really never had it kind of more fleshed out. And that was a good story. Whether or not you believe it, I think it was still a good story. And entertain it.

Comment down below what you thought about that one. and into the next one. I don't browse X often, but I have some good stories to share with you. Tons of creepy stuff happens in the wood I live nearby. Story 1. B8. Exploring the woods alone of my dog one morning. Don't expect anybody to be back there, so dog is off leash and running around, sniffing, whatever dogs do.

I'm just following trails set by other animals. Using a stick to clear spiderwebs in my way slash suspicious-looking plants, stuff like that. A creepy feeling gnaws at me the deeper I go into the woods. Hear what faintly sounds like a human screaming in the distance. Dog perks up and looks at where the scream came from too. It's coming from deep in the woods. I stand there unsure what to do, feeling overly confident I decided to follow where the scream came from.

First time in the woods alone too. Dog just went back to sniffing and running around. After what felt like an hour, I came across stuff that humans obviously left. A couch sitting in the middle of nowhere. Broken bike hanging in a tree. Lots of beer bottles hanging around. looks like some teen hideaway.

Carefully walk around the beer bottles and avoid all the crud laying around. After I walk a decent distance past it, I hear a scream behind me, where I came from. Realized dog has been gone for a while. Too scared to call my dog's name to draw attention to me, so I just stand there awkwardly looking for any signs of anything,

kind of crouched down and then walk back. Still bright daylight, so I should be able to see anything off in the distance. Two minutes later, I hear heavy breathing. It's getting closer and fast. Start freaking the fuck out. Look around. Swinging my stick like a maniac. Suddenly, dog jogs out of bush.

Then pass me. Bloodily, murder. Thought some madman was about to kill me. Skold the dog silently. Realized dogs shouldn't be ahead of me. Runs to grab dog's collar and put leash on. Continuing my ninja walk towards where I thought the scream came from. Didn't see or hear anything after what felt like an hour and half was searching.

Walked back home. Didn't tell my parents what I heard, because they'd just freak out and not let me back in. Story two, maybe a year after last incident, so nine-ish at the time, riding bike in the woods with my friend, morning again. Friend is easily scared, thinks there's snakes around every corner, poisonous spiders that'll hunt them down alive, etc. I calm them down and tell them, I walk those trails a thousand times, probably actually only ten times. Find some trail that I'd never followed before. Now, the creepy feeling is starting to build back up on the back of my neck. Ignore it, keep going.

I want to see where this trail goes. Friend complains it's creepy. Trees, plants are all dead, etc. I tell them it's fucking fall. Of course the trees are going to have no leaves and look dead. Actually, fall only began. Trees are only turning orange slash red, and most plants still have leaves. I'm getting scared myself, but nothing's happened yet, and I want to explore this new trail. Come across a cabin in the middle of a field of grass. Friend doesn't want to approach it, of course. I ignore them and walk boldly ahead. Actually knocked on the door. Nobody answers. I push open the door and I look back. Friend is gone. Hear a scream coming from the cabin. Run the fuck away. Look back. Cabin door closed while I was looking. Didn't find my friend until next day at school.

Story three. This time it took place in night. I walk in the woods all the time with my dad. He loves nature. He wants to go again tonight. Both of us bring a flashlight and my dog. Dad is holding the leash instead of letting dog run around because he doesn't want to lose the dog and I have to look for it at night.

He finds a teen hangout spot with the couch and the bike hands. hanging in the tree. Just keeps walking past it casually. Dog is obviously freaking out, though. Wining, trying to pull my dad away. Dad and I keep looking around for whatever it could be, that's freaking out the dog. Dog starts barking. We smack the dog to be quiet. Now I can smell wood burning. Asked dad if he smells it too. He nods, but we don't see any fire. Figure may be someone smoking or something, but it doesn't smell like that. Whatever, we keep walking cause no flame. I shot my flashlight around and see two glimps appear, mid-air off in the distance. Move my flashlight back.

It disappeared. But the bush around it is moving. Pull my dad's arm and whisper what I saw. He shines his flashlight at where I was looking. Doesn't see anything. Dog still refuses to calm down. Half an hour later, we hear what sounds like wolves slash coyotes howling. Wolves and coyotes are rare around here, but they do exist here.

It's enough for my dad. We walk back home. Dog starts pulling ahead with all of his might, slips out of Dad's hand. Dad and I screamed for his name. Too late, he disappeared off into the darkness. We chase after it, calling its name. I look back behind me. I can see a dark shape disappear behind some tree in the moonlight.

I'll look forward and keep running. Dog actually ran all the way back home. Story 4. By the way, this took place in the early 90s. Sorry, I didn't have a camera back then. Didn't go in the woods for a while. sat around and played video games. Eight, watch TV, typical Amerifat stuff.

Decide to go again one day, probably 11 at the time. I remembered that cabin in the woods. I asked my friend, different friend, if he wants to check it out too. He brings his dog and I bring mine. Walk into where I think the cabin is. It's after school, but we still have many hours of daylight left. We're just chatting away while our dogs chase and play with each other, run around, sniffing, etc.

Dogs disappear after a few minutes. We call their names and they come back, but then they just jog away again. Same direction. We follow. Find a dead deer with an enormous gut because of all the maggots and juices in it. Head is missing, though. Poked it with stick. Typical stuff kids do when they encounter death. Ignore and keep walking. Half an hour later, we find another dead one. Again, the head is missing. Joke with my friend that deer skulls are used for black magic. Finally, we find the cabin. We're staying off in the distance, but in clearing and in clear view of cabin. debating if we should go check it out or not. After a few minutes, see a window curtain move and a shape looking back at us. Friend sees it too. Definitely has a hairy-as-fuck mask. Actually looks like a deerhead. I didn't make the connection until a year later.

We were stupid as fuck back then. On or something. Doesn't look fully human. We stand there not knowing what to do. Figure in cabin moves, the curtain back, and disappears. Two minutes later, another curtain opens. This time it's upstairs. Same figure.

It stares at us. We're getting nervous about what it's planning on doing, but we're too curious to leave. So we just stand there looking at each other for what feels like ten minutes. Curtain closes and figure disappears again. Now we're getting scared, wondering what I'll do next. We walk back in the woods and hide behind trees while watching the cabin. The cabin door opens. Same figure with hairy mask.

Steps out on the porch. Looking for us. Starts walking towards us. Oh shit. Oh shit. We use Aylton bolted back home. Later, friend tells us we got to go back there again. I refuse to go there without my dad.

Story number six. A year later, Dad still remembers his promise, makes the preparation to spend a week in the cabin, uses vacation time, everything. He's a determined fucker. Friend, his dad, and the two dogs are coming along too. We actually see the figure upstairs as a rock and towards it. We get to the cabin just before dark and knock on the door. Of course, we're ignored.

Body slam time. Breaks up with less effort than last time. We get in, search the whole place. Of course nobody's there. Set up camp, water, food, books, guns, etc. We all slept together in the living room for protection. Dad decides him and friend's dad will take turns staying up. We didn't need to bring a lamp in oil.

Already was there. We light it and used it throughout the night. We told each other ghost stories and shit like that late into the night. Dogs started barking in the middle of the night. Wake up to find lamp burnt out. In the moonlight, I could see a figure outside looking in from the window. freaked the fuck out. Figure disappears under the window behind the wall. Both dads jolt awake and grabs his gun. Nobody else saw the figure, but this time we're much more careful. And all of us shared the

watch duty this time. Nothing happened for the rest of the night. But holy shit, I was still freaking out that it got so close without learning us. Next day, we cooked our food and ate breakfast. Just pretty much a normal camping experience for the rest of the day. We stuck together close though. friend and I went exploring in the woods with my dog. I was entrusted with a gun. Dad and friend's dad kept the other dog. In the hindsight, it was a stupid idea to let us in the woods back then. If you fear for your child's safety so much that you have to give him a gun, just don't let him go.

So we're walking around following trails, just having fun. Dog is kept on the leash, though, because in the back of my minds, we are both terrified. Maybe some four minutes after exploring, we find another dead deer without a head. Man, this is getting old, I recall my friend saying. For me, it was just more evidence that it's still around. We find some stream and threw rocks into it. I sat down the gun against a tree and friend let go of the dog to let it run around as we relax and chat about girls. Eventually, we can't ignore the creepy feeling anymore.

I get my gun and we call the dog over. It doesn't come back. We nervously walk back to the cabin, still calling for the dog the whole time. Dad and friend's dad was sitting around in the living room with dog resting in between. When we get back, Dad asked if we found anything interesting. No, but now the dog went missing. He just froze for a moment. I don't think he even breathed.

calmly got up and everybody went looking for my dog. Never came back. We kept looking around until just before dark. We went back into the cabin only to find everything trashed. All of the water gone. All of the gas gone. All of the food and bullets were thrown around outside of the cabin and stomped into the dirt. The guns themselves were emptied of bullets and our flashlights were destroyed.

Bullets are useless. We don't have any food or water or any light. Fuck. We still had a handful of bullets, one gun, and one flashlight that we brought with us when we went looking for the dog. We decided to spend the night in the cabin instead of walking through the woods in the dark with barely any protection. Decide to huddle together again in the living room. This time, two out of four people are on watch duty at all times. Nobody slept well that night, so we really, all four of us, or awake half of the time. Whenever someone had to use the bathroom, we took the dog in the flashlight with us. Late in the night, we could hear footsteps in the basement. Dog perked up its ears, and I woke up my friend. Dad grabbed his gun and everyone just listened. Sounds like footsteps just

walking around. This continues for maybe an hour before Dad decides to go check it out. None of us want him to go alone. We all huddle around him as he holds the gun and slowly opens the door leading downstairs. Everybody get on the floor. Walks the dinosaur. Just kidding. Perfect time for that, though. By the time the door creaks open, the footsteps have stopped. Dad actually stands at the top of the stairs for what feels like a minute before he took another step. He points down the gun, aiming just in case anything wants to jump. All of us stepped down after him and reached the bottom of the stairs. Flashlight searching the whole room. Basement is pretty empty, though. We checked everything. It's just not there. Impossible for it to pass on.

us on the stairs. Suddenly we hear footsteps upstairs. What the actual fuck? How does it keep disappearing and appearing like that? Dad runs upstairs in rage. We all follow after him trying to stop him. We see the figure already outside, running away into the woods. Dad takes shots at it, then tries to chase after it once the bullets are gone. That ain't happening. Friends Dad, friend and I, all restrained by Dad. Dad finally calms down half an hour later. Everyone stayed awake the rest of the night. When the sun was high enough, we all headed back home without further incidents. The next day, Dad and I came back to sit the cabin on fire, so it had no place to live. Moved away a year later.

Friend didn't. Still have more to tell. Part 5. Three years later, I called my friend to get just in touch with him because we haven't talked to each other in so long. It wasn't long before we started talking about our experience. Friend said he went back a few months after he moved away. So the cabin was still burned to the ground, but something is weird about the cabin. He hesitated to go further.

Of course, I had to ask what was weird about it. Friend tried to avoid my questions, but I persisted. When he went back, the rubble from the cabin had been rearranged. It now formed a perfect circle of charred pieces around the perimeter of where the cabin stood. Nothing inside this circle except for one solitary thing. Sitting in the middle of the circle was a headless, almost completely decomposed body of an animal. Another DRI asked my friend? No, he said.

Your dog. I don't know if this story belongs here. Whatever, here's the story. It's fucking long, but bear with me. Friend not in this story tells us about a place to get palm readings. Lifting buddy and I go to get palms readings. Show up to this shady-ass place at 10 in the morning wearing our workout gear. Ghost bitch is already mernin.

Stereotypical, scraggly, gypsy woman, shakes our hands, and seats us at the table with a crystal ball. Ask who wants to go first. Hispanic heritage kicks in and I nope at the last minute. Friend chads up to the plate. Woman grabs his hand. He flexes slightly. Woman goes from smiling to horrified. Starts grabbing and studying his hand like a last will. Feeling weird, man. Tells my friend he's got something following him. Ask him if he's. did any Ouija voodoo bullshit. Says he smashed a hole in the wall when he was drunk lifting at home.

Says there was some type of decorative skull behind it that he now uses as decoration in his bedroom. Gypsy lets us leave without pain. At the gym 30 minutes later. Spotting friend Wally Benches. Some newbie dumb ass is curling next to us. Like no joke, six inches away from us. Dude slips up in a day, swings a 20 he's holding that friend's head. throws the bar up and ducks just in time, almost impale himself trying to catch the bar.

Nuby apologizing while friend gets back up and I'm shitting myself still. Tell friend he should go home. Friend looks unfazed and wants to continue. Leave to a boyless sister's house to get some sage and silver. Go back to Jim and give it to a friend. The next day, friend looks happier than normal. Tells me some shit went down at his house. Says the power was dead even though his bills were paid and the rest of his neighbor.

had power, heard rattling of silverware, uses flashlight after sea, saw a silhouette of someone crawl under the kitchen counter, nothing under the counter, not even shelves. Friend doesn't believe in Ouija shit and believes it's an intruder or animal. Friend grabs his pull-up bar and gets ready for the sweet fit justice, yells obscenities while patrolling his house, says he sees what looked like a small humanoid crouched in his weight room, gives zero fucks, and tosses the pull-up bar at the window. Shatters like lanket kneecap squatting. Thing nowhere in sight. Friend then starts to consider Ouija shit. Calls other friend for advice. Our lifting group had some odd characters. Johnny answers and tells him to burn the sage and carry the silver. Says he'll be by with some holy water.

