Snook - 6+ Hours of Horrifying 4Chan Threads

Episode Date: May 24, 2026

This is 6+ hours of some Horrifying 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

Okay, here it goes. I've always had an overactive imagination. I'm an artist and I was diagnosed with ADHD as a child. Never medicated though, so my mind was constantly everywhere. And I always was drawing and fucking around as a kid. My imagination would do terrible things to me sometimes, probably as a result of watching horror movies at a young age. Scary shit lurked around every corner,

but on one occasion, I knew it wasn't just my imagination. I was in the sixth grade at the time, probably 12 years old or so. And I lived in a small town of a major highway, like seriously small. The only major thing in the town burnt to hell 20 years ago. Then a kid died in the high school, so it was condemned. The only shit here was a cemetery, lake, post office, gas station, all in about four blocks of the town. Another strange thing about this town is the fact that in the early 1900s, it was booed. Now it was a dusty, literal ghost town with only about 40 people living there, people who never

spoke or went outside. The only other kids were my best friends, and there were only three of us, and every morning we walked together to the bus stop, and none of us spoke on most mornings. One morning it was more foggy than usual, but I remember it was cold and a little misty outside. My uncle, now deceased, grew up here, and he always told me fucked up stories about this town. He told me to watch myself. Strange shit was going on here. But he was kind of a loony, so I didn't worry about most times. This morning, though, this morning felt off.

I wasn't too stressed because I knew the others would be waking up soon, though. And when they didn't, I started freaking out. And when I stood alone at the bus stop, my imagination started going wild. I was in the middle of imagining a set of eyes in the mist, when from about 10 feet away from me to the left, I remember seeing something walking. This was absolutely real. I remember every detail.

It was a man in shape and stature. But the way it walked seriously makes my bones numb. Slow and rhythmic. Like it was floating. My 12-year-old guys bulged out of my skull, and I remember freezing in terror. Good God, I can't even stop shaking while typing this. Then he looked at me.

Fucking look directly at me. me. Eyes, his eyes, they were so far apart, they were almost on the sides of his head, which was a blong, like, I don't know, a sideways egg but not that long, and he had a small, small nose in the center. Absolutely hairless, no hair, just pale, dirty white skin, with crooked, jagged, yellow teeth underneath a disgusting smile. I've seen a lot of creepypasa threads and heard almost exact descriptions of ghouls, and I've wondered if maybe they saw who or what I saw, but it's never the same. If there isn't anyone here, I'll stop. He didn't leave me until the headlights of the school bus came over the hell. Then, without taking his eyes off me, he raised

one hand and waved, but not like goodbye wave, more like a see-you-around wave, then walked slowly away from the spot he stood for what felt like an eternity. When the bus, he was a little bit of pulled up, I was crying. I didn't know why. I don't remember what triggered it. But the driver had to call the school who called my mom who came and picked me up. I tried telling her what I saw, but she didn't believe me. She said that it was probably just a guy in a mask fucking with me. I knew it wasn't. I know it wasn't because for the next five years of my life, he was there, watching me, and almost enjoying our time together. Like he was watching his favorite TV show. For the first few months, his appearance sent me into a terrible frenzy of crying and screaming.

And my mom, who was single most of my childhood, worked second and third shifts to keep our house. Was never there at night or afternoon to watch me, so I never had anyone to tell. I was frightened and alone so much. But whenever I would see him, I would call my grandma and talk to her on the phone, hoping he would see this and think I was talking to cops or something. I don't know. I was 12 or 13. I would shift the blinds and watch TV and try not to think about it.

He only would make appearances like once a week, so it wasn't an everyday kind of thing. Then at some point, I remember that I realized he never came near me or touched me or anything. He just stood there, watching me, whether it be outside my windows or in the cornfield, just be on the fence to the playground at school. I remember I got used to him, and after a while he was nothing more than scenery. and when I'd go on my trips or vacation or something, he wasn't there. It was only around this small town. On one instance, when I was about 15 or 16, I was on a walk with a friend of mine.

We were walking near the edge of the town where the paved roads turned into gravel, and the cemetery sits next to the graveyard. When I saw Skinwalker, as I had taken to calling him, he was about 100 feet away, leaning casually up against a gravestone. I asked my friend while keeping my eye on the Skinwalker, Want to go into the graveyard? He was down, so we went in. It had become obvious to me that Skin Walker wasn't noticed by anyone other than myself.

So it wasn't a shock that, when I walked almost directly next to him, my buddy was oblivious. Shit. I remember that was the closest I'd ever been to him. He was so much more detailed this close, his skin. Christ, I'll never forget it. It was almost translucent. He wasn't pale, just he was old.

And he was staring directly into my eyes. His eyes, they were green. Not black, I remember. Green with a hint of yellow and brown. I remember he had pretty eyes. But they were so beady and far apart. I'd forgotten all about my friend when he said, Why are you staring at that gravestone?

I looked at him and then the Skinwalker. But he wasn't there anymore. just an old, weathered slab of tall concrete. I looked at it for a second. Then I noticed a name, blank, 1846 to 1874. I paid no attention to this for a long time, until I noticed that every time I was in the graveyard, there he was.

Same pose, same stone, watching me. One day I was reading a book on the paranormal when I thought about something. Maybe it was a good. ghost. And maybe he wanted me to help him, so I came up with a plan. Oh yeah, I forgot to address this. When I first started seeing him, my first thoughts were to hide. But then when I got used to him, I didn't want to take pictures. I was too frightened to imagine the outcome of photographing him. And yeah, I didn't have a phone until I was 16. And even then, it wasn't a camera phone.

My mom had a camera, but it was pretty much off limits to me. We weren't well off on money, so things like that were kept out of my reach. I rode my bike to the graveyard. I don't know why I rode my bike. At the time, I thought it made me a quicker getaway if you tried to get me or something. I don't know. Anyway, I approached him.

Standing there as usual, and I said, Can you hear me? He just looked. Blank-faced. No? No response. If you need my help, tell me. Denny seemed to get angry.

I don't remember exactly what happened. all I remember was that I ran. I ran and I didn't look back until I was on my bike. And then when I got onto my bike, I turned. He was standing there. Still at the gravestone with one arm stretched out to me, like he was reaching for me to come back. Or like he was sorry or something. I don't know. I didn't stick around for much longer to find out. I rode as vast as I could, and that was the last time I saw him for a while. A few months went by, and I started to get really anxious, avoiding being alone, avoiding going outside after dark. I was so scared I would see him again, but at the same time, I felt bad, like I shouldn't have upset him.

I felt sorry for him. I don't know. It's weird, but I felt like we were friends. I still feel like we were friends. The first time I saw him again was, while I was right in the bus at school. I no longer had to walk to the bus stop, though. I was in high school, but I know it was him. He was walking or dancing down the sidewalk, but it was only a quick glance. He watched me go past him. I knew he knew I was on. And that was it. His appearance became less and less frequent until one night. The last night I've ever seen him. I was seven. I was seven. He knew. I was 17 years old and my mom had announced we were moving. Things had gotten serious with her boyfriend and we were moving in with him. Our boxes were being packed and the house was on the market. It was about

midnight and I was alone in the house as usual. I was drawing in my living room. I had my supplies laid out in front of me and I was going to town on the paper when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. It was him. But this was a first. He was in my house. He was in my house. He was in my house. My first reaction was to scream. He took a step back. I remember this as being a strange moment. I was quiet and he seemed scared. We watched each other for a moment.

Then I realized I had nothing to fear and I went back to drawing. He moved about for a moment and wound up standing behind me. It was like he wanted to watch me draw. So I remember letting him. He moved himself in front of me. He stood there looking not at me, my sketches, but at me. I'm not sure how long this lasted. But at some point I realized he must have wanted me to draw him.

So I did. I started slowly, but eventually it was normal. I just sat completely silent drawing this being, this fucked up thing that had followed me for damn near five years. And when I was done, I held my notebook up. He seemed to be happy. He seemed to be completely. completely ecstatic, actually. His smile seemed bigger and his eyes seemed more kind. I'm pretty sure I smiled too.

He liked it. I have absolutely no idea how long we stayed that way. But eventually, he turned away from me and walked into another room. And then, he was gone. Forever. My mom and I moved and went on with her lives. I'm 20 now and living on my own. and I wish with everything inside of me I didn't leave that notebook with my mother because it's probably in storage somewhere now. I wish I could show you guys that drawing. But it's not here in my apartment, so I did this for you all.

Here he is. His image forever burned into my skull. I would also like to say this. Every year since I've moved, I go back to the gravestone and I leave flowers. Every year, I've hoped to see him standing there. And I plan on it.

doing this until I die. Shit, X. That's my story. Few people know it. And even fewer believe me. Any questions? And then the drawing he drew. Man, that just gives me goosebumps.

That is terrifying. I don't know what to think of this story. I mean, the first thing that came to mind was mental illness. I mean, because that's a good explanation to a lot of these stories. But this does seem like that. But who knows? I mean, look at that. drawing, man. Holy shit. That is scary as hell. But luckily this being didn't get O.P.

Who knows if the O.P. will ever see this guy again. But if I was him, I would not want to see this guy ever get in my life. But very interesting story. And leave your thoughts down below. It was April or May of 2009. My friend, let's call him Vinny, was in from out of town and we decided to drink at about noon. We went to a party store and bought some 40s and just walked around town brownbagging it. We got a call from another friend, Justin, that he and his girlfriend, Kim, were going to drop by. By now, it was the early afternoon, and we made it back to my place. I had mentioned to Vinny that the house next door was condemned. It had a bright pink sign on the front door with condemned written on it because the garage behind the house was collapsing.

I had never seen anyone in or out of the house in the two years. I had been living next door to it. I had just assumed it was abandoned or just got foreclosed upon. We have a lot of foreclosures in Michigan. Yes, this is in Michigan. As kids, we'd always love exploring the woods and looking for random things. It only seemed fitting that we go into the house and have a look around. We were pretty drunk at this point and just thought, fuck it, let's do this.

We went in behind the house Through this partially collapsing garage The door that went from the garage of the house was locked But after a while We were able to force it open To our immediate right was the basement So we decided to go down there first We were amazed by the amount of stuff down there

There were so many tools and hardware supplies In the back of this basement In its own room Was a large train track set up It was creepy. While we were in the basement, we got a call from Justin and Kim that they had arrived at my house.

We came back out of the house through the garage again, and I grabbed my Nikon. Kim and Justin were pretty pumped about going in in what we discovered. So we went back in and showed them the basement. After looking around, we went back upstairs to the kitchen. Again, there was a lot of stuff in here.

A table in the corner of the room was full of bottles and cans, which was the plan on taking after looking around the rest of the house. There was a 10-set deposit for cans in Michigan. We took some time poking around the kitchen. It, of course, smelled bad in there, but it wasn't overwhelming. The smell was just that of a musty house. I had made the mistake of looking in the refrigerator. And the smell of that, overwhelming from the rotting food,

that smell was being contained until I opened it. There was a door that separated the kitchen from the living room, and I was the first to open it. It was a swinging door, and when I opened it, I caught a glance of a figure sitting in a chair facing away from me. All I knew is that someone was in the house, and we were trespassing. I quickly turned around, and while walking towards the back door, I told my friends in whisper, shit, there's somebody here, and we all ran out. We went back into my backyard, and I told them that I saw somebody sitting in a chair in the

living room. My friend Vinnie, who was most likely more drunk than I was, said, Fuck it, man. We has no more of a right to be here than us. He's probably a junkie. I was not as excited to go back in to confront a squatting junkie, but I was convinced when Justin informed me that he was most likely high as fuck and wouldn't be able to do shit. Justin had been addicted to age for a few years at that point, so I trusted his judgment out of the situation. He's clean now. We ended up going back and through the back again, but more quietly this time. When we made it back to the kitchen, Vinny was the first to open the door this time to the living room. The rest of us stood back and just watched him,

watched the figure in the chair. Vinny swung the door shut, looked at us and said, that's a dead body. We all looked at him in shock, as it was obvious that he was serious. We all trickled into the living room and gathered around the body. His skin was black, even though we found it out later he was white and was sitting in a chair facing the front of a house. It was obvious that he had been there for a while. The smell near the body was almost unbearable. We needed to cover our mouths and nose with our shirts like respirators. This made Vinny and I sober up really quickly. There was a complete silence between our group of four while we observed the body. Nobody said a word. I can't really tell you what happened next as it gets kind of foggy from there.

The effect of seeing a body, a dead body, is a kind of surreal experience. We looked around the rest of the house, upstairs and in other rooms of the ground floor, and eventually found a journal next to the body. We flipped through the journal, and every day he listed what he ate, the temperature, and how much money he made in returning cans that day, which I found strange because there was at least $50 worth of cans sitting in the house. house. I took some more pictures of the house and of the body, although at the time Vinny was very posed to doing this, and we left to go to the bar. At some point, Kim left and it was just us three.

But I remember her taking in the experience quite well, and was not as disturbed by it as the other girls. Some people don't even want to hear the story, let alone see the pictures. We went to the bar that night, sat in the back, and just quietly talked about what had happened. After the bar, drunk again, Justin and I went back to the house to check it out one more time. I took some more pictures, and Vinny and Justin left for the night. I told my roommates about this, and one of them told his girlfriend. She was so disturbed, she said she refused to come over until the body was gone. She said if I didn't call the cops then, she would.

The next morning, hungover, I decided that I better call the police. I called my friends to let them know, and they made me hold off on doing it until they came over. I waited and called an anonymous tip line when they arrived. When I called the tip line, I simply said that I found a dead body. The operator seemed frazzled and told me to hold the line. She told me multiple times not to hang up. I held the line, and we put on with a detective for our city. I explained what happened and what the address was. He asked me my name, but I told him he had to be fucking insane if he thought I was going to be giving a name to him. Right after After hanging up, we all went to the front porch to wait for the cops to come. Not even a full

minute after hanging up with the phone, I saw a cop car around the corner with its lights on. We were really surprised by the response time, but it ended up driving by the house. A few minutes later, a few cops rolled up and asked us if we had seen anyone in or out of the house lately. I told them that I saw nobody near the house in the last two years. I've been living there. The police went in for a while and a white van showed up. Eventually, girls that lived across the street come over wondering what was going on. The police said they found a body, and we, of course, acted shocked. They took out the body covered on a stretcher. They must have had a hell of a time prying him out from the chair, and also took out a gun that was in the house. The gun was

an old-style rifle that I had been leaning against a wall in the living room. I talked to one of the cops, and he said that the guy's family would have them check up on the guy from time to time to make sure he was doing all right. Apparently, he wanted nothing to do with the family, and they stopped doing so. He just wanted to be left alone. The only thing that we took from the house was the journal he kept. There is a bunch of nice handwriting in it, and it with addresses and such. The first entry was on January 21st, stating that the notebook was found in the dumpster. There is also an entry talking about when the power was turned out, and notes to buy oil. There were a bunch of oil-burning lamps in the house.

The last entry in the journal, May 3rd says, Sick. Very flu four cans. Sick as heck, flu can't eat. It is eerie. The date matched up with the most current newspaper we had in a pile in the living room. We decided not to take anything out of respect for him and the family. I know that certain things were worth a lot of money,

but I'm not about to be the type of person that lutes a dead guy's house. I figured that the family would come and get this stuff, but they never did. The house ended up being sold, and I saw the people who bought it to bring out the boxes filled with sheet music, toy trains, etc. The house has since been fixed up and is being rented out. I could find no information on either the house or the guy who died even over a year later. I'm now posing this just to share my experience. This happened in 2009, but I'm just now deciding to share.

with everyone. I'm not trying to make jokes or act like it is a funny story. The guy died alone in his house and was found by strangers over a year after his death. Make jokes if you want, but this guy was alone and obviously had some problems. So someone posted on here, detailing the unusualness of their fiancé, which triggered me to write this post about my fiancé. I'm I'm getting close to the end of my rope. If possible, I'd like any advice at all. This all started happening a few weeks ago. My fiancé seemed radiantly happy, going about making wedding plans when her mood suddenly took a 180. I was late getting home from work that day, and when I got home, the entire house was dark.

It was 7 p.m. on a summer evening, though, so the lack of lights wasn't too disturbing. But I know this girl, and she loves having tons of lights on everywhere. We regularly argue about her leaving the bedside light on when she sleeps. She's scared of the dark, which I find adorably childish thing about her. Normally she comes running to greet me with a bundle of endless chatter, asking me how my day was, a pretty bug she'd seen while she was out walking, what sort of things she'd done around the house, but it was completely silent and still when I got in.

Thinking she might be upstairs, I went looking for her, only to find it empty. At this point, I was more curious than anything in, and sent her a text. I heard my text tone for her phone register inside the wall. Picture not my fiancee, just some random chick. At first my mind was a blank. But then it occurred to me, she was for some reason in the loft room which butted up against our bedroom. The loft room is in the unrefurbished part of the house, which is a farmhouse of 175 years. The floor is broken in. It's full of shit thrown in from years of remodeling, a kitchen island, a honest to goodness ice

box, and there's a little set-up steps, no more than a glorified ladder, really, leading to a little loft. The loft is about a 10-by-10-foot space of ancient, warped boards, nails jutting out and sheet insulation. There's a tiny little room that was put up in probably the 1950s, that's no more than a closet. It's maybe five and a half to six feet long, only big enough to put in a bed. There's hooks in it to hang clothes, no windows or electricity. My fiancée understands She cannibly thinks this room is incredibly creepy. She rarely goes in except to throw in, brick of brack and store her garden supplies. So I went back through the house to get to the loft and called up to her.

No response. So I went up the rickety little set of stairs and peeked into the loft. There she was sitting on the floor of the little loft room, knees drawn to her chest, arms raised up to her face, and blood freaking everywhere. Q feelings of dread and panic as I rushed over to her. She was sitting in a bed of glass, which was slowly turning from white to red. She had rivers of blood running down her forearms, shins, knees, and face. I managed to extract her from the pile without doing more damage to her. The whole time I kept asking, what was wrong and how had this happened?

But got absolutely no response. Her eyes were so wide, I could practically see the white, around her irises. Her face was deathly pale, but I couldn't tell if it was shock or the lack of blood. She was dead cold. Not wanting to tempt fate, I took her to the hospital. Luckily, only a few of the cuts needed stitches, and none on her face, but she ended up swaddled in bandages. While she really didn't need blood, the doctors gave her an IV with fluids, and she eventually came around from her deep state of shock. I stayed with her through the whole thing. knowing she would probably be scared if she was alone.

Until that moment, she didn't seem to really register her surroundings. So when she looked at me and reached out to hold my hand, I knew she was somewhat back. I asked her what had happened, and she only shook her head. She's honestly not very good at explaining long and detailed events, but I grilled her. Eventually, I managed to extract some details. She had been making dinner when she had heard something upset in the the loft room. And I think he meant to say upstairs in the loft room, she went to go investigate and found a stack of boards had fallen almost onto the stairs, and she went to push it back up.

Once she was up in the loft, she became curious of the little loft room, which she had never really wanted to investigate and went in. She had only been in there for a few minutes picking through the stuff in it before something blocked out the light behind her. She couldn't really explain it. She started making excuses, saying she didn't want to talk about it because she was scared. After nearly 10 minutes of persuading her, she said she thought it was a man. But he had moved into the room so fast. He had a paint of glass that hadn't been used in the restoration. And when she'd step back to defend herself and subsequently fallen, he smashed the thing over her. But here's the thing. She said it didn't really hit her. It was like the

glass had detonated with the force of a bomb before it had, and the man had darted out of the room and around the corner, where she heard footsteps circling her room rapidly. This went on for some time before she heard me enter the house, then the footsteps descended the loft room, and the door from the loft room to the outside opened and shut. But she was so scared, it was like she couldn't move. She got my text, and still she couldn't move. Eventually, I got the gist and found her in the loft. She wanted to scream in me to run, to be careful, that the man was still around, but she couldn't move her speak. I dug her out of the glass, took her out to the car, and she said she couldn't see any evidence of the man at all. I wanted to file a police report,

but she was adamantly against it. I eventually let it drop, intending to tell my large and well-armed family about the incident. And this is just me budding in, but why the fuck would you not do a police report, even if she was adamantly against it. She claimed some man broke into the house and hit her in the face with glass. And now you're just going to let it drop? This is a very serious thing to just like be so casual about. But anyways, it didn't occur to me at the time to tell her not to tell anyone else. We went home with the warning of infections and changing bandages and etc. She seemed terrified to fall asleep and cried intermittently on the way home. When you're pulling into the driveway, she admitted to me she couldn't explain anything about the man.

Maybe the pain of glass had fallen on her, and her mind had made up the rest. I agreed it was a possibility, and she actually seemed comforted. She fell asleep on the couch. I sat up for some time, unable to sleep. Her good humor resumed, but slightly cautiously. She went back to wedding planning, and I told my family to be on the lookout for the man. And then nearly a week after the first incident, I came home early for lunch one afternoon. The kitchen was empty, but the doors leading to the loft room were open. I walked over to investigate and found my fiancé looking into the open door of the loft room with a long, wicked-looking knife in her hand.

She's small but can't exhibit extreme fits of strength while in a fit of fear or anger. I've seen her go through a branch on a maple with a machete, so I kept my distance and asked her in a clear and loud voice what she was doing. She nearly jumped out of her skin, reached out, and slammed the door shut. She said she thought she'd heard something in the loft room. I fetched a gun, loaded it with some slugs, and ascended the stairs. Empty and still, the pile of bloody glass was still there. There was a sharp snap at the bottom of the stairs, and I immediately turned.

The screen door to the outside of the house had just clicked shut. The wooden storm door was open with a great gaping gashing it. I went back down the stairs to find my fiancé, only to see her outside, by the tall grass in the yard that separated us from the hayfield next to our house. She had her knife raised, and, as I watched, leapt into the grass. I felt like I couldn't move fast enough. I was about to hit the door on my fiancée's tiny little voice chirped up behind me. Did you find anything?

sad, bedraggled and bandaged, she stood there anxiously clasping her hands together. I told her I didn't. I was not going to go outside. I was going to keep my shotgun handy, and if I got any visitors that night, I was going to shoot them. As it was, I did get a number of strange phone calls that night. I was called into work, only to find that the person who had supposedly called me confused, they hadn't called, and nothing was wrong. I had brought my fiance along with me. She was eager to not be alone in the house. The second we pulled into the driveway of the house, I got another phone call. The same person calling me for the same reason and flipping out to the point where he was screaming. But there was no background noise. In my line of work,

it's messy, it's dirty, and it's always, always loud. This guy sounded like he was standing in a quiet room. I just hung up the phone and told my fiancé, it was nothing. I turned off my phone and we went to bed. I woke up in the middle of the night to my fiance shifting. I thought she was getting out of bed. When I sat up, I saw her standing at the far window, just staring, kind of shifting back and forth from foot to foot. I went over there to ask her, what was wrong? She said she was watching the man in the lawn. If she took her eyes off of him, he would move. come into the house. She was protecting me. I looked out and could see nothing. The halogen light installed when I first moved in, cast light all the way to the road. All I could see were shadows.

I realized she was probably sleepwalking, and she wouldn't notice the difference of being in front of the window or being in bed. So I let her back, lay her down, and plastered myself to her. She fell immediately to sleep and didn't move again the whole night. It was, a little disturbing. And when I woke up, I felt a blind little moment of panic. I shook her. And when she didn't respond, called her name and shook her harder. Eventually, she stirred, making upset little chirping noises,

so I let her fall back asleep with a kiss. Then I noticed these scratches on her back. They weren't nearly as bad as the cut she sustained before, but I could see where a couple of them had reopened. Little trickles of blood were running onto the bed, In fact, so I woke her up anyway. She would freak out if she woke up in a pool of her own blood. I persuade her to come downstairs, informing her she'd scratched her back,

and she, matter-of-factly told me it hadn't been her. It had been the man with the crazy eyes. What the hell? She'd mumbled this, and she sounded half asleep, so I put this aside and led her downstairs. Now, the stairs, for whatever reason, have another normal bedroom door attached to them at the bottom. So you have to open it before you get all.

all the way down. Occasionally, it will be left open, or even partially open, by fiancé or I. This morning, it was open a crack, and I could see someone in the crack looking up at us as we descended. I let go of my fiance and ran down the rest of the stairs, intending to hit the door and smash the face of the person they wouldn't have been able to get away in time. Indeed, I felt a satisfactory thump as the door hit something solid, and then it just kind of melted, like the resistance was bleeding out of it. The face that was turned up, watching us turned into a figure darting past the door. An instant later, I heard a clatter in the loft room and the screen door slamming. Fiancé suddenly tears past me and out the front screen door. I had not at all been prepared for

this and missed my opportunity to grab her as she passed. By the time I hit the front door, she's racing at a clump of weeds and long grass rustling, but she's only halfway across the lawn. I shouted her, and she stops dead. I put on a burst of speed and catch up to her. Fight ensues, we go back inside. I'm furious she ran after the thing. She had been furious and was contrite. She really didn't know what had come over her.

At this point, I'm starting to get wary of leaving her alone in the house and take her to work with me. We don't talk about what we saw or what happened. This turns out to be a good thing. By the way, sorry about the wait. I had the last post ready to put up. up and apparently forgot to submit or something. Indeed, I do have to work, so forgive the excessively long wait in between some posts. My story's about to wrap up shortly anyway.

We get back at a responsible time and have dinner. The only downfall is the overwhelming scent of gas. At first, I was afraid the stove had been left on, or there was a gas leak, nothing of the sort. We eventually figured it to be the smell of methane, and something had probably died somewhere. We spent the rest of the daylight hour. was trying to figure out where it was, because the smell seemed to travel. We eventually pinned it to the outside corner of the kitchen, and we both went outside to investigate. We didn't find any dead animals. We did find two clear footprints of a person in bare feet, standing in the soft soil of the garden, right in front of the window. We went back inside

without really discussing it. We made sure everything was locked and secure. I latched the door to the loft room for the first time. It's an eyelash, so there's no way to open it from the loft room. We went to bed shortly thereafter. Fiancee closed the door and then moved the trash in front of it. That night, my fiancé woke up talking in her sleep no less than five times. As you can imagine, neither of us slept that great. I went into work feeling like shit, alone this time because fiance insisted on staying at home. And I just have to butt in again. Why hasn't this guy called the police and why would he leave his fiance at home again? Like, what is this guy doing? But anyways, it continues saying, there was quite a stir at work when I got there. Apparently, my

uncle had shot a very strange animal. While we weren't really DEC crazy, apparently they thought bringing this mystery animal to them was probably for the best. It was in the back of his truck and curious, I went over to see it. It looked like some sort of badly constructed dog. Its four legs and chest were remarkably bigger than its hind quarters. Its feet were candid but hairless, and the toes had a prehensile look to them. Its face was the worst, though. I'm really sorry about all this delay. I was hit with a mountain of work after I made that last post.

It's getting harder and harder to type the further along that go, because I don't like to remember how it ends. The dog frightened me, but my relatives decided that it was extremely malnish dog with Mange. I was quick to agree with them. I had enough spooky shit going on without making things up to fright myself. The dog distracted me well enough for a while, but later in the day I began to worry about my lady. I don't know why I let her stay home alone. She was never particularly brave. But when I had left that morning, she seemed so determined.

She was usually agreeable, so I was surprised by this. I was so surprised by her demeanor and I was running late, so I let her stay home alone. I regret it bitterly. I called her when I finally got my half-hour lunch break. There was no answer. I couldn't stand it any longer. What if something had happened to her? I told my manager that my wife was sick and that I needed to go home right away.

I don't think he believed a word I said, but I didn't care. I jogged in my car and did about 4.20 the whole way home. When I got there, the front door was hanging wide open and there were no lights on inside. I had a flashback to that first night that I found her alone in the, and I bolted inside. I'm not trying to sound like a hero or anything, but I rushed inside with no thought for my own safety or well-being. I was focused on one thing and one thing only, protecting the woman I loved. I came through the front door like a man possessed. I don't know if it was the adrenaline or the fear, but I was sweating. The living room was empty. Looking around frantically, I started

calling for her when I heard shuffling in the kitchen. Whatever was in the kitchen was casting a large and misshapen shadow, far larger than my fiancé could cast. I grabbed my handgun from the concealed safe in the living room. I have several in different places. around the house and rushed around the corner, barely having time to load the thing before I did. Imagine my surprise when the kitchen was empty. I almost put a slug in my refrigerator, the poor bastard. The adrenaline had turned to rage. Someone or something was hurting the woman who depended on me and now it was toying with me. I was and am no one's plaything. I needed to control my emotions. I needed it to think. The loft room. That's where this whole thing had started. And that

where I would end it. A grim determination came over me. I chambered around as I started up the stairs. I reached the darkened room. I somehow knew what I'd find before I found it. In the rooms were two figures. One of them was my fiancé, but it wasn't my fiancé, not really. It was a dark, twisted, misshapen version of her. She was disfigured like the dog. I knew immediately who the other figure was. I was finally meeting the man. The monster that was my fiancé approached me slowly and stampered. I did this to save you. I love you.

Goodbye. No. My reply was quick and final. So were the two nine-millimeter slugs that tore through the man's chest. I would not let any man or monster take her from me. She was mine no matter what she looked like. I loved her. I buried the man in the woods.

It wasn't easy explaining to my family and the police for that matter. What had happened to my fiancé? I simply said I found her that way. And she wasn't quite well enough in the head to tell anyone anything who decides that she loved me and that I hadn't hurt her. There have been no incident since. We're scheduled to be married next month. Anon gets a weird phone call.

Late shift at call center. Just me and one other guy in the building. He takes a call that sounds like an old person who stayed up late and figured this would be the time to figure out their new laptop. While he's desperately trying to explain that we just support her internet connection, not her devices, I get that annoying fucking beep in my ears that tells me some asshole is on the line. I give the usual opening line. Thanks for calling. This is Anon.

Can I get your name and phone number? He asks, Hello? Shit, my mic is muted. No, it isn't. Hello? I asked back. Briefly thinking about how odd it is that this is one of the very, very few questions that

is appropriately responded to with the exact same question. He asked if this is company I work for. I say yes, give the line again, thanks for calling, etc. How can I help you? He says none of his electronics are working and he thinks it's the internet. Ask for his house phone. gives an area code I don't recognize. Type it in any ways because who am I to question a customer this early in the call?