Drops it off. I'll call my grandmother tomorrow to help. She's like one of the medium people. Friend sits down on his couch while the house smells like old. Watch his American dad. looks at the sage, dried up and out, goes to his pocket for the silver, fucking melted. Instead of warm, it was cold. Starts to see something dart back and forth across the room.

TV goes off and static comes on. Says high-pitched screaming fills the house. Friend gets annoyed. Walks over to the weight room and smash the skull against the wall in a fluid motion. Like imagine walking into a room, tipping over a vase, then going back to doing what you were doing.

He did that except through a skull, against the wall. Says the house shook, screaming got higher than stopped. Lights go off again. Here's numerous footsteps getting close to him. Tells me he is mildly freaked out at this point. I'm very concerned that he said mildly. Says he doused himself in holy water and started swinging as hard as he could into the darkness. Only hears the wind breaking on his fists. Says he heard the footsteps getting further away from him. Screams, nah-uh. Start to running around his house and swinging in the darkness. Fucks up his. living room in the process. Tells me he swears he made contact with something

fleshy a few times. Doesn't remember falling to sleep. Wakes up and goes to the gym to tell me this the next day. Friend goes outside to make frequent calls throughout his routines, ask him if he's trying to get in touch with a priest. Tells me, been calling his home phone and leaving angry voice messages for the ghosts. Says he would buy a snake just to fly and end out with a rolling pit until it dies. Friend goes home again. Fast forward a few days. looks completely normal. Asked Johnny if Lifting Buddy was all right. Tells me it's disturbing how well he is handling the situation.

Says he went to Lifting Buddy's house to check him on the stitch and feels a presence but is feeling scared. Lifting Buddy walks out of his bathroom naked, wiping his ass with a Ouija board towel, throws in on the floor and kicks it into the living room, pours more holy water on it, then takes it outside to burn it. Asked friend if he's hungry.

Uh, sure. It says he pulled out an open Ouija board he bought it Spencer's and uses it as a fucking cutting board. Says he repeatedly stabbed the cutting knife into the board when he was not using it. Breaks the board in half after he's done chopping up tomatoes and throws it in the trash. Washes his hands, then pisses in the trash can.

Even I think this is disrespecting the spirits too much. They both eat grilled chicken salad, then Johnny leaves. Says on the way out, lifting buddy goes into the lifting room and puts another crucifix on the wall. I'm gonna put in Jesus on this wall and I'll be back to fucking masturbate on my bench press while thinking about Lucifer's whore daughter, punches a hole in the wall before leaving.

Johnny calls his abuela that night. Abuela goes to lifting buddy's house of the priest the next day. Says her abuela and priest were also amazed slash disturbed with how lifting buddy is fighting the situation. Priest actually coward and mirrored lifting buddy pissing naked on the satanic Bible.

He bought at some shady bookstore. Tells priest he walks around naked a lot lately and talks shit about Satan. priest leaves before cleansing. Abuela stays to do her medium thing, tries to contact the spirits, says it was a group of entities that were very pissed that their shrine was disturbed, tells her that they have no power since Lifting Buddy isn't remotely scared of anything they've done. Lifting Buddy walks back into wait room with a dead snake.

Abuela says the entities scattered like roaches. Check out what I found on the street this morning. Takes a bite out of the apple, a fucking dead snake. Throws the snake on the floor, putting holy water and salt on it. kicks it into the carpet a few times for peeling it off and throwing it into the trash can in the kitchen. Abuela is what the fucking did this man's mental strength or ignorance, tries to contact the spirits again. They keep running from her.

Finally talks to one. Says they are scared of lifting buddy. Ghosts are scared of my bulky friend. Abuela asked what could have made them pass on. Says they did black magic to get revenge on some asshole landlord from way back then. Says they had incriminating shit to shame his family within the wall with a skull. goal. Abola tells the lifting buddy what he needs to do. Lifting buddy goes into the weight room, makes the hole in the wall bigger by throwing a 15 through the wall, finds a folder with records of

some sort. I'm not lying about any of this. I swear, and especially this next part. Lifting buddy flips through the papers, then wipes his paws with it. Aboila horrified, crumbles them up and throws them into the corner of the room, tells the spirits to piss off, then punches another hole in the wall. Total of 13 holes at this point. Aboila says, may go have mercy in Spanish, then leaves. Goes back to lifting buddy's house a month later. Immediately goes to the weight room. More holes than wall, destroyed Aave,

but like Halo descending from the heavens, the bench press and squatting rack are still there. Tries to contact spirits, nothing. Smiles and asks my friend if he did what needed to be done. Again, not lying about any of this. Tells Abuela, he uncrumbled the papers and got the address of this bastard. Papers were only from 60 years ago, so the guy was still alive just as old as dust.

finds the address of this guy in some sort of mansion. Knox in the door wearing a jet swole you must-sar Wars Yoda tank top, boards shorts, pink sunglasses, and a backwards Chicago Bull snapback. Johnny said lifting buddy went into a lot of detail about his wardrobe for this. Some scrawny white guy in his mid-30s opens the door. Lifting buddy holds up the paper and asks for the person in the paper's name. Hey dad, uh, someone's here to see you.

He has documents. Lifting buddy lets himself in and finds the old man in his studies. Who are you? notices the paper. What? Where did you get that? Old man tries to grab the papers. Lifting buddy punches the old man in the face. Densures fly out.

Says it was like some shit out of a movie. Crouches in his face and sets the old man straight Sherlock home style. Guy's son run and jumps on my lifting buddy's back. Lifting buddy stops mid-sentence, lets the guy down, then gut punches him until he hobbles out of the front and pukes into the hallway. Tells the old man to set shit. right or he'll be back for blood. Leaves.

Fast forward a couple of days. Various cars outside of my lifting buddy's house. Thinks the old man brought some friends and grabs his pull-up bar. Walks outside in his tank top and house shorts. Various families are thanking him and giving him home-cooked foods. Thank him for getting their grandparents' properties back. The documents were apparently deeds swindled out by the old man. Families say the whole will never forget you, spiel, and leave.

Friend looks into the type of wear. Nothing but calories and carbs, cookies, briskets, gumbo, throws it all away and goes back to his lifting in his weight room. See Old Man's name in the news a few days later. Apparently, he was hated by the community for being a dick. Somehow only heard about him now. News didn't disclose how he died. Don't know if it was from my lifting buddy doing more damage than he thought, the ghost getting the revenge, or natural causes. Hasn't had any paranormal problems since then except for one. says he went into the kitchen for a late night non-cheating snack and saw full-body apparitions. They smiled at him. Says he grabbed an apple, head nodded while taking a bite, and walked away to his bedroom.

He stops halfway and turns around. Holy fuck, you guys are real. Spirits fade when smiling. Lifting buddy goes to sleep. Lifting buddy still lifts and does insane shit like he always does. No one fucks with him since the ghost puncher incident. Aboila mirrors every time she's around him. And I think the priest hold his priest's buddy.

slash church because everyone Myers and Cowers and Grace twice as hard when they're around them. Again, none of this was made up. No walk the dinosaur 10 shit. My friend legitimately beat up a bunch of ghosts. I want to make a green text gangstocking thread. Be me. Homeless, travelers, dirty kid. Live my life riding freight trains and heading to random places.

Was at a truck stop outside of Pearl, Missouri, and noticed a black GMC SUV with Virginia license plates. It was just sitting there. Looked like someone was in there watching me. Decided to kick rocks from truck's top on an hour later and head to the hop out. Notice the SUV start moving and kind of following me. Get to hop put and get on train. Ride through an RRXing a few minutes later and see the same SUV sitting there. Think nothing of it. So I get off the train in Sweetwater, Texas, and get a motel for two nights. The next morning, the very next morning, and I look out the windows and see a fucking black GMC SUV with Virginia license plates.

I kind of shrug and tell myself, it's a coincidence. Anyways, I hop out back east to Fort Worth, make my way to Chicago. When I got off the train and Joylet, I see the same black Sucson. in a parking lot, this time unoccupied. So I try to tell myself it's a coincidence that I'm imagining this and being paranoid. So I make a scratch on the driver's side door with my pocket knife in the shape of a small Z. I would notice it if I seen the thing again. Went to Buffalo and saw the same SUV and yes, I had the Z on it.

I shit myself, I freak out, I tried calling the cops. They just mocked me, acted like I was some tweaker or something. shit. I don't do drugs. I try to confront the person in the SUV, but they always drive off. They are always parked in a way where if I start heading to them, they can just leave fast. So here I am in Minot, and guess what? I saw it again. What the fuck is happening? What the fuck do these people want? I know this isn't much or not very interesting, but I've seen another train riders slash hobo slash dirty kid posts on this board on the past so i figure i share my experiences i feel agencies or people just target people like me because they can get away with whatever the

fuck they are doing i know i am not being paranoid i get discredited a lot what the fuck is so interesting about me unlike the other hobo that posted in here i do not have a dog i travel with my girlfriend. Right now I'm waiting for a train to British Columbia to show and figure I start a green text threat on X. What are you involved in that could possibly interest them? The only thing I can think of was in 2012 I was squatting in a big abandoned factory in Asheville next to a hopout. Lots of other travelers squatted there for a night or two. On the other wing of the building, there were homebuns that lived there. They never got in their way or space. Anyways, I stayed there at night due to extremely heavy rain, and one of the home bombs was murdered that night,

like ritualistic-style murderer by some type of vampire cult in Asheville. I only know because I got woken up by APD and questioned about people that were there, and I told them the truth. I got off a train two nights ago. I was going to catch last night, but rain came in, so I passed out on the squat. I didn't know or notice anything strange other than a van that parked in the River Arts District parking lot all day and night. with nobody in it. And when the cops woke me up, the van was gone. I cannot think of anything else.

The factory got knocked down apparently. I'm new to X, more of a K. Amando L.M.A.O., so bear with me on this. It also just happened tonight when I was coming back home, so I'm a little spook still. Coming back from hanging out with bros playing Vigya, by the time I'm leaving, it's pitch black, because he lives out in the vineyards and empty farmlands, so no streetlights out there. The clouds also have been rolling in. all day, so it's really thick now. So no star or moonlight. 1995 Toyota forerunner with shitty lights, so yeat. High beans, it is. I also just recently finalized a kit for my forerunners, stuff like tools and all. My dad got me a few fuzzies, one of them a bit older,

decide to fuck around and burn off the older one because it goes bad entirely. After driving around for 15 or so minutes, I'm secluded enough to wear no cars might drive by and get confused by the flare. After fucking around with the striker caps because the old one was bad, I got it to ignite. After about maybe three minutes of it burning, I start waving it around because why not?

As I'm holding it and taking pics because my aesthetics, I start looking around, taking in pitch black scenery. As I look towards, I think, what was maybe the east, I see a single green dot, similar to an animal eye.

Seconds later, a couple more pairs. At first, I'm like maybe the, these are coyotes, because this is their territory, but then I realized that's not how light refraction works with a fucking road flare. I didn't have any lights on my car, and they dots were almost half a football field away. I get fucking scared and start backing towards my car and pull out a fucking pellet pistol from under my seat. All the while, the probably seven or so eyes or dots not moving, keep looking at me. Now I'm at about half of the Fusey. It's a 20-minute one. So I put another in my pocket and with the pellet pistol on my other hand, I start

approaching the dots. Jesus, I didn't know how long that actually was until I posted it. Part two. As I get closer, I realize that the dots keep moving back. No matter how many steps I take, it never gets closer. I'm starting to get doubts and I begin to think maybe it was a packing house or a granary or something that turned on its lights. It was only eight or nine at the time. After about five or so minutes of just walking and a decent distance away from my car I say fuck it and aim and shoot at one of the dots

one shot and it fucking disappears while the others fucking stay holy fuck shit no no no no no I fucking throw my remaining stump of a flare at the shit and because of it being old as fuck it goes out once it hits the ground when the flare goes out

my eyes or whatever grow much bigger I'm fucking shitting my pants I emptied the mag of like 20 in the general direction, and once it's empty, I still it in a pocket, and like the second flare I had with me. I strike it, and because this one's newer, it burns better and brighter. The dots are still there, only this time it's missing the one I shot and another interestingly. Part 3. As I reach my forerunner, I see a fucking silhouette under the thing. I'm scared shitless now because I left the extra pistol mag in my car, and the dots were growing bigger now, to the size of a corridor from where I was at.

I say eff it and sprint towards my car with the flare pointed down to illuminate the ground as much as possible. The thing under my car darts off into the fields away from me. I'm so pumped with adrenaline that at this point I just get into my car and start it and floor without closing the door or disposing of the flare. As I'm bouncing my head on the potholes, I try to turn on my headlights and nothing happens, but I'm too scared and pumped to care, so I keep driving, using what little light I have to drive. I had a pothold kind of bad and dropped the flare on accident, but at least gives me an

excuse to close the door. After about five or so minutes of driving at almost 50, I reach a liquor store with the light on and a couple Mexican farmer dudes chilling outside. Part 4. Final bit. With the kit I got, all the while trying to calm down, I tried to troubleshoot why none of the driving lights work. I also notice I can see the flare down the road from where I come still. Gotta love Orion flares, they're bright as fuck. One of the guys who speaks on broken. English, asked why I don't have lights on, and I chat with him for a bit and saying things like I'm trying to find out and why and all. And eventually, we get onto the subject about what I saw. I described to him the green dots in the silhouette under my car, the size of a toddler, by the way.

And he's nodding all the while, but with an ever-grown expression of fear or something. I eventually tell him I shot at it a couple of times and point at the pistol I've got, and he freezes up and gives me a stare of, I don't even know how to describe it, like hatred and sadness and walks inside the liquor store. I shrug it off and get back to work on the lights. I remove one of the headlights and find the filaments inside the bulbs are just gone, non-existent. I go through all six headlights, DLR, and turn signal bulbs, and not a single one had filament. I go to the taillights, and same story. I was super pissed off at the time because I was a good 25-minute drive away from home. I'm also super perplexed because I drove to the spot with my

headlights on and everything. At this point, I don't care and replace them with the spares I've got. I need to go back there tomorrow when there's lights to see where the fuck I threw that stump. And where the other flare dropped and also get the fucking filamentless bulbs. I was super stupid to throw those away here. That shit isn't normal. I live in the northern part of Sakha or Yucuta, Russia for around 10 years and I've encountered a lot of weird shit there. I'll start with some context. B-13. Dad and mom break up because dad is abusive. Mom loses a court case and dad gains custody. After divorce, dad changes and starts seeing weirdos for life advice. Some guy tells him that he needs to cut himself from society to awaken his third eye or some shit. So we moved from

Sank-Peterberg to motherfucking city five and I can't pronounce Russian, so I don't know. A town so fucking secluded, it didn't have a name. Life, as you'd expect, was fucking shit and boring. The schools there didn't even teach English, the official Yakut language or even basic sciences. The locals are cool, though. So on to the paranormal stuff. I'll start off with the creepiest one. I've personally never encountered it. In fact, I've only known three people who claim they have.

But the whole city of five is scared of it. We call it the flat man. It's said to appear in some of the most rural areas of the region. The best way I could describe it is to compare to a living shadow. But it's more like a void in the shape of a human on the floor. floor. Its shape cannot appear on trees or buildings, only the ground. Apparently, the flatman has made entire tribes of people disappear. In 1989, a group of around 10 people went to hunt it. Two months later, clothing started to wash up in the local river. It was their clothing. Apart from being wet,

the clothing wasn't damaged. The next night, screaming could be heard outside the town. Another time some guy was hunting deer, he spotted the deer, but it seemed to have its leg stuck in something. When he got closer, he could see the flatman holding the deer's leg. It then started making a pulling motion. You know what happens when something is pulled through a tiny hole? Well, that is what basically happened to the deer, not a trace of the deer left. Hunter instantly runs as far away as he can. I have a classmate.

Let's call him Igor. Igor's dad has encountered the flatman at one point. Be him, 1992. He works for a small wood-cutting business. Patches of forest are valuable in Yucata. So if your boss tell you to... you go, you can't object. So he's at the spot and he comes across uprooted trees in the shape of a spiral. He tries to get the fuck out, but keeps coming back at the spiral. Notices that the other trees

are still bending, starts feeling weird sensation. His own body is swayed towards the spiral. The pole gets so strong that he has to push himself off trees to move it. Then suddenly all the uprooted trees get sucked up into the ground. The force of the pole is so strong, it breaks one of his arms. He looks over and there's a massive fucking hole where the spiral was. In the hole, he can make out the flatman. He starts moving in a swimming motion. See, the flat man is called that instead of like shadow man because he doesn't move like one. When he turn your shadow, change his shape to reflect that, but the flat doesn't do that. He can't move his arms through his chest, so he moves in this weird swimming motion. Igor's dad starts running and flatman gives chase.

The flat man can fuck with shadows. Every time a shadow of a tree gets in his way, he kind of swats it away and the entire tree breaks. He makes it to his car and manages to lose it. Me and a few friends actually managed to stumble onto the crater, and surely enough, it was in the shape of a spiral. It was overgrown. The entire time we were near it, everything felt floaty, and we couldn't feel, smell, or taste. In the last guy I know of that encountered the flat man died in 2006, but someone told his story. Apparently he was a hermit and lived just away from the town. One day he noticed the land had risen slightly and messed with the foundation of the house, which was like the one in the pick. It keeps rising, so he gets a guy to take a look.

Dude sees in, tells him to leave immediately. Hermit is stuck up, so he stays. He wakes to half of his house missing in a giant pillar in the sky. Some locals saw the pillar in the sky. A few of the braver ones go to check it out, and they find the guy. He's out cold. Guy's legs are missing, said his legs were so cleanly cut, they weren't even bleeding. They get the guy and drive away.

A few minutes later, a pillar goes back down. Hermit wakes up, says the flatman grabbed the shadow of his legs and just took them off because he passed out. Never went to the location because he genuinely lived in a scary as fuck place full of bears and wolves. And the flatman is the creepiest one by far. Nomads cover their ears if you bring them up or straight up start a fight with you. Some of the more integrated nomads tell tales about ancient tribes tried their hardest to eradicate it and went missing. He's the only thing that no one dares to fuck with. People don't like talking about him.

Be me, 15. Two years after moving it, me and dad are having breath. breakfast and get a knock at the door. Open it. Guy standing there looks almost identical to the pick, and the pick is up on screen. Tips his hat and introduces himself as Ivan Ivanoch, basically the John Smith of Russia. This happened in 2009, so the guy is very out of place. Dad, being the understanding gentleman that he is, tells him, what do you fucking want? Instantly get this sinking feeling in my stomach. Dad's speech becomes ten times more polite. Ivan says that he's the governmental representative of City 5.

He's responsible for tax collection. Solving judicial problems and keeping the peace starts telling us about how the town works. I think to myself, I know this stuff. He instantly stops talking and excuses himself. Ivan leaves and we both sit there, dumbfounded for a bit. Part 5. Me and Dad are bringing firewood back home and visit a market. While there, Ivan taps my dad's shoulder.

Everybody instantly quiets down. Ivan and Dad start talking. From what I could tell, Dad did some dumb shit, and a few townsfolk were mad. Dad instantly starts spurging out, then he shuts up. A local comes by and defends my dad. Ivan then says, if you continue your unacceptable behavior, there will be consequences. Understand? Then I get the sudden urge to nod. Everyone around Ivan, even people who weren't looking at him nod. Ivan goes around a corner and he's fucking gone. Ivan does so much creepy shit. on many occasions I've seen him just appear out from dark alleyways or rooms anyone who fucks with Ivan just disappears anytime I talk to Ivan it's like half this shit I say I don't even

think about I've heard a story that some nomad got drunk and started stabbing random people so Ivan just came into the bar and the guy just shuts down and dies everybody feels the urge to leave and when it stops they instantly come back both Ivan and the nomad are gone I remember I once got drunk and ended up sleeping in some guy's property rumors about me start spreading around the community. It's evening, and I'm reading a book. Enjoying your read? Then fucking Ivan comes out of the darkness.

It scares the shit out of me, but a soothing sensation quickly kicks. Ivan starts to literally interrogate me, asks really personal questions about life and family. I answer with as much detail as possible, even though I don't want to. Ivan eventually concludes that this chat, walks into the darkness and disappears. Ivan's creepy-ass face and voice still gives. gives me shivers. Part 6. Sorry for not posting yesterday was really busy. First, I think I should explain more about the nomads. The nomads are basically tribes of nomadic horsemen that split off

from the main Yakut societies. Their language is very hard to understand, but some nomads have integrated into Russian society and translate for us. They believe some sort of Pangan religion, from what I've been told, they believe in five gods. The gods are named after the cardinal directions. North, Cahid, God of Wind and everything to do with the cold. South, Amnid, God of fertility in nature. East, Zun, God of the Hunt and the Trickster. West, Varroon, God of Guns and Death. Tengri is taken from Tengriism and is basically the All-Father.

There's also Kezar, which I'll be telling a story about. So be me, 2012. Dad goes out to go for a drink and doesn't come back. People start telling me to go look for him. This isn't the first time this happened, so I just. chilled. Two weeks go by. A few locals found Dad's body. They request I do a proper burial. I couldn't be bothered so I just tell them to put him six feet under. Next day I'm out gathering firewood in between the

trees I see a pair of eyes staring at me. I try to get closer but when I blink it disappears. Then when walking back home I see it again on a rock I can make out its shape, long skinny legs, small body and big shiny eyes. Very similar to pick. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was the Khazar. In legend, it's basically supposed to be an omen from the gods. If you somehow offended one of the gods, Khazar starts appearing to you. I understood that I had offended some God by not burying my father. I've lived here long enough to know not to fuck with the paranormal. So the next day, I gave my father a proper Tengri burial. I stopped seeing the Khazar after that. The Khazar appears a lot to hunters. Most hunter heed the warning in either.

avoid the area or bring back the catchback. There was a few stuck-ups though. One guy didn't heed the warning and had a bear break into his home and got killed. Then someone was found impaled on a deer's horn. Another was found frozen in a lake. A hunter's gun once exploded when he shot and mutilated him, and a few people were crushed, were by their own roof caving in on them from snow buildup. All of these people had said about being visited by the Khazar. The guy who got killed by a bear had told close friends, that the Khazar's eyes became brighter over time. For him, the eyes were bright enough to illuminate his whole house. Had a friend who got quite unlucky with the Khazar. Let's call him Vlad. Vlad loves to seclude himself in the wilderness and when he had free time, he would always

go up north to camp. One day, Vlad goes camping. Nothing goes wrong, but when he's coming back to City 5, he starts seeing the Khazar. A friend didn't kill any animal, nor do anything that would piss off the gods, so he assumed that the area was off limits. But the Kuzer's czar doesn't go away. In fact, he starts seeing wolves stalking him from the brush. One day, while Vlad is going to work, the pack of wolves attacks him. One of them latches onto his arm and starts tearing into it. He manages to hurt the wolf, and that gives him enough time to escape to safety. After that, wolves leave him alone. For months, Vlad ponderes what he could have done, but can't put a finger on it. Then one of the locals said he found Vlad's campsite, and sitting there

was a single fucking beer can. Part 8. Be me. Don't have much money and a lot of shit to breaks down before winter. If you know anything about the northeast and Russia, you'll know that the winters are hellish, so I need money quick. There's a meat vendor that'll pay good for bison. The vendor gets a party together and we go out hunting. The party consists of me, Igor, Vlag, Andrew, Michael, and other five people. But they're irrelevant since we split into two groups. Our group goes to a place around 50 kilometers from Chokorra.

We're deep in a forest tracking some bison prints. Suddenly here a low grown. As soon as it stops, the wind picks up and it starts snowing. Snow in September isn't the weirdest thing out here, but it's not uncommon. As time goes on, wind and snowfall become stronger. Vision is so obscure you can only see about 50 meters in front of you. It's starting to get late, so we start looking for a place to camp. We come up to this slope, which has a great view of the area.

Igor and Andrew stayed a set up camp and the rest of the rest of the rest of the rest of the place. rest of us go gather wood. Five minutes in we heat ergo shout, I can't speak Russian, which basically means holy shit. Everyone comes back and Igor is pointing at the horizon. I don't know if Igor had eagle vision, but we can't make out shit. So we tell Igor there's nothing there. Continue with her day and go to sleep. Mikhail wakes me up at around 6 a.m. Dude, wait the fuck up. I get out of my tent, there's a fucking giant in the horizon. It was humanoid, but it was crooked. Skinny as hell. didn't quite match. It had trees and shit growing on it. Two of them grew in the shape of horns.

I couldn't make out its features due to the fog, and it made zero fucking noise. The only reason McHale woke up was because hundreds of birds were perched up and flying around. All of us got the fuck out and never came back. Got chewed out by our employer and had to do shitty janitor jobs. They didn't care though because I'm not fucking with whatever that thing was. And now the user responds to some comments and says, yes, I have plenty more stories. Okay, so in between Psychilic and Belajagora, there's a community of five houses. In one of these homes lives this guy we just call Khan. He has hundreds of stories, some so out there, even I couldn't believe them. He's very awkward to be around because all he talks about is

nomad culture, hunting and shepherding. So here's a story that involved him. 2014, Andrew and Vlad have jobs in the local police. They get an assignment to check up on a patch land that someone wants to cultivate. It sounds like a boring job, so they invite me and Andrew to camp with them. On the way, we see a lot of nomad tribes moving around. When we stop by the community, we ask about the tribes. They tell us that they're moving for some sort of summer solstice celebration. Before we leave, they insist we take con with us. It was plain obvious that they just wanted to get rid of him for a few days. Regudgeonly, we took them with us. The whole car ride was very awkward and boring. We finally got to our spot, which is around 10 kilometers from Kubragana. We set up and start grilling Shash Creek.