Nothing. Ask for his name, as he's likely fucked up the number. He gives me his name. I do the slow-ass search by name function. Ask about troubleshooting while it comes up. He says he doesn't know where his modem is because he can't leave his room. I ask, what does that mean? He says his door won't open.

but the one time it did, there was nothing but blackness. I only now am noticing how pronounced the static on the line was. I originally thought it to be a filtering issue with the phones and DSL line, which is a common occurrence, but this static was much more front and center. Search finishes, nothing. Google his area code. Texas. We only support shit in Saskatchewan, Canada.

Saskatchewan, Canada. He asks if I know why his family is gone. I ask him where he lives, gives me a town in Texas, ask him what the date is, claiming it's a security question. He says it's November 2011. It was August of 2012. Co-worker has finished his call at this point and clocked out as it was a couple minutes to midnight, which was the end of our shift. He's at my desk, making a face that says, why did you ask what the date was, and why do you look like someone's shit in your ear? I asked the guy in the other line, when his internet stopped working. He says he thinks someone unplugged something because someone entered his house, and then the blackness came, and nothing was working. After he says this, the line goes dead. I explained to my coworker

what just fucking happened. He says to write down my ticket number. He says to write down my ticket number, and see if this guy calls back under the same number or what. So I write it down. And the guy's name as well, so I remember what the tick was about. Jorge Vargas. Ask my supervisor to pull up the call as they are all recorded, the next shift I have. She finds it.

We listen to it at lunch. The call comes in. There's no caller ID. Everything is just like it happened that night except for one key detail. I'm the only one talking. The other side of the line is dead air. No static or anything. My supervisor is really good-natured,

and has a good sense of humor and asks if this was a prank. Did I have someone call in from an unlisted number and do this? Try to convince her otherwise. Co-worker later vouches that I was really scared-looking. Only coworker believes me. Really? Google search Jorge Varhas and get an actor, append Texas to the end and find this.

Turns out, he actually lived in Texas City. In the town name he gave me, Amburn, was the street. And the O.P. then sends a news link to a, yeah, just a news site. And guess what? Second man gets life in prison for role in 2011 double slain. police discovered the bodies of Jorge Vargas Jr. 33 and his daughter inside their house in the 700 block of Amburn, November 21st, 2011 in Texas City. So the people or the person O.P. was talking to was a dead person. and this truly does scare me because, I mean, I don't know if O.P. is lying or not. I mean, for sure he could,

but to lie about something like this is so, would be just so wrong, you know, and I truly, I just believe the O.P. I mean, I could be falsely believing, but it just, it's such a kind of random story almost. I mean, a guy working at a call center in Saskatchewan, Canada, he gets a call from somebody from Texas City, and he gives the name and also the exact same date that he was killed. Oh my God. Chills. Terrifying, horrifying, really. I mean, what do you guys think about this? But before, you know, I kind of give more of my thoughts, the OP kind of does a kind of final paragraph saying, by all means, I'll let you in on another detail that I felt compelled to leave out last night, as I was already given myself the fucking shakes retelling that story.

I usually have a pretty act of imagination, and if it was any other call, I would have attributed it to said imagination. But I could swear, I heard other voices in the static. I tell myself it was either the TVs we have set up, or the one in the break room, but the TVs in the call area are usually muted for obvious reasons in the break room TV is never on. Co-worker agreed to close up the building and let me go home after the call. So I kind of buggered out of there quickly. And yeah, and the more I've thought about this, I mean, who knows, maybe it could be some sort of prank caller, but still, it is so utterly random that it,

why would it be a prank call? You know? I don't know. I mean, it could just be a horrible prank. The O.P. could be lying for the story. I don't know. But what I do know is this is scary.

Scary as hell. And I don't know. I think it's terrifying that Jorge got murdered. And his daughter murdered. And he, it just, the whole, it's very weird. and it just seems wrong. In that sort of way, I don't know, it just seems off. It seems disturbing.

And, yeah, I just don't know. Like this, I don't know why, but this story kind of screwed me up a little bit. I don't know. It's just very disturbing, real, and just kind of honest in a way. I don't know if you guys feel the same way about this, but yeah, I just, very, very creepy. Yeah. On to the next one. Homeless Commando. From age 22 to a few months before my 24th birthday, I lived without a home.

In Northeast Tennessee. I'm doing better now. I eventually got another job and got back on my feet. But boy, Tennessee backcountry is not a fun place to be homeless. I lost my home initially because my roommate got busted for pot. I didn't smoke it, but because I lived there, I was cut up in it all. I served three months in the county jail. By the time I got it. out, I had been evicted. My landlord was kind enough to store my things in a storage unit, but I had to get them all out immediately. Since I had nowhere to live and nowhere to put it all, no family to drop back on, I just sold it all off. Most of it went to a yard sale type thing I did at the storage place. The rest went to pawn shops. The only things I kept their clothes, a big tarp, a Glock rifle,

and my guns. I only had two. Pick related. and an old Winchester 37 break action 20 gauge that was my grandmother's. Anybody want to hear my stories? I feel like I've lived a fairly K experience without being military. Ask me anything. Bump in for interest. Are you a prohibited person now that you have a drug offense? I am not.

Luckily, Tennessee has very good fun laws. As long as you aren't a violent felon, you should be good. I was really surprised they were still there. I had them both locked in an old changing room-style locker I got at the flea market. I guess they never went through the paperwork to get a warrant to open it since I wasn't the one who was getting in real trouble. Basically, my roommate bought a bag of weed in the presence of an undercover and they served him a warrant. I got one too since I was inhabiting a structure in which drugs are kept or sold, but I passed every drug test and told the truth through the whole thing. Yeah, I kind of threw my roomy under the bus a little, but we both agreed when we moved in

that if he got caught with that shit, it was 100% on him and I was going to look out for my own ass. So yeah, got off really easy, I think. Anyway, here is a story from my first night. 2 to 3 a.m. Sleeping outside the storage unit place. It's on a little one-lane road, because almost all the roads here are one-lane besides the main road through town. It was a clear night, and I wasn't worried about rain.

So I pitched my tarp over the drain ditch by the road and tried to get some sleep. Just kind of laying there on a makeshift bed of clothes, with my duffel bag acting as a pillow. Reflecting. Bad feels. Miss my gram-grams. Something walks over my tarp on the side bordering the road. Whatever, just keep walking, man.

See a guy. Really skinny. shitty, dirty jeans and a wife-beater. Meth or crack, you decide. Hey, buddy. Hey, hey, buddy. Under the tarp, hello. What, bro?

Come out and talk to me for a second. I want to ask you something. No, I'm trying to sleep. You smoke? Nope. I mean the good shit. I don't smoke anything, except these Marlboros. At this point, I'm gripping the glaw knife.

Wishing I had bullets. Forgot to mention. My bullets weren't there when my land. landlord was cleaning my shit out. Well, let me come under there and smoke real quick. I'll give you some. Oh my fuck, I don't want any. Just leave me alone, man.

I got to get some sleep. That's fucked up, bro. I let you smoke in my tent. Please, it'll be real quick. He's walking toward the tent. I can't really stand up without wearing the tent like an umbrella pole. Scramble backwards. Away from him, but out from the tarp.

Stand up. Probably look ridiculous. All wild-haired, covered in wet grass. My knife is in my hand, but by my side, it's dark. The blade is black, and I don't think he sees it. He does something I didn't expect. He just goes right under my tarp. Like, he doesn't even see me.

I'm pissed. That's my goddamn tarp hut, you inbred fuck. Inform him of this. What, man, he yells? Stupid fuck stands right up. The tarp drapes around him like a she ghost. I advanced toward him and grab the tarp. He steps back, grabs the other end of my tarp. Engage, tug of war.

He's losing. The guy is a skeleton, and I've still got all of my weight on me. Reaches behind him. What are you? Po, po, po, po, fuck you, N-word. Seriously, he called me N-word. I'm white. He turns around, takes off running.

I'm on the ground fucking convulsing. I mean, I'm almost like having a seizure-level shaking. Just kind of staring at the sky. Every muscle in my body spasm. Think I've been shot. Now I die. go black. Wake up.

I'm fine. Tarp is fine. Everything is fine. Find 22 casing on the ground. Son of a bitch tried to pop me with a 22 auto of some kind. So, that was my first night homeless, you guys. So after I sold off my shit, I had already much decided I wasn't going to try for a hotel. I'd gotten around $700 total.

I was already a poor guy before I was homeless. Hence the Taurus. I knew that would only give me fewer a few nights at a hotel. tell, and they were all in the city anyway, a good hours drive from town. I decided to hit up my Walmart and stock up on some supplies. I got a little pop-up tent, a few packs of Bickliders, ramen noodles, protein powder, etc. Of course, I also got a box of Blazer 45s and one of those turkey hunting utility belt things with the big drawstring pouch and fanny pack. I got a box of birdshot, 20 gauge versus hunting. But I also had a big plastic bag of old-ass-shot, and old-ass

shells from grams. Most of them were cardboard instead of plastic, probably from the 70s onward, a nice mix of birdshot, buck, and slug she had collected over the years. Shells were probably the only resource I wasn't concerned about. So anyway, now I'm all geared up. Got my big mulserp duffel of clothes, my crazy-ass redneck utility belt, and the stank of a man who's not showered in over a week. I was in a deeply stressed state of mind for obvious reasons. I wanted to just relax. Finally, for a whole day. My feet hurt and I was hungry. I walked from Walmart to the street I grew up on. We had a nice house on two and a half acres. The backyard ended, and it was just woods and mountain from there up. It also had a creek, and I knew from childhood

exploration that you can follow it up the mountain to a nice little waterfall with a big rock overhang, the perfect spot for today, a secret fortress of solitude that surely I could be left alone to goddamn ramen noodles and peace. Green texts will follow. I thought this way would be better to explain how I ended up there and with what? Incognito holster. I don't know why my green text went to the bottom,

kind of ruined my whole flow anyway. Fast forward to waterfall, probably two to three miles up the mountain. It's probably about five o'clock in the evening. But I didn't think to buy a watch and after my phone died, I had no reliable source of time. Fuck it, though.

It's unbearably hot. middle of July in Tennessee. Very humid, just sticky and awful. I set up my little tent. Chop some dryish wood up with my $8 Walmart hatchet. Grab tactical bar of Irish Spring. Hop in the water. It's about chest height where the waterfall hits the creek.

Feels very good, man. Nice and cool, soap smells awesome. Finally feel human. Boil up a fresh batch of ramen. Talking two packs, my, a guy. Feel like a king. It's funny. I genuinely remember this fondly.

I felt amazing. The broth was hot and salty and nourishing. Best meal my life. Night falls. This time, if anybody sneaks up on me, I've got buckshot for him. Confident. Cozy. I start drifting to sleep listening to the fire.

I'm awoken by a loud splash I didn't really recognize at first. That that's what I heard. Just a vague noise in the night. I had my eyes open, looking out the mesh of the tent. Something big moves in the darkness. The fire is out now, but my eyes are just well to the dark so I can see all right. Can't make it out. It's turning around.

I can hear it snorting and huffing and it's big. The real guys here probably can guess. A large black bear is drinking out of the creek. Suddenly understand why everybody says not to make camp too close to the stream. White knuckled on my shotgun. I'm doubting if a 20-gauge shot shell would do fucking anything to the creek. this guy. Quietly get my 45 out for my turkey holster. Have no actual idea what I'm going to do, but I know that black bears aren't generally aggressive. I've seen them before. I have always been

an avid camper. The way my luck had been lately though, I wasn't taking any chances. So the bear has turned around now, and he's sniffing. He's sniffing hard. The only food I had was ramen noodles in the packet. I burned the trash from the ones I ate and washed my pot in the sink, feeling a bit confident now, and I slowly sit up into a low squat, my head touching the top of the tent. Aim my 45. My logic was I'd rather have eight shots that probably won't do anything than one shot that probably won't do anything. My plan is, if I tried to get in, or puts his face at the mesh, to just unload on him and tactically shit my pants. Hope for the best. Bear my soul to ball holla.

He he's getting closer to the camp. when I see the grave mistake I made. My fucking bowl and fork are sitting there like unwashed peasants. God fucking damn it, Ayn. He's intrigued. Starts licking bowl. He falls the scent, comes right up to my tent. All right, Anon, get ready.

Finger on the trigger. I'm shitting cinder blocks. He sniffs the ground in front of the mesh, and I'm psyching myself up saying, if he touches the mesh, fire. If he touches the mesh, fire, just over and over again. He sees me, and I see him seeing me. We look at each other for what seems like a long time.

He was tense, and so was I. Neither of us knew what to do, I think. I could see his sides expanding with heavy breath. They say black bears aren't very big, but when you're one dude in a little pop-up tent, looking at in the eyes, it seems pretty fucking huge. I'm imagining how big its claws are, probably comically bigger than in reality.

The tension is getting to me. Sweat in my eyes. I just want something to happen. I summon every ounce of courage of my body and let loose a thundering battle cry. Get, get, go on. He fucking backs up and fucks off. I hear him crashing away for a good three to four minutes. This would not be the last time I encountered Sir Bernstein.

I, and for the guy that asked, I got a job by befriending a cashier at the convenience store I brought shit from. He let me use his address on my applications and clean up in the, store, bathroom before interviews. He really got me out of a huge jam. Can't think him enough. Gas station cashiers are bros. So I liked the waterfall spot regardless of my bare encounter. I spent four straight days there just shooting squirrels and living off of squirrel ramen stew. I even caught a rabbit. One afternoon, I also caught about a dozen crawdads out of the creek and boiled them up. They were pretty good with the Franks Red Hot I bought from Walmart. I didn't really have a plan at this point, and I was in a very,

Let's say primal state of mind. All of my thoughts were about my next meal. If the firewood was getting low, this sort of thing. I drank straight from the spring where the creek originates from. It was nice and cold all the time and very clean. This is in the Cherokee National Forest, or I guess more accurately, just outside of it. So I'm going on like this and I'm scouting out other good spots I can use, so I'm not in the same place all the time and risk capture.

I should mention it. I'm extremely paranoid at this point. I haven't had an actual real conversation with literally anybody since I got out of jail. Still didn't miss county lockup, though. General Pop full of redneck shit kickers and freaks. Find a thicket. A circle of dogwood trees with an empty center. It looks perfect, very discreet.

I wasn't sure if I was on somebody's land or not. So discretion was key. I didn't want to venture far from a good water source like the spring. Decide to stay there for the night to try it out. Sorry if I'm a little slow. I'm eating dinner while I write this. I set up my tent. Scrap out a little fire pit.

I didn't think about needing a digging tool, so I would use my hatchet to sort of dredge it out. As the sun is setting, I'm boiling the collected bones of my small game into a broth. Might as well top shape this shit. I'm almost out of ramen. I'm dreading hiking back to civilization. Back to all their judgmental faces.

Get a job. Get a life. Yeah, yeah. Before I left town, I'd been out of barely a week, and people could already tell. This being the small town that it is, too, lots of people know who I am. I imagine over and over, all the conversations everybody back there must be happening, but probably weren't about me.

The stress and loneliness had started turning to bitter anger. I had been using a string of beer slash soup cans I'd collected from farther down the mountain as a makeshift alarm. String it up around my pup, the cuddle in which my shotguns, and add the meats and wild onions of the broth. Smells good, man. Eat, meditate, sleep. I wake up feeling unusually rested.

I perform my morning ritual of stretching and drinking cool water for my jug. As I'm stretching, I bend my back deeply and look up, really up for the first time. I hadn't noticed it the day before, or it wasn't there the day before, but there was a very thick, very dense net of spider webs about four feet up for my head. I had a pet tarantula once, and that fucker hated me and I hated him. Fuck spiders. Still, this seemed like a really good spot. I wasn't about to let these cretans

take away from me. These are my trees now, god damn it. I am an apex predator. I gather my things and piled it all outside the ring of trees. I got a stick and stuffed a bunch of dry leaves into a sock and stretched the sock around the top. I taped it shut and boom, the world's dumbest torch. Squirt lighter fluid into-slash-on bottom layer of webs. Hose down my torch. Commence the purge. I light the torch. A part of me hopes this stupid thing I'm doing, well, just engulf me in flaming spiders and I die. Graham-Gram didn't raise no quitter, though. I full-on spar and charged into the trees and heaved my mighty torch. The whole thing goes up in flames. It falls down expectedly. However, I hadn't counted it on it falling on me. I hadn't thought this through. My mind was in a reckless state. So on,

I'm swatched and burning spider web. This is not what I wanted after all. Stumble out of trees. Stop, drop, and roll. Luckily, the web burned up really quickly. My shirt was pretty blackened, and I could smell burning hair, but I was okay. Pretty fucking burnt, though. More on that later. I looked back into the trees and everything is gone. The webs had burned up, and luckily, had it caught anything else. I wasn't that worried I'd burn the forest down since it's so humid and everything is so green, but still, I was glad. I noticed everything is quiet. and my stomach just drops. I write it off as paranoia.

What? Did I anger some spider witch? No, I was going crazy as all. Still, I felt really uneasy. Like I shouldn't have destroyed the web. Fuck it, rule the jungle. I shall now claim my prize and set up camp again. Tomorrow, I'll go into town and blow my last $50. Night falls.

I'm just chilling, drinking some reheated broth, wishing I had a book or something. Anything to do. You don't think having to rough it can get boring, but once night falls and there's nothing more that can be done, you're just alone with your thoughts. So I'm reclined back on the log, fires crackling, and everything seems well. I'm listening to the crickets and they stop. I'm half asleep. Pretty relaxed, but I'm on edge enough that it sets me off immediately. I grab my shotgun, which is basically a reflex at this point. I keep it loaded with a slug now. Feel safer than the buck. Footsteps.

regular ones, though. Like the person wasn't trying to sneak up on me or anything. I wondered how well the fire was showing through the tree line. I knew I was probably trespassing, so I was also worried about that. People will absolutely shoot you for being on their land around here, and they will get away with it. No fucks are generally given when it comes to these good old boys. He walks right up through the tree line. I probably looked like a ghost because I was genuinely afraid. He could be the police. He could be a serial killer or a junkie, anybody. It's a pretty well-dressed guy, and I mean in the blue-collar sense. He's probably in his mid to late 50s, really short-cropped gray hair under a brown ball cap, short-sleeved blue plaid shirt under a shooting vest, the kind with

the big leather pad on the shoulder-slash-chest, car-heart jeans, clean, new-looking workboots. I'm just stupefied. I've got my shock. I've got my shock. gun in my lap, but I'm not touching it. I had instinctively raised my hands up in case it was a cop. Who the hell are you? Do you have permission to be here? He's shouting, but he asked if I had permission to be there, so I guessed he wasn't the landowner, maybe a friend or neighbor or something. No, I'm sorry, I'll go, and I don't want trouble. Now, at this point, I realize he's not carrying a flashlight, and I never saw light through the trees. I start to stand up. Not that. I'm thinking about it. I grabbed my shotgun as I stood to leave. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,

the guy screams. He's got that cop tone of voice. You know the one. He's yelled that a lot before, and I can tell. So a cop? Where is his uniform? What is he doing out here? He draws compact Glock from in waistband, points it right at me, finger on the trigger. I've been to jail. I'm not fucking with weird cops. I dropped the shotgun. shotgun and raise my hands. Don't shoot. I just want to go. Please let me go. My voice is cracking and raspy. I haven't used it in some time now. Just wait right there, buddy. I want to talk to you. How long have you been in this area? Only tonight. I don't have a place to live right now, so I'm camping. I thought this was National Forest. I lied. So did you tear down that web? That was not yours to destroy. Tell me who

the fuck you think you are. Guy is red in the face. He's fucking mad. and I'm scared. I'm going to get shot for real this time. I know it. No, no, man. I swear. There were no webs when I got here there. I don't know what you're talking about. Well, mister, do you know that those are protected species? That's right. I can have you thrown in prison for the rest of your life, buddy. I'm thinking what the fuck. Something isn't right here. I didn't even see a single spider in that web and this guy is just walking out here with no light in the middle of the night to check on them in plain clothes? What the fuck, man? I told you I don't know nothing about no damn webs. Can I please just go? Please? He studies me for a moment and looks back behind him. He turns back

around and his face isn't red anymore. You aren't going anywhere, pal. Take a seat while I call for back up. Do not move. He waves for me to sit on the far side of the fire, opposite of my tent and my gun. He doesn't know my fanny pack of justice holds 45 caliber freedom. So I'm sitting there, wondering what I should do. Do I try to run, draw on him? What if he really is a cop? And speaking of which, he hasn't once identified himself as anything. So, so with all due respect, can I ask who you are, sir? He looks at me with a very strange contempt, like I was a cockroach that crawled on his breakfast. right now I am detaining you. Just sit still and don't ask questions.

He makes a short phone call with one of those big SAT phones, which makes no sense to me because where we are, you should have cell signal. He sits down on my log and unloads my shotgun. Do you have any other weapons? Just my knife and my hatchet. Knife is in the tent. Hatchet is beside you in the grass there.

All right, son, so what did you say you were doing out here again? Give him the whole story again about needing a place to say and not knowing I was anywhere important. I get ballsy. So, what's up with the spiders? Pretty rare, huh? He looks down into the fire. He does not answer. So, you got backup coming?

Is it a chopper or an ATV or something? Something. Shut up. Want your soup? Yes, please. He brings the pot over to me and sits it in front of me. No spoon. I don't bother asking.

Thanks, I guess. I'd guess about half an hour goes by. I'm getting antsy. Guy seems totally calm now. He's just looking up at the tree line constantly, looking all around for the spiders, maybe? I don't know. That's a different homeless bro. And I think O.P. is replying to some question, but that I couldn't find the question. And then he just says, that's a different homeless bro. I never really encountered other vagrants since there are very few homeless here. Thankfully, I never but fricked. I did snook it from time to time, though, just being honest. After a while, he stands up. He walks left at the tent at the tree line, opposite the way he came in, and starts looking around, craning his neck and his back.

When his vest goes up, I see that he's got mace, cuffs, and an extra mag all side by side on his lower back. Shit. Guy, he whistles into the darkness and waves to come forward. Oh, Lord in heaven, what do you have in store for me now? A shorter, chubbier little guy comes out of the trees. He's dressed just like the first guy, only his hat has a four-seat service patch and his shirt is white with long sleeves. Same vest and jeans, though. This relaxes me a bit.

Maybe it's just a weird sort of uniform. The patch makes me feel better, though. He looked official. He had a short goatee and was wearing a full-sized Glock on a gun belt. He had what looked like a Remitin-Se 700 slung around his shoulder. on his back. So, he tore down the web? Yeah, I think so.

That guy? He points at me. That's the one. Why would he do that? He looks at me. Why would you do that? I didn't. They were gone when I got you here.

All right, smart guy. Where is it? The web. Where is the web? I told you, I don't know. Look, can I just leave? Please, I really just want to leave. I'm freaking the fuck out.

This is really wrong. Why don't either of them have flashlights? The little guy turns to the big guy and says, All right, keep them here until they build a new one, just to be safe. I really don't want to do that. Just do it, all right. Work with me, Andy. Well, all right, you got it, buddy.

The short guy just walks off with that. I'm so confused. Did I accidentally eat some kind of brain parasite and I'm tripping nuts right now? What the fuck is wrong with these guys? At this point, I'm fed up with the situation. As soon as Andy turns us back, I'm splitting. I can come back for my stuff later, but that shit isn't worth my life. So we're sitting there, and he's feeding the fire.

I think he was trying to get it as bright as possible in there. As the light grows, I can see him better, and the facade starts coming apart. I see stubble. I see bloodshot eyes with heavy bags. I see mud and dirt on his clothes. This definitely isn't okay. I wait for my chance, for him to. to crane his neck up again and check the tree line like he's been doing.

I see my chance, and I fucking book it. I leap up as quickly as I can and ran in a random direction. I thought I was being sneaky, like it would make it harder for him to follow me. I'm sprinting downhill, although the brambles and briars, my burns from the web are killing me, but I don't stop. I've got my 45 out, just running blind through the dark. I don't hear him behind me anymore when I hit the water. Good. The creek. I know the creek. I know this area. I grew up here. I follow it down. I know if I keep

following it, there is a cabin my old neighbors used to own. I didn't know if anybody owned it now, but fuck it. Either it would be an empty place to hold up, or there would be people there that might help or at least serve as witness and de-escalate the situation. I reached the cabin. The windows are black, but there is a beat-up Jeep Wrangler in the dirt driveway. branching off from the access road. I knock, loudly. I knock again. Nothing.

I made the tactical decision to break in. Maybe not that smart of an idea, but I was desperate. I kicked the door, right below the handle with everything I had. I had to kick it three or four times for it to finally cave. I go in and search for a light switch. Nothing, no power. Figures. It's just on a generator.

Nobody must be staying here right now. I get my cheap little plastic flashlight out of my turkey belt and scan the room. I was wrong. Matt's on the floor, cans of food open, and laying around. Some old shoes. Some old pants. Some old shirts. A map?

Shotgun shells? A radio? A foresty service badge? Newspapers with old brown blood on them? A rusty knife, propane tanks, two-liter bottles, aluminum foil, empty boxes of pseudofed. What in the living fuck have I gotten myself into? Now, this isn't one of those cliche stories where I stay the night in the cabin anyway.

I have an inkling of an idea of what's going on. Meth heads. I can deal with. Meth heads are something I understand pretty well. And I tried the radio. Obviously nothing. Dead power source. I know there is a deer stand near the cabin, so I head there.

I climb up. The old wooden slats nailed into the tree feel like they're going to give way. I sit up in the stand and I wait. I wasn't going to leave my shit, but I sure as fuck wasn't going back there right now, so I wait. The common Tennessee meth head is much like the vampire. They must leap through to build strength for a long night of tweaking and thieving. I do my best solid snake impression back to the cabin and peek in the windows from a little ways up the hill. I can see them in there, just sitting on the floor. Both of their mouths are just jabbering, like they are both having conversations with different invisible people. Go in a little closer. I can see my socks covered in paint with cans on the floor around them. Guys go hard in it. I watch them from the windows. Pistol in hand. Eventually,

they look like they've passed out. I can make my move now. I go to the door. They had scooted a chair against it to keep it shut after I kicked it in. It made a loud noise. They didn't move. move. Situational awareness is not a known trait of the junkie. I take four seconds looking around the room. It's two room cabins, so it's mostly just one big area. See Graham shotgun. Did they hurt you? Did they touch you? I weep for you, gam, gam. I check the tube. Shell is loaded. Where are the rest? Looking around. Shotgun low ready. I'm checking the kitchen cabinets when I hear one of the move. Whip around. CMC and me. We both kind of jump. I raise. game-gam shotgun. Sputter out, don't. It's more of a gasp than a shout. He looks scared. He's just

standing there, arms out. Chubby guys still pass out on the floor. His expression gives me courage. Finally, I have the upper hand now. Don't fucking move, man. I should kill you. Don't you dare fucking move. Where's my shit? I just want my shit and I'll leave, etc. I'm hyped as fuck on adrenaline. I've never in my life held a gun on somebody. It's a situation I never once thought I would ever be in. For a moment, I felt my gut clench. It was really weird and totally surreal. How did I get here? What the fuck is all this insanity? A month ago, I had an apartment and a job, and now I'm a strong arm robbing a meth head. Continue. Wait, what? He just kept asking, what? Looks bewildered as fuck. He was probably still feeling that shake and bake meth slash spray paint combo.

Chubby guy is stirring. He gets up, but he gets up way too fast for my state of panic. Point and fire-gam shotgun. I didn't hit him, and I wasn't really trying to deep down. In my head, I felt like I did. But I do remember a part of me being glad I hadn't shot him. Hole in the floor. Chubby dude is back against the wall.

Stretched out with this rock-solid expression of shock. It was like a cartoon almost. You ever ride a roller coaster and it takes a picture of you at a certain point? Everybody's face? It was like that, but just still and motionless, like a statue. That face has stuck with me ever since. Older guy is against the wall too, but he's mumbling really fast and low. Something about he's diabetic and he needs insulin.

And something else about chemical attack at the base and having to fall back to the cabin for shelter. What the fuck? My ears are ringing. That was another first. Firing a gun while indoors, I'm convinced this permanently damaged my hearing. I never used to have to ask people to repeat themselves before, but I do it constantly now. My head is just swimming. It felt like I had a migraine.

My eyes seemed like they were popping out of my head. Hold shoddy and left hand. Drop 45 and right. Step around their bedding areas and look for weapons. They keep looking for my shells. I picked up his gun belt with that nice clock, but then I dropped it immediately. fingerprints. Fingerprints. These guys obviously weren't forestry servicemen. My guess is they stole the shit from a forestry outpost slash station slash whatever, or they actually robbed some

servicemen. If they had robbed them and were still here, they either just did it and the gauntlet hasn't come down yet, or they killed them and nobody knew. Either way, it was some seriously fucked up business. While keeping my 45 pointing towards them, I mean, immediately stamp on the part of the gun belt where my fingertips have been and rubbed it into the floor mat. What? The meth had asked one more time. This takes me by surprise, and I N.D. into the wall between them, scaring the shit out of both of them. Try to play it off as a warning shot.

Demand they cut the shit and tell me what the fuck their deal is with that spider web. And let them know I torched the whole fucking thing because this is my forest. The wind blows up in the door. We got on the floor and everybody walked the dinosaur. for. False alarm, folks. The walls are closing in. I don't know how long I have until one of them tries something. I quickly checked the other room and find my bag of shells and some of my socks. As I'm leaving, I figure I should probably fuck with them a little bit. You just dropped an undercover FBI agent pal. I'm coming back and I won't be alone,

you dumb motherfucker. Duck the fuck out. I followed the creek some more, this time further up the mountain than I'd ever gone. I found some bushes, covered my myself with branches and passed out. I was exhausted, slept throughout the day, in the preceding night. The spring didn't seem as safe anymore, but there are creeks everywhere through here. I stuck with them for a long while, but I always stayed far the fuck away from the road unless I was going into town. Anybody's still reading? Right then, who's having a drink tonight? I might run out and get something real quick. I'm in a comfy mood. So I started to get a routine. I tried to apply for a few jobs when I went into town, but not having an address really put a dent into things. I didn't have

the money for a post office box, so I just sort of existed. I was on the list for day labor, but usually there were so many people showing up that year, I rarely got any work. I got on food stamps, which helped so much. It was tricky picking items that suited my nomadic lifestyle, but I did pretty good. Stuff like dry rice and beans, coffee, I bought a cheapo camp pot from Walmart, with my day wages, powdered soups, canned tuna, and of course, ramen. The food stamps were really a lifesaver. Don't know if I would have made it without it. One can only eat squirrel for so long. To answer about the drinking. Yeah, I did that. I'm not ashamed because I didn't drink every night. As I went long periods of time with literally no money, I was very lonely and living in an ever-deterating

pop-up tent in the woods. After six months, the tent was mostly duct tape, in some of the with my trusty tarp. Things got pretty rough out there. I'll do another green text soon. I think I'll run out after all. Shouldn't be more than 15 minutes. Keep the thread up, fellas. It's good to have company.