It's a really fun evening, even Khan got a bit laxed. Everyone goes to sleep at around 12 a.m. I wake up at around 2 a.m. to fucking Khan throat singing at the top of his lungs. We were pretty drunk and ticked off, so we start telling Khan to shut the fuck up. While we're arguing, Mikhail fucking snaps and starts screaming at Khan. The argument goes on for two hours. After everything calms down a bit, we decided to pack up and finish up here. Problem is, we're nowhere near our camp. It's like we got moved to some random location. There's a thick fog that obscures anything five meters away, just as bad as the one on the pick. Khan tells us we are royally fucked up, tells us that we need fire right now.

Everyone scrambles for their lighters. Con tells everyone to follow him. We think about it for a second, but realize it's probably better to follow the two-meter-tall-nomad then stay out here. Con starts leading us while walking Con is singing some nomad song and we hear a bell ring. As soon as we hear it, we're all lined face down on the floor. Then hear a chirp and start throwing up water. Khan says, it started. Listen to everything I've got to say. Make sure to check your back if you hear weird noises. As soon as he finishes his sentence, there's children's giggles and all of our clothes are tied together. We hear a loud pop and our fire sources become ten times brighter. Khan tells us to carry on.

In the fog, there are silhouettes of four figures watching us. First one is just some big dude with a crown. Second one is also huge. His knees are bent backwards and he has deer horns. Third one is a woman's proportions and has goat horns. Fourth looks like a normal dude with a gun. We can hear a chorus of laughter and cheering coming from around us. Khan asked Vlad if he's checked his back.

We all turn around. There was this dried up, tall person, basically a fucking skeleton behind Vlad. It gets scared away by the fire and retreats into the fog. There is multiple of them, and they keep trying to jump at us. Kahn calls them failures. We come across a rabbit. Khan instantly grabs and kills it. He raises the rabbit into the air and says something in his language.

We can hear a bit of booing and groaning coming from all around us. Then a deer's silhouette comes next to the other silhouettes. The one with deer horns grabs it by the head and says, snaps its neck. It throws the deer to Khan's legs. Con tells us to bow down and repeat after him. We do it. The silhouettes disappear and the fog starts to clear up. We find our campsite a few hundred meters away. Con takes the deer and ride it with him. We come back to the station. Andrew and Vlad are discussing what to say in their report. Con tells them to write out the report as if everything was normal but they recommended him for higher in the field. So that's what they do.

and Khan works and lives over there from now on. Typing as I go, sorry if it's a bit slow. Let me perface this story by telling you that it's been a long time since this happened. While it is a true story, I've had to add some details to make sure the story flows in a somewhat coherent fashion because I don't remember absolutely everything that happened. Also, my sequence of events may be a little fucked up, but that doesn't change the fact that some of the images are still absolutely frozen in my mind. I was hoping my old retelling was still around because it came out pretty coherent.

Anyway, when I was somewhere between 8 and 10 years old, I went camping with my Girl Scout troop. There were about 12 to 15 of us girls and two female leaders. The camp had six of those permanent tents, wooden platforms with canvas covering and bunks, three to four were facing the main part of the camp, two were set back a bit in the woods behind the picnic shelter. Behind those two tents was a path that led to the landrines. On the first day, we all picked out our sleeping spots, and our tent was one girl short. We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening doing typical Girl Scout stuff, and we spent the

evening around the fire singing in any marshmallows. The counselors finally made us go to bed around 10 p.m. When we got to our tent, we used our flashlights to find our bunks and get settled in. It was around this time that we noticed that someone was sleeping and what had been the empty bunk. We didn't think much of this, as it wasn't really unusual for someone to wrap. camp later than the main group, and some of the girls had gone back to their camp before the fire time was over because they retired. I am a total insomniac, and it's even worse if I'm not in my own bed.

This was true even back then. I tossed and turned trying to force myself to fall asleep that night, but it just wasn't happening. After doing this for over an hour, I heard these springs of one of the other beds squeak like someone was getting up. I turned my head to see someone standing up from that previously empty cot. in the very low light I could just make out the figure of someone standing, pausing for a moment, and then moving towards the front entrance of the tent. The person opened the flap and left the tent. I figured that somebody just needed to go to the bathroom.

I still couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd wait and see if I could tell who the girl was when she got back. I waited and waited, but I finally drifted off to sleep before the girl came back. When we woke up the next morning, we discovered that the bed was empty, and there were no blankets or suitcases near the bed. We talked to the other girls to try and figure out who had been in our tent, but we found out that nobody had came in late, and nobody was missing from our tents. Still, there's always a chance that one of the girls got pissed off

at another girl in their tent and decided to switch for the night. That shit always happens with girls. That night, we spent a long time around the campfire again. At some point during the evening, one of the girls stands up and starts walking towards the woods, The tents and shelter were in the opposite direction. As she got close to the tree line, one of the counselors called out to her to see what the heck she was doing, but she just kept walking straight into the woods.

The counselor called to her another time and then went after her. The other counselor did a headcount to try and figure out who was missing. When she got to the end, she stared at us and started counting again. The other counselor came back saying she couldn't see where the girl had gone, and she needed the bigger flashlight. When she asked who was missing, the counselor who had been trying to count us, said, nobody. The counselors even pulled out the roster to check us off. We were all right there. We were all a little shaken up. So the counselors decided it was time for us to get to the bathrooms

and get to bed. Everybody was a little creeped out by this. So we all went to the group to the bathroom. I washed up and brushed my teeth first. There was a large trough-style sink outside of the actual bathroom, so I was the one of the last to actually go to the toilets. As I was in there, I heard someone moving around and they stole next to me. I said something to her. As for TP, who knows. But she didn't answer me. I said hello twice, but I still got no answer. When I finished, I knocked on the other salt door.

But nobody answered, even though I could still hear noises inside and the door was locked. I went out and told one of the counselors who went back in with me to check it out. When we went in, the door was unlocked and there was nobody in there. There was no other way out of the bathroom besides the front entrance that I was standing no more than two feet from when I was talking to the counselor. The girls that were in the tents that were kind of separated from the others were a little freaked out, and they didn't want us to sleep out there. But since they were right next to the counselor's tent, they were reassured and sent to bed.

When we reached our tent, we saw that again, there was someone in the spare bunk. This time we figured one of the girls from the far tent had snuck over in spite of what the counselors had said. And really, do you think any of us had enough balls to lift the blanket off that bed? We settled in for the night, and I was wishing that I could falsely. so that I didn't have to be awake alone. Soon enough, I could hear these snores of the other girls, and I was still staring at the ceiling of the tent. Soon enough, I heard the springs of one of the beds squeak again. I opened my eyes and stared at what was supposed to be our vanking cot. There was someone

standing up again. I could just make out the figure standing there in the dark. It stood there for about 30 seconds this time before it moved across the tent and out the flaps. Needless to say, I was pretty much shitting myself, but I was too scared to scream for a counselor because I was afraid that whatever it was would come back. I laid awake for what seemed like hours staring at the tent flap, hoping that it wouldn't open again. I must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing I remember, it was morning. Again, the cot was empty.

This time, I told the counselors what I had seen, and they asked the girls at breakfast who had been in our tent, but none of the girls admitted to being there. All of the girls in my tent had seen the figure on the cop both nights, but I was the only one who had seen it leave. That day was pretty sad at it because everyone was a bit on edge. But we eventually relaxed because of the bright sunshine and fun activities in order to keep our minds off of that evening.

The counselors planned for us to have a bunch of snacks and games around the campfire that night. We had stuff for the little hand pies, banana boats, s'mores, and cinnamon apples. We were all planning on making absolute pigs out of ourselves. The counselors set up all the goodies in the picnic shelter, which was 30 to 40 feet from the campfire ring. The girls would go over and set up their snack and bring it back to the fire to cook it. When I went over, there were a few girls finished on up their snacks,

and they left before I had finished up making my banana boat. As I was adding my chocolate chips, there was a huge bang, like a gunshot in the woods, and it was followed by yells that seemed to be coming from different directions. I dropped my snack and went running over the fire. Everyone had heard it, and some of the girls were near tears. As we sat there, we heard more noises and yells from the woods. The fire was in the middle of a clearing surrounded by woods,

and it was an awful feeling to realize how exposed we were and that anybody could be out in the woods watching us. Instead of going to the lanterns that night, a lot of the girls just peed behind the tents, and the girls that were in the far tent were moved into our tent. In fact, we were consolidated into two or three tents by adding cots, and the counselors slept in the fourth tent. We were packed in like sardines,

but everyone would sleep easier with more people nearby. We also popped up one of the flashed, lights on the floor to illuminate the tent as we slept. I actually fell asleep pretty quickly that night because I had two sleepless nights before, but I ended up waking up at some point in the night because of some noise. I opened my eyes, but I found out that the tent was now dark. It seemed that the flashlight had died at some point, and as I managed to get my bearings, I realized that the noise I was hearing was the sound of someone getting up out of one of the cots. I nearly stopped breathing as I watched the figure stand. I had to shift my head this time to get a better

look. It stood in one place even longer this time, and I couldn't stop watching. It seemed to be leaning over and looking at some of the other girls, and it started to make its way between the cots towards the front flaps. As it neared my cot, I snapped my eyes shut and tried to slow my breathing, pretending I was sleeping. I could hear it come even with my bed, and it stood there for a long time. I presume it was staring at me, but I wasn't about to open my eyes and find out. Eventually, it moved past me, and I heard the sound of the tent flap being opened. I still kept my eyes shut tight because I was so afraid that it was trying to trick me. That's when I heard the most god-awful noise I've ever heard. One of the posters in the other thread posted a video of cats

talking, and I had to say that was pretty accurate, but it was much louder. It didn't sound like a human or an animal. The sound seemed to be coming from outside of our tent but nearby. But all a sudden, the girls in the next tent started screaming like they were being murdered. Of course, our tent responded in kind, and all of our flashlights were switched on in rapid succession. We could hear the other girls still screaming and running out of their tent. We all stumbled out of our tent to see what the hell was going on. By the time we made it out, most of those girls were near the fire pit, and the counselors were headed for them. From what the girls were able to relate, they heard the horrible noise outside, and that's when they saw someone or something enter their tent. In all of the

confusion. Nobody saw exactly what it entered, but they had seen the figure open the tent flap. The counselors tried to consult the girls, but the one that was particularly brave took a flashlight and headed toward the tent. She searched the tent, but she couldn't find anyone or anything. We spent the rest of the night all jammed together in a group near the fire, and not a single one of us got any sleep. The next morning, we decided to pack up and leave early after one of the counselors discovered that the door to the dining hall have been opened, and things have been moved around. Nobody but the counselors had access to the dining hall, and the doors had been padlocked the night before. My grandpa always taught me to fear rainy days. He would tell me these stories about Red Vark,

the local maximum security prison. He would tell me about the violent criminals and the deeds they did to end up there. He would explain to me how some of these men were so dangerous that they couldn't be trusted to live in normal jail cells that they needed to be chained to the stone walls. My grandpa would tell me about rainy days and stormy nights. How the rain would weaken the stone and how these men could pull the chains right out of the wall if the weather was bad enough. He showed me newspaper clippings of escapees. There was always a handful per year. He would tell me that.

Do it tea. The prison breaks always coincided with rainy weather. Most escapees would flee to the surrounding neighborhoods. They would try to hide in people's garages and basements, under their porches. waiting for the rain to pass. Sometimes the men would break into the houses. Sometimes the men would do unspeakable things if people residing in those houses. We lived only about eight miles from Redfark. And on those days, my grandpa would remind me of this. My grandpa would tell me that on rainy days, it was best to just stay in my room, to log my door, to put some music on low, grab a comic book,

and get my head somewhere else. He even taught me how to turn my closet into a fortress of solitude. We threw a blanket and a couple of pills in there. I had a few posters of superheroes on the closet wall. I kept a box of comic books and baseball cards in one corner in a metallic foot locker filled with junk food and cassette tapes in the other. My grandpa would encourage me to get in the closet when it rained, especially when it stormed. I would sit in there, listening to my walkman,

I'd finger through comic books, I'd bundle myself up against the pillows and drift asleep. I felt safe in my closet, and I enjoyed the hours that I would spend in there on ready days. He would tell me that most of the time during escapes, the convicts would only usually hurt people they happen to come across. If they broke into a home to avoid police and there was a family sitting around the TV in the living room, they would strike. He would tell me that if a red vark prisoner escaped, and if they came to her neighborhood and if they broke into her house, that as long as I stayed in my closet, I'd be okay. It would be possible for a convict to find me and hurt me, but as long as I stayed in my closet for it, I'd be safe as anyone in town. I would remind myself on this on rainy days.

I would sit in my closet and think about it, and it would make me feel safe. My grandpa disappeared one June. I lived with him alone. My parents had died years earlier. My grandpa disappeared and I was afraid to call the police. I knew if something happened to my grandpa, the police would take me away and force me to live in a home. I didn't want to live in a home. I had a home.

I kept his disappearance to myself for over a week. I'd walk myself to school. I knew where Grandpa kept emergency cash, and so I would take a little here and there to the corner bodega and buy some milk and sandwich meats. One day, about eight days after his disappearance, they led us out of school early. Storm of the century, they said.

Thunder, and lightning, and heavy rain all night. The rain was so heavy that night. The local streets flooded over. On the walk home from school, the water was up to my ankles. By 9 o'clock, the water was coming up to people's knees. I got home, climbed into my little hiding space, and covered myself in a blanket. Thunder clapped outside. I was very afraid.

The storm itself unsettled me, but thinking about red vark and how easy it would be to escape during a storm like this, terrified me. We lost power after a little while. I sat in the closet in darkness. I turned to my Walkman for solace. After a few hours, the music started to stutter. After a few more minutes, it stopped altogether. Batteries, dead as doornails. I continued to sit in silence.

The power hadn't come back on yet. The darkness and silence enveloped me. Then the silence was broken. By a scratching noise, some distance away. I ignored it at first, but it grew louder and more incessant. Finally, I reluctantly left the safety of my fort. In the upstairs hallway, I stopped and listened. The noise was clearly coming from downstairs.

I descended the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest. I got out to the kitchen and stopped to listen again. The noise still sounded as if it were coming from below me. We had no basement, so the fact that the noises were coming from beneath me was unsettling. There were more noises now, too. not just scraping. I thought I heard moaning. I crouched low to the floor, listening.

The noises grew louder as I entered the living room, louder still as I entered the main corridor. I stopped on a throw rug at the end of the hallway. The noises were at their loudest here, below me. I pulled the throw rug away and saw a trap door. It must have led to a basement or a crawl space. I had no idea it existed. I had no idea there was anything under that rug.

I wondered why it was padlocked. I grabbed a ring of old keys that hung on a hook in the mudroom. I tried the keys in the padlock one after another. The fourth key slid in the lock like a base runner sliding in two. Something pounded against the bottom of the trap door. Flap. Flap. It was followed by muffled voices. Ullo!

I could barely make out their voices. fool up. Help us. I understood that. I turned the key and lifted up the trap door. The worst smell I've ever known wafted up and hit me in the chest. I instantly heard woman crying and a man's voice sobbing, thank God, oh thank God. And then another, water, please, we need water. The next few days were a whirlwind. Police, media, and gockers descended on the house. Our small town in Arizona never saw much excitement. The news of a homegrown serial killer sent an electric jolt through the populace. The media was relentless. The police had a million questions. Where's your grandfather? I don't know. Did you know what he was doing? Did you help

him hide his secret? No, I'd say. No. Never. Did you help your grandfather bury the bodies in the backyard. No. You must have helped, they'd say. No. You must have helped. An old man like that wouldn't be able to dig in the Arizona clay all by himself. And then it hit me. Rain, I'd say. The policeman looked at me blankly. What? He'd wait for it to rain. And I usually don't comment after a lot of these stories, but in all honesty, I can't lie. That was single-handedly, the best story I've ever read on Reddit or 4chan or 4chan or Reddit to be frank. That was so ridiculously good and something I did not expect at all. That was so out of the blue, so unexpected, so fresh for a story.

Because I've read hundreds of stories and videos at this point. You guys have heard so many stories. And that was, I expected it. I expected a prisoner escapee to come into his house and murder the kid, like all the stories to do, you know? But that one, wow, that was a great twist. That was amazingly played out story, thought out story. That was such a good story. And that's why I love these 4chan story videos is because there are so many hidden gems.

Because on Reddit and most of the other popular forums, all the good ones, ones are kind of, you know, covered a lot. And none of them are new. But that one was genuinely so good, in my opinion. So, so good. That might be in top five stories I've ever read on this channel. That one was so good. Yeah, that one was amazing.

I just was not expecting that end at all. And just the, just the emotions, just, it was very well written. It was short, but it was perfectly long enough. Yeah, that one was great. I'm kind of left speechless. Comment down below if you enjoyed that one as well because, yeah, that one was great.

I don't even give a fuck if you believe me. This sounds unreal, more like a dream I had, and nobody else believes me, but you guys are more trained in occult bullshit, so what the fuck? Be me, 19, visiting my grandfather in North Michigan. A bit of backstory about Gramps.

Grandpa lives in a cabin like a pioneer. I never really know him. too well. Only saw him once every few years. All I really know about him is back in the 70s he was in Nam. When I was 17, he confessed to me that he felt terrible about the things he did over there. Apparently, he beat a kid to death with a shovel. After that, I kind of avoided him. Too freaked out to talk to him, especially since he was clearly unstable. Old guilt caught up with him. Now he knows he's nearing the end of his life. Liver problems. Refuses medication. Invited me over since I'm his last.

living relative, and he wants to spend time with me before he passes. At first, I was hesitant, but I decided this is what my father would have wanted. After about three hours of driving, I get to his cabin. Nice place. Looks like he's made it out of Lincoln logs. He's waiting outside on his cabin porch, smoking a pipe and the rocking chair. Look straight out of the cartoons, spenders and all. Looks exhausted. Dark circles under his saggy eyes. He gets up and gives me a bear hug. He's trying to hug me as hard as he can, but he's clearly wish. week. We hug for a few minutes, mostly because I find it too awkward to break away. I remind myself that, even though I only remember him for a few years, he's known me for most of his life. Halfway,

though, he starts kind of breathing heavy on me. Sniffles. Realizing he's been crying, silently. Eventually, he breaks away. Red-eyed. Come inside, Ain't on. Okay, pa. Come inside to a very cozy cabin. It is getting cold, especially Michigan, so he has the fire going. He has running water, gas stove, and two beds. One of them is very new in quality. I think about it just for me. When I get over the initial off-puttingness of his behavior, I begin to care for him. I kind of remember my grandfather, if that makes sense.

The bond of family becomes newly important, decide to be his life and helper until he dies that very day. He starts to make us some decaf, but halfway through, he starts to sweat. I help him to his chair by the fire and finish the coffee. My coffee tastes like shit, but he's still very appreciative. Assures me that it's delicious. After the decaf, we get ready for bed. He lies on the beat-up small bed and tells me to sleep on the new one. When I tell him we should switch, he refuses.

I guess he did buy it for me. He says his prayers and falls asleep. I can't stand watching this dying old man. My own flesh and blood is sleeping on that pile of junk. He's quite small and frail at his age, though not thin. With a bit of effort, I managed to lift him up gently. and tuck him into the big-up bed. Move the small bed to the window and make sure to sleep facing it.

That way, the sun wakes me up. When the sun wakes me up, it's like 6 a.m. I slide the bed back and switch my grandpa back. Lay on the good bed for another 20 minutes before I realize I can't fall asleep again. All that lifting woke me up. Decide to just prepare breakfast and pack his pipe for him. Go to an outhouse near his cabin because flushing might wake him up. When I'm done, I step outside.

Notice something behind his cabin. It seems to be a gate holding six black horses. They're shackled in these massive metal chains. Each horse has a huge metal ring around their necks. They're all chained together and all to the ground. Since it's like 6 a.m. and the forest is dark, they look creepy as hell. I thought it might have been a trick of the light, but their faces look fucked up. Pick related is a horse skull.

You know how most horses don't look like that skull? These did. Their eyes looked almost red. I thought it might just be a reflection like how cameras show red pupils, but God, was I wrong? Step back inside to find Grandpa awake sitting on his bed, talks about what we were going to do for the day. He said his back felt good enough today that he might want to do some fission. Not to stroke my own ego, but I attribute that to me letting him sleep in a good bed. Let me tell you, you might as well as have been sleeping on the floor, whatever.

After breakfast of eggs and bacon, I drive him to a pond near the house. We fished for a while, silent the entire time. It wasn't awkward, though. It was a comfortable silence. I didn't catch anything, but he caught a three-pounder. He had to help him reel it in. He was very proud of himself, and that made him me happy. Said he used to love to go out fishing.

Told him we'd make it to dinner. On the drive back, I asked him about the horses. I had kind of forgotten about them since early morning. Instantly, I knew I shouldn't have asked him. His cheerful smile was replaced with a kind of stern grin. He looked like he was forcing himself to maintain a rapidly fleeting smile. Told me not to worry about it. They were just some pets.

I almost listened to him except he nervously quivered when he said worry. Never happened before or after, so I doubt it was just an old man thing. When we got back, he showed me how to gut and debone the fish, marinated in a dry rub for about 30 minutes while he took a break to puff on his pipe. While he was doing that, I opened the curtains to the back window and peered at the horses. They hadn't moved at all. They hadn't eaten or slept. They didn't look cold.

But they were still shooting hot breath from their nose. I know because it was cold. I saw it. I stepped outside to talk to my grandpa about the horses. Hey, pot, did you forget to feed the horses or something? You don't feed those type of horses, son. I had no clue what he meant, but every time I tried to ask, he would just ignore me and change the subject.

When he was done, we stepped inside and had our dinner. I noticed he prayed extra long that night. Fast forward to the next morning. I just woke up with the sun and put my grandpa back into his bed. I decided to get a bit closer to the horses this time. Got just barely close enough so I could see them. I don't think they noticed me, Christ, remembering it now sends shivers down my spine. Just as terrifying as I initially thought, if not more so.

Shaggy, matted fur. Deformed, bent out of shaped skulls. I know 100% their rib cages should not have been intended like that. Their teeth looked like they had been chewing on rocks or something. It wasn't just their appearance, though. I've been around to formed animals before. It doesn't really bother me so much. They had a fucked-up presence.

Like the feeling in your stomach after you watched some fucked up gore? Initially, I felt bad for them. Now, I just wanted them to die. Strangely, however, I also wanted to get closer. Just being around them made my weak in the knees. I couldn't do it. One of them looked at me in the eyes and I hadn't just used the bathroom. I'm old to shit myself.

Ran back into the cabin and hid. Grandpa was just starting to get awake, so I tried to just forget about it and get to work. Today was supplies day, meaning we were going to go into town to refill on food, firewood, toil trees, etc. I decided to buy Grandpa a cake too. Not for any special reason, just that it's important to have some fun while he could. Usually, he just got someone to deliver him food, but it was good to get some exercise. Plus, his back was feeling fine. We rode into town and Grandpa said he was getting sick.

Poor guy hadn't been in a car for a while. Motion sickness got to him and we had to pull over. After that I realized we had to do, quick. We got to a giant, except they called them something else here, good in plenty, something like that. Pick everything up. I had the cake from Grandpa to surprise him with it back at the cabin. When we get back, something's wrong.

I feel that same stomach feeling. There's a fucking racket coming from the back of the cabin. I pull up to the car and step out of the cabin. step outside. The horses are going nuts. Littered on the floor beside them are some white balls. Grandpa tells me, very sternly, get in the fucking cabin. Shouldn't we drive away? Son, the worst thing we can do right now is trying to escape. I have no clue what the fuck he's on about. When we get inside, he starts explaining. Remember that he's an old man and he's injured, so I can hardly understand him. He starts talking about he didn't know where they were when he bought the cabin.

If he leaves, he's going to die. They must have eaten something. From what I can piece together, if he feed them, they get stronger, and they can lure things in better. Once one of them got a bite, they got enough strength to lure in more and more. The most we can do is hope they run out of things to eat, snap. A loud fucking crack, like a whip snaps through the air. Grandpa goes silent.

What the fuck was that, pa? He stares at me, kind of empty-like. Looking back at it, he was accepting his death. death. One of them broke the chains. What, what, what the fuck? Pa looks at me with a kind of pain in his eyes. Behind you. I whip around, facing the building. You're a good kid, Sonny. Lose consciousness in a second. I come to with the sun beaming on my face, wake up in a pile of my own blood. Crowbar at my side. My head aches like fuck. I touched the back of the back of the my head. Just a flesh wound. I pick myself up and try not to vomit. Fail. I sit back down and try to

come to. Everything aches. I'm freezing. Wait, why am I freezing? The right wall of the cabin is full of holes. Looks like someone threw boulders through there. What the fuck? Where's grandpa? No sign of them. In fact, no sign of anything. I open the door and step outside. Check behind. The gates have been trampled. The chains are broken. I get closer. Those walls are, White things were crushed up rabbits. The horses half chewed them and spit them out. Start to piece everything together. Promptly vomit again.

Long story short, I walked back to the cabin and picked up a few things. I picked up my grandpa's pipe and his bluegrass tobacco. Found a golden cross that he kept hidden in his cabinet. Drove home without stopping. Next day, I called the delivery boy and asked him to deliver to the house so I could see if I dreamed the whole thing. He told me the house was burned down. Guys, I have no idea what the fuck happened that day. I'm sitting here and smoking his pipe.

Honestly, it's the only proof I have that any of this happened. My therapist can't explain it since I have physical evidence. My priest can't explain it. There's no records of demon horses or anything as far as we know. My friends tell me I'm full of shit. I don't know who else to turn to, guys. Help me. Hello X.