New thread. O.P. again. Explanation for why I ghosted last night is in the old thread. Sorry about that. Trying to avoid the impostors. So I'll start off today during my first winter. Approximately five to seven months since my first night outside. So between December and February, we had a bad winter that year.

I think 2010 or 2011. It snowed a lot, but mostly just really cold, icy rain and sludge. I had begun a dugout-style shelter in Cherokee National Forest, probably six to eight miles up the mountain from the street I grew up on in my tiny little backwoods town. What I did was dig out about three to four feet into the side of a hill over the course of a month. I used a cheap, short shovel from tractor supply and my trusty Walmart hatchet for roots. My pub tent was basically in shreds now, but it was better than nothing.

I would put the tent against the far wall of the dugout and then stretch my tarp in front and over top of it. It wasn't a badged little shelter. I used thick branches and duct tape to make a shitty U-frame to help support the branches I eventually added across the top of the tarp. Later on, I added extra leaves slash bramble slash mud to fill in the spaces. It turned into a fairly comfortable winter shelter, though it was still intensely cold at night, and especially in the early mornings when I was just waking up. That cold gets into your bones. You warm up throughout the day, but it's hard to describe,

like you're frozen through and partially thaw out during your daily routine, but you never really cook. This first winter is probably my most desperate time while homeless. The snow on the mountain was thick enough that walking to town to get supplies seemed impossible, and at the same time, the small game I had been counting on had all but dried up. It was winter, though, so deer were still plentiful. I hadn't hunted one yet at this point. All I had was pick-related.

Gam Gam Gam's Winchester, 37A, and 20 gauge, and a Thoris 1911. Needless to say, these are not good winter hunting options. I had to get a rifle, or a compound bow, or something. My life might depend on it. Waited for a warm day. Snow is melting. Still slushy and shitty, though. Make the trek to the road below.

This takes longer than usual due to slipping around in the mud. Spent at least three or four hours finally get there. I wrap my shotgun in trash bags and tape. Climb halfway up a tree and stash it. Try to cover it as best I can with foliage. I do this now because, even though open carry of unloaded long arms is legal in my unshaven, unkempt, in mostly unwashed state, I was obviously homeless.

Police would stop me all the time. Ask where I got it, etc. I was scared it would be confiscated somehow. I've grown a very tight connection to it by now. After all, it was my safety blanket, my little piece of home. It must be protected at all costs. Cannot risk walking around outside of the woods with it. still CC my sidearm. Illegally, I might add. I may still be able to legally own my guns, but there was no way I was getting a CCW right now. I know this seems stupid to most folks, but understand the sort of constant unease and fear I was living under. Paranoia had set in long ago, and now it had been cemented into my psyche to the point that I was still feel its effects today. Walked a pawn shop, friendly with the owner. He is sympathetic.

to my plight, and we shoot the shit about guns on my trips in. Have $200 saved from day laboring. I'm very good at not spending money now, with what food stamps and having a semi-permanent shelter? Ask him what he can do for me. Offer him squirrel and rabbit pelts as a bonus. He's annoyed, I can tell, but I'm desperate. He knows it too. Tell you what, keep your belts. Give me the $200, you can shovel my driveway and we'll call it even. Hands me a well-used, Savage 308. The rifling is pretty bare. Some rust along the barrel, but overall,

it'll shoot. Sorry, guys, had to run out again. You'll have to bear with me. My life is somewhat hectic. Okay, so I've got this 308 now. He threw in a dozen or so loose rounds he had for himself. I was apprehensive about walking back to my stash with it. So open bolt.

Hold by the middle and offhand. Barrel pointed down. Avoid the road. Walked the train track as far as I could, then kept just inside the tree line. Got the stash, wrapped new rifle up, and stashed it too. I forgot to mention. The rifle had no sights. No scope.

Wasn't sure how well I would even be able to hit anything. Head back into town. Stock up on more powdered soup and beef jerky with food stamps. Waited till pawn shop closed at five. Road with owner to his house and shoveled his driveway as promised. He brought me some meatloaf and mac and cheese as family had for dinner in aluminum foil. Tastes like heaven. ate it while he drove me back to my stash.

No fork, no fucks. He's a really good guy, honestly. There are a few good folks in this town. Grab funds. At first, I tried just carrying both, but that got cumbersome. I ended up putting the savage in my duffel and drawing the string around the grip. The stock still stuck out, but fuck it. Woods.

It got dark while I was still hiking. I can't accurately describe how miserable it was, hiking up muddy, sloshy, forest terrain. No trail, just following the creek, which was mostly frozen as well. I needed new boots. I was still wearing the same old steel toes I had before I went to jail. A nice hole had dug into the sole of my right foot, so it was constantly cold and soggy. After a while, it went numb. Finally made it back to my shelter.

Lit a fire with the small amount of wood I kept dry with me under my, tarp. That feel when you put newly frostbiting toes next to a warm fire. I'm bundled up. Dickie's jeans on top of sweatpants on top of long johns. Two t-shirts, a hooded sweatshirt and a big wool overcoat. Cheap jersey work gloves, the kind in three packs of the gas station for like $2, doubled up on them. Then wool fingerless inserts over that. It's really strange. Some of the times I look back on fondly. This was one of them. By now, stuff like TV and Facebook, microwaves, and even a solid roof were like things of the past. I was getting pretty used to life, enough that now I found myself really enjoying these small comforts.

I had bought a few paperbacks and kept getting the two packs of legal pads when I had extra money. I would write things, like dreams I had, or just rants about the world. A lot of angry, lonely stuff. When a legal pad got full, instead of carrying it around with me, I would wrap it in plastic and buries. them. I don't know why I did this. During this time, I was a very paranoid, manic person. I feel like I completely lost my mind on that mountain. Anyway, somewhere in Cherokee National Forest, there are a string of legal pads buried in shallow holes filled with an increasingly hateful and nihilistic manifesto. I described my rules of living, recipes for various stews and things I'd cooked up using squirrels,

raccoons, wild onions, and whatever else I'd scrounged up. I was drinking, too. I never used to drink before I was homeless. But like another poster and the original thread pointed out, it's honestly hard to avoid. You search for something, anything to help cope with the loneliness and the bleak day-in, day-out monotony of life without any purpose other than survival. I spent a lot of cold, lonely nights clutching Gams shotgun, drinking old crow and reading thrift store paperbacks. I had an abridged version of Moby Dick, some Hardy Boys, Robinson Crusoe, even a few Agatha Christie mysteries. Nothing I particularly enjoy. I just bought them because they were less than a quarter. After the sun set every night, there was nothing more that could be done.

So you just sit and read and drink. I drink hot whiskey a lot. Hot whiskey. Sometimes I still crave it. I would mix it with a little water and leave it on the fire in my coffee pot until it got good and steamy and drank it down. It was very soothing. Whiskey already warms you up, but hot whiskey warms up your soul. It's the thing I look forward to most during my daily toils. The winter was very quiet. No birds, obviously. Most of the wildlife was tucked away hibernating. It got unnerving a lot. The silence, if I wasn't. hunting, I would walk around and sing little songs, just making things up, about the trees I saw or stuff I remembered from the past. The coat I wore was ill-fitting. I didn't really have a good winter parka before I went to jail, so I had to get the warmest-looking thing that fit at the Salvation Army. It was a woman's coat, but it was made for a very large woman, one of those big,

long, thick gray and black checkered coats, something you might see an overweight 70-year-old woman at churchware. It had some kind of thick, fake pearl embroidery around the label. I was beyond worrying about how I looked, though. I had to have been quite a sight, though, like I killed an old lady and took her clothes. My mossy old turkey belt had seen better days. I used two belts, one an actual leather belt. The other was a fleece belt from a bathroom I found on the side of the road one day. I secured them around the back and front of the belt and looped around my shoulders so it was like a makeshift pouch carrier. I had added a few things to it. One was a pouch I found that looked like it was for one of those big plastic

cameras from the 90s. And I had a couple crown royal bags I got out of the trash tied to it that I kept change. Little rocks, I kept neat looking rocks, summy, just any little thing I wanted to keep. I tried to keep my pockets empty where I layered my pants. I kept anything I thought could have been in use. Lots of stuff. ended up being useless, and I realized now I was basically hoarding forest trash. I feel like I'm rambling, but aside from the sparse moments of panic, like the gunplay that I described to you in the last thread, the slow, dredging winters were the absolute worst. If I can communicate anything about the homeless backwards experience, it's the isolation and desperation. People in town

will shun you for the most part, and you go days, often, weeks without ever speaking to another human. I felt more like an animal of some kind than a man. Something wearing a man's skin, stalking the woods in an endless effort to consume and survive. I kept thinking, just got to get that deer. Then I can start getting things together. Just got to get to town. Get some supplies. Then I can pick myself up. I lied to myself in this way. I was constantly trying to convince myself that, after just a little while longer, things will go back to normal, and I'll be a regular guy again. If I wasn't doing this, then I was wrapped up in fantasies about thriving out here. I'll build a cabin, I said. I'll build a nice cabin with a fireplace and a cozy little window,

and I'll hunt and I'll fish and never have to go back to that wretched society. In fact, I didn't want to go back. I chose this. This is how I want to live. I'm doing fine, doing great. I'm the happiest I've ever been, etc. It was all bullshit. But again, anything for that little ounce of comfort. I thought about S-word sometimes too. During that awful winter, when I let myself go and drink half a bottle,

I was very conservative with my liquor. It was a precious thing that must be savored. I would lay back in the dark, under my tarp, and think about committing S-word. Cobain style, and ending it. What difference would it make? I thought about my body freezing up until the spring. When the bears wake up and they'd gnaw in my freezer burnt body,

maybe some hunters or something would find me, festering and bloated under a tarp in the summer heat. The frees would make it hard to discover who I am. Why bother? The hunters I invented would say, he's obviously nobody. Just leave him for the animals, they'd say. My body would decay and the forest could just have me.

I would be here forever. It was comforting and horrifying at the same time. Luckily, I never got so dark as to do it. I have been fortunate in having a strong sense of survival instilled in me from a young age. My grandparents were both farmers until the last 10 or so years of their lives. They had to sell it a long time ago. Couldn't keep up with the payments and moved to a cheaper house with a small yard. My grandfather died years before my grandmother did.

I'd like to tell you about my strong, awesome granddad, teaching me to shoot and hunt. But honestly, that was all grandma. Grandpa was from Baltimore. He joined the Marines, but never went to war. Met my grandmother while she was visiting some relatives there, and they ended up getting hitched. They moved here because she had already had some land. She's was a country girl, and I mean the old school kind. She's slaughtered most of the animals, cleaned and cooked them. He worked for Geico in the 80s, working on their old DOS systems. Then at local newspaper on the printing press until his retirement. She stayed home and raised me. We would shoot rabbits that got into her crops. She showed me how to skin and cook them, how to stretch and

clean furs for preservation. I really love that farm. Regretfully, they had taken a mortgage out on it to help with money and eventually fell behind. My extended family on my grandfather's side sort of bled them dry, always borrowing but never going back. Car trouble, need groceries, Short on rent? Ask Gam Gam. She'd give you the shirt off her back. Gam Gam Gam died two years before I became homeless. She had a stroke and spent an agonizing month and a half between hospitals and home. I had to quit my job to stay home and care for her. I'm rambling again. Rest in peace, Graham. One day, I'll give your shotgun to my son. So, it's been a few months into the winter, and spring is starting to show. In the afternoons, when the sun is high,

it got to be in the low to mid-50s. It was warmer, farther down the mountain. But I grew more and more resentful of the world below every day. So I was going down into town as little as possible, once or twice a month tops. I didn't have a hunting license, and deer season was well over at this point. I had done well with a dozen 308 rounds I'd acquired before. I had probably three or four left now, so I had to hunt very carefully. I didn't have sights on my rifle, so what I would do was sit cross-legged in a bush all day. My clothes were caked in mud, and I had given up trying to wash myself for the winter. Creek is far too cold. I wasn't worried about my scent. Wait there. All day. I'd bring a snack and sometimes a book. Sometimes some whiskey. All depended on my mood and the weather. I kept dry corn now to use as bait. Sprinkled it a few yards from where I am. Doe approaches. Small. Probably 50, pounds, give her take. Just a baby. A delicious baby. Aim. I can do okay from small distances, but I've only been able to fire this rifle maybe eight times. Not a lot of room for practice,

and again, no sights. I aimed for her heart. Got her neck. You know what happens. She takes off thick drops of blood streaming on the cold ground as she ran. She's bleeding heavily. I know she won't be able to run long. Start following the trail. It's not hard. Snow is still hanging around and it's still cold enough that the blood keeps up a good stream for a while. Come into a clearing. I see her laying down across the field. She's bleeding and convulsing.

Dying. I think about how scared she must be. I'm sorry I had to do it this way. I would have liked to kill you clean, but it can't be avoided now. I'm walking across the field. Debating on if I should slit her throat or just put a 45 in her head and be done. Probably the knife. Ammunition must be conserved.

Bang. What? Bang. Though was echoing a bit, so I knew they had some distance. It wasn't until the second time that I realized I was being shot at. I don't know how close you have to be to a bullet to hear it whistling past you, but I didn't want to find out. I heard the bullets first. The shot second.

Freeze for a moment. No, ft. Just a bang this time. dive into the brambles, scramble behind a tree. That feeling when I don't even know which way they are shooting from. That feeling when I could be sitting here in full view. Wait for 20 seconds. 30 seconds.

Heart is pounding. Why is somebody shooting at me? Somebody mad about me poaching? Somebody else is poaching? And they want me kill? It's quiet for a while. I try my best and peek around the tree line. I see orange in the distance.

It's behind the tree line to the clearing, but I saw it move. Time to test if they are still watching. Hop from my tree to adjacent tree. Peek out and look. Muzzle flash. Bang. Holy shit. Okay, okay, okay, okay.

What do I do? Sprint forward. It's away from the grove in front of another tree. Wait for noise. Nothing. I don't know if the person is advancing or waiting. Did he see me pull back? Does he know where I am?

I'm sure as fuck not peeking my head around the corner. an organic hatching a bullet? Sprint forward again. I'm heading downhill. Slide until a little embankment caused by tree roots in the mud. My foot is unusually wet. The sole of my boot has come off halfway.

Perfect. I hear movement behind me. Is it him? Deliberate steps. Coming through the brush. Decide to call out. I don't know who the fuck you are, but I'm armed and I'll shoot.

Just back off. You can have the damn deer. I don't care. Silence. switch my rifle into my duffel. Grab Gamm Shottie. Thumback the hammer. I hear footsteps again.

He's going to have to come around the embankment or pop up above me. For him to get at me. Either way, he'll have to be close unless he backtracks and makes a wide flank. Silence again. Was he retreating? Did he know I was armed before I just told him? Waiting again. I feel mildly defensible here.

I'm too scared to try to run just yet. Patience. Timing has to be just right, I told myself. Remember the BB gun wars with your cousin. Pretend it's a game. Don't shit your pants. Branches snapping to the far left of me. Look over.

Polyester, Camopuff vest, and a hunter's orange beanie. Are you serious? I'm not getting flanked by Elmer Fudd. Scramble forward. As I'm running the 30 to 40 feet between me and the next tree, I fire birdshot in his general direction. Hit the tree hard. Sweating and.

in the cold. Guy shouts out. I must have peppered him a little. Probably not enough to really do any damage. But I hope I at least fucked him up a little bit. Aject shell. Grab one out of the big turkey pouch and load it. Don't even look at what it is. Could be bird, could be buck. I had already used up the few slugs I had. My shells were starting to run thin since it's my primary hunting gun. Small game in that. Close the breach and listen. Bang, bang, bang. Three shots with the a few seconds in between. Must be using a bolt action of some kind. Didn't even get a look at his rifle yet. I know he can't see me or hit me from here. If he is still where he was, I haven't heard a move, so I assume he still is. Must be trying to scare me out. Not this guy. Swat down. Try to think up my

next move. He's going to be mad now that I tagged him, since he's clearly not giving up. I can still hear that poor deer crying from the yards away. Look around. I see another low hill that looks like a good cover. Across the incline, probably seven to 80 yards. Steal myself. Say I silent prayer to forest gods and set off sprinting, making good distance. Trying to zigzag, but mostly just trying to get to cover as quickly as possible. He doesn't fire me while I'm moving, and I don't look back. Just get to that hill. The sole of my boot is flapping around beneath me. My four pairs of socks are soaked through, and I'm getting stabbed by sticks and rocks. Try to pretend I'm Bruce Willis and diehard.

Reach the little hill, slide down the incline, and lay there prone. My whole body is soaked now. I'm very, very cold. The adrenaline is keeping me warm for now, but I know I have to get out of these wet clothes soon, or I could very well freeze to death. Wind is harsh. It's coming opposite me, up my back,

crashing with the hill. I'm shivering despite my sweating brow. Crawl up a little, so I can get a peek out from the hill. Nothing. I waited on that hill for what seemed like hours, but was in reality maybe 20 to 30 minutes, until the cold got to me and I had to move. I made it back home very slowly.

I stayed in the brush and avoided any open areas. Every little noise sent me ducking from an invisible assailant. By the time I got back, I was absolutely frigid. I stripped down and changed clothes. Though my coats and most of my good winter things were soaked, I just used heavy layers of long-sleeved cotton shirts. pajamas pants, and my one other pair of jeans. The fire couldn't get hot enough for me.

Never found out what was up with that guy. My guess is it was an impulse thing. I know. I was going to expand on that a little. Several more people will attempt to kill me in some fashion or another because I got into government housing. When you were very absolutely homeless, people take shots at you because they know they are likely to get away with it.

I think this guy was just out illegally hunting, saw me, and thought, hey, I wonder what it's like. I don't know. I don't like to guess at people's motives, but I do know that when I would walk into town, lots of cars would swerve and try to hit me, or just not give me any room to walk on the road and send me jumping for the ditch. People treat you like shit, like something that doesn't matter. And the archive that I got this story from kind of screwed up the next. post and also the archive. I got this from. Someone wrote this on the... I did not write this,

but the person who archived it did write this on there. So that's why. I'll try my best to read it. It might be a little bit hard, but just give me some patience. But anyways, the OP continues saying, one more, and I'll probably hop off for a while. All right, so after the Hunter incident, my main goal was getting new boots. I had to keep using an up-good duct tape to tape mine together where it came apart while I was running.

Weather is starting to clear up, but it's still pretty cold and rainy. Can't have a soggy foot all the time. Grocery backliners only get you so far. Went into town a week after the incident. When I felt less paranoid and ready to travel, I got some leather boots.

I don't know what kind they were. No brand, but they turned out great. They were waterproof, just leather. The tongue was connected on either side, kept everything out. They aren't warm at all, though. Just unlined leather, with three or four pairs of socks, though they do perfectly. I still have these boots today, though I don't wear them very often. Paid $15 at Salvation Army, great buy. After this purchase, I had about $6 left, and it wasn't likely to get any more until landscaping season came around. And then this is where they wrote it, so I'm going to try my best to, yeah, read this. I remember I thought to pack

some cigarettes. I hadn't smoked since that first night. It felt like splurging on a gourmet dinner or something. It's the first thing I bought that I didn't consider essential. Yes, at the time I considered my liquor essential. Sue me. I joked around one night outside at the convenience store. It was heaven. I coughed like I was smoking for the first. time again. Awful habit, I know. Just got it on a whim, though. What else could I do with $6 anyways? Bought a can of Coke and just sat in the front of the store's bathroom and then went on to the outside, so I guess nobody noticed me going to the bathroom drinking a can of Coke. I don't want to sit inside, even though the store had a little diner style thing. Two little

booths and something else, I can't read. They served fried chicken and burgers. That kind of thing always smelled so good. Good Lord, I missed good old American greasy fast food. I could smell it from the bathroom. I pretended I was sitting inside, eating like a regular person. I wasn't really sleeping much in those days. A few hours, twice a night, my sense of time was really whacked out, and I was always unsure what day or month it was. That bathroom sure was nice, though. It was clean, just a few sharpied scribbles on the wall around the toilet. There was a door with a lock that I was in control of for now. It was like a castle. I wanted to just stay there forever. I actually ended up taking a short nap there. I dozed off unintentionally while drinking my coke. Luckily, nobody had tried to come in. I don't think I was out long.

I dreamed out inside my old apartment. When I woke up, I got an idea to do a very dumb thing. I wanted a night. One good night inside with heat and a light. That's what I need. I take. told myself, just one night to recharge. If I get this one night, I'll have these strengths to get my life together again. It was a grandiose delusion, but it honestly somehow made sense of the time. Do this thing, and it'll solve every one of your problems. I decided to either hide or break in later and spend a night in this bathroom. Story in Green Text follows. Looking around bathroom for hiding spots, no cabinet, but the ceiling was those big, obviously-looking ones, with the little holes that make it look like a cracker.

I moved one of the panels, some wiring, wrap poison, and about two feet of space. Test the strength. Stuff my duffel up there. Seems okay. The panels definitely won't hold me, and I doubted the thin wires suspending it from the roof would do much good either. Cheap flashlight. Look around.

I found load-bearing supports farther away, but without the toilet or sink to stand on, I couldn't really just climb up there. Replace tile. Leave bag. Check outside. Nobody there. It's evening. The store closes at nine. I have a few hours. Discreately leave. I don't know if the staff knew I went in there or not. Look around. I pulled a wobbly wicker chair out of a dumpster across the road, left it in the tree line between properties, hung out of the library for a couple hours. Didn't check Facebook. Brows K. And survivalist forum. 7 o'clock. Library closes. Go back and grab the chair. Carry it as nonchalantly as possible up the road past the store. Then doubled back and set it behind the building. Go inside the store. Asked to use the phone. I called my day labor place

even though I knew they were closed. Left a message about needing something now. Just wanted an excuse to go in and check out if anybody was shopping. Go back outside. Around the corner. Check the bathroom. Empty. Around the next corner and grabbed the chair. Took it in the bathroom. I climbed on the toilet and got my bag. Then used the chair to get up to the support beam.

Stuff the bag up again. Open it and fish out two shirts. Tie these shirts to the beam, letting them hang down. Take the chair outside, toss it in the weeds. Back to the bathroom. I twisted these shirts up until they were as rope-like as possible and used them to hoist myself high enough that I could grab the beam and climb up. In the rafters, my chest is on the big beam, and my arms and legs are keeping balance on

these small flimsy ones. I slide the tile back in place and just waited. It was seven when I left the library. Store closed at night. I had used probably an hour and a half getting to and from the library and setting everything up, so I estimated I had somewhere between 45 minutes to wait. Got real uncomfortable. I wanted to change position.

The beam was digging into my chest on either side, so it wasn't much wider than an average smartphone. Arms are cramping. I'm sweating. Why didn't I take my coat off? The door opens. Moment of truth. I listen to them cleaning up. They take the trash and leave.

I hear the lock clicking shut. My time has come. Move the panel. Bending my arm felt great. Cautiously peek out. All seems well. Descend from my shroud of darkness. Nice. I sat for a while, just looking around, enjoying the pleasantness of both privacy and comfort. I turned the sink on and let the water get really hot and wash my face with hand soap. Never felt so clean. I had turned the light back on, so I was concerned about somebody seeing it under the door, so I stuffed clothes around the bottom of the door. Feeling safe, I sat back and started reading Murder on the Orient Express. Not a bad book. Kind of fruity, but not bad at all. I love the old timing back and forth.

Raw dogging spam out of the cam with pocket knife. Feel like a pimp. What's this in my duffel? Why, it's General Grant and his never-ending flask of Old Crow. Well, don't mind if I do, General. What a lovely evening this has turned out to be. Proceed to get drunk. Reading Agatha Christie and having conversations with the astute inspector, Hercule Perot. This, as it turns out, was not a very good idea. Wake up to the sound of the lock turning. Morning shift has arrived. Older woman, probably 45 or so. She screams. I scream. She starts calling the cops. She's calling the cops. I'm a homeless man with an empty bottle of liquor, a concealed, two if you count my knife, weapons, and absolutely no excuse as to what

I'm doing. Grab my duffel, forgot my book, shit, charge. I wasn't trying to hurt her at all. I just wanted get the fuck out of there. Shove her aside. Make sure to smack the phone out of her hand. Shout sorry as I'm running away. Open bag in hand and holding up my pants. I had unbuckled my belt in my drunken state of comfort. Retreat to the woods.

Never go to that convenience store again. Follow up. I was going to make another green text, but I'm cooking dinner, so I'm going to wrap it up a little quicker. I encountered that woman again two weeks later when I went back into the town. She saw me from across the street. pointed at me and started shouting, You, you stop, you hit me.

I tried to play dumb, but I knew it wouldn't work, so I sped up and kept walking. She followed me away and got her phone out. Shit, she was calling the cops. That's perfect. I was pretty sure they didn't have anything really on me, but who knows? To nobody's surprise, I was picked up a few hours later going back towards the woods.

The cops were okay. They knew that I stayed in the bathroom, but I don't think they cared too much. They said they were looking for the good. guy because the woman's phone is broken and she was pissed. I'd buy her new phone if I knew how to get a hold of her. But it's been real, you guys. I'm out for now. Maybe more some other time. I'll be checking on the thread every now and then if you guys want to shoot the shit a little. But as far as typing these long stories, this is enough for my tired fingers today.

And before we go into the next one, I really just want to say, I really enjoyed that story. I mean, it wasn't like a conventionally scary story, but I thought it was a good story. I thought it was a good 4chan thread. I mean, there were parts where it was scary where it was almost being killed. I mean, the meth heads and staying out in the woods, I feel like it was a very honest kind of story. I thought it was a great story, even though it might not be conventionally horrifying, so to say. I thought it was a kind of creepy in a way, 4chan thread. I mean, just kind of disturbing in a weird way.

I don't know if you guys got that kind of vibe like I did, but I mean, hopefully you enjoyed that story. I really enjoyed it as well, and hopefully O.P. is doing better now. And yeah, leave your comments down below, which you thought about that one, and on to the next one. Lockdown in a woods. Not going to green text because I'm bad at it. Peak meme flu locked down. I got stir crazy sitting around all day. collecting unemployment like a fucking leech, so I decided to head into woods.

I live in a deep blue state, so I figured my chances of running into anyone out there were slimmer than usual. My intention was to camp out for a week or so and relax, hike around, do anything but sit inside all day like everyone else in the state. I drove the three hours to my favorite national forest, up an old logging road. I took my M1 carbine, pick-related, different trip, and Remantine eight-sendin. 70 Magnum. The drive up was really nice since there was no one on the road and gas was super cheap. I got there in record time. I set up camp about an hour off the main road. I wasn't exactly super deep, but I was deep enough in a woods to be satisfied. The first night was normal. The second night I woke up at around 2 a.m. to silence. And then what sounded like a blood

curdling shriek, which my rational brain told me was a mountain line about two seconds later. It must have screamed before and woken me up. I listened intently for a few minutes, but didn't hear it again and fell back asleep. The next day was weird. The forest was silent. Previously, there had been birds singing, bugs chirping, wind in the trees, etc. Now, everything was just still and silent in the cold morning air. I just got some coffee started and tried not to think about it.

Eventually, the day warmed up, and yet the sound didn't return. I started to think maybe that mountain lion was still in the area. Woods tend to go silent when there's a predator nearby, but that didn't explain the complete lack of wind. The air felt as stagnant as a hot car, except it was 40 degrees out. I decided to have a look around. And I hadn't gone more than half a mile in any direction away from camp since I'd gotten there. I threw on a jacket and my Alice LBE.

I had rigged with M-1 carbine mag pouches that kind of worked. I went in the direction I remembered the noise coming from the previous night, hiking cross-country. The woods were silent the whole way. Hell, I didn't even hear any airplanes fly overhead. And this was a pretty high traffic area. I hiked across a largest clearing with scattered groups of trees when I noticed something odd. A couple of the pines were missing all of their limbs. They weren't charred from a wildfire, but looked as though they'd been torn off.

They stood around 20 yards apart, jutting skyward, almost like a gate. I thought it was kind of weird, but chalked it up to loggers or something. When I crossed the gate, it felt like a switch was flicked. I was suddenly hit with a wall of anxiety, the kind I hadn't felt since I was a teenager, I felt the adrenaline rush of someone being mugged, my knees threatened to buckle, and I felt cold sweat run down the hollow of my back. I was shocked and confused at my reaction, but took a moment to collect myself before advancing, unslinging my rifle and keeping it in the low ready, mostly to bring myself comfort. I wouldn't walk 30 more yards before coming across a deer carcass

that had been absolutely eviscerated. It looked like it had been hit by a truck, then run over by a whole convoy, except it was in the middle of the forest nowhere near a road. The area reeked of death. I decided it was time to head back to camp. I figured I'd confirm the presence of a cougar and considered moving camp. Getting tired, going to give the abridged ending and wrap it up so I can go to bed. I made my way back to camp a little more quickly than I had left.

scanning my surroundings, far more alert than before. I knew I was being irrational, but I couldn't help but feel a bit scared. Everything was added enough to spell something weird. First, the complete lack of noise that was still present, or rather not pleasant, then the trees, then the strange anxiety, and now the mutilated deer, I was creeped out. Something wasn't quite right. As I crested originally, as I crested originally, I was greeted with a sight that sent a spike of adrenaline through my system. Another deer carcass. Right where I'd hiked through before. I was sure this wasn't here before.

This one looked as bad as the last, with the sickening addition of one of its antlers speared through its eye socket. I decided right there that I'd be cutting my trip short. I hauled ass back to camp, tore down everything as quickly as possible, made my way down these shitty logging roads as quickly as I could without fucking my suspension up and left. I'm still not really sure what was going on there. I'm not going to pull that bullshit you always see on here and say, I'm not a believer in the paranormal because that's bullshit. I totally am. But I'd like to exhaust my rational explanations first. I really want to believe

it was just a mountain lion. And I just didn't notice the second carcass somehow, but it just doesn't make sense. But would calling it a Skinwalker be a reach? I've been on this board too long and read too many nobathrides. Am I just overthinking it? I guess I'll never know. But it hasn't stopped me from going back to that same forest to fuck around in the woods. Just never alone anymore.