I have something that might be of interest to you. It concerns what my team. and I found under the Great Sphinx in the Egyptian city of Giza. I know the very first question you'll ask is why we would ever go searching underneath a place like that and for what possible purpose? I'll keep it brief for you. Have you ever heard of an American author by the name of John Anthony West? Did you know that during the early 90s, he and a team of archaeologists carried out a series of seismological and geological tests around the Great Sphinx? The results of his tests caught everyone's attention, ours especially. His test revealed the existence of unexplored

tunnels in the bedrock beneath the monument. His team was subsequently thrown out of the site by Egyptian authorities, and we got involved around this time. Who we are is of no importance, at least not to you anyway. The only thing I will mention is the obvious. We are a group with some sort of connection to the United States government and were assigned this task due to a certain degree knowledge and expertise that we possess. Green texts will begin from here in order to make the events that happened a little easier to follow. Received our mission and arrived in Giza during the summer of 1995, tasked with excavation and transport by the local government, told to recover whatever we possibly could from the tunnels beneath the sphinx by the U.S. government. Local officials

fiend ignorance at the possibility of tunnels or valuables underneath. the Sphinx. Have an assistant with me assigned to the task, let's call him Josh. Josh is complaining about a lack of information. He is seriously worried about being sent him blind and the dangers that we might encounter. I tell him to calm down. Tell him the mission will go smoothly, and that there's probably some gems or treasure down there at most. Arrive at the monolith. Can see the pyramids of Giza just beyond it, partially covered by up, a thick layer of fog and dust. out a cigarette before we head in and ask Josh if he shitting himself yet. Tells me he has a bad feeling about the mission, but I dismiss it once again.

Thinks that the mission can't be as straightforward as it seems otherwise. Why hire us? Just drug at him. Money is money. I don't care what we have to do. It's all the same to me. Senior seismologist runs over to us and tells us that we're finally good to go. They've managed to break through. Josh asked him if they managed to take a look down below. Tell us he caught a glimpse of something and that the chamber seemed empty. Empty? Ask him what he means. Tells me they didn't see anything down there at all.

No urns, no gold, no valuables, just four walls. What the fuck? At least the job will be easy. Ask him if he thinks someone beat us to it and took everything before we could get there. Tells me it's unlikely, but stranger things have happened. I'd just nod and say that we better get it over with. We suited up in full hazmat suits just in case and

made her way over to the base of the Sphinx. We're also equipped with an industrial flashlight each. I approached the gaping drill hole near the statue's right paw. I got down into a sitting position and then began climbing down using a rope ladder. Josh is closed behind me. Immediately hit a wall of darkness. My feet hit the ground and I turn on my flashlight as fast as possible. It was exactly as he said.

Fucking empty. I was just standing in the middle of this vast cavern like space. with nothing of value at all to be seen. The place was quite large, and the hollowness of the subterranean space made amplified every movement and made them seem incredibly strange and eerie. There was a steady stream of sand

trickling from a small crack in the ceiling. I decided it was best not to linger and finish her job as quickly as possible. I told Josh to move his ass and get into gear. As explored further in, we noticed a lot of iconography on the walls that was worn heavily by the past, of time. The usual Egyptian stuff, depictions of Ra, the eye of Horace, even portrayals of

Osiris and Thoth were all across the walls. It looked like they were telling a story of some kind. Anubis emblazoned across the wall, judging the souls of the dead with displays of all sorts of monsters along the width of it too. Josh starts to speak up to get my attention. Tells me to come look. Josh is just standing there with his flashlight raised towards a wall at the the far end of the chamber. On the wall there was another icon, a god I had never seen before my life. Below it was the lid of a sarcophagus. It was standing upright against the wall and looked to be embedded with the sandstone itself. Perhaps this place was a tomb, decided to go over and check out the find. Wasn't particularly worried about anything. It was likely empty anyway, and I was just

checking to be sure. Started to notice more details once it got closer to it. The design of the coffin was not like a typical Egyptian one that you'd see in a history book at all. The design of the coffin was human in the face, but it had feline-shaped paws folded over its body. The design really irked me for some reason, and I could not figure out why at all. It seemed to be somewhat similar to the iconography that it was placed underneath, but I couldn't say for sure whether they were the same. If it was a coincidence, it was definitely a strange one. I placed my gloved hand over the lid and leaned in closer to inspect the details. The wall had molded itself around the coffin.

It was fit around it like a cast. Josh speaks of again. He asked me what I'm doing. I replied back sarcastically and he told me to be careful that he was worried. I started telling him to go home if he was going to be such a coward. Just as I finished my sentence, I felt a surge of pain shooting through my head. I almost bit my tongue. It hurt so bad. It felt as if someone had driven a dagger deep into my brain and just kept pushing and pushing it. The pain just kept amplifying until it was overwhelming.

I stepped back, fully consumed by the pain that was shooting throughout my body. I started clawing at my hazmat suit of vein, hoping that tearing it off might relieve some of the pain. I couldn't escape it no matter what I did. I wish I'd died. That is how unbearable the pain was. I lost my bounce completely and hit the ground. Hard. I could hear the slow motion vibrations on the ground, so I assumed Josh rushed over to me. All I could do is squirm on the ground and hope for it to go away. The last thing I saw was the outline of Josh as my vision started to fade to black. He tried to reach out to me, but I couldn't respond no matter how hard I tried. He picked up my radio and was frantically trying to contact someone. I woke up, kind of. I woke up to pure blackness. Like I felt

conscious and awake, but I could only see pure black. Time seemed to shift for me once I woke up. I couldn't tell how much time had passed or what was going on. All I had was infinite blackness. It was barren and lifeless with no sound at all. It was maddening. The seconds just seemed to go on forever as my vision drifted in and out of focus until I finally saw my saving grace. I could see a light in the distance. It wasn't just one light. There was a multitude of them. They seemed to be as bright as stars in the night sky, except they were incredibly close to me. I didn't realize it until that moment when I noticed their gleam reflecting back off of it. I was suddenly standing in water, a massive expanse of knee-deep water seemingly out of nowhere.

I looked down back at myself again just to confirm that I was really there and actually real. I needed to know whether I was hallucinating or not. I was also completely fucking nude for no reason. there were waves of warm water hitting my thighs in my entire body relentlessly. My moment of respite only lasted for a moment before I was thrown back into action once again. It was a voice. A voice here with me and whatever this place was. It wasn't Josh. It was a stranger. No one from the site or the medical team. He was old, incredibly old. His face was covered with an array of scars and wrinkles that can be.

combined together. It was the same height as me, maybe even slightly taller. It was hard to tell at the same time due to the haziness of my mind and the deception of the water. His body was incredibly built. He had the body of an athlete in his prime and showed nowhere and tear at all. He was wearing some strange clothes, a tunic, I think it looks like, pure white. The most striking thing about his appearance, though, was the wolf pelt that hung around his neck that he wore like a scarf. The animal skull sat at the top of his shoulders like he was fucking Hercules and I just slain the beast himself. I finally managed to stutter out some words and ask him who the fuck he was and what he was doing in the cordoned off dig site. There was absolutely no way he should have been able to get down

there with all these workers unless he'd been down here before we got there. The old man just sighed and stared deep into my soul. Every move he made had me on edge. He told me that I'd invaded his temple. Ransacked it and made a mockery of him by not knowing his name. I just stood there speechless. It was like I was getting scolded by my mom and dad. For some reason, I felt like I should apologize, even though I had no idea what I had done wrong. He cut me off before I could speak, though. He told me his name, but I didn't really know how to pronounce it. I think he said something like, Wapawat, but I've never heard of that before. He told me his brother was a the famous one. I asked him where I was, but he just asked me where I thought I was. I only had a

vague idea that I hoped was wrong. I asked him if I was dead. He told me no. He told me that the afterlife was only for the deserving. He brought his hands out from behind his back and made a twirling motion with his finger that forced me to turn around against my will. He pulled me to watch carefully and study what he was going to show me. He told me it was my doing. I can only watch in horror as I saw something towering in the distance, a titanic-sized figure. He was showing me a creature of impossible stature, probably the size of a city. It was so large that my brain could not comprehend it properly. Its sheer size just made my brain hurt.

There were bronze chains cutting into the creature's hide and metal rods too. Its paws were nailed to a platform and stopped it from moving. Its fur was like a forest along its body. I can't even begin to describe its face, just dwelling on its image, looking at it. It made my brain spiral and turned straight into flight mode. Its existence was like a black hole to my mind. The man started to speak again, asking me what I thought of the creature. Again, he cut me off before I could respond, describing the creature as beautiful.

He told me that the creature had been the same since he first encountered it. He still withers and groans old, but the creature, never ages. I tried to cover my eyes, but my hands were trembling too much to be able to move them. It was then, looking down at my shaking hands, that I noticed that the water I stood in was not actually water. It had changed color. The water was a murky red. I asked if I was the blood of the creature. I asked how it could still be alive if it had lost so much blood, but all he did was shush me. He told me that I asked too many questions, that all I do is ask and give nothing and return. I tried to ask another question, but before I could, one of the chains holding

on the beast snapped suddenly. Both pieces of the chain fell to the ground and caused the entire place to shake, which nearly knocked me off my feet and into the liquid I was stood in. One by one, each shackle began to snap off and fall to the ground. The sight was horrifying. It is going to devour all of you, was the only word that the man said. He said it so casually, like it was no big deal at all. I asked him what was going to happen if he could kill it, if we could kill it. He told me he already had again and again a countless number of times. He told me that the creature always comes back each time, stronger than ever, and that he grows weaker and weaker. That's what this place was for. It was a tomb trapping the creature so that when he finally lost

of the creature, it still couldn't make its way out. told us that we ruined that when we drilled our holes and stepped foot into this place. He showed me more images. Images of the sarcophagus we had found being loaded onto a truck to take back to the U.S. for study. It had not been yet opened. I asked the man what I need to do. There was something like a white flash and the next thing I knew I was awake again. For real this time.

I was lying in my tent, sprawled out completely with Josh pacing nervously beside me. He was relieved to see me conscious again. I went into a frenzy explained that the sarcophagus needed to be put back this instant and that I would explain after I made a full report back to base. He was completely shocked at this sudden reaction, but he and the rest of the workmen on the site complied without any resistance. I made a full, in-depth report the first second I could. I was expecting to be laughed out of my role and dealt with accordingly,

but nothing of this sort happened. I was given a strict set of orders which I followed to the letter, and within 12 hours a team was dispatched to us. Another team dropped by, one I had never seen or heard of before, and all of the workmen and me and Josh were escorted off-site. We were sent back home and deployed to another mission, and I never heard anything about the sarcophagus again. I couldn't exactly just ask about something confidential like that. Josh was transferred shortly afterward. He was relatively new, so it didn't shock me all that much. Never heard from him again after that.

I couldn't help but wonder where he ended up. I couldn't help but wonder what they did with the sarcophagus or whether they ever believed me and opened it up anyway. I suppose the world hasn't ended yet, so there's that at least. Maybe they found another way to contain it, or maybe they found some other secrets. Sorry that I don't really have any more information. information other than that X. This is a difficult story to recall for me. It all felt way too real.

I guess it's possible that I just imagined it at all, but that wouldn't explain why our superiors acted so hastily. I don't know. I don't think I'll ever find any answers. I stayed in my role for a few more years after that, but I became so jaded quite quickly and often to step into a less intensive role before eventually retiring. I have a lot more experiences to tell you about, but they mostly just involve exploring catacombs for artifacts and killing certain targets, which I might have to heavily censor just in case. Any questions? I'll try my best to answer. Time for some effing OC. I don't even give a shit if anyone believes me. I just want to get it off my chest. Live in boonies, basically forest, gerrymandered by houses and farms that go in and out of repair. There are several

other houses right by in mine, but I talked to the neighbors exactly none. A fact that you I'm glad for because the community looks like some straight up silent hill shit sometimes. There's like a weekly, spooey happening to the point where I got so bored with it, I just shrug it off as the status quo. Several weeks back, this changed. The time is 10 a.m. and I'm savoring being a lazy for not having to go into work that day, drifting in and out of sleep, and suddenly an ear-splitting roar. All of my what? Check laptop. I do come to a YouTube playlist to help me get to Just music tends to put me on edge for whatever reason to see if it's possibly an ad. No ad playing.

Halfway through two hour video. Nothing in Darkseed 2 makes the sound I just heard. Even if it had been, something that loud would have blown out my laptops rather shitty speakers. Slightly confused, turn off pending alarm and drift in and out of consciousness with laptop on bed so I can roll over and check it if I hear it again. Two hours later. Halfway conscious. Screek, motherfucker, forget about me? The roar both sounded louder and closer, as well as clearer.

It sounded like the bastard child of a bear roar in the fog-horn cry Godzilla makes. Tactically what? Sounded like it came from behind the house. Decide, I'm not saving until I find out what made that noise. Grab lightly ruined Oakenstaff. Grab fireplace poker. Bath both in ash as whatever the fuck made that noise was clearly. not of this effing earth anyways.

Trek in a woods. Check glove compass to double check I haven't been turned around like I had been before in the same woods. Glove compass is going beyond nuts. Spinning like a top. Occasionally pointing towards direction of clearing I visited before with friends. I am a clearly sane, rational,

and level-headed individual. So obviously, I go towards the noise. As I get closer, you're thrashing in the clearing as well as a cow. There's a dairy farm next to my house, but, and don't recall farmer Dan Breeding, effing mutants, start to see shit that's clearly off. Large movements through the gaps in the tree line, low rumbling sound, unnatural heat, suddenly very glad I hadn't changed out of my sleeping shorts, occasional burn mark on the ground.

Yes, I am that R word in the horror movie that moves towards the live hellmouth apparently. Eventually get to the clearing to see what the ruckus is about. Peek out from behind the tree. It's a effing dragon, or at least that's what I assume. Think less Tolkien, more Lovecraft. It had pale gray skin that looked like boiled conject to the point where it apparently actively wet. It was hexapoddle, balanced on six squat legs that looked like an elephant's more than anything. There were a pair of massive wings on its back that looked like they could actually lift the monstrosity off the ground,

even folded they seemed beyond massive. Its tail looked like it had been stumped, not in the way that it had been cut off. off, but there was some sort of bulbous mass where the tail was supposed to continue. And then there was its head and neck. It was like some kind of effed-up xenomorph. Recesses where its eyes obviously should have been, but they seemed to have skin over them. Yellow teeth sticking out its closed ma on both sides, painted red with the gore of the cow and had just finished eating.

And that's when my brain got a chance to catch up from Holy Fuck Dragon and got a chance to look at the rest of the clearing. It was totally scorched. Like, basically, everything was blackened. Here snapping noise in woods roughly to the left of me. Dragon, looks up. Its head is pointed in a decidedly uncomfortable at me position. Hide behind tree.

What smells like ozone? Suddenly rushing sound, like a damn burst. I'm about to look from behind tree, but my judgment gets the best of me. Good thing, because I suddenly find myself a yard from a large stream of aggressive something. To this day, I can't figure out what exactly it was, going out of green text here for a second. It didn't seem to be exactly fire or a flammable substance.

The movement was too jerky, but it didn't spark or crack like electricity. And I still have the right half of my body, so I'm guessing it wasn't plasma. But it sure as fuck burning anything it touched. A spark got kicked up and burnt a sizable hole in my shirt, begin tactically praying an old Norse once the fire dies down. Figure, I'm not escaping, so I might as well. will go out fighting. Jump out from behind tree ready to S-word charge a dragon. Here rustling from same spot as before. Boom. Same roar as before. Followed by some decidedly unpleasant

shrieking. Large gaping hole opened an irises. Here shouting, get the fuck away from my cows, you fucker. Holy shit, it's Farmer Dan. Not looking at him, focusing on big effer, it unfurls its wings and starts flapping and takes to the sky with surprisingly expectancy for something that had a torso the size of an RV. And it certainly felt like a large aircraft had just taken off. I was nearly bowled over from the force of the wind. It circles in the air once, before heading out towards the lake. Stand there for a moment just plain vanilla dumbfounded. More movement. Brandish fireplace poker. Farmer Dan is now about 10 feet from me. The gun in his hands looked like an old-style break action, but the barrels were ridiculously large in diameter. My brain finally

processes the fact that I'm being asked a question. Anon, what the fuck are you doing out here? Try my hardest to point out that this is not the most important question to be asked in this situation. Finally, managed to coax an answer out of him. Apparently, several of his longhorns went missing from the pasture, and he caught sight of it moving to that clearing after one more had disappeared. Hunter friends had apparently reported some weird on-in-his-goings on in his back woods to him, said they'd found some freaky shit and some big-ass nest.

Only one dead cow in this fucking clearing, however, and no nest to be seen. My brain refused to examine the possible meaning of those facts of the time. Ask him about the gun. Says he uses it to hunt whatever goes after his cows. The inflection implied that this was not the first supernatural entity he'd shot at using the shotgun. Farmer Dan stops me before I get back on the path. Don't tell nobody about this, Anon.

No use causing a fuss over some fairy tale nonsense. I am not about to disagree with a man holding what I can only assume is a two or less gauge. walk back home and fall asleep. Wake up later that day, assuming it was all some sort of effed-up dream. Looked down and notice Holand's shirt was legitimately there. Brain reeling for not dragon-related answers. Half-heartedly settle on this somehow being the shirt I'd burned slightly during a bonfire several years beforehand, forced to confront reality when I noticed said shirt lying on the floor.

decide then and there. I'm moving to the largest city I can get to, so I don't have to deal with this bullshit anymore. There was a huge rainstorm the next day, so a lot of the char was washed out, but sure the F enough, when I went back to that clearing, several days later, it was filled with moral mushrooms, so it had to have been scorched at some point. I don't know what the F I saw, and I don't know if K would have any better idea of what it was. But if I ever know that thing in the area again. I'm finding as many Kiamandos as possible and leading realities, probably first dragon-slain raid. I have a story for you. Be me. Work at a cafe slash chocolate place out in the country on a farm. Quiet area, we serve homemade stuff. We normally get a lot of old people,

especially during the winters. Summers are pretty silent. I do register, serving, cooking, anything that needs doing really. It's not unusual. to get groups of people that come regularly, but there was this real strange group of ladies. The volunteer mothers for proper education, or VMPE. Self-important, over 40-year-olds who write letters and other stuff to schools demanding changes. All had the same bumper sticker with their little committee logo, which was the group initials on a set of stairs, black on white. They had 10 members. They first started coming in 2009. They seemed pretty normal at first. but we started to notice weird patterns.

They all dressed similarly with cardigans, long dresses, and tightly done hair. Not that strange, but they never dressed individually at all. They always ordered the same thing as the head lady. Let's call her the controller. The controller seemed to be the one who organized everything, plan their little committee discussions and all that. The strictest woman I've ever seen, spoke little, never looked like she smiled once in her life.

This group always came in at exactly 249 on the dot and got their phone at around three. Every day, they'd order something different, but always the same as what the controller had chosen, paid with their own money. One day, one of the ladies in the committee decided she didn't feel like the food the controller had ordered. The controller gave her this death stare.

I've never seen somebody look so angry. The other lady immediately shrinks away. She orders last, getting the same thing as the controller. The group comebacks the next day, but there were only nine members this time. The lady who wanted something else was gone, completely missing. We never saw her again. They come back every day and order the same thing again and again. One day, there was an accident.

2011. This big, metal, decorative windmill next to the cafe collapsed and broke part of the roof. We have to close for the week. but it's 350. The controller demands the group be served regardless. We're all trying to get everyone out because there was a worry that the windmill could catch fire because the neon sign struck to it had smashed. I, of course, have to give the group their money back and refuse service.

I get the fucking death stare down by the controller. Beattie, hate-filled little eyes. Unbelievably dark. They leave. Never come back. One day we get nine angry, abusive reviews on the site. All of them claiming abuse harassment and other such BS. Storefront windows got scratched up with keys one day. No real proof to convict anyone,

but I'm pretty damn sure it was one of them. This goes on. Group keeps spreading bad rumors about a cafe. We heard it through confused customers, bogus delivery orders, even a false police report one day, told us a lady claimed we dealt heroin under the counter, easily proven untrue. Eventually they seemed to give up, never see them again. A little bit later, I heard from a friend who works at a diner on the highway about a smaller incident with the group, but they only had eight members as far as he saw. 2015, a few weeks ago, hadn't seen anything involving that group for years now, completely forgot until I saw a bumper sticker, VMPE, started seeing their group.

group name everywhere. Heard they got a new office in the town center, funding community events and other such stuff. Also heard the mayor's wife had joined their group. Never saw the original nine ladies again, except for the controller. She came back to our cafe, acted like she didn't know us, asked to put up a flyer on our window. We say sure. She does so and leaves. Flyer is for some school fundraiser thing. I was pretty terrified when I saw her, to be honest. She looks like 90 now. but she was only like 50 in 2011. She doesn't look so strict and angry anymore. She looked tired.

Really, really tired. I looked at the fly from outside and saw her get into her car just outside the building and drive off. She's driving a Ute now, utility vehicle like a pickup for non-Australians. It's covered in mud and shit and battered as hell. She used to drive a spotless red sedan. The back of the Ute is filled with rope, shovels, and a few filled trash bag. bumper sticker is on the back window. VMPE.

Never saw the lady again. I still have no idea what to think, but it's left me kind of scared. I'll post again if I find out anything else weird about the VMPE ladies. I live in a real country-ass town, no real connection to the city, and they don't have a website. I think they're still a pretty small group who mostly invite moms and such. I've got a picture of the front of their office, and one. one of their posters, which I took for them that diner friend I mentioned. But what is the point of that flyer? There's no phone number or anything, is there?

I don't see one. How bizarre. Sounds like a weird little cult. To be honest, though I'm a long time fan of X and stuff, I'm not a big believer in stuff like cults and all that. But this group's always been weird. I don't actually know if they have a phone number, I can't find one. Here's another picture from a while ago, outside of high school. I looked through my camera cards from last year and found an ad they had up on the metal boards they put around the football pitches. I blocked out the address for obvious reasons. There's something about the way they word these things. That's hella creepy.

But this thread got me thinking, and I asked a few of my friends and found out one of their moms was a member of VMPE. This morning I went to his house and asked her about it. She said the group does shit like write petitions and send letters to school principals and such to try to change a few rules. She gets into a group with like five other moms from the group every Friday and they discuss. That all seems pretty normal to be honest, but when I asked her about the 10 ladies at the cafe, she said she'd never seen them before and she didn't really know anyone else from VMPE. She doesn't know who runs it either.

That was all she knew, kind of unsure what to do about this now, unless y'all have any suggestions. I used to work in the gas industry as a geologist. From 2007 to 2009, I was on a contract with a Russian company called North Gas, back when industrial relations with the UK were still fairly cordial. There was lots of potential gas sites in the Siberian region far up north, and I used to go around potential sites with company borehole engineers, usually in groups of two or three. Anyway, I was at this one site in northern Siberia. with a German engineer in late October of 2008.

It took ages to get to and completely devoid of human habitation, but really beautiful Taiga. Endless forest on the drive up there. Yeah, I'm not a car nut, but it was some modified Jeep that the engineer guy would just not to shut the fuck up about all the way through Noya Bursk. Anyway, the site we went to was fairly typical of what you'd expect in the industry at these sorts of locations. topsoil, giving way to permeable siltstone. Excellent locations for surveying.

Now to the story. We came to a location where satellite imagery was suggesting that permafrost was retreating. It still fucking snows and ice is over, of course, but the key point is that it's not entirely frozen over. You can install stuff during the summer months, get gas production up. It was a pretty boring landscape, though. Very thin topsoil, giving way rapidly to permeable stills stone. Lots of these natural holes all over the place too.

Permafrost plugs that had melted and left 20 to 30 meter deep holes dotted all over the place. We decided to stay a few weeks and do some test surveys. First week was completely fine, got some good locations, things progressing smoothly. At the end of that week, though, things were getting a little weird. Every time I would go out with the spectrometer after the first week, I'd occasionally hear some noises from the holes. I was never near them because while you get a lot of, of gas coming off these things. They're not terribly good for industrial drilling. It was faint,

just on the border of hearing. I never knew how to describe those noises until a few years later when someone took me out to a jazz bar and some guy was playing a violin-like instrument that made this drone noise like fvum. Disconcerning makes your hair stand up. My colleague would notice this too. Disconcerning, as in this job, you're not really working together but apart. so two of us were hearing stuff out there. We were both rational people, at the time for me at least, so we put it down to cave noises. Laugh, forget it.

About 10 days into this survey, it started happening at night. Again, faint but really ominous. That drone noise. We used to sleep in the back of the van we had ride, but even though these doors we heard it, again, stop being stupid, it's cave noises, laugh, have a few beers, go to sleep. It got worse from there. The day after, I found some slime stuff around one of the permafrost boreholes.

Yeah, you get lichens and mosses around these things. Not an issue, but this was like petroleum, jelly. It had really viscous stuff. I touched it and immediately regretted it. It felt a lot like pork belly fat. It was warm too, which was really, really disturbing, considering it was negative 5 Celsius for you Americans. During the day out there, bring around the German engineer to take a look.

He looks troubled. For the rest of the day, I was constantly on edge, too. I kept looking back at the borehole, too. Just to check. I kept saying to myself, things got worse at night. That drone noise got a lot worse, but it felt, and I know that's a shit way of putting it. Like it wasn't from below, but above on the surface. My German engineer tried to laugh it off, but I could tell he was seriously disturbed by it.

Just that low fum. Eventually we got to sleep. God knows how many hours later though. We wake up together because there was definitely something attempting to open the door handle to the passenger seat of the van. Click. Click. Click.