Hey everyone. Scream Cap guy here. Yours truly actually went and investigated the house while the last throat was still alive. But by the time I got out there and came. back, the thread was dead and NC Anon was gone, so I never posted the pictures I took. Recently, I was looking through the pictures and decided to make screencaps of the threads. I wasn't going to upload the pictures that I took since I thought it might ruin the fun and magic of the story, but some Anon requested I do so, just that so here we is. And that's how it was written.

The first picture shows the driveway to the house. The black box you see is my car that I had to park at the entrance due to the poor state the driveway was in. The driveway was also a total bitch to find due to the entrance being overgrown with brush and the fact that if you put the house's address into Google Maps, it takes you to an empty piece of land next to the house. The house itself you can't see from the road nor the empty lot due to the trees. The house in all its glory. The view is from the driveway. Very creepy. Front yard. And for everyone just listening instead of watching. I mean, just overgrown, everywhere, trees fallen, road, or the house is very, very, um, worn, so to say. Front yard. The tree had just barely missed the house. The picture was taken

from the front yard facing the driveway. Due to the tree, I had to go around the left side of the house and go to the back door to get in. Left side of the house. Left side of the house showing the living room window. I can sort of make out two white-slash-scull faces in the window, but that's probably just a peridolio, which is your brain making up stuff, and I agree. There really isn't anything there. Left side of the house, I think. Back of the house. Back of the house showing the garage, driveway, and a shack. I think the driveway went from the garage to the road and was also shared by a neighboring house, but I can't remember. The back door. The pure darkness that you see is actually, actually the basement entrance, giving this cool optical illusion. The back door was left open,

and at this point, I will point out that there were no trespassing signs, and I did not break and enter. The back door was left open, and I was looking at the house as a potential buyer, the kitchen. It was immediately obvious there was nothing of value in the house. There was also the smell of water damage. And to be honest, I mean, this was like a snook note, or just me talking, the house doesn't look horrible, especially since it's open to the elements and animals could have gotten there, but he did say water damage. And then he shows the living room. You can sort of make out a pair of eyes in the big window, but it could just be anything. And I agree, it's nothing. But you can see that's where the wood elves through the rocks in through the window. The hallway,

another cool optical illusion here. You can make out a white head and face inside the bathroom. And I'm looking myself and I can't really see anything, but it definitely is unsettling. But it's just the condensation. Okay, cool. Closet. I don't remember if it's from the hallway or a room. Another closet. Again, I don't remember if it's from a room or the hallway.

I completely forgot about the writing in one of the closets that N.C. A. non-found when he went back into the house. So I didn't think to look and see what it said. My bad. The polka dot room. room. And then he goes to the basement. The basement stairs. I'd like to just take a moment and bitch about these stairs. You would never miss the leg day due to these stairs. I'm over six foot and my knees were in my chest just trying to walk up these damn stairs. And just,

holy shit. Look how creepy these stairs are. Imagine a demon down here, which the a non, the OPE was suggesting a demon down here. I can't imagine. It gives me goosebumps. The basement. You can see a few orbs, but we all know orbs are bullshit. You can see there's standing water in the basement, so, you know, insane water damage. The basement, you can see the garage is kind of imploded in. And the last picture I took was of the shack outside. Well, that's it for me. Nothing really eventful happened while I was there, thankfully. I kept my eyes out for the wood elves, but didn't see anything. I also didn't feel anything either while inside that. house. With that said, I'd strongly advise against going yourself to investigate, as it's been a few

years now, and there's probably new owners. Owners who more than likely don't want neckbeards hunting for wood elves on their property. Thanks for reading. If you're reading this NC ANON, I hope you and your daughter are doing better. Amazed that someone didn't post it yet in countless K-nope threads I've been in. Comes from very first K-nope thread. Heading for in a woods with a bunch of mates somewhere in northern Europe. We decided to hike to this old abandoned Cold War era military facility, reached the facility after two days of hiking. Shit is cash. We spend the day exploring and plinking birds with 22s. By nightfall, we set up a camp in one of the empty warehouses. We go outside, set up a campfire, and start making stew. All of a sudden,

we hear the loudest and weirdest roar I've ever heard. We all shit ourselves, grab our rifles, and stare into the darkness. Something is moving about 100 meters out. We hear it rushing through the woods into the facility area. We stand there. Silent. Listening. Then it stops and suddenly, it is dead silent all around us.

Just the stew slowly boiling on fire. We look at each other and have a brief chat. We decide to carry on with making the stew. Next morning we wake up and start having a hot. hacking. Everybody is making jokes about how we got so scared at some bear, etc. My buddy sees something lurking on top of the biggest facility building. We try to have a look at what it is, but it's too far away, some 200 meters maybe. It is just standing there with two legs, probably staring at us.

The thing is huge, maybe over seven feet tall. I reach for binoculars to have a good look on who is trolling us with gilly suit. Just as I find the binoes, my mate starts show. I look at the creature, or whatever it was, and it seems to be running via the facility wall like a lizard, very, very fast. By now it is clear it is not human, nor any animal I know of. It disappears behind one big bunker structure. We decide to nope the fuck out of there. We're scared shitless, even though it is day.

As we are hiking back, we don't take any breaks before nightfall. As the sun sets down, we make a camp and start preparing supper. Everyone's a little tense, and we try to joke around. I mean, very first, K-nope thread I was a part of. It's a very long one. Someone may want to screencap it. And also, I forgot to mention, here is a map of the area they're in. What is that?

Protacanta Reservoir. I don't know where this is, but interesting. And I'm sorry, I just did more research. And it's Portifata Reservoir, and it's in very, very, very North Finland. I mean, it's probably far north as you can get. And so these guys are way out there. I mean, there's not even street view, like Google Earth Street View anywhere near it, but yeah, they are a ways away up there.

Very interesting. We decided to do guard duty during the night. My shift is 01 through 03, so I guess 1 to 3 in the morning. Birds are singing like crazy. They do that during the nighttime here. And I managed to see a lone rabbit hopping around our camp. I would have popped that fucker, but I wanted to let my buddy's rest. Suddenly, the bird stops singing in the rabbit stops, raises its head like it's listening to something.

The rabbit noaps out of there very fast like it's running for its life. I feel very uneasy and flick on my flashlight and shining towards the darkness. I'm hoping to see a glimpse of a fox, etc. That could have explained the strange behavior of the other animals. But the forest around us seems empty. Just as I'm putting the light out there, I see something move behind the bushes around 100 meters away. It was something big. I shine the light directly at the bushes and try to get a look through my 10-22 scope.

I managed to see something moving there, and I believe I saw a pair of yellowish eyes. Then it stands up. I don't know what to this day, what the fuck it was, but it was hairy looking, very dark and had a face, the face of lighter color and there were two eyes, two yellow eyes. The thing was around 7 feet tall, somewhat human shaped. Although I didn't get a very clear look with my shit tear flashlight, I was 100% sure that the thing wasn't a human, so I started panicking. Raise my gun and lit that fucker up.

I emptied the whole 25RD Butler Creek mag in about three seconds. I didn't even aim. My buddies woke up and started shouting, and it was all careful. chaos for half a minute. I tried to tell them what had happened as fast as I could. Having dropped my flashlight, and I didn't know if the creature had been hit or if it was there anymore. One of my buddies picked up the light and directed it at the direction I was pointing my gun at. And there it was. Just standing. Suddenly, the thing just kind of falls down and starts slithering at us, making no noise at all. We start screaming, grab our packs and guns, and start nooping

out of there. We must have ran like 10 kilometers straight up before taking a break. All of us were shaking. We didn't share a word. We walked the rest of the way to the public campground in DefCon 1, weapons ready and listening to every crack. I've never been as happy as I was when I saw some German tourists grilling sausages by their RV. They were all like, what the fuck, when we exited the woods with guns in low ready stance. We said nothing, walked to our car, and drove away breaking pretty much every speed limit on the way. We talked about the thing on the way home. None of us knew what it was, but everyone had seen it, and everyone was convinced that it was not a human, nor a animal of any sort.

We decided to stay away from the woods for a while. Problem is that the wildlife around here is scared of people, even children, and there has been one bear siding in over 80 years. Continued, the best is yet to come. Last summer, we decided to be tough guys and find out what the hell that thing was. This time, we would go with three ATVs. in case we'd have to bail out fast. We took two cameras, three 308s, and one 1276 with slugs.

There were four of us, by the way. Load of survival gear, and one of my buddies managed to get a Gen 2 NV camera. We also had seven pipe bombs in case shit got out of hand. Yeah, it was kind of lame, fake operator tier shit, but we thought we'd get it all famous and shit if we actually killed it or got footage of it. Anyways, we entered the woods with our gear and headed for the facility. Again at the facility, everything looks normal and birds are seeing it again. No sign of anything abnormal.

We decided to map the surrounding area and look for anything suspicious. Nothing was found. We may camp at the very same warehouse as we did the last time, night falls, and everything is still normal. We have guard shifts during the night, but nothing happens. Next day we start exploring the woods area around the facility. We find a peculiar pile of dead trees, looked like someone had hauled them there.

We take a closer look. The trees are arranged in a fashion similar to a fuck huge bird's nest. In the middle of the nest, there is one half rotten moose carcass in a shitload of different animal bones. We start quietly noping back to our campsite. We park our ATVs next to the warehouse. We keep our camp in. We enter the camp warehouse and see our camping gear all torn up.

The somewhat expensive cameras smashed to against, the floor, food taking, and sleeping bags torn to pieces. Fuck. We take everything we couldn't in like a minute and start driving the hell out of Dodge. It's evening by the time we get back to the public campground. A police officer stops us by the gates and checks our gun permits. Then the officer proceeds by asking whether we wanted to volunteer for a search operation or ATVs would be much appreciated. Some hiker had apparently gone missing in the nearby forest, 20 kilometers from the facility site. We look at each other and shake our head.

One of my buddies quickly said something about being late and we drive out of there. The dude who went missing was never found. We decided that we wouldn't go in a woodsing in that part of the country anymore. No, he didn't sadly, but there you go. Dude who went missing actually was found. Local police released it to the media. And he linked the actual article, but it's all in Finnish. And I can't read Finnish and like you need to sign up for something.

and so I can't, I'm not going through the whole effort of signing into a Finnish website. Title says, Missing Thai Berry Picker found dead in Lapland. So that's interesting. So do you think something was out there? Do you think it was a Wendigo or a Skinwalker or something of the sort? Or do you think it's just a four-chance story? But it's very interesting how there is an article of someone who is found dead in the area.

So maybe something's out there in the area. the northern Finnish woods. Who knows? A few years ago in 2008, a native friend and I went up to the Northwest Territories on a hunting trip. A little background. I live in Alberta and I'm in the Canadian Army. Third Canadian Division, so I'm a good tracker. My friend who we will call Penua, which is his surname, is Algo Cuyon, also a good tracker. He also lives in Alberta, but was born on a reservation. His family had taught him all the legends and customs when he was growing up, but he handles modern society well.

Anyway, we drove for a long time. I wasn't keeping track, but it was more than just a few days. We were headed to a heavily forested region west of the Great Slave Lake. Pick related. I believe that's the general area that this happened. There were no government roads back there, so the drive was rough. The snow was also shit, but we were both used to it and loved cold weather anyway.

When we had found a good spot to park, we got our things out of the bed of my truck and began our trudging through the snow to find a place to set up camp. We wanted to camp in a place a few kilometers from where we parked. To give us a bit of a challenge. Even though it was very heavy snow,

the place was beautiful. The nature was completely untouched. I tried snapping a few shots with my phone, but none of the pictures came out good. It was disappointing, but at least the drive was worth it. After walking for about three hours, we came into a clearing in the trees and made the decision that it was where we would set up camp. I began setting up our two-person tent. And Pan-o-wo, and I can't even pronounce this guy's name, I'm sorry, but I'll just call him Pan from here on. It's just

easier. And Pan was clearing the snow off of the ground to prepare a fire pit. I had set up the tent in our sleeping bags and helped Pan with the fire pit. Once that was done, I told him to follow me to find some firewood. He nodded, understanding that it was going to be dark soon and we would need fire. We both had hatches with us and began chopping branches off some of the pines close to the camp. The wood was wet, so it was going to be difficult to get it dry for the campfire. We had a good stack of thick branches and carried them back. When we returned, there were tracks in the snow that weren't ours. They seemed to be a kind of morphed human footprint. Pan and I exchanged strange looks. and set our wood piles in the area that was cleared for a fire.

You think someone else's camping nearby, I asked? Pan shrugged and replied, I can't say for sure. Normal people wouldn't walk in the snow barefoot. We returned to our tent and took our rifles out of their carrier cases. Now alert. We should get the fire going now. We've probably got an hour left of sunlight, I said.

I headed to the pit. Set up some of the wood. Covered it with some dry hay that I had brought for firestarts. and got to work on the flint. The fire died out early, so we tossed our beers in a plastic bag and headed into the tent. I got out of my sleeping bag and fell asleep quickly. I was awoken late at night by the sound of snow crunching. I got out of my sleeping bag as soundly as I could, but the movement seemed to alert whatever

was outside, and the snow crunching stopped. I shook Pan until he woke up. He knew I wouldn't have woken him up unless it was something serious. I pointed to the tent door and grabbed my front. rifle. Pan grabbed his as well. I practically tore the zipper down and snapped my rifle up as fast as I could, stepping out of the tent slowly. Pan held a flashlight in one hand and his rifle in the other, pointing the light in all directions. Nothing, except more footprints like we had found earlier. Something was definitely following us. I'll get a fire going. Don't you let go of that rifle,

I told. Pan nodded and held his rifle to both hands. I got a fire going as fast as I could and pulled my rifle from around my arm and sat close to the fire. We sat there until sunrise, feeling watched the entire time. I was sweating even though it was probably five degrees outside. When it was lined enough, we made a quick breakfast and decided we would track whatever was following us. For the next four hours, we were following a very faint trail.

We couldn't be sure what we were following, what made the tracks a camp, or just Wild Life. that part was written really badly, but I think he's just saying we don't know what was making the tracks. And regardless, we are led to a carcass forced onto a branch of a tree. Basically, it was as if someone had torn a cariboon half and forced the second half onto a branch. It smelled awful and was partially frozen. It seemed like it had been there for at least a day or two. We continued following the trail, but the smell of death and decay never really left. Somewhere along the walk we had heard a very distant, but also a very distinct shriek of some sort, like the sound a pig makes when it's being butchered while still alive.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. We should turn and leave, Pan stated. Why? Bad spirits walk among us. I gave him a kind of, what the fuck are you talking about, look, and replied, Are you sure? I'd like to know what the hell is out there. Your curiosity is going to get us killed.

I sighed and nodded, letting Pan take point on the walk back. I didn't recognize anything on the way back, not even the dead caribou on the tree. Are we lost, I asked. Pan stopped and turned to me and said, I don't know. The trail vanished only minutes after we turned back. I was pissed. Why the fuck didn't you say anything? I don't want to alarm you. I figured if we walked in the same direction we came, we'd get to the camp.

Even our own tracks are gone. We need to stop now and figure out where the hell we are. I took my backpack off and opened it up, searching for my map and compass. While I was busy in my backpack, I saw Pan scramble for his rifle from the corner of my eye. He brought it up and fired off three rounds. I looked at him and said, what happened? I also brought up my rifle, but noticing Pan's face was white as snow on the ground. When to go, he said.

What? Pan didn't reply. He simply began backing up. and beckoned to me. I closed my backpack, put it on, and we both jogged through the trees. We had now been out there for close to seven hours, and the sun was going to set soon. I took duct tape from my bag and secured a flashlight on the end of the rifle, handing the tape to pan for him to do the same. We were no longer jogging, but picking up the pace indeed. We wouldn't be able to track anything in the dark. We were feeling watched all the time and kept tearing branches snapping only

meters away. Somehow, though, we found our camp. By this time, it was already dark. We packed up our things as quickly as we could and left the non-essentials behind. Our tent had been torn open as well as our bags. It was very obvious that something was here. Right as we were about to depart, I shot my flashlight at the tree line that we just came out of. What I saw made my animalistic instincts kick into hyperdrive. It looked so skinny that it's but bones were almost pushing out of its skin. The eyes appeared so sunken, almost black, and the bony fingers were jagged, like twigs. It was just standing there, watching us, a vicious black fluid dripping from its mouth. I gasped for air and fired a round,

cocked the rifle, fired again, and again. My hands were shaking bad. Pan now had also began firing. Once the smoke had settled, the thing was gone. We were now sprinting to find my truck. I wish we hadn't parked so far away. We had no idea what our surroundings were, only what direction we were going. Everything was dark except for these strained beams of our flashlights. I was so exhausted, and I was now running entirely off of adrenaline. We heard the screams again, but this time it didn't stop and were much closer to us. Us. I turned while running. Where the fuck was Pan? I stopped running. knowing the danger. But I was not going to leave my friend behind. I shouted his name multiple times,

only hearing the ghastly, inhuman screeches in return. I shine my flashlight at the trees, desperately looking for any sign of him. He was gone. Then I saw movement, a lot of movement. This was no longer just one thing hunting me. This was many things hunting me. I don't want to leave Pan behind. But my brain screamed at me to fucking run. Whatever they were, they were now only one to three meters behind me. And my body just kind of turned and began sprinting on its own. At least, that's what it felt like. I now knew what it was like to be a gazelle being chased by the lion. I felt nothing but fear. I have no idea how long I was running. But at one point I broke out of the trees and into the road. I was ecstatic and continued sprinting on the road until I spotted my truck.

I tore my keys from the lanyard on my backpack, and as soon as I got to the door, I shoved the keys in. threw myself onto the seat. I locked the door hoping it might do some good and started the engine. The headlights went on, and there he was. Standing in front of the car was Pan. I screamed, get in the car. Instead of running to the passenger door, he twitched and seemed to float towards the driver's door. My instincts once again kicked in and I slammed the pedal. I was practically flying down the iciest roads you can imagine. I have no idea how I didn't wreck and die. I didn't slow down until I was back on the government road. I was almost crying the entire time.

When I got back to the nearest town, I told the police what happened. I left out the Wendigo part, fearing they would dismiss my story as a joke. I told them my friend's name, where we had camped, I left them my phone number, and started my drive back to Alberta.

I couldn't wait to get back home. They still haven't found them. And then attached on this post is a, uh, Bigfoot map. like a map of reported Bigfoot locations.

And you can see Alberta, there's a few. I mean, they're talking about the Windigo. So I don't know if this has anything to do with it or it's in relation at all. But a lot of Bigfoot reports in the U.S., but not a lot in Alberta.

But who knows? What happened to his friend? And hopefully he's all right. Pan. And yeah, I'm sorry I couldn't pronounce that right. But anyways, on to the next one. Hey, X. I'm posting here today because I need your opinion and advice on something.

Recently, I created a life-sized dummy out of plastic and packaging tape. I used myself to mold it by wrapping my body in layers of plastic wrap, then in layers of tape, and then cutting it off and taping it back together again. Once I made the structure, I put clothing on her and gave her a really effed-up makeup job. She's supposed to look disturbing for this particular art project, and then put a cheap blonde wig on her. I named her Carol. I gave her a backstory and a personality, and for the past week or so, have been treating her as if she was real.

I brought her into school with me, and a lot of people were really creeped out by her, especially my art teacher. Today he told me that he didn't want it in the art room anymore. When I asked him why, he said that when he was staying in the room late that night, Carol had been in that corner of the room, which was where she'd been all week. He went into his office for a moment. And when it came out, she had apparently moved from that corner and positioned herself right next to the door to his office. This freaked him out a lot and didn't want her to be there anymore. So I did him a favor and brought her home with me.

She's standing next to me right now. My mom wants me to get rid of her. She says that she gets a strange, creepy feeling from her. I do too. It seems like everyone does. And I kind of want to get rid of her. The thing is, I need her at least until Tuesday so I can complete this art project that involves taking photographs with her. I also worked pretty hard on her, which would make her even harder

to get rid of. What should I do? Picture only semi-related. I don't have a picture of Carol right now. And then someone says, post pictures. I want to see this thing. And then the Opie says, Okay, I've decided to destroy her today. I'm having my friend help me with it, and I'll be taking a few pictures of her. I'll post them when I get back. And then someone else replies in comments saying, Keep it. After all, looking disturbing was the whole point, wasn't it? Give yourself a pat on the back for the job well done. When you're done taking pictures, post them here. And then kill it with fire. And then some other comments. Someone says, that was fast, but okay, I'm waiting. You better not be lying. This better be up later. Do not destroy her. Where's the carol I ordered? I want picks now.

Good story, but there's no Carol. So a lot of people didn't think this Carol doll was even real. And then the O.P. says, I'm leaving now to go on my photography adventure and then to destroy her. I just want to get rid of her before this thing, whatever it is, if it's even anything at all, gets any worse. See ya. And then some people comment saying stuff like, O.P.'s never going to come back. Don't you need her to pass your project?

Don't kill her till then. Need picks now. these scary possessed doppelgangers doll how many fears is something like this encompass anyway someone else says opi is going to get killed and then the opi says all right i'm back we hardly took any pictures because i don't want to be around her longer than i had to be but my friend who was with me is going to post the picks as they are on their camera enjoy and then some people say stuff like do want yes yes and then the opi posts the pictures all right, here are the photos.

We just got back from the park where we dismantled and properly disposed of her. And then someone says, Jesus, that thing is just disturbing. And then the O.P. posts two more pictures of Carol

and, yeah, very, very disturbing doll, if you can even call it that. And then some other people say stuff like, what the hell were you thinking when you made that goddamn disturbing, creepy thing? Jesus. Pick won't load. At least O.P. delivered. Can someone repost, though? Fuck, man. I wouldn't want that thing around either. Okay, I thought O.P. was full of bullshit and wouldn't

deliver, but that freaked me out. Thank God you disposed of her before she decided to start ripping off human flesh to make her own skin suit. And then I think O.P.'s friend makes a comment on the thread saying, not only do I provide pictures, here's my brief of the situation for everyone. Long story short, OP created this plastic cast of herself and treated it like a real human as an art project. And being the time of year when the division of our plane and the metaphysical plane is the thinnest, I don't know what that means, but it started in accumulating a bad aura. Her mom was terrified of it. And O.P., mom and I picked up on it too.

So we took her to the park, took her apart, and put the parts in separate dumpsters around town. Yeah, me treating it like a real person probably attracted some sort of metaphysical asshole to it or something, but it's all good now. At least we got some picks before killing her. And then some comments and notable comments on the thread. So we took her to the park, took her apart and put the parts in separate dumpsters around town. Someone says, great thinking. Now she can't put herself back together. This thread was truly a win for X. OP delivers. And then someone says, shit, the picks loaded and I wish they hadn't. You're going to shit bricks when you find her standing on your front lawn,

put back together one morning. Someone else says, I formally proclaim this the best X for 2008. Someone else says, quite possibly the creepiest thing to happen to X in a long, long time, good job. And then there's some other comments, but not really notable. But yeah, very, very creepy photos. And here's some high resolution ones. But, yeah, disturbing as hell.

But luckily, the OP destroyed it. Anyways, on to the next one. Something came into my town during the storm yesterday. Hey guys, I don't normally post here except to poke fun at people and bump interesting threads, but something happened to me yesterday that I need to talk about. Be me. Living with folks in town near Chicago. Not a complete N-E-E-E-T yet.

Do contract work as a network technician while studying at a local college. Mom worked for a small telephone and internet company as a secretary. Small is in like four people. I know the owner pretty well. He'll often hire me for jobs. Nice guy. Get a call on Tuesday. They're moving to a different office nearby.

It needs some networking gear organized and put into a new storage unit tomorrow. It's paid and I have nothing better to do since chickenpox is taking all my work away. I agree. Next day it's raining. Get a call and boss suggests I wait for it to let up so. the boxes don't get soaked. Wait a while. Rain lets up a bit. I head out. Get there and start loading boxes into my mom's Ford since it's bigger than my car. Take them to storage units and get them nice and organized. Storage complex is between highway and about an acre of forested area. I worked at

UPS for two years. This is nothing. Make a few runs. Unit is looking nice. Pick related. Took around second run and then he shows a picture of just the boxes and the storage unit and he continues saying while partway through with my third, the rain picks up like crazy. They've been raining all day and we've been getting flooded, but this was really heavy. Can't get boxes from my car to the unit in this rain, so I get comfy inside the unit. Put on some jazz, don't judge me, and start working on fixing a MacBook for another client. Work for about two hours while I wait for the rain to clear up. Cozy. It just keeps getting worse.

It's not very cold, though, and only about three in the afternoon, so I'm fine hanging out. I finished with the Mac a while ago and am now just chilling. Then I start hearing smashing from nearby. Sounds like something hitting metal. Car crash on the nearby highway? No, it's coming from the other direction. I really don't want to go out and get wet. And then he provides a second picture because the first picture in the first thread was upside down for some reason.

And he says, no clue why the image is upside down, doesn't look like that in paint. Here's a screenshot of the image, I guess. and then he continues saying, whatever. Some asshole probably drop something. This is a public area like 200 feet away from a busy highway. It's raining, but it's still the middle of the day, and I even saw other people earlier. Zero fear.

Keep working. Keep hearing various banging noises. I'm going to feel like a real idiot if I find out tomorrow that someone was hurt out there, and I don't bother checking. Fucking fine, I'll go check. Rain has let up a bit, but it's still pouring. Head out.

round corner looking for noise. Notice massive hole in the fence leading to a little forested area. See something white moving near a dumpster by a fence. Should be wearing glasses but I lost them a month ago and haven't bought new ones because poor. Spend one one hundredth of a second thinking, is that a big garbage bag under the dumpster? That's not a garbage bag. Garbage bags don't have arms. They don't click either. Pick related. It's a shitty map of the area and then the OP, like he said, provides a map of the area, which is actually really helpful. So he has a little map where he says, me, I guess all the orange things are the storage units. There's the trees, the acre of trees, which are to the north of him, I guess. And then the

highway to his south. And then he also, in the top right, has it. So whatever it is, the creature, I'm guessing, is all the way up there. Now, let me make something clear. I've read Skinwalker and in-a-wood stories on here for a long time and know all the tropes. This had none of them. It was the middle of the day. I'm not in some deep forest or ancient tunnel or abandoned farmhouse. I'm in the middle of a small town and can hear traffic on the highway just 300 feet away. I didn't smell any rotting blood or stop hearing the wind or anything. I didn't feel a sense of unease or nervous at all. This was not a setting I expected horror in. Still not convinced I'm in danger. just confused. Try and get a closer look at this thing. Maybe 100 feet away from it. Can see what

looks like a big bag of skin under there, but there's this massive white spikes poking out from under it. Keep hearing clicking noises. Hello? Who's that? Immediately regret making yelling out. Why would I do that? This is the kind of thing I get mad at people and other green text for doing. Typewriter garbage bag thing must have heard me. Something big squeezes out from underneath the dumpster. Massive pile of skin and spiky bits, at least four feet tall. It stands up. It is now taller than me, at least six, five. It looks like if you took a spider, reversed its body, made it pale white and slapped big pointy arms on it. It has a pointy and angular body type, like a crayfish or a spider, but clearly fleshy instead of hard, except for the tips of its

arms and legs. Face is smooth and flat, except for a slit on each side of its head, in a recession at the bottom, full of little moving things. Didn't get a good look. I think they looked like a crawfish mouth parts. Even from where I am, I can tell it's covered in tons of scratches and bruises. The creature is clearly not happy. It doesn't seem to mind the rain, but every time there's thunder, it flinches hard. Also seems to be spitting up a large amount of water out of its mouth.

Imagine it is in the corner seen in the pit. You can kind of see the torn fence, but the dumpster was moved. And yet, the Opie is referring to the picture he included, where you can see right here is the point of view he's talking about, I guess. And I don't know how far away the creature is. I guess the corner where the torn fences, you can kind of see the torn fence. It's very, very kind of hard to see, but it's good that the Opie is providing these pictures. I can hear it fucking clicking loudly now. Not like a bat or dolphin, though.

It sounded like a typewriter or something flicking a lighter. start freaking out internally. This is not possible. I live in a decently sized city. There's no forests or swamps or deserts for whatever this is to hide. The forest nearby is like an acre wide. You'd be able to see through it if not for the little hill in the middle. It doesn't give a shit if it's possible.

It's moving towards me. Thankfully, it doesn't seem very fast. Quickly think. I don't know what this is. I have no weapons and my car is 100 feet away from the corner. I don't know how fast or dangerous. this thing is either. Start slowly backing away. Too scared to let it out of my sight. Yelling progressively louder, hoping someone will hear me. Hello? Hello, help. Anyone help, please.

It starts moving faster, clicking more rapidly. It moved kind of like a crab with the six, I think legs at the bottom, moving it around while the two-armed things were raised up like claws. Try to move faster to get away, but I'm still too terrified to turn away from it. End up awkwardly backwards running into a concrete bollard and fucking up my back. It's moving really quick now. It's about 20 feet away from me. Absolutely terrified, but I grab a loose piece of asphalt to get ready to try and smash it in the weird mouth parts. Suddenly, loud truck horn on the highway nearby. It starts flinching again. Take my chance to cower it out. Throw a rock at its head, miss, and haul ass away. Eventually reached the row of storage units my car is in. Get in. Start the engine. Peel the fuck out. Get to get

of storage complex, no time for codes. Instead, I do something incredibly stupid. Hop out of my car, scale the fence, and start running across the busy highway into a fucking graveyard. Pick mostly unrelated. Funny car I saw there earlier that day. So this is where most of the excitement ends. Instead of turning into another green text, the graveyard was fine. I ran to the nearby church, a little parish office lady, let me in, and let me use her phone to call the police. Obviously, I didn't tell her that I saw a fucking skin spider monster, but someone with guns needs to get in their ASAP. Tell them I saw a shifty-looking man waving a pistol round at the self-storage center. I waited at the chapel for one to arrive and thank the old lady. The cop asked me some questions

and I just gave vague answers. Didn't need to lie about fucking up my back by backing into a concrete ballard though. Apparently, cops found nothing there. There was another guy in the storage area at the time who heard me scream, but wasn't able to find me before I ran out of there. I'm not an artist, but I tried to draw what I saw. Sorry for the low quality. And then the O.P. Yeah, draws whatever monster he saw.

And yeah, this thing looks like an alien of some sort. So he has a human to scale, I guess. And I think he said it was six foot three or so. But you can see the flaps, not eyes, and the flaps that open and closed, maybe ears. And then long legs and a weird. spider body, bruises and cuts all over. He said, mouth parts like a crawfish. No eyes, nose or any face, perfectly smooth. Very, very weird. Anyways, let's continue. I should mention, I had to go back

there today. No rain, was nice and sunny, but even though I reported an armed and dangerous homeless man to the police, my mom still wanted the work done. If I wasn't going to do it, She was, and I'm not sending my own mother to go get Ian alive by typewriter skin spider, so I tell her, I'll go and finish the job. I do it, and it was uneventful. I saw one cop there keeping a lookout, who nearly jumped out of his skin when I said hello, but said nothing was wrong. I took a couple of picks for you guys and got the fuck out. No, I'm not going to go investigate the area. I'm not R-worded. All I had to ride on for the timestamp was gloves because pandemic. And so this picture does kind of confirm that the OP, you know, wasn't finding these pictures

off of the internet or anything. These were authentic pictures taken by the OP. And I mean, it's kind of up for you to decide if you believe he found an alien there or an alien creature. But then the thread continues. One person says, white, no eyes, echo location, doesn't like loud noises. O.P, that's a fucking cave monster. Where on your map did you forget to draw the opening to the Hell Cave. Someone else says, sounds like a demon. Pretty rare to see ones like that. Definitely echo location. You said there was no smell? And then the OPEE responds to these comments saying, no caves. Well, I say no caves, but back when I was around five, I was friends with an older boy named Joey, who made offhand mentions to a fucking sick cave somewhere nearby. I thought he was full of shit

because this is the same Joey who climbed into the tree in my backyard and started talking to convince my dumb ass, I had a magic talking tree. I'd ask him for details, but about 15 years ago, he got into some problems with drugs. Broke into my garage to steal my dad's tools, and then him and his family moved away a few months later. And then he replies to the smell question saying, no smell. It was raining pretty hard, though, and I don't doubt I would have been able to smell much anyways. Plus, it never got closer than about 25 feet. And then some other commenter comments with a theory, saying, theory time, it lives in a cave somewhere in that acre of forest. It's clearly flexible, seen as despite being over six feet tall, it's able to squeeze under a

dumpster that's probably only a few inches off the ground. Because of this, this entrance to its cave is probably only a couple feet wide, small enough for people to miss. It never comes out because clearly it's adapted to life underground, and if it were to come out, people would have seen it by now, considering how small the air he is. During the heavy rain, it's cave flooded and it was forced to escape. That's most likely where it got all its bruises and cuts from. Once it got to the surface, it started trying to hide under something, hence the dumpster. Since it uses echolocation, it can't detect anything very well in the rain, which is why it didn't hear you until you yelled at it. As you were yelling for help, it could get better and better sense of where you were,

so that's why it went faster. After the truck horn stunned it, and he ran. ran off, the sirens of the police probably scared it back into the forested area. How they didn't find it there, if they checked, is beyond me. But if the rain has stopped now and the water receded, then it's probably back in its cave now. And that was one hell of a theory by a random commenter. But anyways, someone else comments, shit O.P., I'm sorry to have to ask this, but I think you've got to get in them woods. At the minimum, put a solar hunt in the camera out there and just check after it rains again.

You can buy them for like 40 bucks at Walmart. And then the thread kind of gets all over the place in the way the screen cap was captured. So I'm going to try my best because now it's just kind of sporadic comments and the O.P. So I'm just going to try my best. But anyways, someone comments, OPE, no need to hunt or even encounter it. Be like the real field scientist. Place trap cameras around potential cave openings. And obviously, this thing will go straight up trash.

So I'd use something rotten and soupy like an old stew and just chum the area. No need to fight it or capture it. it, observe, note, plan, and then act. Someone else says, Interesting story, O.P. Instructions below. Bring your boys and go out into the woods to track down. Start by looking for some cave entrances.

If you find any, rig cameras. We believe in you. Also, investigate the dumpster under which it was hiding. And then the O.P. Respondes to some of these questions saying, Interesting. Thanks for sharing the expertise. Are Arthropods flexible?

It seemed to be able to fit in that really small. space under the dumpster for something that was over six feet tall when it stood up. That's actually a super good idea. I'll look into picking one up tomorrow. I think that he's replying to the Walmart camera idea. And then the final one he responds to is I'll use mine for scale so the size of both is ambiguous. And like I said, this final screen cap is kind of all over the place. So I'm just kind of reading all the comments and the O.P.'s responses.

So sorry about that. But then the O.P says, sorry, dude, not going to say. I mentioned my mom works for a small telecoms company in my town. There aren't many small telecoms companies in my town, and her name and number is listed on their website. As much as I like hanging out with you guys, I'd rather track down the clicking Flesh Spider and try to kill it with that rock

than let anyone on this website contact my mother. It's not far from Chicago, though. On a really clear day, you can see the Sears Tower from there. And this gives us some good insight, knowing that the O.P. is from Chicago, and then the OP posts another kind of comment saying for ease of use. I'm not sure. I don't own a gun because Kami Blue State.

The closest thing I have is my grandfather's old police baton from the Chicago riots in an artillery shell from World War II. And then he says, Interesting. I should point out that this thing definitely didn't seem intelligent or sentient. It just seemed like a stressed and angry animal. Not sure if that helps. I know that no one here actually knows anything about exactly what I saw yesterday.

but out of curiosity, can you kill corpial demons via normal, non-spiritual means? And then in the thread, there is some pictures of what I assume is the police baton that the opi was talking about that is grandfather used in World War II for the Chicago riots. And he also puts a picture of his drawing of the creature with click, and the X and then the number. So you know it's from the OP. Very interesting police baton. and also there's a screen cap or a picture of Google Earth, apparently where it took place. You can see the storage unit.

And you can also see the woods above it where I don't know what's in those woods, but I guess people are speculating. That's where the creature lives. I don't know. And the rest of the thread kind of falls apart. People start making jokes. And yeah, we don't really hear from the OP again. But a very interesting thread.

I mean, do you believe the OP? He definitely came with receipts. of some sort. I mean, he posted pictures of where it took place, and it makes sense to an extent, but do you think there's some sort of weird alien arthropod in the Chicago suburbs? Let me know down in the comments. Interesting and unique story. I've been living in a townhouse with my parents with the last couple of summers, and before that for a couple of years in high school. For some ill-fated reason, we've always had terrible neighbors. When we first moved in,

We had a woman in our teenage daughter who regularly sold H out of her room. Then a family with what seemed was the loudest, angriest chihuahua in the world. For those unfamiliar with townhouses, it's like having a regular house with all of the noises of an apartment building. The reason we've stayed so long is my dad became friends with the owner, and apparently we get fantastic rent. Anyway, right before I came back from college one summer, my old neighbors, a middle-aged Mexican couple and their kid left and some new tenants came in. I usually don't keep up with who's living

next to us unless they're extremely effing annoying or they park on our side of the driveway. So the first night back, I decide I'm going to smoke a little Zah and listen to some music. My room happens to be adjacent to an identical one on the other side. So when I open the window, I can see light spilling out from the window onto their patio. It's around 3 a.m. so I wonder why they're up so late, or if they just left the light on. But I decide I really don't give a F, so I go through my backpack and look for my pipe. It's not there. Without my peace, I resort to survival-style methods of getting high and decide to make myself a nice little apple pipe. I go downstairs to the kitchen, get all the shit, come back upstairs and I realize my window is closed.

I look outside my room, down the hall at my parents' room, and it's closed. They're sleeping, sleeping so, it couldn't be them. I decided getting high is more important than investigating, so I go open the window and realize the light next door is now off. As I move from the window to my computer, I hear my window shut hard, and my blinds fall, all simultaneously. I turn around, scared as all fuck, but nothing is there. The next thing I hear is my parents' door opening and my mom coming into my room.

She looks pissed, but then the color drains from her face when she sees me looking very, very scared. Looking afraid as fuck is not the usual me, so she's immediately worried. I explain what happened, but she dismisses it as me being a dumb fuck and trying to scare her. She tells me it's not funny and to knock it off and goes back to bed. Eventually, my will to get high is stronger than my fear, so I smoke a bowl and go to bed. Nothing out of the ordinary happens for a few weeks, so I chalk it up to some strong wind, but I can't really explain everything, so I try to keep it out of my head.

Come July, I'm usually out of the house all day, but that day is slow, so I decided to take it easy and lurk around on my laptop for a bit. It's all a bit boring, so I decided to call a friend over. As I reach for my phone, I hear this ripping noise behind me, and when I look, there is a hole in my window screen and the edges are jutting out towards me, meaning something punched it from the outside. Except my room is on the second story. My first thought was, Holy shit,

a ghost just tried to falcon punch its way into my room. Then to, holy shit, a bird just busted through my window. I spent an hour looking for a bird corpse inside my room and out of my patio, which my window is overlooking. I look up at my room and read, realize two things. Number one, my window is now closed and I'm the only one in the house.

Two, the window of the room next to mine is not only open, but has no screen, and the light is on. I rush back inside and when I get upstairs to my room, the window is open again, except this time, the window screen is gone. As in, it's on the floor and it's not outside. Somebody slash something stole my window screen. For some reason, the first thing I do, is, is angrily march over next door to yell at the tenants next door for stealing my shit. But it's not until I'm outside, I realize that's not even possible. The distance from one window to other is way too far. I go back in and decide I'm not going back upstairs until my parents get home.

They eventually get back, but I don't bother to explain, even though they might get suspicious about the missing window screen. I reluctantly climb back upstairs, unfortunately, everything is the way I left it. window closed, blinds up. I moved to close the blinds and notice that once again, the light is on next door. The light is spilling onto the patio when I detect movement outside. Somebody is casting a shadow onto the patio from the window. I pay attention to the shadow.

It's pretty clear it's a person standing there. But that's the thing that bothered me. They were just standing there. As if they were intently focused on something and refused to move. then the light quickly blinks off, then on again. But now the shadow is gone. I start panicking. Nothing moves that fast. It was literally in the blink of an eye. I closed the blinds and sleep with the lights on that night. Just like before, no activity for a couple of weeks. Around the end of July is when my parents announced they're going to vacation to Mexico. They want me to stay at the house and take

care of it and in exchange, I can throw a party or two as long as I don't overdo it. I'm fucking ecstatic, just thinking of all the shit I'm going to do for a week and a half with an empty house. And I'm not even thinking of all the paranormal shit that happened. Days later, I dropped them off at the airport and pick up my friend, Karen, deciding to cries in my temporary bachelor pad with a smoking session. As soon as we come in, we both realize it is freezing. By the time I get to the thermostat in the living room, she's shivering and rubbing her arms, even though she's wearing a hoodie. I look at the thermostat. Its thermometer is. is reading 45 degrees, but it's set to 80. Karen says something like,

your heating is fucked up, but she's interrupted by a crash upstairs. She says, aren't we alone? Feeling like I wasn't going to let this shit ruin my plans, I tell her, if we're not, we're going to be. We rush upstairs, finding my bookcase and my desk on the ground. My books and pretty much all my stuff all over the floor. She helps me clean up as I explain the last two incidents. Karen doesn't really believe in anything. anything paranormal. So the two of us discuss some reasonable explanations for what's been happening. We both conclude that most likely it's the neighbors. They've been getting into the house somehow, and they're possibly using the window as a way to distract me. She convinces me they've taken

this shit way too far, so we decide I should confront them and tell them I've had enough. As we walk outside in the little light that's still left, I notice there's no car in their driveway. That's when it hits me. I've never. seen their car. I've never seen them leave. And except for that shadow, I've actually never seen them at all. I stagger and eventually stop as I come to this realization, noticing me lag behind. Karen asked me if something's wrong. I respond. Karen, I've, I've never seen them. Well, now you'll meet them. It's probably a good idea to get to know your neighbors, even if they sneak it to your house to wreck your shit. No, I mean, there's a possibility nobody's going to answer because no one lives there.

She makes a confused face. Looks over to the house, then back to me and says, What are you talking about? Somebody has to live there. Haven't you asked your parents about the neighbors at least once? I explained to her that I've never cared as most of the tenants move in for a couple of months, then move out when I assumed the owner got tired of their shit. Usually it was for falling behind on the rent or because they trashed the place. My parents even told me that on two separate occasions, the police had asked them if they had heard any fighting or yelling next door, as apparently they had been called on a possible domestic violence situation. Looking increasingly concerned, she muttered. Maybe it wasn't domestic violence? What if

whatever's next door has been bothering the tenants, scaring them until they move out? Now that no one's there, it's trying to kick you out. Taking in that possibility, my emotions turn from fear to anger. I could understand getting spooked every once in a while, but kicking me out from the house? Absolutely fucking not. My newly uncovered anger affords me some confidence, and I find myself pounding heavily on the door, Karen behind me. Nobody answers. We couldn't look through the window, as the blinds were closed and the glasses were covered in smudges left by, fingerprints. The rest of the house was surrounded by a fence, so I decided I'd see if I could take a look from inside the patio. From there, I could see that the window was closed, but that the

light in the room was on. As I turned to Karen, I saw it through my own window that the door to my room was opening. Slowly, my heart pounded as I simultaneously pointed to the door and signaled Karen's look. We both stood in silence as the door opened ever so slowly. as if whatever was behind it was having great difficulty with its weight. Ajar enough for a person to fit through. The door suddenly stops and into my room walks somebody or something. But at that instant, the lights in the room fucking explode, shrouding everything into darkness.

We shield our eyes from the flash, and when we look back up, the blinds have been closed. But in that instant, right before the lights blew, we managed to catch a glimpse of it. It definitely had a human shape, but as for the rest, I believe Karen put it best. It looked fucking dead. In that brief moment, I saw its gray skin, modeled with bruises, its drenched hair fallen onto its shoulders, sticking to its chest with moisture.

The purple-stained neck led to its disfigured face, like the victim of a savage beating, contorting its face into a permanent expression of anguish. What Karen noticed was the yellow eyes. Decane. The pupils now flattened like a goat's due to the rot. It was some fucked up shit. Any anger or confidence or rationale that we previously possessed had dissipated. We are balls to the wall scared.

We stand in the patio, paralyzed for what seems like hours. Karen finally speaks up. We've got to call the cops. We can at least make them go through the house. I call the police and tell them there's an intruder in my house. A squad car shows up and two cops search the entire house. Nothing. I asked them if they can search the one next door, but they say they're not allowed without a warrant.

Eventually they leave. We decide that since the cops have gone through it, it must be somewhat safe. We go to my room to find the window once again wide open and the blinds up. I go to close them, but I find that either are impossible. The window simply won't move. And if I had strained more to lower the blinds, I would have broken the string. Karen and I cleaning the glass from the busted lights, exhausted and concerned, I fall into my bed, and Karen sits in my computer chair. I tell her I'm out of ideas besides breaking into the house next door with a fucking tire iron.

She says that maybe that's not such a bad idea. And that's when I notice it. In front of my room is the attic door. And it's been slid open. I move quickly to shut my door and lock it. Karen looks panicked. Karen, do you think they search the attic? I ask desperately, hoping for a yes.

Probably not, she says. I look around the room, seeking bludgeoning weapons. I pick up one of those heavy marble-based trophies. She picks up a disused lava lamp. I swing the door open only to find the attic door is now sealed. We run downstairs, but instead of running out the door, I run into the garage where I pick up a fucking tire iron in a big wrench.

I toss Karen the tire iron. She asks me if I'm high. I say no and tell her if she doesn't want to come, she can sit in the car. She refuses and takes a few practice swings of the tire iron. We march upstairs. I turn on the attic light and using a stool, we gradually climb into the attic.

Despite the summer weather, it's extremely cold in there. I spot what confirms my suspicions. Opposite our attic door is the door from the other house. partially hidden under a pile of insulation. Wondering why anyone would want to share attic space like that, we approach the door, hesitant to go in.

I lift the door slowly and peek out my head into the hallway. All the doors are closed. Karen hands me the stool and we drop down into the hallway as silently as we can. Weapons ready to smash into anything. I decided the first thing I want to see is the room opposite mine. I try the handle, and sure enough, it's unlocked. I open the door swiftly with the wrench raised, but the room is empty, devoid of anything. The room is completely white, except for a black stain on the carpet in front of the window.

We approach it. It's actually two stains close together in the shape of human feet. They're black and shiny, as if somebody had purposely dipped their feet in tar and sat their feet there. As we're looking, the door slams behind us, and we hear somebody descending the stairs in a rush. Alarmed, we both raise our weapons and rush into the hallway to find the master bedroom door ajar. We decided to check it out before we go downstairs. As we approached the door, we notice a smell emanating from the room. It's a horrible stench, and we both reel back and hold our noses.

I stick out my arm and slowly push the door in. The stench did not in any way compare to what we saw. A fucking nest. The outside was made of newspaper, molded like paper mache into a roughly circular shape. Then in the middle was a ring of leaves, and I shit you not, matted hair. I looked at Karen, but her eyes were on the walls.

I looked up to see the nailed corpses of several neighborhood cats and dogs. The smell was unbearable, but the sights finally got to us. Karen vomited and I quickly followed. I insisted on find out more so I got closer to the nest. Immediately regretted it. Nestled in the middle were several bowls brimming with unidentifiable liquids. Some of them were watery and red. Some of them had what I recognized as the black substance we found in the other room.

Karen got closer as well. She was the one who noticed that the bowls were actually skull caps. We decide we are weighing over our heads, begin to leave the room. Once in the hallway we realize the stool is gone. We searched the other room unsuccessfully, comprehending we are now in deep shit. Both the stool and the other exits are below us, so no matter what, we're fucking going downstairs. We grip our weapons firmly and descend slowly into the pitch black anex, a fumble for a light switch, and surprisingly, I find one. The light is dimmed to the point of almost being useless, so we walk slowly

into the living room. As we get closer, we see a brighter lights coming from the corner. It's a small television. Turn on its side. Playing static. Karen whispers, now they're not even trying. We step into the middle of the living room. There's a small overturned couch face in the wall. I focus my eyes, trying to distinguish between shades of black. Way in the corner is something a little darker than the rest. I can tell by the way Karen grips or tire iron, that she sees it too. I whisper, our best bet is to just fucking kill right here, right now. If it's in the corner, it's because it's afraid of us, right?

Karen nods. That's when it jumps at us, making the most horrible sound. It was like hearing a death rattle backwards through a shortwave radio. We both swing, and we swing hard. I can tell I made impact because I thought I had broken my hand. The thing squealed, tumbled over and ran slash staggered into the kitchen. We trailed it, but it moved away too fast. The last thing we saw was it bursting through the front window as we turned around the corner. According to the official police report, a group of homeless men inhabited the premises for an uncertain amount of time.

And that's all as well, since we told the police all we heard was the window crashed next door. After I dropped Karen off, I came back to my room to find my window screen. Whole and all, lying against the wall. And next to it was a black, tarry handprint. Supax. I've been itching to spill my possibly paranoid theories regarding the area in which I used to work, East Yorkshire, specifically the Holderness Coast. The place is very rural, cut off from the rest of the country.

Seriously, no one passes through. And isolated socially due to a number of features, notably the thick accent with traces of Old Norse that's pretty much incomprehensible to outsiders. My work was in the logging trade. Six days a week I'd get up at 4 a.m. journey out the only major urban center, hole which coincidentally isn't that bad, to a wood farm, cut in bag up logs and kindling, load up my dirty white van and run-out deliveries to all the country folk who still think coal and coke are the only way to heat a bath. During my 12 years in this trade, I ran into a

lot of unsettling things, overheard strange ramblings, and witnessed a few suspicious things. Secondly, and this is well documented, the region has a nasty history regarding missing persons and child hurting. My mother, who was a social worker in the city, often talked of uncooperative police officers and child lover rings in institutionalized abuse in care homes. So anyway, I moved a few weeks ago, and have only recently started to be more comfortable talking about the things I suspect. Whilst it is suspicion, I could never shake the feeling that there was some super structure type thing that I didn't know about. And regardless of whether 90% of the things I'm about to divulge are wrong, there's still these seven people missing a day statistic, age-filled seaside towns, and child lover rings. Pick related, Mableton's Church, a hamlet I detect.

tested. Too small, locals to sly. The original was torn down in the 1850s, I think. My grandfather told me a few old wives tales, as he called them, regarding the reason for its tearing down. The original structure goes back to at least 1,100. Firstly, the old wives tale my grandfather used to tell me about the church. In the mid-19th century, Hornsea, a nearby seaside town, now filled with H, was very popular with factory workers from Hull. The story goes that the congressional used to kidnap kids from the town, bring them a few miles down the coast to Mableton, and, well, you know, do spooky stuff to them.

He never said what, but left it to my imagination. After a shipwreck near Hamlet and the murders of the survivors got out when the port authorities came looking for the goods, they found the graves of the kids took from Hornsea beneath the floors of the old medieval church. They tore it down and rebuilt it. don't know anything about what happened to those involved. He never claimed to know, but I now think the whole tale isn't too far from the truth. One incident sticks out, or rather a collection of events.

That leads me to believe child kidnapping is still a pastime for those backward fucks. Pick related, hornsey when it had some semblance of an industry. Should have made it clear. The Congregation of Mapleton's Church. In the late 1990s, when I just started in the wood trade, Mableton used to be three makeshift shacks on some land behind some terrace houses in the sea. I delivered to one house here. An old woman called Diedri, though she was known to me, and locally as the witch,

and Diedry was a heinously ugly woman. The nose, the warts, even on the nose. Wrinkles, rotting teeth, the works. No idea how old she was, but she could have been, 50 to 90 years old. Poor people aged quickly. The other two shacks belonged to her sons, whom I nor anyone else, claimed to ever see. Her shack was standard wood, salvaged PVC windows, and corrugated thing, covered in dirt and at least an inch of soot. During the year in question, a couple of kids had gone missing in one of the villages around the area. Not a lot of fuss was made.

Parents were junkies, apparently, so it's not like it mattered to anyone. During my rounds in the village, I overheard a conversation on my way into the back garden of one of the houses, very softly on the wind mine. So I could be mistaken. But it went along the lines of the witch never asked us. When I entered the backyard and I greeted my customer, old dirty fat guy, toothless, etc., and a farmer I haven't seen before then. I asked them the standard question. Been up to out or note? Translate, what have you been up to, dear sir? to which the customer replied, laughing, Luckin, there what's mine.

Translate, looking for what is rightfully mine, my good old chap. I asked whether the witch had something to do with it. He was startled by this, and the mood became a bit aggressive. Needless to say, I left it after that. I continued to the witch's shack, and knock on her door thing. No answer. Knock loudly. No answer, so I leave it.

Cursing her for making me luck heavy, bags of coal for no reason. The farmer I worked for, old happy Mike Gray, pro tip, he was a miserable sod, was quite the Jew with regards to currency. So he is distressed to not of got the pennies he was entitled to from the old witch and sent me back the next day. This time, she answers. She blocks the door and tells me she'll take the bags of coal in. Obviously, she can't carry bags of coal, so I insist, been polite and whatnot. Instead of the cheery thanks for, my niceness, she just huffs and puffs and lets me in. However, there were tiny handprints on the door frame leading to the adjoining room, and traces of tiny footprints where the floor

hadn't been traversed as regularly. Obviously, I put two and two together, act as if I didn't notice jack's shit, and promptly made my way to the post office to gather intel. The post office is the hub of social life in rural villages. I asked whether they'd seen the witch coming and going the past few days. The sub post mistress winked at me. No shit and says, Hey, and so take care of that. Translate. Affirmative, old being, but I'll see that your inquiry is acted upon. She made no effort to appear ignorant of what I was obviously hinting at. I mentioned the tiny handprints and the so, and she just acted so, well, she just didn't seem to care that I suspect her complicity in this thing. I ringed the police helpline for the case of missing kids,

and tell them what I saw. They promised to follow up on my report and treat me a bit like a fool. I start dreading go back to her shack the following week, but I didn't have to. A big storm hit the coast during the week. Coastal erosion is a massive thing on the coast. It loses a meter a year. And during storms is not unheard of for 10 plus meters to slip into the sea. And when I go back to Mavelton, drive onto the land where the shacks were, I see nothing.

The witch's shack obviously fell into the sea, and her son's shacks, which were further forward, were gone as well. I can see these shitty concrete flooring from where her sunshacks used to stand. I go to the post office again. There's also, like, nowhere else to go in Mapleton, barring the cliffs, and ask about her. Into sea. Translate. In the sea chum. Ask about her sons.

She just tells me they've gone with her. I'm pretty peeved now because she's obviously lying. I mentioned the concrete floors, and she just laughs me away, saying I'm a cheeky mare. I feel the atmosphere changed to one of aggression again and leave. So at that time, I'm really confused by it all. I carry on my rounds, the final house I delivered to in the village, was one of the terraces which overlooked the land the witch's shacks were on. As I'm taking the logs into the front room, I see, in the kitchen, one of those megablock.

I think pirate ships. This old guy, who swore like a sailor, had no family or friends that I knew of, was not spending a spare time playing with a kid's toy. Obviously, the villagers knew that the kids were nearby, or someone's kids were nearby, and they obviously used the storm as a cover to get back at the witch for what presumed to be her

taking a kid without their permission. Sounds far-fetched, and I'd agree with you, but the people in the general atmosphere of the town, plus the subtle cues I picked up on, or just wanted to pick up, leads me to think otherwise. I pushed the whole cursed fortnight to the back of my head to comfort in the fact I'd reported what I saw to the authorities and carried on as usual. I try and make light of it now, but it still really gets to me. Moving City, I'm in Aberdeen now, has improved my way of coping with that, and the other things I've noted. But anyhow, that's one of the more stark, obvious,

nasty shit things I've seen and been witnessed to. More to follow, though not necessarily as major. Thanks to those of you who are reading this. It's nice to get it all off my chest and stuff. So I've made it pretty clear that I think a lot of the rural folk around the area used to kidnap kids. I'll now detail a few other things that aren't really super creepy, but that I just kind of stood out as odd. In one hamlet, even smaller than Mavelton, called Rise, there was a primary school Not unusual in the country, but it was a derelict and other schools. Larger schools in the area existed. I'd usually get there quite late as it was on my roots back to the wood farm, about 4 p.m. in the day for me. And I'd always arrive with an old school bus, like a converted van thing, waiting outside the school.

Old guy in the driver's seat, no children in the van, no lights on in the derelict school. He'd just sit there in the van, idling. Sometimes if I was delayed, I'd see him drive off. Still, no kids in it. Never sat well with me. Why was he there? Every week. Huh.

An old lady in another village, I forget its name, apologies, had a nasty tumor on her face. Seriously, she was called Mrs. McCaskill. She was a very small and had mannerisms akin to crow. Very nasty eyes and face. Ha ha. Cancer face. and very twitchy and sharp in her movements. The thing that bugged me about her

was she had three chains bolted to the exterior of her house's back wall. Well, placed about four foot up, attached to leather, possibly neck straps. The wall was stained with grime. I reckon it was shit and piss. She didn't have any pets. No idea why she had those chains there. None whatsoever. This memory is very hazy,

as it comes from my childhood. I got into the wood business via my grandfather. I used to travel along with him most weekends as a kid. I used to deliver to the village when I was older. It's called Hallsham. I remember a young-looking guy opening the van door whilst I waited for my grandfather to drop off some kindling. He leant over the driver's seat and reached out for me.

Then it gets hazy. I vaguely remember my grandfather having it out with the kid verbally. And me having to go with him to a village hall, I think, and sit in some dude's office with the young guy. Like I say, it's a hazy memory. I don't remember much, but crying a lot. Ruse, a collection of several large mansion-type things, had one guy who had no fingertips.

Nice enough to me, but he had the type of land filled the rusted cars, and he had a son with serious learning difficulties, who looked like he had FAS, and FAS stands for fetal alcohol syndrome. What was sinister was his son been caught fondling a young person, on some abandoned land north of Hull. It was in the local rag, and the topic was obviously broached by me, in a polite way mind, on one of the deliveries. The guy with no fingertips was quite adamant. He didn't do anything wrong. When I mentioned he might get away with a lenient

sentence because of his FAS, he looked offended and told me, in no uncertain terms, he was a normal healthy kid. He wasn't. I replied if he didn't have healthy, issues, he did something quite wrong. Yet he still remained adamant, it was fine. Something about country folk, not being pansies, and taking what they're entitled to. I left it at that, remembering the Mapleton episode. On top of those relatively minor things, I used to see quite regularly lights in the wooded areas during winter when it got dark early. It was so regular, it never struck me as odd until I saw a couple of men walking out of a wooded area in front of me with shovels across the road into a farmer's yard. Again, nothing on its own. But with the culmination of the atmosphere and shit,

it did make me wonder. Another customer, from old Ellabry, used to give me some homemade preserve on the longest and shortest days of the year. She always promised me her special jam with a wink. Needless to say, that preserve was always thrown away when I got home. Thanks for the feedback, guys. Makes me feel like I'm not in an echo chamber, ha-ha. Next up, I'll tell you about the shit my mom mom used to talk about before she passed. She was hurt as a kid and adopted when she was eight. So she'd seen shit, but she was incredibly strong and pursued her career as a social worker, protective services rapidly. It kind of destroyed her health and she died relatively young, 52. There's a lane on the outskirts of hole, technically, in a village called Cottingham,

which is notorious for the murders carried out down it. It's called rather aptly S-word Mill lane. The most recent murder down there was about three years back. Some poor sap got jumped by two low lives with baseball bats and was pretty unrecognizable from what I heard. So, but anyways, I digress. In the 60s, when my mom was still a teenager, a six-year-old boy was found rolled up in a carpet. He'd been hurt, R-worded, and starved. Basically, he'd been kept as a plaything. Oh, God, that's horrible. Finished off with a knife and dumped. Not too unusual, sadly, but my mom always maintained that the reason why there was little to no investigation was because of the Hull's child lover ring, which reportedly contained senior police officers, judges, and counselors.

She maintained till the day she died that it still existed. And I believe her, not just because I respected and trusted her, but because in the past decade or so, more and more senior members of whole social and legal elite have been outed and prosecuted as child lovers. Never whilst they were an office or anything mind. Google Humberside Police Chief and Child Loving. Do the same for counselor. However, the kid wrapped up in a carpet in the 60s. Nothing on the net about him. Never been able to find shit. Make of that what you will. Next, I'll repost the stuff about Langthor Hall, which is up there with Mapleton in terms of how it made me feel, plus extra stuff on what I reckon is going on.