And now that drone is right fucking outside. It sounds a lot like gurgling. At this point, we both freak the fuck out and scream like a pair of little girls. It stops. We don't sleep the rest of the same. the night and it doesn't come back next day as soon as we make it at 9 a.m. we cautiously open the doors the entire back door is covered in this pork fat shit the place reeks of something rotten too passenger door just smeared in that stuff but the thing that made us immediately go

fuck it we're leaving was the passenger window which was also smeared in the skunk had an outline on it like something had pressed its skull into the fat stuff and left an outline It was unmistakable, some elongated human skull with no eye orbitals. Jelly stuff was all over the area around us too, and a fucking course led all the way to that fucking borehole. We got it out of there very fast after that, but as we were packing, that drone shit started again from that hole, and it was loud. It was guttural by this point.

Whatever the shit was making, it was way down there and close too. German guy was pretty nuts after that. Just hopped in, immediately started going, equipment that was still out for the methane measurements just left. They didn't stop driving for the next 14 hours. I pretty much ditched my job soon after. I had no desire to be left like that again in the middle of places like that. German guy never heard from again.

He never talked to me about it anyway. Thanks, I suppose. I guess distance from that events make it sound pretty perastic. Spooky noises, ooh, slime, ooh! During the night, though, I was convinced I was going to die. You know how you just know when someone or something like an animal that's nice, curious, or was just out to fuck you up? I knew instinctively that whatever wanted in didn't want to crack a beer and ask us about geology if you get my drift. Anyway, I spent a long time after that.

I'd calm down and about it, which took a few months, in fact, to think of a rational reason for this. Every time, though, I kept budding up against the inexplainable. Sure, drone could be cave noises, but the warm slime stuff? The guttural noise? Around 2012, I got a lot into reading about frozen mammoths and the worry about viruses from the taiga that they were expecting because of the climate change. And at that point, I went full crazy and said, Fuck it.

Frozen Monster. Be me. B-15. 2009, loved Call of Duty for so much, loved all gillied up so much, favorite level. I would also often reenact levels in my yard with imaginary guns and stuff. I was also abnormally tall for 15. This is important, like 6-2. Heard Seamer prom was coming up, and since I was a sophomore, I couldn't go.

Girl across the street was having people over for pictures. Now, at proms, what happens is that when you go to take photos, people park their cars, bumper to bumper, reminded me of all gillied up when Macmillian and Price crawl under the cars. This gave me an idea. From what I learned from Stephanie, the girl across the street, they were going to go drinking and shit in the nature reserve after prom, maybe have some s. Figure I might spy on them and pretend one is Zakev and shoot him. Borrow my friend's gilly suit.

Wait until prom. When everyone's taking photos, I put on the gilly suit, it was a little dark by this time, 7 o'clock and I had cover. Ah, it's a bloody convention out there. When they leave, crawl out and stay low. I say as I see the crowd, I wait for one of the dads to move. Hold. He moves.

Okay, go. And so I ran, exactly as Macmillan does, while even making the sounds of the music from that level. Start crawling under the cars. Holy autism. It's a bit of a tighter squeeze than I thought. Pretty tough, but I'm skinny so it works. When I get to the end of the cars, people are starting to leave.

I say eff it and run out from another cars over to a tree in my neighbor's lawn. I hear someone say, what the hell was that? I run to the beginning of the woods and look back. People are looking in my direction, mostly kids. They look sort of shaken. They keep wondering what it was that ran past them. I run back to my house when I see one of the dads and one of the seniors named Jake start to walk across the street.

I say to myself, what the bloody hell was that? Trying to get us killed. Night comes. I pass a time playing MW. No Macmillan. I'm sad. In the woods I see lights. It's the seniors. No, it's the ultra-nationalist. Kielzikhev. Throw on my gilly suit, run into the forest, stalk the seniors. About ten of them through the trails. I'm snapping in a lot of twigs and shit following them. What the F was that? One of them says. What? It's me. I run to a safer location. Hello? Stephanie calls out. If they see me,

everyone will think I'm autistic. They keep walking and I realized I got too close to them. I say in a horrible Scottish accent, are you daft? Stay out of the radioactive areas. What the fuck is that? One of them says. What was that? They're seriously scared. They book it to the campsite and I tipto behind them. When they get there, they set up camp. I live in the south so one of the guys brings a gun. His date is complaining. I brought in case that thing from Stephanie's house come back. What if that was it earlier on our way here? Omj, stop. The females whimper music, like a choir of Valley Cats. The guy, Dave, looks into the woods with his guns, while his date starts drinking and inviting him to join her. He's got his eyes fixed on the woods.

I pretend he's an ultra-nationalist who spotted me. I run for cover. I heard something, he shouts. Everyone's getting scared. Girls want to go home. The men decide to be noble and go find the effort stalking them. I bolt. An hour later, I'm still in the nature preserve, looking for a way out. All of a sudden, I run into the guys. I pretend since that part of all gills. I pretend that's that part of all gillied up when Price and McMillan crawl through the grass pass of the ultranationalist patrol. I go prone and try to slip past them. Instead, I lay down in deer shit and get it smeared on my friend's gilly suit. But I continue. Macmillan would have wanted it. They passed me, talking about the creature they saw. Lull, what? What did you see, Jake?

It was huge, like six feet, hairy is fucking. It was like walking like I had a limp. I do not walk think that. I do not walk like that. I should probably point out my Macmillan. and impression sounds like I have a bunch of marbles in my mouth while I get deep-throated by Mandigo and Danny D. at the same time. I do my accent and say with all of my autism, Booch don't look too friendly. They freaks the fuck out and I run. I heard it. That's it. I keep running and see lights. Maybe I'm home? Nope. Campsite. A girl shines a light into the woods. It hits me. Macmillan would be disappointed. Hello? Say nothing. Just stare. McMillan would have shot her.

What do you want, creep? A girl waves to my attention. Pulled down my mask to see if she would recognize me from school, so she wouldn't be scared. I smile, but due to my autism, I smile really wide and with eyes wide like a deer getting ass rammed. I wave, but it's cold as fuck, so I'm shaking a ton, and it looks like I'm having a seizure. They scream. It's mimicking us.

The thing is here, Stephanie shouts. I run again. I kept running that night, but ran to the group again. Turns out they had split up to search for the creature, but two of them, Susie and Noah, got lost. They're calling out for Susie. I like Susie and this fit, so I shout my Scottish accent. Oi, Susie! A guy shoots at me with his AR.

Macmillan would have topped him. He is shooting wildly. Kill that effing monster, one shouts. I run out of there while screaming loudly, Susie, Suzy hoping that they'll know I'm helping. I slip and fall into a small pit. Did you smell that thing? One says. I'm still splattered in deer,

shit. They follow my trail and Dave reaches the edge of the pit. Founded, he cries. Then he slips and falls in. Hits his head on a rock. His out cold bleeding. I scream and bolt. I can hear the group screaming. It got Dave. They think I killed Dave. Target neutralized, I say. Eventually I realized I've been going in circles because I end up back at camp. I get an idea. Trash it. Throw shit around and set things on fire. Then I say, look at this place. Fifty thousand people used to to live in the city, now it's a ghost town. Never seen anything like it. When the group comes back, they see their camp trashed. They left Dave in the woods for some reason. I was really cold, so I threw on some of Noah's extra clothes to keep warm. They see me. Noah one shouts? I'm confused, Noah? They stop. My face when I'm

still using my Scottish accent. They're frozen. One girl tries to approach me. Jake pulls her back. That's not Noah anymore, he says. Noah was the class clown and had a lot of funny cap traces, So to calm them down, I do an impression of him and say, What's swagger? This scares them even more. Apparently, he said that right before he disappeared. What? Jake charges me.

I run. Getting sick of hearing that? He catches me. I'm bigger, so I punch him and he falls. I run him by his leg into the dark to punch him more. The group is screaming. The others are too scared to help. I beat him up while shouting McMillan lines in a Scottish accent.

It sounds like William Wallace, but had suddenly come out of the trees and decided to savage one of the group members. He's bloody and I run so I won't get in trouble. The group freaks out. I stagger, a lot, leaving blood all over the trees and stuff. My hand hurts from punching him a ton. I scream. More screaming from the woods. I get back home, shower, and play all gillied up for real. When I return my friend's gilly suit and he tells me that apparently there's like a hairy monster man in the woods. I'm scared until I read the newspaper. Blood trails all over the woods, two teens beaten and bloodied, Sousie was found stuck in mud.

They never found Noah. Jake and Dave ended up in a hospital. Friends say they saw Noah attack Jake and then disappear. Say the creature was dark, hairy, smelly, ran fast, was tall and gaunt, and mimicked humans. Two years later, some Anon Post about it on B, called it a Skinwalker. My face when I was a Skinwalker. Macmillan would have been proud. Okay, X.

I've been pre-typing this for a while. It's a long one. I don't know if we were just high and we're fighting bears. Tell me if this sounds like any supernatural shit you know. Y'all stories are boring as fuck too. Be me. Be hella good hunter, good with a rifle, decent with a bow. Prefer mozin, but we'll go with anything.

Dead of winter. Hear about this shack in the woods where I can chill before a hunt. Not going to give location because you guys spook me almost as much as the shit I saw. Decide, yeah. Bring beer. Hunting buddies. Hell yeah. Be chilling in cabin. Three hunting buddies. One brought girlfriend. Folds of fat. I swear we could fucking hunt her and have enough blubber to fuel a 747. God damn she fat though. Real bitch too.

Always complaining about the cold. Shouldn't have brought her. We smoking weed outside a cabin with one hunting buddy. We call him Jim. Jim is a cool motherfucker. This guy can get his hands on any fucking ammunition he wants. This guy brought 45s. We have a range of cans set up so we can practice. Jim can fucking shoot the pole rings off them. Jim is fucking amazing. We chill in and up comes meat sack. Other two guys are off hunting north of the cabin. Bitches jowls slapped together as she moaned some complaint about how cold it is. If we took one-tenth of the greasyy excretes and made fire with it, we could burn the entire forest down. She waddles inside. It isn't even funny how fucking fat she is. Jim is fucking with a knife he brought, packing snowballs and cutting little gills into

them making tiny fat snowfish. I'm hungry as fuck, so I go to make some beans. I open the cupboard. Fucking empty. That bitch cleared us out. We haven't shot any meat yet, so that isn't an option. We need to go to the town to get more food, or we eat flaps over there. I yelled to Jim that we need more food. Jim and I agree that we should stay and that boyfriend and meat mistress should get food. Don't worry. The story gets spooky soon. Just let me have some fun. Other buddy is cool. We will call him Dave. Dave and boyfriend come across the crest of the hill and come down towards us. We explained the food situation. Dave fucking laughs and they decided that Dave should stay with us at the cabin. Yo, also, A-non, there's like three bears over the hill. We didn't get a good

look at them, but I would hold off on hunting anything other than cans. We have 45-millimeter ammo. Motherfucker. Bears can suck my dick. Pork princess and her wheelbarrow operator head down the mountain to go get food. This is when we get fucked. We can't hunt, so we have to resort to emergency rations. We have emergency rations in a crate behind the cabin, but we need to ration them. We head around the cabin and open the crate.

Fucking nothing. That bitch ate our emergency rations. Fuck, dude. This is where shit goes down. The last bit was just fucking around. Shit gets worse. Blizzard hits hard, and the road up the mountain,

closes before beef bitch and a lackey get back. Shit piss and fuck. Now we really need to hunt. Dave protests talking about bears and shit. It's fucking winter, Dave. Bears hibernated winter. Dave swears he saw bears. Jim and I leave him and head to the top of the hill.

Everything is crisp and white. Fuck yes. I'm packing a Mozen, M91 slash 30PU. Jim is testing out some Chinese marksmen. We sit and wait watching the tree line for movement. Oh, fuck yes. We see something along the western. inside. Hedgeline. Looks large. Meat. Get Jim to take first shot. His scope is better.

Extremely loud. Go deaf. Recoil was insane. Jim is in shock. Look through scope. No movement. Wait. What's that? See hair and pink skin. Oh shit. We shot a person. Fuck me. Keep going. Holy fucking shit. This massive fucking jumble flesh comes rocketing out of the bush heading east. I can barely keep track of it. It looks like a weird pink blur. The thing pivots and is now rocketing towards us. I load my mows in as fast as I can. My hands are really fucking cold though.

This is how I die. Jim readies his rifle. The thing trips and topples, losing momentum. The thing quivers and shakes like jello. Now that it's still, we can see that it's this giant flesh-colored mess of human bits. Like it has limbs for hair, but it also has hair? At this point, the thing is still pretty far away. Also, pretty sure that this is a fetish for someone.

It starts to get up. Nope, nope, nope, no. We bolt the fuck back to the cabin with this thing in the distance. The thing starts howling really fucking loud. We can still hear it when we get to the cabin. What the fuck is going on, Ayn? Dave, you ignorant fool. We barricade the door and fast for two days before boyfriend and his hamhooker come back.

Jim and I haven't told anyone what we saw. haven't even talked to each other. We also got really fucking mad at boyfriend and his fucking beef baby. So, sound like anything you guys have heard of? Or at least we just stoned out of her minds and can't remember? My theory is that it is Fleshgate slash Skinwalker. I tried to imitate the land whale,

but didn't finish the transformation because the land whale is too fat to scan properly, and then she left. It probably thinks it can nab Queen Lardass, it can survive the next five winters without hunting and any other critters. Thank you.