I made this hideous screencap wall of text thing because word limit kills me and he includes it but not the whole thing. So I can't even read it but he kind of summarizes it at the end here. So let's get into that. So I mentioned in the pick that Charlie, a friend of his, inherited the estate fairly young and had to see what to its business. I rang him yesterday to ask more about it since he sold up and he was surprisingly forthcoming regarding some details. His mom and dad both used to attend church and knew elderly on a Wednesday, late night. He reckons they were part of some extreme Christian cult thing. Regarding the tunnels, he said he knew as little as me, but did say that one of the conditions of his running the estate

was to allow the people staying in cottages access to the basement, says he didn't ever see them use it. But then again, he wasn't there regularly. Still won't tell me about the horse incident. and got upset when I mentioned it. Don't blame them. We haven't been close in reality for a long time. More residuals platonic love left over from the past. So I don't think I'll ever find out the truth about that incident.

To be honest, it was pretty exhausting talking to him about these things. Couldn't get the idea of those missing kids out of my head the whole time. And let me explain some of this since I read the big screen cap a little bit. I mean, it's just not the whole thing, so it's just not worth including. But basically, the horse incident, apparently O.P. was over at his friend's house, Charlie's, and he went outside to grab cigarettes. O.P. did. And he just saw someone like picking up a dead horse or something weird like that or taking a part of dead horse. And then I think the basement incident, I think they went down there,

looked around. It was weird. But yeah, not a lot inside the big screen cap, so that's why I didn't read it. But anyways, let's keep continuing. The pick is looking east towards Langthrope Hall. The house itself was freaky at night. And I often used to see faces at the big Georgian windows. But your brain does shit like that when you're already wigged out at night and look into the pure darkness. This incident occurred when I was 18. Charles' mom was on holiday, but he wasn't allowed keys to his home at this point. We had a party which was busted by the people from the cottages who just let themselves in at 2 a.m. or something ridiculous like that. We just chilled and smoked in the fields. We often found chewed up rabbits and wood pigeons, not unusual, but on this night,

we were being extra stealthy, knowing what the people in the cottage were like with regards to protecting the estate. We went exploring the outhouses and found a lot of creepy stuff, such as kids' clothing, crayons, old, moldy, uh, corn mags, and some bloodstains, though the bloodstains are definitely most likely from animals when the estate was still actively a farm. After this, we traveled northish towards a wooded area through crop fields. It was spring, so the grass was tall enough yet to be all-signed style. Coincidentally, Charlie was never allowed in the fields when the wheat was at its highest. I'm with Charles, Ed, and Tomo, another good friend, but a major druggie. He's dead now. O'D and Grimsby a year back. Roughly a hundred meter from the woods,

we hear a fox cry. Not unusual, but it was followed by barking and shouting. Fox hunting has been illegal for a few years now, so we're all engaged in super vigilante mode and start jogging towards these sound to see some country bumpkins getting aroused from hunting a fox with a pack of hounds and all his buddies. Charles is an avid supporter of fox hunting. Country boy though. It's very dark, so we can't see anything distinguishable in the distance, just shadows. We start crouching through the slightly tall crop field until we're about 60 meters away from a group of people. They number about 10-ish. There's a break in the clouds, and the moonlight illuminated the scene better. There's a few on horses, And the pack had stopped.

We're all watching with baited breath, even Charles. Some guy dismounts and takes out what was either a large rag or an item of clothing. I think rather paranoidly that it was a kid's shirt or something and gives it to the hounds. They start going wild and run off into the woods. Now this bit is up for dispute. I could easily be wrong. And Charles denied it at the time, but me and Ed were in agreement. Tomo didn't talk much about it after.

that a distinctly human kind of yelp was let out. We saw movement at the far side of the woods at which point, unseen by us, someone fires a rifle, and the movement ceases. We can't see the hounds through the grass and scrubbing the woods, but we can hear them barking. The bloke scalyve up towards the woods, and we can hear clapping and such. Me and Ed pull out our phones, convinced we'd just seen a murder. I still am.

Charles assures us it's just a fox hunt. Tomo, through all of this, speeds roll a massive joint and starts creeping off back to the house. Me and Ed meagishly follow, and we don't talk about it again. When we left, Charles and Tomo went separately. Me and Ed together. Early morning, we pass a car towing a horse box. Both of us are still suitably angry at Charles for his denial and equally as worried. He does a three-point turn and follows the car with the horse box.

We're both still a little high, but we've gone that weird intent that comes with. when you think you're in the right. We follow for an hour before we realize the car in front of us is doing the same circular circuit over and over again. This realization convinces us both to go home and forget it. I never did, obviously, given the Mapleton Escapade had happened a few months previous to this. And wow, who knew so much crazy stuff was going on in East Yorkshire, which I assume is England, but a very interesting story. And I believe, I believe, leave the guy. I mean, there definitely could be weird, you know, cultish rings of child lovers. I know you guys hate when I say that word. I hate, I have to say that, but I have to do that for you to be able

to see this video and for this video to be monetized. But very, very interesting story. Leave your thoughts down below and on to the next one. When I was nine years old, 1999, I ran away from home. My father was a machinist and worked late nights. And my mother was my teacher. I was homeschooled and only knew those two people. My father was an abusive alcoholic and used to beat me, but never laid a hand on my mother. We lived in an undervalued business area in rural Alaska, miles from suburbia. It wasn't uncommon for business to start and tank within the same year, so when I left, I found an abandoned building and decided to make it my home there.

I found a small broken window that led to the basement of a four-story building and I broke in. There were signs that other people had come into this building before me. And me not really knowing how to talk to people had me very frightened. I explored for hours. The third and fourth floor were in bad condition. There were holes in the walls as if someone had come in and just smashed them, broken chairs, tables, cabinets, all sorts of things. I found a room with a pushlock on the door and decided to make my camp there.

This was during a period where we only had sun for about six hours a day, so without natural light, this building was pitch dark and beyond freezing. In what I imagined was the middle of the night. When I dozed off, I heard glass shattering and the sound of a man screaming as if he was writhing in pain. It sounded as if he was breaking everything he could get his hands on. His voice seemed to split where he was screaming and wheezing as if it were two people. This terrified me.

Even though I had the door locked and was on a different floor, I still worried for my safety. I flicked my lighter on and burned some manila folders to look around the room. I found a hole in the wall that was just big enough for me to fit in, so I dove in and crawled as far back as I could go. The man screamed for hours and weased. It sounded like he was being hurt, but he was the only one there. Eventually, the screaming stopped. I heard his footsteps echo in the staircase between rooms. He made it to the floor I was on and it sounded like he was dragging something behind him.

He went into a different room and shattered some glass. He kept doing this for a while but never made a sound himself. I pissed myself on the wall now, terrified he punched through the wall the next room and discover me. Eventually, it was silent. For too long. I never heard him leave and although I was tired, I feared fall. in asleep, for if I snored, he might discover me, and what would he do? After some quiet hours, the doorknob to the room I was in shook. It shook a few more times, and then I heard a rattle.

He took a key, placed it in the door, and unlocked it. He stepped in and stayed silent for a few minutes. He left the room walking. Then he started running around in other rooms and drag something into the room adjacent to mine. Through the wall, I could only hear a crackling sound. Then he started to chew very loudly and exclaim what he was eating was delicious. I didn't make a sound. I hadn't found any food in that building during my exploration, so he must have brought something in. I didn't make a sound. I hadn't found any food in that building during my exploration, so he must have brought something in.

Would you like something? He said in a hush tone. I didn't respond. I imagined he was talking to himself. Ever get the feeling you're being watched? He laughed to himself. I just know someone is here. He rattled on while chewing and making that horrible cracking sound.

I'd really like a dinner guest sometime. I had a lump in my throat I could not swallow. I had to clear it so bad, but I feared what this guy would do if I did, so I stayed quiet. I was so utterly terrified and cold from all of the windows being smashed and being wet from my piss, I almost cried. I'm going to give you. till the count of five. I didn't dare move. One, I closed my eyes so tightly.

Two, he couldn't have known I was in here. Three, I didn't know about God at the time, but I believed I prayed to some sort of higher being. Four, I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Five, anyone silent. There were no noises for a long time. It may have been an hour, but I'm not sure. I nodded off from pure exhaustion, and when I woke up, it was still pitch black. I started to scuffle a little bit, totally forgetting where I was, and I froze when I realized.

I didn't hear anything, so I waited for another few minutes, then left the wall. I exited the small hole and walked out of the room. The upstairs area was littered with drywall glass, cigarette butts, alcohol cans, and debris. I couldn't remember where the stairwell was to leave, so I had to explore all over again. I eventually ended up in the room where the man spent the majority of his time, and that's when it all clicked. The room was covered in shit in blood. A deer carcass had been ripped apart in the room, and its intestines draped all over it. They hung through ceiling tiles and over desk like a canopy. I only realized when I smacked my face into a piece of its organs, strewn across the walls. Remember, it was pitch black. I let some more folders on fire and looked across the room.

The skull had teeth marks punctured into it, and the eyes and teeth had been thrown around the room. I didn't know what to make of any of this, so I broke down crying. I left the building and continued onward towards my home. When I arrived, my mother yelled at me for being gone for three days. She quickly stopped when she saw I was covered in blood. When I explained the story, my father sat down with me and explained that this is why he keeps us away from other people, because this is what they do. I was terrified of people and lived with my parents

and did not speak to any other people besides the two of them until I was 20 years old. It moved out when my mother died and my father told me I was never really his son. I've lived a very strange life. I am 27 now and live on my own in Alaska. And wow, that was just a short but impactful story. That was crazy.

I mean, who knows what was in there with him? I mean, in the middle of cold Alaska. Like, could it have been some crazy homeless guy? Maybe? Eating a dead deer? Or was it a skinwalker of some sort? I don't know. I don't like to immediately jump to supernatural,

but it seems almost supernatural. A crazy story. And I just hope the OPE is doing better now. And before we get into this next thread, I have to give a quick little rundown. So basically, this O.P. starts posting to a 4chan thread asking about mushrooms and what type of mushrooms are safe to eat and which are psychedelic or which are poisonous and yeah i'm just going to give that quick little

rundown try not to spoil a lot of it but let's get into it the opi joins the thread and says is this a psychoblin mushroom or is it a cartay and then he posts more pictures and a little more and then he posts the pictures of them and you can just see the mushrooms growing out of mulch will be important later. He then posts another picture growing out of mulch and dirt. And then a commenter replies to the O.P. saying, if it is, it looks like cyclobly synestasines. I can't wait for you guys to make fun of me in the comments for that. Take a spore print looking for purple slash gray or purple slash black spores. I am not an expert, just a R word with a mushroom book. And then he posts a picture of what the real mushrooms look like or the cycloblin or whatever and then the one it's

compared to. And then the OPE posts in another thread saying, just watch these. They what to do I expect because I'm not 100% sure on identification. And I didn't mess up that time. That was just what the OPE said. And then someone replies saying, they are neither edible or magic. Maybe a tabernia or Lassitera species. And then the Opie responds saying, are you sure? I'm in North Carolina. and then the opi says i ate some am i going to die um what the fuck was the opi's thinking here the commenter literally said 15 minutes prior they are neither edible or magic and then 15 minutes later the opi replies saying i ate some am i going to die posting a picture yet insane thinking by the op but then um the commenter replies to the op saying very sure i'm guessing you thought they

were some cycloblin mushrooms. In North Carolina, you would rarely find pea cuminescence in cow manure, or P. Samalganesena, God, that was really bad, in damp fields. The species these resemble P. Sinassacines is only in the Pacific Northwest. In North Carolina, you are not going to find any, just letting you know now before you waste time. And then the commenter replies to the O.P. when he said I ate some, am I going to die?

And then a commenter says, you could. Tiberia can cause kidney slash liver failure. Did you find them in wood chips or mulch? If you aren't trolling, go make yourself vomit. Remember when I said mulch would be important later? Yeah. And then some commenter says, rip opi. And then another commenter ad saying,

oh, and here's a photo of Tiberia for feria, whatever the fuck that's said. The species you just ate, just so you know I'm not full of shit, and I really hope he didn't eat any of the small ones in the bag, which are way deadlier. And looking at the bag, it seems like you have more than just one species. I think I might see a galernia mixed in there, and it only takes one of those to kill you. And then the commenter adds on saying, what I suspect the small one is. And then someone else says, reverse search that image. It's a goddamn amotoxin mushroom.

Jesus, OP, I really hope for you that isn't one of the things you snacked on. Someone else says, he's going to die. Huh? Yeah, this is not looking hot for the OP. And then the opi replies to the mulch question saying, Oh shit. I found it's in mulch. And then in a comment to reply saying, yeah, go vomit.

The poisoning for glenaria takes three days to kick in. And there are zero symptoms. until you wake up with jaundice in a failed liver. I would honestly admit yourself to a poison control center. Bring the mushrooms with you. And mulch confirms the Tiberia ID. They are Tiberia and possibly some galenaria. You literally got the worst two lookalikes for a magic mushroom

that doesn't even grow in your region. And then the commenter says, fuck, are you 100% sure? And then the commenter replies saying, yours are more mature. These spores have started filling in and coloring the gills. At this point, I can guarantee the ID. And then the Opie responds saying,

I'm trying to puke, but I can't. And then the commenter says, Poison Control Center. This is why you don't eat random mushrooms. And then someone else says, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, dead man's post, I love it. That's what you get, you dumb plumber. And then, yeah, this is not looking good.

And then the OOP says, help. Oh, God, I can't go to the hospital. I have THC in me. Oh, boy. And then someone else says, if the alternative is liver failure, I'd get your priority straight. And then someone else says, am I being trolled? Are we about to watch someone die? And then someone else says, something neat. Apparently a large number to possibly even the majority of the reported fatalities caused by that mushroom explicitly happened. because the victims mistook them for magic mushrooms. And someone else says, exactly, it used to be common for hippies to go around and just eat random brown mushrooms in areas they grew, hoping to get the right ones, probably like a one in 400 chance. Keywords used to.

It was before there were proper ID books circulating. Oh boy. And then the OP replies saying, I can't go to the hospital. I've been trying to throw up for 10 minutes. I'm freaking out. need to calm down. I am in North Carolina. And then someone makes a post saying, BOP, create Reddit thread asking for ID. Take the first response as a fact to need this room. Oh shit, what am I doing?

Make this thread die. And yeah, that's kind of making fun of the OPE in a dire situation. But I mean, it kind of sums it up. And then someone else says, this was the small one I was worried about being pick. I'm not sure what to tell you. Try drinking about a teaspoon of dish soap. That has worked for me in the past. You can't confirm that it hasn't been partially absorbed at this point, though, so you need to go to the hospital if you don't want to spend the next week waiting for imminent organ failure. Jeez. And then the OP makes a new thread, and the third and final thread saying, Hello, I posted about a mushroom about six hours ago. I have been in the hospital with a sample and they are now monitoring my vitals. And then he says, ask me anything, mate.

It was actually an amatoxin mushroom, and then he posts a picture of the hospital as proof. And then there's this article here that says almost 50 of the more than 5,000 species of mushrooms are poisonous to humans. The aminida species are reputed to be responsible for 90% of fatal mushroom poisonings worldwide. However, aminita poisoning are uncommon in North America. Most fatalities resulting from mushrooms ingestion are associated with amatoxins within the mushrooms, amatoxins represent one of the three major groups of cyclopeptides in addition to phallotoxins and viro toxins. They are heat-stable, insoluble in water, and not destroyed by drying. At least five

subtytes are amytoxin exist. The most significant of these are the alpha and beta subtypes of amyton. So this is today's moral of the story. Don't eat random mushrooms, guys. And then someone says, you mean this one? Nice going, R word. and then someone says, Hey, I'm the A-Anon who identified them and told you to do to the hospital. So they confirmed the ID? I'm glad you actually took advice and headed in.

I would ask why you can't use the same threat instead of making three, but you've already proven yourself as a total idiot, so I already have my answer. So how much you got in your system? And are you aware that even if you survive, you may be about to go down in slash an infamy forever? This is like that time the kid on FIT took a near-fifference.

fatal dose of vitamin K and melted his liver. And then the opi replied saying, Actually, I should be okay. The hospital said my body didn't absorb much at all. It barely showed in a tox report. They will monitor me for a bit and I should be gone. Also, note to self, don't smoke six grams of loud and try to find mushrooms. And then someone says, Nice going, O.P. We are waiting for your obituary. Someone else says, glad you're all right. Just loud from now on, please. Someone else says, a movement. will die via a gun because he found a nice, convenient area for getting the best greens. Meanwhile, OP ignores everything he has been taught about not eating wild mushrooms and ignored

two threads full of people telling him they are not edible. This is why we aren't evolving. And wow, that's just a wild-ass 4chan thread. This one isn't scary. It's just insane and just a good moral. Don't eat wild mushrooms. And I kind of wonder if this guy's a chance. troll, but I don't think it is. I think people are just kind of that dumb. Some people out there

where they just eat mushrooms after someone telling them not to eat mushrooms. And then they go to the hospital after that. Yeah, this was just a crazy thread. And I was actually worried for the OP because I hadn't read the ending to this before I recorded. So I was kind of getting worried there for a second. I'm like, oh shit. Is OP about a die? Well, it sounds like he's okay, which is great. and um on to the next one last year autumn of 2021 big bro and i have been into the supernatural and spooky shit since we are kids always told me about his strange and ghostly encounters from when he was in his late teens to early 20s we've been to some places but nothing ever truly made me believe in ghosts been talking about larping as if we were real ghost hunters he splurges on buying multiple emf readers motion detectors

mag lights, cameras, the works. Here's about some supposedly haunted hotel called the Bumont Hotel in a tiny, unincorporated part of Kansas. Some history of the place and rumors. The hotel was originally built in the late 1800s as a stop for the railroads and for pioneers. Supposedly, the original owner worked the hotel

and his wife slept herself out to the guest so they could keep the business afloat. At some point, one of the regular guests, A cowboy by the name of Ziki took a liking to her and an affair began. The owner found out about his wife's infidelity and when Ziki stayed again, he shot him several times in his sleep. To this day, residents and the current owners say that Ziki still haunts the hotel, with his iconic spurs still jangling as he walks the halls. In the 1940s, as aviation really started to take off, see what I did there,

locals started using the main street of the town as a landing strip. So, in 1953, the owner of the time, James Clinton, J.C. Squire, renovated the hotel and bought 70 acres of property to turn into a landing strip for pilots. This naturally brought in a ton of pilots to the town who'd make a rest stop at the hotel, even to this day. J.C. passed away in 1980 after selling the hotel two years prior. Although, as far as I know, his family, still runs the place. To this day, residents and owners claim sightings of ghosts and paranormal events happening on the daily. Knocks, footsteps, bangs, doors opening and closing, things being

thrown and move, all the stuff you hear of in the movies. Brothers' birthday is coming up, so we decide we'd stay there for a night for the LOLs. We want to LARP as some ghost hunters, so we take all the cool shit we can think of. Book the room and we head out. Over an hour on the highway, my eyes glazing over staring at the direction on Google Maps, I see we are getting close. Notice dirt roads off the highway that leads to this wooded over area. We go on the dirt road into the town. Trees seem to loom over us, like bending overhead to form a tunnel, totally not ominous at all. Beginning of town is old dilapidated building from multiple eras, brick building from the 1800s, some old corner store from the

the 70s. Shit looks straight out of Resident Evil 4. See the hotel with a nearby plane on display and an old train. All modern cars out front of the place so seems normal-ish enough. Check into a hotel and look at all the cool 50s aviation memorabilia covered the walls. Neido. We're told where our room will be. We head upstairs and down this long hallway.

Our room is at the very end. Feeling like I'm being watched the hallway there, despite us, being the only guests. I'll give you a quick layout of the room. Right when you walk in, there is a huge bed with a mini fridge to the right next to the door, with a nightstand on the other side of the bed next to the wall at the end of the room. To the left of where you enter, at the foot of the bed essentially in a wall dividing the room in half with a TV on either side and the other half of the room is a sitting area with the second aforementioned TV, two chairs with foot rest in the bathroom. Sorry for terrible mouse art, by the way. And then he adds a picture of what

it looks like. Yeah, one huge bed, two chairs, two TVs. I mean, it's kind of a weird layout. I mean, yeah, I mean, sorry for everyone watching or listening and not watching, but yeah, it's kind of a weird layout of a room, but cool. I mean, it's cool. They added this so we can see, you know, what the layout looks like. Anyways, he continues. We arrived around six-ish, so we decided to take a load off and get settled. Cracking stupid jokes and he's giving me some more rundown of the history of this place. Within an hour, our first weird thing happens. Sitting in the chair closest to the window, opposite of the bathroom, here knocking on the window next to me, turn and see the blinds move on their own. Mild spoop. We both saw it, but attempted to shrug it off as nothing. A few hours

pass on eventfully. Bored out of my mind watching Family Guy on the TV. in the sitting room. Around 9, we both agree we'll start our little larping investigation at 10.30 because that's when the hotel goes into silent time, as the owners called it. 10 hits and we start hearing somewhat light knocking but chalk it up to the housekeeping. We start to set up our gear, motion detectors in the bedroom and on the bed. We have these tiny balls that light up when you shake them enough with enough force you'd give to like a dog. We set up two in the bedroom, one in the bath, and one in the sitting room on the floor. We each have a EMF reader, his an expensive nice one,

and mine a shitty cheap one but can check temperature. By 1030, the hotel is dead silent, not a sound from the vacuums, not a footstep in the hall. Start our search by scanning each room for readings, making sure to note every object and area that could give off shit. TVs and the radio on the nightstand, for example. Middle of the sitting room has zero readings and rather open. Just to be safe, we turn off everything including the ACs and ceiling fans, around 80 degrees in room and zero readings of any kind. Scan both rooms in the bathroom over and over and every corner for readings. Only shit we get is obviously if we are close to our phones or plugged in electronics. Make sure to avoid said electronics. Eventually, we both settle on sitting on the footrests

in the sitting room. Occasionally check bathroom because I just get weird vibes in there. Bathroom so tiny you have to shut the door to get to the shower that's across the room from the toilet. Sit in there and I get this overwhelming feeling to cry. Fear grips me and I have to leave. Tell bro to check out the bathroom next but don't mention what I felt. Comes back out looking bothered. Tells me he felt his eyes water and like something electrical touched him. We basically take turns feeling whatever is in there. Definitely feel a presence there. Like someone else was in there, and it felt cold and emotionally heavy like a funeral.

We'd chill back on the footrests, scan the middle of the room for readings. Ours both go into the red, getting heavy readings simultaneously from about the same area. Feel that heavy feeling again like I was going to cry. Take a few deep breaths and try to take this professionally. The readings go away. Move my reader around and get fuck all. Feel this horrible feeling like I'm being watched from kind of behind me. Suddenly, my left side feels ice cold.

Move my reader next to me, and it's flashing and going off. Don't remember it, reading a temp change, though. Tilt it so my brother can see it, and he can see my look of like wanting to cry. Try to choke out. It's next to me. Only a whisper comes out. readings fade quickly and I feel the cold shift in front of me and back to the middle of the room.

Brother's reader goes off. Track the movement with my reader to see the cause of the readings is, in fact, moving in thin air with zero cause. Much of this dialogue is from memory, so I'll give you the bits I do kind of remember. Brother speaks up. Hello? We can see you're here. Reading's going off like crazy. Thank you for showing yourself to us or something like that.

We do the same basic holding our hands out and letting it touch us stuff. Every time we feel the coldness touch us, we consistently get readings. Decide we could try using the readers as a very rudimentary form of communication. He explains it to whoever or whatever was there. Basically, one reading equals yes. I guess like no reading equals no. While we didn't like one for yes, two for no is beyond me. I assume if it's a ghost, it must be Ziki-Fel.

everyone's talking about. Bro asks, have you been here for a long time? We get readings. Is there a JC here? Immediate and huge reading from both of our readers. Is this JC we are speaking to? Immediate and huge readings again.

I'm trying to process what is going on and that I'm not completely crazy. Ask some more basic questions. One rumor bro heard is that 16 spirits hot this place. Are there others that have been here a long time? Yes again. Eventually try to narrow down the number and it lands on 15 others. Doesn't give a reading if we ask if there are more. From our questions, we find out that he stays here essentially because he loves his family here in the hotel he owned. Make sure to not ask about his death or the other side or whatever.

Crack a joke or two trying to be lighthearted. The reader goes off constantly but peaks in a pattern like a person laughing. Realize he's laughing with us. My guy. Busy asking a question when I think I see the ball of the floor from earlier shift slightly. Brother saw and asked if I did too. Mind you, the only lights in this room were our flashlight, so it was very dark. Ask J.C. if he did it.

Another yes. Ask him to do it again for us if he'd be okay with it. The fucking thing moves enough to start flashing its lights. It rolls enough that we can see a roll. We're both completely stunned at this point. We both saw something so irrefutable that it's not just a feeling. Decide we move on to EVPs. We tried a few devices including homemade devices, basically picked up nothing for an hour.

Eventually we decide we'll try to do one very last one before we decide to head to bed. Tell JC if he wants to give any kind of party message for us, he can. We left the phone on the floor for him. and the ball from earlier was pretty close to it. During the recording, the ball moves again and lights up. Thank him for letting us record him and for doing everything he has tonight. Bro says, I hope you don't mind us sleeping in here tonight.

No reading. Slowly goes into the green after a few seconds. We take it as a reluctant, okay, and laugh about it. Reader does that laughing pattern again. He was making a joke this time. eventually bid our farewells and good night. The coldness and heavy feeling instantly go away. No readings at all.

We pack up our gear and head to bed. Turn on the TV and pass the fuck out. Best rest of my life. We wake up bright and early the next morning. Check the audio on bro's phone from last night and can faintly make out some weird stuff. Here's something get hit lightly at the exact time the ball rolled, During the recording session, for me, that was more than enough evidence that what happened was 100% real. Unfortunately, he has the audio.

I don't, but I'll see if I can get it sometime. We get all packed up and load our stuff in the car. Decide we'll take a look around the town before we leave. Check out the town's attractions. Only thing that interests me is the destroyed old corner store. The dust-covered window has riding on it in the dust. names of others who came before us. Friends, siblings, lovers,

some with dates over the decades. Ro and I get in the car to head home. Tells me the town cemetery is across the highway. Head over there to pay our respects. Take some time, but we find J.C.'s grave. Thanked him again for everything. Felt a happy present sex to me when I knelt down. Like he was there with me.

Brother and I entered that town expecting nothing. As stuff went on, we think. thought it was going to be creepy and awful. We went back home that day happy, felt like we got to talk to a lonely soul that hadn't had real company in a long, long time. For so long before this, I had been a hardcore atheist and only saw the paranormal as fake but interesting. My very principles and beliefs, or lack thereof, or challenge that night. And today, I live and accept what most of us would consider the supernatural as just a normal part of life. I've had many encounters with the other side since then, and while at times I feel like a schizo,

J.C. made me realize and always remember that you shouldn't always be so quick to deny it all. I'll try to visit him again someday. Fun fact. I heard he loves to play pranks on people, including shutting and locking doors and pushing chairs in front of them when housekeeping is cleaning to lock them out of rooms. Today, I want to share a story with B about my winter, deep in the Yukon with my grandfather in the strange things that occurred during those dark, frozen months. Quick note, this story is a little long. About three years ago, when I was at the spry age of 18, I had decided that I wanted to take a year off of school before going to university. Do a bit of soul searching, if you will. Well, as it happened, my father decided that this would be a

great opportunity. You see, my grandfather, Dana, had been trying to get me to go out to his cottage, for a few years now. Learn a little about yourself and your heritage. Now my grandfather is the toughest son of a bitch I have ever seen in my life. An example. When out 15, my family took me skiing in Jasper and my grandfather tagged along. During that trip, Dana hit a fallen log that had ever so slightly covered in snow and plowed straight into his spruce tree, tore his lip open down to the cheek. Once we caught up to him and started freaking out and talking of getting an ambulance, he just calmly stood up, told us while his lip was hanging open enough to see his teeth, that he'd be fine and was going to go back to the lodge to patch himself up.

As it turns out, this involved him skiing all the way back, grabbing a sewing needle and some fishing line, and stitching his own face back together in the bathroom mirror. An hour later, he was back out on the slopes as though nothing had happened. He still has a vicious scar too. He is a born Swede, a massive guy, around 6'6, and pretty muscle despite being in the 60s. He's a pretty quiet guy and rather eccentric. He lives on his own in the middle of a frozen hellscape at a time in his life where most would be retired, so go figure.

The main reason I hadn't gone with him sooner was because my mother was terrified of me going off to live with my crazy relative for any length of time. Despite my father's assertion, that would be well taken care of and was old enough to fend for myself, this year was to be different, though. Through some Herculean effort of coergeon, likely involving the fact that I was moving out soon anyway, I was granted to go with him. My family lives in Alberta, and my grandfather off in the northwestern Yukon, past the Minto Mine, if anyone here knows the area. It was arranged for me to fly out to meet up with my grandfather, who was arranged for me to fly out to meet up with my grandfather, who would then drive us out to his home. After landing, I was greeted with the amusing sight of my grandfather standing about a foot above the rest of the crowd,

standing forward waiting for me. We had a quick greeting and before long had hopped in his truck and were making trail towards places where no roads go. We drove for a few hours. Not much said between us, though that was pretty standard for him. And finally arrived at what appeared to be little more than a snowy plot near the tree line and away from the road. So where exactly is your cabin? I didn't see it on the way over.

I asked him. He turned to me and smirked. About three days of hiking that way. He pointed into the trees. And so began one of my adventure. Pax slung over my back and snow up to my calves as we began to walk. The first day was pretty normal. Something that was not going to last, let me tell you now.

Along the way he would point out of my way he would point out. animal tracks in different plants, giving me the basic wilderness survival rundown. Now, I'd been raised on a small acreage outside of the also small town of Athabasca, so I was no stranger to the wilderness, but even still, my grandfather's knowledge of the wilds seemed near encyclopedic. Anyway, the first day came to a close as the sun hung low in the sky and the snow glittered in the twilight. A beautiful vista, if ever I had seen one. We found a small outcry. We found a small outcropping and built a fire, set a can of beans and some vegetables to cook and enjoy the moment. I slept pretty soundly, given the negative 20-ish weather. On the eve of the second day,

I was shaken awake and told to start walking. We don't want to spend more nights out here than we have to. It's only going to get colder and these woods are dangerous. Gathering up what I had, little more than a sleeping bag, clothes, some provisions and two knives, we set off again. Now let me tell you, There is nothing more tiring than pushing through snow up to your crotch in the middle of the woods for hours and hours. I like to think I'm an okay shape. But by the time we stopped for a break, some four hours later, I was about ready to die. My grandfather, of course, seemed unfazed by it. It was around this time that I started to take note of a few things.

For anyone who has lived near or spent a lot of time in the woods, you know it's a pretty lively place. Lots of noises and things moving around. Not here. In the winter, everything is still and quiet. A strange feeling when you've heard all your life that if things go quiet in the forest, something bad is near. The uneasiness was offset somewhat by the fact I was still trying to see to it that my lungs were going to explode in my grandfather's calm, uncaring demeanor.

Soon enough, we had set off again. A few more hours into walking, I noticed an odd little cave down the hill we were on. The opening had huge icicles hanging down in the front and a few. few bones could be seen scattered around the area. I turned to my father and asked, pointing towards it, should we be worried about that? At that, he stopped and looked at it for a few moments before he just continued walking, saying nonchalantly, no, long as we get a ways off before night, it won't matter. When we finally settled for the night, I was sure I'd be out before I hit the ground, but without so much as a glance I was told to wait. He was going to get

firewood and start dinner. Sitting myself under a tree, I watched as he walked off, leaving me alone in the dwindling light of day. All right, I can continue. Sitting there, listening to the fading sound of my grandfather walking further and further away, I couldn't help but notice how strangely suffocating the woods were. Now, I had spent days camping before, sometimes with friends and other times alone, but this seemed different. Maybe it was the quiet, where the simple act of turning your head to the side seemed to echo through the trees. Maybe it was the way the evergreens, burdened with snow, seemed to blend into the glowing gloom, forming strange and in in inky shapes in the dim light. Whatever it was, I started to get nervous. That kind of unease

that comes when you feel like you're being watched, even though you think you're alone. Before my mind started to walk down those dark roads of thought, my grandfather came stomping back through the tree line, bundle of broken branches under his arm. He said about showing me how to start a fire without matches or a lighter. He's old-fashioned like that. And soon enough, we had a nice little campfire going. It wasn't until the heat off that fire hit me that I noticed how damn cold it was.

My hand stiff and slight shivers going over me. We should reach the cabin by around this time tomorrow if we keep up this pace. Before we go any further, though, I want you to understand something. Things are different out here. And if I tell you to do something, I expect you to listen. Understood? I nodded and told him my dad had given me the rundown before I left. Oh.

How much did he tell you? Just to listen to whatever you said and to be safe, I replied. Unsure of where he was going with this? Ah. All right then. He didn't say anything for the rest of the night, and I was too tired to ask. Despite my exhaustion, I found that I lied awake for quite a while. staring up at the sky and listening to the gentle crackling of the fire.

I don't really know why. I should have had no problem sleeping after the day of hiking. Cold, notwithstanding, but regardless. I found myself quite unable to drift off even after the moon had risen and shone over the area. It was around then that I heard something in the forest, like I sort of whispering. At first I figured it was just the wind, but looking at the treetops, they weren't moving at I listened harder, but couldn't make out what was being said. It was so faint. I sat up and looked around to see if something was there, or if maybe my grandfather had been mumbling to sleep,

but when I tried to listen to it again, it was silent. I figured it was just something on the breeze and lay back again. Sleep came soon after. I was once again woken by Dana, as the sun had just began its slow creep over the distant mountains. As we were gathering up our equipment, he asked me if I had slept well. I told him that the cold would take a little getting used to, but otherwise it was fine. He just sort of looked at me for a moment before grunting and tying off his pack. Once more we set off, deeper into the wilderness. The third day went without incident. It was only after yet more hours of tedious and exhausting, trailblazing, that we finally came is a view of my grandfather's home, built right up against a cliff face. No windows adorned it,

just massive logs the whole way around. A small chimney rose up from the roof. Easeed a spot given that the trees have been cleared in about a 20 meter radius around the cabin, replaced with numerous small wooden stakes set at varying intervals. As we got closer, I noticed that they were actually fence posts. Barbed wire was strung between them, and every so often there was a much taller post, set a ways back from the fence. In the dim light, I couldn't really make much out, though I was curious why they were there. Whatever the reason, I was in no mood to play 20 questions. I just wanted to get inside and sleep in a warm place.

Before we could get in, however, it seemed there were a few things to be done. My grandfather lifted one of the posts out of the ground allowing us to enter and told me to put it back and make sure it wasn't going to fall. He was going to get the door open. It didn't take too long. The snow around the cabin was much less than the surrounding area, making walking blessingly easier. After I finished, I made my way around the side of the cabin

and found my grandfather carefully taking down numerous little metallic things hung over the door. I could see them glinting in what little daylight was left, but it couldn't make out exactly what they were supposed to be. Again, I was just too tired to really care and just wandered inside behind my grandfather as soon as he finished taking down the last one. That bed over there will be yours, he said, pointing to a small cot in one's corner of the room. Without much more thought, I ambled over and went to sleep.

I really should have savored it more as this was the last good night's rest I was going to have for a while. I woke up the next morning to a mostly dark room. A candle was set on the table in the middle of the cottage, giving enough light for me to figure out where the door was. opening it and stepping outside, I was greeted to a bright midday sun. Down the yardaways, I saw Dana finish clearing the excess snow from the plot of land. It was low enough that I could actually see the ground, and a few feet beyond the fence, the snow rose, like a small wall all around us. The light, as well as something in the vein of 14 hours of sleep, allowed me to really take stock of the area around me. I could now see that the tall posts from the night before had been whittled down so that only pale heartwood remained.

Carved all over each of them were words. Thousands of them all tightly packed and varying from neat to nigh indecipherable scratches. Reading through it, there really didn't seem to be a rhyme or reason to what was written down. Mostly it was just random words. Mostly in Swedish and a few in Norwegian. I'm not fluent, but I've picked up a little over the years. I guess Dana had noticed me staring at it as he began walking over. What are these supposed to be?

I gestured to the other posts of a similar nature around the yard. They were part of an old vag, or word wall. It keeps help things calm at night. I wouldn't stare at them too long, though. Won't do your head much good. In case it wasn't already, somewhat apparent, my grandfather was an odd sort. He never liked staying in towns or not. normal houses and almost always carried these little ruins and charms on strings. I always found it neat

and when I was younger, I'd often ask what they met and I'd listen to these stories for hours. My mother always had a problem with him visiting. I'd overhear her talking to my dad about allowing Dana to fill my head with crazy nonsense on more than one occasion. But he'd often just shrug it off and say something along the lines of, it's good for him to learn a little about his dad's culture. The point is that it only was after I really started to get a look at the cabin and the word wall that these things started to sink in. He was definitely a little odd at times. The first day we went out to chop a few trees down for firewood,

and he would very specifically point out which trees were going to cut, but only after pressing his ear to them and listening to see if it was unmarked. When I asked him what he meant by that, he said that some trees were special to the forest and we shouldn't touch them. Otherwise, the Tom Tenesar would get angry, and we really didn't want that. For those who don't know, Tom Tedesar are part of Scandinavian folklore. They basically look like garden gnomes and act sort of like Santa Claus. At least, that's how they are portrayed now.

Growing up, my grandfather would tell me about these little monsters, about how they would chew open people's doors and windows in order to crawl into houses at night and whisper things to the sleeping person. The people would sometimes go crazy, wandering out into the woods or ranting and incoherent babble. Other times, they would just be sort of different. Either way, they were freaky little bastards, but I stopped believing the stories around the same time I figured Santa was bunk. Dana really isn't known for a sense of humor, so hearing him say that was a little bit more

than strange. I sort of awkwardly laughed at it. and he looked at me and said, The thing I'm joking? Keep that up and you won't be seen in the summer. That shut me up pretty quick. I still didn't particularly buy the stories, but I still made sure not to top the trees that he said were marked.

We finished loading up the sleds we had brought with us, and at that point, Dana said, let's go this way. I want to show you something before we get back. Following him, it seemed to me like we were making a wide arc instead of going straight back, but I wasn't going to argue. As we walked, I noticed there were no animal tracks,

as in absolutely none. Even on the way to the cabin, I had at least picked up a few prints from rabbits or moose and the like. When I asked why we hadn't come across any, despite being so far in the woods, I was told that they don't like it here. No to stay ways off. Why is that? I asked back.

These woods aren't safe for much of anyone after dark. least of all critters. After walking a while longer, we reached a high at the edge of the section of the forest we were. Dana pointed out beyond this now sparse tree line. What lay past it was the vast, snowy rises and falls of the untamed wild.

Honestly, it was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. There was an overturned tree and he mentioned for me to sit on it. For a little while, we just sat there, taking in the view until he sighed. Now, I knew you're going to be new to all of this for a while, but I think you ought to know. Things are different out here.

I need you to trust me when I tell you something. Or else I could get us both killed. You understand? I said I did. I figured that he had taken my reaction to him talking about Tom Tenazar to heart. He may be strange, but he means well, so I figured I would humor him and make things easier for the both of us. That would prove to be a very... Bad idea. Once we got back and finished stacking the firewood, Dana broke out more of our

dwindling provisions, and as we were cooking, he said that tomorrow we would need to go hunting. If we caught anything, he would show me how to properly butcher an animal. We ate and settled in for the nights, but as we were settling in, he told me that if I ever got up in the middle of the night to use the outhouse to the side of the cabin, that I should always bring a candle. no matter how bright the moon was and that if it goes out, I should come back inside right away. With that, he set a small dangling thing up on the door. Pick related. When I asked him about the thing on the door, he told me it was there to confuse anything that I was trying to get in.

Later during the winter, I found out it's supposed to be a ruin for illusions or disguises. I guess the idea is that I would help make it harder to tell what was inside the cabin if something got inside the door. The next few days we went out hunting. For the first while, we didn't catch anything. It wasn't held by how we needed to head a fair ways away from the cabin before we saw any signs of animal life. And Dana always insisted that we'd be back before night fell. On top of that, he didn't bring a gun ever, just a bow and some arrows.

I know bow hunting is a common enough practice, but given that bears roam these woods, I figure it would be nice to have something with a little more stopping power. When I mentioned this to him, he said that it would cause more trouble than it would prevent. Eventually, we actually managed to find and snag a buck. It was a nice one, too. Enough meat that we'd be all right for a while. We threw it on the sleigh and began dragging it back home. Yet more hours ticked away before we got back to the cabin,

and something rather interesting was waiting there for us. Ravens. Normally this wouldn't seem so strange, but when I hadn't seen signs of life save the trees in this area for almost a week, and seemed a little off. Dana stiffened up when he noticed it too. When I asked him about it, he told me, dropped the sled and come with me.

We're going to need to butcher this fast. Not sure where this was going, but remembering our conversation from earlier and figured that it would be best to just go with it. We circled around the cabin, the Ravens sitting on the roof watching us the whole way, lying in a small snowdrift in front of the door, was a rabbit's head. Just the head. Cleanly severed. The snow was still bright red, so it had to have been

pretty fresh. There was also a little indent through the snow leading up to it, made it look like it had been thrown over here. Well, it could be worse. We don't really need the head anyway. When I asked what he was talking about, he told me, it's only right to return a gift with a gift. Take that inside and meet me near the butcher shed, a little ways off and past the wall a couple feet off the tree line. That evening, we butchered the deer, and when we were done, my grandfather took the head, andlers and all, and walked out into the woods a short ways before gently setting it down and coming back. We brought the rest of the meat over to the cabin, and Dana took the rabbit's head off the table where I had placed it. That night, we had rabbit stew and potatoes.

When I asked about why we're going to just eat something, we found sitting there, he told me it would be just rude to throw it out and it wouldn't be wise to insult the neighbors. There are other people out here? I thought you lived alone. Alone? No, I just don't live by people. Who are your neighbors? I thought I already told you. The Tom Tenzar live here.

I didn't really have a good response to that. The next morning, when we went out to check the fence, as was becoming routine, I walked out to see the spot he put the head down. There was nothing there. Not even a bit of blood. The next few weeks went by in relative peace. We would collect firewood on every so often. We went ice fishing occasionally, and every morning we cleared snow away from the cabin.

The temperature continued to drop, as the winter solstice drew near. The already short days becoming a scant few hours of, near perpetual twilight. You'd think it would get old seeing the same setting sun throughout most of the day, but you'd be wrong. It managed to be breathtaking each and every time. I probably would have stood there staring at it all day if I wasn't being ushered along by Dana. Things probably would have continued much the same way if I hadn't fucked up one night. It was somewhere around mid-December. You start losing track of the days out of there, especially when they were mostly night. And we were going ice fishing again.

We set out early, as the sun was just barely peeking over the distant mountain range, and hiked for about an hour until we reached a small frozen over lake. We set about like always, checking the ice thickness and cutting a hold, etc. After only a few minutes into it, we heard these snapping and cracking of branches behind us. We both stopped, for a few moments, before my grandfather said it was fine, though. I could tell he was bothered. Every so often he'd look back and scan around the trees. We weren't having much luck with the fish,

and we're about to call it in for the day when I got a tug on my line. I pulled up a big trout and thought that this was great. We hadn't had fish in a while. When I turned to see if my grandfather had noticed, I saw him just sort of staring at it. A little confused, I gave it another look over and saw that it had a few huge gases taken out of it. little indented lines cutting through the great scales.

Throw it back. This isn't ours to take. Okay then. I was a little nervous at this. Although not too much had happened during my time here, I had at least managed to pick up that, when Dana got weird, like this, it was best not to argue.

I threw the fish back into the pond, and when we started making tracks back to the cabin, along the way, I noticed that the trees near the lake, the ones we heard the noise coming from, had huge cuts taken out of them. Not like an axe or bear claws, more like numerous small chunks had been ripped out and thrown around.

I asked what that was about, and Dana just started walking faster and said, we shouldn't come back here. It wouldn't be safe. One of my more frequent chores was to go out and make sure the Ord Vogs posts were still secure in the ground, of the many things that my grandfather was methodical

about keeping just right. The word wall came second, only to our food stores. This mainly involved going out and giving them a solid shove. If there was any shift, I need to hammer them in and pack the snow tighter around the bottom until I could no longer get it to move. Anyway, that night he insisted that we go over all of them again before going to sleep. And so we went out after finishing our dinner, mostly deer, he'd be surprised how long a single deer can last. He took one end of the yard and I took the other. It was getting blistering cold out, where any bare skin started to sting.

A cloud cover had swept over the land. There were no stars, no moon tonight, and the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving everything in inky, black, and gray. It was quiet again, like on a trip up there, where every little movement you made sounded like an earthquake. A little ways off, I could hear my grandfather working, the shifting of his coat and the snow being pressed underfoot. I was about three posts down when I found one that was a little loose.

I straightened it out and picked up the sledgehammer we used for driving them back into the ground. As I lifted it up and got ready to bring it down on the post, cringing because I knew that in the suffocating silence of the forest, this would be very loud. But as I was about to swing it, I heard something, like a quiet hissing mumble. Reflexively, I swung around while I was bringing the hammer down and hit the post with a glancing blow, knocking it off center. Spinning it around, I tried to listen for it again, thinking maybe it was my imagination. The woods will often make you think you're hearing things that you aren't.

After a few seconds of nothing and figuring that it was either just me imagining it or overhearing Dana saying something to himself, I turned to start fixing the post again. But just as I put my back to the trees, I heard it again. It seemed so quiet that I couldn't make out what was being said, but I'm sure that it was someone whispering, quickly and in a whistle-like tone. I really started to freak out. I slowly began walking towards the cabin. My back to it, in the cliff face as I scanned the trees looking for where I was coming from. The noise didn't seem like it had a direction to it. It was like it was everywhere at once, still quiet and indiscernible, but very much there. While in panic mode,

combined with just being tired and cold, I got it in my head that if I threw something into the woods, it might scare off whoever was there. Rached in the wood pile, we had outside, I picked up a small log and threw it into the tree line and started shouting about how whoever was there needed to come out. My grandfather comes running over. My name. What the fuck are you doing? I told him I heard someone talking nearby and before he can say anything, the tree is near where I threw the log such a shake and I could hear snapping branches. Get inside right now. He said, not taking his eyes off the trees, and so the two of us backpedaled into the cabin. By the time we closed the door, most of the trees had started shaking. The once oppressive stillness of the woods were placed

with something akin to a hurricane. That night, neither of us slept. We just sort of stared at the door. My grandfather holding his hunting knife. Throughout the night, the sound didn't die down. It was so loud and so violent, I thought the trees must have been snapped in half. Periodically, we heard things hitting the cabin wall, crunches and ripping noises from every direction. I told myself that it was just branches and the like hitting the wall, that it was just a bad storm. Around an hour before dawn, things started to settle down, and soon enough, my grandfather got up and went outside. I heard him start to swear and curse, so I hurried out after him and saw what had been done. The outside walls of the cabin have been covered.

Every inch from top to bottom with words. Violently slashed into the wood. Chunks have been ripped out of the corners and the door. The fence was in ruins. Some of the barbed wire having been thrown into the treetops and many of the posts smashed into splinters. After a string of curses that I could barely even understand, he started to calm down.

Never do anything like that. Ever. Come on. We need to get the fence fixed before nightfall. And like that, he set off to start gathering up the broken fences. At this point, I had gone from thinking my grandfather was a little unhinged and had started to take his native folklore to heart, right up to thinking he was the sanest man on earth. I helped him pick up the scattered remains of the fence. Every so often, we would find little bits of fabric or hair stuck in the barbs. I didn't want to ask why. We were making good time on having the barbed wire fixed, but I was still worried. Most of the posts that made up the word wall have been broken or missing.

When I asked about this, he said that they won't like it, but hopefully they just did this as a warning. Tomorrow we'll go hunting and bring them back something. A thank you for not killing us last night. Just as the sun started to set again, at this point in the year there was only about six hours of daylight, making it very difficult to do much. We had managed to get the barbed wire back into a rough semi-circle around the cabin. Given the damage that had been done that night before, I asked how much good the barbed wire actually was, and he told me that it didn't stop them,

but it slowed them down since their beards and hats would get tangled in it, and they had a hard time getting free. I couldn't tell if this was a joke or not, but at this point, I was about ready to believe anything. Little did I know I hadn't seen anything yet, The problem was that when the occurrence happened, it was almost December 21st, and that means that the cold was near unbearable. That, and there was so little daylight, that by the time we got to the part of the wilds where animals were abnormally, it was nearly time to begin to head

back. The first day we went out, and searched for signs of animals we could bag, we didn't see so much as a squirrel. That night, the wind was howling again. The creaking of the cabin would get to the point where I thought it would collapse on us, and all the while I would stare at the cracks between the log walls where the candlelight didn't touch, and I could swear I saw things moving in the dark. When I finally did drip off to sleep, the last thing I heard was a quiet whispering, like I had before. The next few days were no better. Each time we would go deeper and deeper into the woods, usually in the direction of the distant mountains. We would be frozen stiff to where walking was a challenge for me.

I have no idea how my grandfather managed it at his age, but he never slowed down. And we would come back empty-handed. Each night, the woods would be louder. The shadows in the cabin seemed to drop closer to the candle than the night prior. And the whispering seemed to get more intense as well. So much so that I started to make out words, though none of them were in English. And if they were Swedish, I couldn't understand. what I was hearing. On the third night, I asked if Dana could also hear it. He told me to try not

to think about it. Each day was more overcast than the one that came before. The daylight was just a lighter shade of gray. It started to get to the point where our own food stores were getting low. Our need to find something became doubly desperate. It started to get worse by the fifth day. It started to snow. Not your simple puffy white snow that you see further south. No. This was big, heavy, and wet flakes that seemed more like little snowballs landing everywhere. They clung to everything, weighing us and the trees down alike. All the while, as we walked in a misty forest, where we could hardly see more than a few meters, I kept swearing I could see things out there.

Little shapes sitting on rocks and tree branches that would be there one moment and seemed to disappear as soon as I looked directly at it. I asked my grandfather, and he told me not to acknowledge them. Just keep moving. The longer the days went, the more of them I would see. It was on the ninth day of trying and failing at our hunts that we returned to a troubling site. All along the tree lines surrounded the cabin, a couple meters off the barbed wire fence,

there were a number of large stones. Big boulders that came up to my chest. Most were oddly shaped where the tops curved off in a direction. They were all pointing at the cabin. They have been placed every few feet along the tree line, almost like a fence of the forest zone. When we saw that Dana stopped and said, Pack your things. We were leaving at dawn. I wasn't going to argue.

Even as we got past the fence and closed the door, I felt like we were still being watched from somewhere out in the snow. It was too dark to see any of the little shapes that had been following us whenever we went outside, but I knew they were there. hardly a moment when they weren't. We didn't sleep long. Sometime in the middle of the nights between the howling winds and the biting cold, there was a deafening crash in the door split down the middle.

Snow and frost flying in and blowing out the only candle before we even knew what had happened. There was a scurrying noise and after a few seconds, my grandfather had managed to light a little oil lantern hit hanging by the wall. The table and pantries have been overturned. Everything not nailed down was either broken or scattered around the room. I asked if we should leave right now. He told me that was what they wanted us to do, that we would wait until first light.

It was the longest night of my life. We sat there shivering and staring at the broken door. The lantern's light just barely keeping the dark and who knows what else away. Several times I thought I saw something there, just outside the door, watching. When I saw the horizon, getting brighter, it was like waking from a nightmare. Only this one wasn't quite over. We grabbed

whatever had been broken and made for civilization. The snow had stopped, but the cloud still hung heavy above us. It would be three days until we got to the truck. We moved as fast as we could. The snow was so deep in clingy that we had to stop every kilometer or so just to wipe it off. It weighed us down more than our packs did. I don't know how far we traveled. I know we didn't stop, and I don't think we ate until it started getting dark. Dana said to get as much firewood as I could find. We were going to need a big fire. What about the marked trees? I said to him.

I still wasn't sure if things could get worse. Fuck them. They're already pissed. It won't matter much now. That night we had a massive bonfire going. I bet you you could see it from one of the mountain and it was so bright. Even so we could hear them out there. The whisper has never stopped. Every now and then a branch or rock would come flying out at us and the fire. It didn't make for a restful night.

Around an hour before dawn, the snow started again. The second day was worse yet. With the snow back, the little fucks got brave and started coming in close. Every now and then we'd get hit with a something that fell from the tree branches or a tree along our path would fall down and make it harder to progress. We didn't walk. We ran through those woods. I didn't think I could run so far, but I don't remember either of us stopping. We just managed to stumble into a little clearing as the light was fading again.

We hurried and grabbed whatever wood we could find and tried to start the fire. The wood was wet and uncooperative, and the shadows started to close in. We could see the little moving figures at the edge of our vision again. I guess Dana was getting to his wits and because he grabbed the little oil lantern and broke it open, pouring the oil across the logs and lit it up with the lantern spark. darker. The shadows retreated for a moment, and I think the little monsters were hissing at us. We were left mostly alone that night. Hell if I know why. Maybe even they need to rest some time. The snow hadn't quit yet, so by the time we woke, we were both mostly covered. We set out

before the sun rose. I think Dana didn't trust us to make the rest of the way in only a few hours of light. The trail was a fucking mess. Trees and rocks littered the animal trails and the bush was so thick with evergreens that it was no better. It was slow going and of course we were still being followed. We would still catch sight of them at the edge of our vision, watching and whispering in tune with the wind. I couldn't even tell which was which by this point. Sometimes I still can't. For whatever reason, we were left mostly untouched on the rest of the way back. The poor trail conditions slowed us to the point that it was already dark and we still hadn't made it back to our truck. Dana didn't want to stop, though.

He said we were close and didn't want to risk another night outside. I'm not sure when it was, but we eventually made our way out of the trees and onto a road. We followed it for a few minutes until we saw it. The glorious steed that would get us out of that place. Covered under a few feet of snow, though it was. We swept out the truck bed. threw our things in and drove away. I don't think either of us looked back.

After we got back to town, stayed at an inn for a night, best goddamn night in my life. We woke early and drove for nearly the entire day until we made it to Eric Nelson Airport. When we got back, Dana, stayed with my family for a little while at my dad's behest. We didn't talk much about the trip, just said we needed to come home early.

That spring, Dana left and said, that he was going back home. I asked him what in the fuck he was thinking going back there. And he told me he had lived in those woods for almost 20 years. It was his home and he would stay there as long as he had left. He promised to call or visit on occasion. That was three years ago. None of us have heard hide nor hair of him.

My parents are convinced he passed away. They're probably right, but I can't help wanting to know. And that is where we come to today. I told my friends about what happened that winter and they don't really buy it. Can't blame them, but we've been talking on and off for a year now about going on a camping trip, and I jokingly mentioned that maybe we should go out to my grandfather's cabin. They thought it was a great idea. We're currently in the Sky Motel and White Horse.

We are leaving tomorrow morning. I'm still convinced that this is a bad idea, but I want to know what happened when my granddad came back out there. We plan for the trip to be a little less than a month and we picked summer since, I think it is safer than the dead of winter like last time. This is the last story I'm going to be posting for a while. Come the start of September, I'll start a thread and let you all know what happens. I'll take pictures where I can and have brought a number of spare batteries from my phone. Wish us luck. The Wanderer on the Tracks. On Halloween of 1988, 16, boys ventured into a tunnel on a local railroad, only one escaped with his life in a photo.

What resulted from that innocent venture was a two-year period of unexplained murders, which killed off a good 10% of my small town's population. To this day, no one knows the true fate of the five boys in the reason behind the murders that lasted until the fall of 1990, except for me. I'm the lone survivor of the six who encountered the one, on the tracks on that dark Halloween of 1988. It was supposed to be a simple dare. Nothing to it. Everyone had heard of how every Halloween people head into the tunnel and never come out.

We all thought it was bullshit. Then again, we were only 14 and not very well learned in the way of the paranormal. All we expected was just some crazy dude in the bed sheet. However, what we'd found was. much, much worse. And what we did made the outcome ten times worse than it could have been. I guess that curiosity killed the cat really fits when remembering the story. It was me, Steve, John, Andy, George, Bill, and Fred, explaining our choice of costume is irrelevant. However, let us note that we all brought a flashlight and Andy had bought a bucket to collect candy in.

Foolish, Andy. I remember your... your death so vividly. It haunts my dreams to this very day. And she does too, but not for long. We all had dinner at John's house, as it was closest to the tunnel. After that, we played some Super Mario Bros. on his NES to pass time until it was dark. When it was, we all departed to completely dare we so foolishly accepted. I carried a Polaroid to show everyone who was really in the tunnel. We left when it was considerably dark outside. Most of the dads were parading their seven-year-olds up and down the street to getting candy before it got really dark. There had recently been some kidnappings in the area, but we didn't expect to meet the suspect, so we thought we'd be

safe. With each step towards the tunnel, it seemed as if it got darker, and when we arrived, it was pitch-black. It was pretty much only us and the older trick-or-treaters outside. We all stopped at the entrance of the tunnel for a moment. Realizing that, we may not make it out alive. After waiting one more moment, we hesitantly sat inside, turning on all four flashlights. No one really wanted to do this. We felt this more and more as we went deeper into the tunnel. It was weird, though. Usually a tunnel ended around 500 feet, but it seemed like this one went on for miles. We went on for what I want to say was another 3,000 feet. That's when we saw it. At the time, we had no idea what it was. If I had a choice, I would wish that I never found out what it was and what it did. The fuck is that, Bill

asked, half whispering to the rest of us. What we saw looked like a girl that had covered herself in a dark paint or makeup and had on a plain old nightgown. She was holding what looked like a rod or staff. Her back was facing us. Beats me, Andy shrugged. Hey! He yelled at the thing before throwing the buckhead at it. It clanged off the creature and rolled to the right of the track.

Suddenly, it made the most gruesome noise in the world as its head rotated 180 degrees to stare back at us. I hastily took out my polarity and shot a picture of it. I put away the camera and shook the developing picture before putting it inside my pocket. Everyone was frozen in place looking at the creature, seemingly paralyzed. Soon the creature lifted the rod and threw it at Andy. It was horrifying and amazing.

Seeing it throw what we now knew was a spear with such dexterity as well as doing it backwards. The spear struck Andy in the chest, dead center in the sternum. His rib cage collapsed and blood sprayed from the entry and the exit. His spine snapped. and he crumpled to the ground. The blood splattered spear was stuck in the ground a good 40 feet behind us. It was only a moment before we actually thought to run. We didn't even try to save Andy.

I turned my head and saw the creature ripping open his chest, tearing muscle and organs apart as our dying counterpart screamed in his death throws. It seemed like the creature wanted to separate flesh from bone, as that is exactly what it had done. Andy's flesh and innards were scared. scattered around his skeleton in a pool of his blood. It was coming for the rest of us now. Bill was the next one it caught, eviscerating him in the same manner as it did dandy. Then she got George. And then Fred. It was me and John left. The creature was so close we could feel its putrid

breath on her necks. We both heard its demonic growls and screeches, as we just barely escaped its furious grabs for our costumes. We kept on running, even though the lactic acid had built up so much in our arms and legs, and our breath was ragged, and we were so damn tired. Soon we saw the end of the tunnel. Somehow it was morning, which was so illogical, but John and I were both happy to see the latter day. Suddenly, I heard a trip and stumble. John had fucking tripped.

We were outside of the tunnel, and he tripped. I didn't even need to turn my head to know he would be gored and gutted. I ran a safe distance away behind some trees near my house. house. His screams echoed through the neighborhood and awoke several families, wandering outside to see what was happening. Everyone who went outside all saw the creature as it tore apart John. When it was done, it swept its eyes across the shock citizens of my small town and let out a deafening roar that no man or animal could create. It then dashed back inside the tunnel. And everyone ran inside their homes, including me. For two years after that, the people who saw the creature

were found disemboweled and skinned in their homes. Some people tried to move, but I heard them say it was like they were chained here. The creature was holding everyone here, keeping everyone who'd seen it captive in this town. I'm the last surviving person who saw the wanderer on the tracks, and my time is coming soon. How did I last this long? I don't know. I bet it's teasing me, torturing me, making me shit my pants every time I turn a corner. It's taken a hold of my life and I can no longer function like other people.

I can no longer go out in the dark. My windows are always closed. The blinds always down. The doors always locked. I've tried to commit S word multiple times, but I can't. It won't let me. Recently, I've been hearing the dying screams of my dying friends. I've heard a bucket clanging from outside my window.

tapping on my front door at night, it's a sign. It's coming for me soon. And then it's coming for you. And then the picture of the wanderer on the tracks, which just has to be the polarity picture, the Opie snapped as they were deep inside the tunnel. A terrifying photo.

And, yeah, very interesting story. I mean, it's a little bit out there, but yeah, classic, scary story. Let me know your thoughts on it. This story is 100% true. Only the names have been altered. Let's start with some backstory. You may refer to me simply as John.

At the time of writing, I am 24 years old and married with a 19-month-old stepson. I grew up in the southeastern U.S. However, my mother is originally from the north. She became pregnant with me at a very young age and moved here to raise me with the help of my grandfather. father. Before long, she married the man whom I still consider my true father, and he was very good to us. In fact, I was not aware of the circumstances of my birth until I was 15. I will continue to refer to him

simply as my father. Soon after, she became pregnant with the older of my two sisters. My father, for reasons I neither know nor care to know, committed Sward when I was about four years old. At the time, I did not understand death and thought he would return. Throughout my life, I have had quite a few run-ins with the paranormal, several of which I refer to later in this story. I've seen what I believe to be apparitions, poltergeist activity, and experienced sleep paralysis on many occasions, however, I don't really believe it's much of a paranormal thing. It can be frightening. And on one occasion, I believe I even saw my deceased father. This story, however, will chronicle what I believe to be the most disturbing chain of events

I have ever experienced relating to the paranormal and the even more terrifying implications of them. I suppose that the best place to begin would be when I first moved in with my new roommates, whom I would call Ashley and Tom. I lived on my own before, but I had recently been laid off, and was forced to move back in with my mom and current stepfather. The house my mother lived in at the time was the absolute most consistently haunted place I've ever lived, to the point where things stopped being scary and just got to be. annoying. The most common occurrence was hearing footsteps up and down the stairs above my room all

night, every night. At first, we thought it was just rats or just our dogs, but considering the weight and interval between the steps, as well as the fact that they would stop as soon as we went to check, I find that very, very hard to believe. The second most common occurrence was polter guys' activity. Apparently, our ghost disliked fans, so much in fact, that any fan not attached to the ceiling would inevitably switch itself off. In one instance, an oscillating fan violently slid itself across the kitchen floor, unplugged and tripped itself over after one of us had turned it back on during dinner. My entire family, including my four-stepbrothers, my sisters, my mother, stepfather,

and my cousin, all witnesses happened without explanation. Needless to say, moving away from that awful place and into a polter guy's free space was just what the doctor ordered. I'd been unemployed for about four months when, at long last, I had finally landed a new job at a local manufacturing plant. I've been saving money, looking for somewhere to go other than my parents' place. When one of my co-workers, Ashley, who had actually worked with me in my previous job with and whom I had also shared a short-lived relationship with, offered me a room living with herself and Tom, who had been in a similar situation to myself, and had moved in together the month prior. I, again,

agreed and quickly moved into my new, smaller, yet quieter abode. Ashley was an ex-marine girl, not terrible to look at and physically fit, though headstrong, as is characteristic of most jarheads. She owned two full-grown boxer hounds that were essentially her children. If the house was burning down, she may have had a difficult time choosing between saving them or her own mother. Tom was very shy and quiet, not a bad-looking guy, but very awkward, especially with women. He had retained his high school goth kid's sense of style, and you could tell with one look into his room, which was adorned with all manner of Tim Burton and invadersim memorabilia, among other generally dark, yet seemingly immature for his age to core.

We all got along quite well, and even got Tom to come out of his shell on occasion, sometimes even talking him to bars with us and trying unsuccessfully to get him laid. It didn't take long for Ashley and I to become friends with benefits, as neither of us was looking for a relationship, especially with each other, but still had basic human needs that we could conveniently fill for one another. I learned soon after, however, that Tom had actually asked her out, to which she had denied him, effectively putting him in the friend zone. If I had known this, I would have been more discreet, but it was too late.

He wasn't stupid. He knew. He never mentioned it much, though I did detect occasional jealousy. It was for the best, though. She obviously wasn't his type at all, and she was older than him by several years. Several months passed this way, without incident, until Tom began to get behind on his rent. He had been spending all his money on pot and laying out of work to stay home and get high. It soon became apparent that he was clinically depressed, and given that he had a history of attempted S-word,

Ashley decided to give him an ultimatum. In the spirit of tough love, she gave him one month to catch up on rent or go somewhere, else, knowing fully well, he'd go back home with his mother, which was probably a good thing for him. He began staying the night to add his mom's more and more, rarely showing his face at our house until, finally, we stopped seeing him altogether. He had taken some essentials but had otherwise left his possessions untouched. So we just left them be until he decided to come get them. After all this happened, things changed. This became apparent when soon after, I had my first experience since the old place.

I was driving home from work in my little Toyota pickup truck, around seven or eight a night, I'd say, just cruising and enjoying a cigarette. When I pulled into my driveway, I parked and set my e-break like always, cut the truck off, and began gathering the stuff I was going to take inside with me. As I did, my truck shifted,

as if someone were getting out of the bed of it. Instinctively, I looked up into my rearview mirror, only to see, of course, nothing there. At precisely the time I decided it was nothing to worry myself about, my truck quickly jumped forward, as if another car had tapped it from behind. Needless to say, this startled me quite a bit, so I opened the door and eased out, cursing as I dropped my father's zippo onto the concrete in the process. As I knelt down to pick up the marred lighter, the truck again abruptly shifted forward, almost as if harboring aggressed towards my presence. Stunned, I remained

grounded, but for a moment, as I quickly regained enough composure to pick myself up off the asphalt and sprint inside. As I hurriedly shut and bolted the door behind me, Ashley appeared from a room and inquired as to why my face was so pale. What? You just got bum rushed by a ghost or something, she said? No, uh, stomach just feels like shit from eating Taco Bell again, I lied. Surely. I was just being a pussy, right? I reasoned with myself. Shit, I'm glad nobody saw me bitch out like that, thought. I've seen way more fuck shit than this before, but I couldn't shake the feeling. It was like something. Was watching me constantly. Ducking into cover just in time to escape being caught my gaze as I scanned the woods outside through the living room window. Eventually, I gathered the valor

to venture outside again and gather my left belongings. Most importantly, Dad Zippo. I picked it up and inspected it for new damage. Fortunately, it looked as it always had. It was a plain black Zippo, and it had a deep dent in the top with a paint flaked off the edges. I've been told by my mother that this very lighter was in my father's pocket when he committed S-word, and that the dent had been caused by shrapnel from the bullet, breaking up and hitting it. True or not, something had definitely hit it with quite impressive force to dent the lighter in such a way. The damage had not affected the lighter's function, however, and my mother had given it to me as a momentum. the previous year.

Quickly, I inspected the lighter, grabbed my other belongings, and rushed back inside without further incident. After I returned, Ashley decided to go to bed and suggested I do the same. Needless to say, I did not sleep that night, and my spidey sense was at constant attention. It was a very, very long night.

The next day, I got out of bed as soon as it was bright enough to see my bedroom floor. Still feeling watched and somewhat paranoid, and very cautiously, drove to the local Starbucks. I ordered my usual iced triple grande, four pump vanilla extra drizzle caramel Maggiato. I used to work at Starbucks. Seriously, it's a good drink. And pretty much chugged it down. After I finished, I lit up a cigarette outside and watched the early bird hipsters for a bit before I decided to head back home. When I got there, Ashley met me at the door looking

very tired. She informed me that her dogs had been up all night growling and staring at different spots in the room and that when she did fall asleep, She was woken up by a nightmare, but she couldn't remember the details. Neither of us had slept, and we were both off. So we decided to remedy the situation with some natural medication. So we went around back and blazed a bit of her leftover stash. It was some good stuff too. It didn't take long before we were both out like the dead.

Over the course of the next few days, I kept having trouble sleeping due to the constant being watched feeling and seeing things out of the corner of my eye every five minutes didn't help. I had always had insomnia, though, so it wasn't really anything new. I'd functioned in war-shaped before. Still, it wasn't pleasant. I'd never carried this level of paranoia for so long after an event, and it was beginning to wear on me.

The following weekend, I had smoked out earlier in the day, partially to shake the paranoid feeling, and had been veggieing out in the recliner watching nearly a whole season of Spartacus. Great show. When Ashley's room door cracks open and her dogs bolt out of the room like a bad out of hell, Ashley followed, slowly stepping out of her room, looking tired and a bit pale. She flopped down on the couch at my feet and, in a firm at tone, as I'd ever heard from her, she said, we need to blaze. Right fucking now. Not wanting to turn down free weed, I obliged, and packed her favorite bowl to the brim with the last of her stash. After he finished off the bowl,

she explained to me what had happened. She'd been having a lucid nightmare about her and her family being chased by these evil-looking black dogs. They had gotten every one of her family but her. And right when they caught her by her throat, she woke up, feeling like she had been choked and both her dogs were staring at her, cowering in the corner, whining.

The dream had really distressed her, which was saying something. We decided to do some good old-fashioned Google research and what we came up with was rather disturbing. Everything pointed to these dogs from a dream being hellhounds, and according to the sources we found, most of them stated that their presence was warning of a demon desperately attempting to harm us.

This all sounded very B-horror movie to us, but we kept reading on the stuff we had come across. One thing that stuck out to me, in particular, was an entry stating that remembering a past life could be a sign of demonic attachment or deception. I had remembered my mother telling me stories about when I was very young and telling her about things that couldn't possibly have happened at my age. So I called her and asked her about it.

She told me that I used to talk about my grandfather's cabby hat. He always called it a Polish cab driver hat and tell her that I wore the same kind of hat when I worked barefoot in the fields. She also reminded me about a time when I had seen my father after he had passed away. This one, I remembered vividly. I had been plain outside in the woods. They weren't scary woods, but by any means, it was a rural farmland area. And the woods near our house weren't very dense.

And I had come across a tall man in what looked like black spring jacket and blue jeans. When I got closer, he looked at me and smiled. It was daddy. Finally, after all this time, he'd come back, just like I thought. I remember we walked around the woods and talked about nothing in front. particular for a long time. Eventually, we ended up back at the edge of the woods near our backyard. I told Daddy to come see Mama with me, but he just shook his head and said, I can't. Being a child, my solution was simple. I'll just bring Mom to you. I ran up to the house and

swung the door open, screaming for Mom smiling and telling her the great news. Daddy was home, and he was right outside. I remember how much my mom held me and cried. I remember for being so confused why she was all upset. After all, I knew she wanted dad to come home more than even me. I went back outside after Mom, finally let me go to tell him what had happened. And I never saw him again. After Mom tearfully retold the story, I told her I loved her and ended the conversation. Armed with renewed memories, I decided to research further and pursue more information about seeing my past father. Yet again, I found entries claiming demonic deception

trying to gain your trust. This hurt my heart. I'd just known Dad was the one I saw that day. But could I really have been fooled? Even more pressing, had I been followed since I was a child? Growing up, I had always been terrified of the dark, but not sure why.

I remembered once, just before Dad died, laying in bed in the dark, and seeing these god-awful, horrifying, red eyes coming closer and closer to me. I remember screaming for help, and my mom telling me that Donnie, Donatello, my turtle, I practically had a ninja turtle loving growing up, would protect me. But I kept freaking out. She says that I was just really sick, to the point that I was hallucinating. But I remembered that it was real to me.

It still makes me shudder. All the experiences, the feeling I was being watched. I felt like he was all making too much sense, but why now? Why all of a sudden, like this, was I being targeted? Ashley had a good idea. Tom was really into that kind of thing. Maybe he got happy with a Ouija board or something one day and let some kind of bad spirit out, she suggested.

So we decided to look through the belongings he had left. We looked through a bunch of stuff in his closet and found a whole lot of strange things, including some odd candles and incense. a couple pentagrams, the Ouija board we thought about, and even a dress. We eventually came across a big gray CD binder that I had a couple of adult content mags in it and some CDs labeled 1 through 8 in Sharpie. Deciding to be nosy, we assumed it had to be adult content.

And given the weird stuff we had already come across, we wanted to see just how weird old Tommy Boy really was. It was wrong, I admit, but what we found was informative. We chose a CD at random and popped it into the disc drive on my laptop. It was an audio file, but a very long one, and without any track markers. Curiosity peaked. I clicked the play button, and through my speakers blared the words, Satan's kingdom was stolen

from him. What the hell we both said at the same time? The whole thing was a collection of Satanic, specifically Luciferian sermons, putting two-ton-two together, I decided not to spend the night at home. That night I went to a good friend's house. We'll call him Jim. His father had been a missionary for years, so we knew his dogma pretty well, which was just what I needed. We started talking over a beer about everything that had been going on, trading ideas and theories, and generally shooting the shit. After a while, I began to feel that some paranoia that I had been feeling. But I initially brought to shit off as that sort of feeling you get

sometimes when you talk about ghosts and demons, etc. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling. As I was sitting there, listening to him, I sort of zoned out and daydreamed. I guess you'd call it that. This strange beast walking behind the couch Jim was sitting on, it looked shrouded and missed, and the only way I can describe anything close to it is like a storm atronic from Merrilland. After that, I snapped out of it and went to go piss. The feeling had gotten full. far, far worse now. So much so that I rushed my piss as fast as I could because I felt vulnerable. At this point, I felt like it was time to let Jim know what was up. So I started to say, hey man, look, I don't mean to freak you out, but that's when he cut me off and said,

I'm way ahead of you, dude. So we just listened for a bit. I'm not sure what we were listening for, but it was instinct. We didn't hear anything, but the atmosphere in the room just got heavy. It was as if something terrible was imminent, and we knew it. This was when we noticed that it had gotten cold enough in his house to see your own breath. At this point, all I wanted was a cigarette. So I grabbed my lighter and was about to be headed towards the sliding glass door that led to the deck. When I noticed Jim's expression, he was so pale. And his mouth was just slightly agape as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't.

He was staring towards the door, so I stepped that way and out of nowhere, I was gripped by this sudden, deep, utterly hopeless, absolute terror. It sent such a foreboding chilled on my spine. I literally burst into tears. I was paralyzed. Only for a second, but that second felt like an eternity. I quickly moved away from that cursed spot, and Jim, thinking on his feet, grabbed his Bible, and began reading a passage. passage. I quickly followed suit reading along with them. I'm not sure what we read, or why we read it. But somehow, it worked. After several minutes of this, the feeling of terror was gone. The air wasn't

thick. We both felt fine. Great, in fact. We even watched the Exorcist after, just for fun. After the movie, Jim went to bed and I crashed on the couch. I woke up around 9 or 10 a.m. in a sleep paralysis state. It's a pretty common thing for me, so it doesn't really phase me anymore. And I was fully aware of what was going on, so I decided to just wait it out. As I'm laying there, waiting for the paralysis to wear off, something speaks to me. Not with words or an audible voice, sort of like telepathy, I guess. I can only describe it like a train of thought going through your head that you know is definitely not your own. You can't even articulate it into a language, but you know exactly what it means through feeling alone.

And whatever it was said to me this way, if I can't get to you, I'll get to those close to you. And just like that, I was free of paralysis, no fear, no paranoia, just an understanding of what I was just told. Over the next month, Ashley and I simply could not get along. She was constantly grumpy and mean. She kept trying to milk me for money,

claiming I owed her rent that I did. didn't, that kind of thing. Before long, we are no longer friends. So I found my own place, got my shit one day when she was at work, and without notice, move the fuck out. As I was leaving, I felt that presence again. I ignored it the best I could, but I got the feeling it was happy, in a strange, evil sort of way. A few months passed, and I hear nothing from Ashley. One year later, I find out she's been hospitalized. Not sure why, and that, She lost her job in her house. Imagine how I felt.

I couldn't dare face her with clear conscience. I have a wife in a step zone now. I still see things out of the corner of my eyes sometimes. And I hear strange sounds on the baby monitor every now and again. But not that terrible presence. One thing, though. My son has recently become very afraid of the dark. I have only shared this one with a few people

and still when I think about it, it freaks me the fuck out. I was 16 or so, and growing up in a small town exploring out in the hills was the thing to do. This incident took place at the north end of Ruby Valley in Elko County, Nevada. Someday I will play around on Google Earth to try to find this place, but it is slightly north of the road off of the Highway 93 that goes into Ruby Valley. I also like checking out old mine shafts and ghost towns. That shit really intrigues me. At the Burger Bar in Wells, Nevada, where I am and grew up, they had these old turn-of-the-century maps under glass on the tables. On one of them, it showed several ghost towns just north of Ruby Valley,

so I figured I'd go check them out, as I had not been in the area very often. I gassed up my 72 Dodge W-200 pickup, in being a redneck and K, before 4chan even, I grabbed my HK-91 and set out. I had found some old foundations in the lower country. and started heading into the mountains themselves and started defining abandoned mine shafts. Shit was pretty cool, so I kept going up.

I took this ancient road that was no more than an overgrown cattle path by this point in history and came upon a tree blocking the road. It was an old pinion pine about two feet in diameter that blocked the road. After the tree, the road continued straight for about 200 yards, then hooked right before coming back 180 degrees. Continuing, going to sketch up some key location. for next post. I parked my truck in front of the tree and set out on foot. I grabbed my HK91 with one 20 round magazine in the rifle and put one 20 round mag in my back left pocket. I always had a

rifle with me as I've encountered mountain lines and mine shafts before and just generally I like to shoot shit. Get up on ridge lines and shoot boulders from a couple hundred yards away anyways. As soon as I climbed over the fallen tree, I had a fucking creepy feeling as I if I was being watched, I continued on for about 200 yards at the point where the road started curving right and gaining elevation. Going towards the cabin, at this point I had the realization that not only did I feel like I was being watched, it was also dead quiet out. This was in June or so, as school had just gotten out. Everywhere you went, you could hear those cicadas, but not here.

It seemed as soon as I crossed the fallen tree, the mountains were silent, no bugs, no birds, nothing. deafening silence. As it came up to the turn, there was this big rock. The thing had to be about 15 feet in diameter. You could tell that it used to be on the road, but due to years of erosion, snow and all that shit, it had slid down just slightly off the road. It seemed to be red limestone or something like that.

It stood out since they are not common in this area. I looked at the rock and you could tell that there were carvings in it at some point in time. Due to weathering, the whatever was carved on it had been worn off. I kept walking up the road, being creeped out. But I really wanted to check out this old cabin. As it was pretty obvious, no one had been here in quite a while.

At this point, I was probably three hours off road at this point. And then he attaches a picture. So it looks like he's got his truck. He's driving up this road. There's a tree. So he has to stop. Canyon, 200 feet down. So trees, 100 foot above road.

Okay. so you're just like in this little out cove area it looks like looks kind of cool yeah mine shaft cabin trees okay i mean this gives us a good um yeah description and uh a good idea of what it looks like where he is very interesting okay anyways um you're going to be going through wells which is closer to where this happened probably about 30-ish mile south as the crow flies from there after i post everything i will look on google maps and see if i can find this cabin on there. I got up to the cabin and as far as abandoned houses and cabins in Nevada go, this one is in pretty good shape. All of the glass and the windows were still intact,

and there were remnants of curtains behind the windows. By this point, there was something in the back of my mind telling me that I should be going. I went in the cabin. And that is where I started to get the feeling that something was off. Most cabins you find out in the middle of nowhere in Nevada are barren. Nothing really left, maybe a bit of broken furniture. This one was completely furnished. Time had taken its toll, but everything was still there. What was left of an old mattress and bedding was still there. There were plates and other cookware throughout the house,

along with tattered clothing and personal effects such as the chest, faded pictures and the like. What really creep me the fuck out was the dinner table. It was set for four people, dinner plate, glasses, and silverware. This was the first cabin I had ever found that, was in this condition. It was as if whoever resided here had just up and left everything behind. I felt like I should not be in the cabin and went outside to see if I could find the mineshaft or anything else. Once I was out the door, I decided to chamber around on my HK91. The sound of me racking a

round echoed through the chicanion and broke the silence. As little of a thing as it was, this calm my nerves very slightly. Directly behind the cabin was a well. It was still, intact and as I got closer, it sounded like there was noise coming from it, like a slight breeze rustling through it. When I got within about 30 feet of it, I started to smell something. It smelled absolutely putrid. Definitely something that died in the well. The smell of decay was heavy in the air, with an acidic copper scent that tore my nostrils. I did not want to get any closer to the well and started walking towards the left. where I could see the opening to a mine shaft up on the hill.

The closer I got to it, I could start feeling a breeze coming out of it. This is not really uncommon if you have explored mine shafts before, as the breeze could be coming in from another opening of the mind. But the thing is, it was perfectly calm. As far as I could see, there were not even trees moving or any signs of wind. As I got closer, another thing that struck me, as odd, was the breeze coming out of the shaft was hot. Most of the time, it is cool,

as most mine shafts maintain a constant temperature. The closer I got to the shaft, the slower I moved towards it. Nothing since I crossed the fallen tree seemed right. The closer I got to the opening of the mine shaft, the more of a feeling of dread and being watched I got. I got within about 15 feet of the shaft when the smell hit me. It was the smell of deep.

decay in copper, but much stronger than the well. Right then, all of my spidey senses started going off. I had to get out of there. I started turning the left to book it out of there when I saw a dark shadow moving in the opening of the mine shaft. Whatever it was, it appeared to be crouched down to fit in the mine shaft. Most mine shafts I have been in have eight to ten foot ceilings. At first, I thought it was a mountain line. Then I remember it how big the fucking shafts were. My mind raced trying to think what the fuck it was. It was too big to be a black bear, which are rare in Nevada. I nearly froze with panic, and it slowly kept coming towards the opening of the mine shaft. It was probably within 10 feet of the opening, and the light was starting to show

whatever the hell it was, was covered from head to toe in grayish brown fur. Then it screamed. It was unlike anything I've ever heard in my life. My ears were ringing from it. I flipped into panic mode and did what any good redneck would do. I shot it. I pulled up my HK91, placed the front blade on what appeared to be its center mass, and ripped off five rounds as fast as I could accurately shoot. If you've ever shot big game with a large caliber rifle, you know the sound when you connect with something. I had four solid thwunks in one round that went high. This made it scream even louder than it had, in pain. At this time, I started hearing more, and separate screams coming from over in the well, and in the hills over the mine shaft. I started running down the hill as fast

as I could. In the tree line above the road, approximately 75 to 125 yards, I could see fast movement. Rocks were tumbling down the hill, and there were several other screams. From the mine shafts, I could hear the wailing of whatever the fuck I had shot. Whatever it was, I definitely connected, and it was hurting. Whatever it was up in the tree line, they were running from tree to tree on all fours, getting closer to me. As I ran towards the rock, I was shooting in the general vicinity of the movement on the top of the hill. By the time I got to the limestone rock, I'd expended the 20-round mag in the rifle. I ripped it out and put it in my spare magazine, chambered around, and started sprinting towards the fallen tree, approximately 200 yards away by now. I kept glancing back and whatever they were, they were staying in the trees.

I could make out their masses and fur, but they would not stay in the open. I got back to the fallen tree and ate shit trying to jump over it. I got up off my ass, fired between 12 to 15 rounds at the closest movement, which was approximately 50 yards away from now. I heard a few rounds connect and it started screaming louder. Between the screaming and gunshots, my ears were damned near death. I opened the door of my truck and I got the fuck in and started it up as fast as I could. Backing up to turn around, I damn near put my truck down in the canyon.

As I started going forward, I leave on the road I came in on, was when I finally got a look at one of them. It was crouched over with its front feet on the tree. It was covered from head to toe in grayish brown fur, with long, slender fingers, with claws tipping over the fingers. The back of it was hunched, and the face was slender, most closely resembling that of a badger, both sunken in eyes. It was shaking its head back and forth,

and it sounded like it was attempting to see it. speak, but it was so garbled, and with the noise of my truck, I could not make out what the fuck it was. I averaged 50 to 60 miles per hour on a shitty dirt road that I had done 15 on and the way in. I did not slow down or stop until I got back to the pavement. By now, I was so shaken, I had to stop and collect myself. I got back to town and was in a bit of shock. My dad had been a guide in the Ruby Mountains for about 20 years. He asked me how my trip went, and where I went. He could tell that I was startled and asked where I had been. I told him that I had been north of Ruby Valley.

He got quiet and asked if I'd seen a cabin with a fallen tree over the road. I told him yes. He looked to me in the eyes and told me that it's somewhere I should never go again, especially alone. We never spoke about it again after that. I have never been back there, part of the reason as I live in western Nevada now. But in the back of my mind, there's some. Something that is telling me I should go back.

And one day, I do want to go back. This was back in 2001, before camera phones, and I was too broke to afford a digital camera. I want to go back with a camera, preferably a GoPro on my helmet, and with several friends that are armed. Just something about there, even with these shit I experience, has drawn me back. One day, I will go, I guess. I guess I need closure on what happened that day. I'll probably be on for another 30 minutes or so if anyone has questions.

After that, I can be reached by email. Stand by. I will sketch it up. My drawings are shit, so it will be rough. And then the OP draws the creature he saw, and he says approximately 8 to 10 feet tall, and then skunk feet maybe or unc feet. And yeah, it looks like a hedgehog sort of thing, a very weird creature, almost like a dinosaur. But very interesting drawing.

Yeah, I mean, I don't know what to even make of it. But, yeah, I'm glad he added that picture so we can get a better sense of what it looked like. Definitely want to make it back out there with at least 45 people well-fucking armed. That is for damn sure. Still to this day, gives me goosebumps thinking about this shit. I tried researching it a bit a few years past, asking some old timers. And one of them told me a story about the rubies. I will be quick on it.

During the 40s and 50s, the Army Air Corps operated out of the Wendover Band. base. Every now and then, during shit weather, a B-25, B-17, or B-29 would smack the rubies due to poor visibility. Some of the local ranchers got recruited to help the military go up to a crash site during the winter to recover the bodies. Rancher I was talking to told me that it took them about three days to get up to where this crash was on horseback and recover the bodies. He said when they got to the wreckage, all of the crew members were laid out side by side, next to each other in a clearing in the wreckage. Many of them had severed limbs. And it was apparent all died on impact. Somehow they ended up laid out next to each other. This was at nearly 10,000 feet elevation too.

Very, very interesting story. I thought this was very interesting and I tried to look around on Google Earth and around Ruby Valley. And it's just such a big valley that I couldn't even, I don't even know where I would start to look for this area. But, um, I mean, you guys, feel free to look around for this. I mean, look similar to the drawing. If you go back to the beginning of the story, you can see the drawing that he made. It would be hard to look for the original place on Google Earth,

but I looked around for, you know, 10 minutes, couldn't find anything. But very interesting area, very isolated and very interesting. On to the next one. Okay, guys, this happened to me last night, and I haven't been able to sleep since. I was hesitant to post about it on X because I've been looking for some sort of explanation or something.

Trying to see what it was I saw outside now that it's light out. But I cannot and it's scaring the shit out of me. I usually just frequent B, M.U, and Litt, so excuse me if this is something you guys have some explanation for already. Please just tell me there's a realistic explanation for this and that what happened is common. I'm fucking terrified. Get home from work. It's almost midnight.

When the door opens, the house. home security thing does a high-pitched beep-beep-beep chime. In my kitchen, eating a late dinner before going to bed. Here a door open, and then the home thing go, beep, beep, beep, but it definitely sounds like it came from outside. I'm sitting right by the back door, so I go check the front door. The front door has a screen door, a wood door that leads to a small entry room, then a second door inside that leads up the stairs into the house. These are loud-ass, or doors. Did not hear screen door open, did not hear main door close, did not hear second door open. The door is still double locked. No other doors are opened. Nobody is standing outside.

Okay, maybe it was the neighbor's door. Maybe they have the same system. Hear it again. Sounds like it's coming from outside the front of the house. Look out the window. Looks like a deer is crawling on the yard with its belly to the ground. Stand. up on its back legs. Makes the door opening slash a beeping sound with its head raised up in the air. It is not a deer. It looks like a guy with deer legs too dark to see what the fuck is going on. I'm home.

What the fuck? I'm home. Sounds like a dog barking. I'm home while trying to vomit. Starts galloping away across the street. Beep, beep, beep. Start shaking. It's raining out at the time.

The thing opens his mouth and holds his head up. The thing starts digging fear. at the grass across the street, with its front arm slash legs slash things. Put's head near the hole, like it's looking inside. Keeps walking down the street. Beep, beep, beep, I'm home. Puts head back to drink rain. Dig as it ground.

Keeps doing this down the block before galloping away, down division away from the city. I do not live in a rural area. The deer population typically stays down towards Melrose Park off of Thatcher by the river. I live just outside of Chicago. literally a block west of the city limits. I have never seen anything like this or heard of anything like this. I am fucking shitting myself right now. I was going to pose this story on B, but I avoid B like the plague unless I'm bored.

It's summertime and I just get memed on left and right. And it seems more paranormal than anything else. I've been Googling for similar stories and trying to find some sort of typical scientific explanation for this sort of thing, but I can't even find any sort of similar story. My instinct is crazy homeless guy, but it's legs. bent back like a deer's. It was not built like a human being, and it was definitely not wearing clothes and looked like I had a full body of fur. I don't use drugs. I was not tired. I was 100% lucid, and I'm fucking horrified. Please say there's a common explanation for shit like this.

I go someplace when I dream. You likely don't remember me, which is fine. I'm forgettable in real life, so I am accustomed to that. But some time ago I posted here concerning troubling dreams. wherein I visit the foundry or refinery. I know nothing about industrial buildings, why I might dream of one every night, and where I'm getting the imagery is such a mystery to me. Literally every night, without fail, I appear in the same spot, curled up on the floor of what appears to be an abandoned and decaying industrial building.

At first it was novel, then became distressing. But while I still talk about it in therapy, it's no longer an unwelcome experience. Instead, I regard it as a sort of second home. There's nothing especially welcoming about it, but in exploring the foundry, I've discovered the layout is persistent, and anything I break or move remains that way in the next dream.

Additionally, the machinery makes no sense. I don't know much about how such machinery works, which is why I figured this was the case, but I'm not an idiot. I know what a gear does, what a piston does, but in the dream the machine, is assembled as though by someone with no conception of what machinery is in general. Gears working against each other, belts driving wheels, which drive belts, which drive wheels

back to the original wheel with no apparent purpose. It became difficult to accept that my own subconscious was coming up with it, and then someone joins the thread and says, go on. And the OP continues saying, at the recommendation of my therapist, I began mapping it out on a paper, and in taking note of anonymaries. For example, on some items there are labels or other blurbs of text in a language that I don't recognize. I can see abstract shapes while dreaming, but they change as I move the object and look at it from different angles.

And I cannot clearly recall any individual character when I awaken. In every dream, I am wearing whatever I had on when I went to bed. I began to experiment by stripping off my clothing in the dream. Of course, when I woke up, I was still wearing that clothing. I don't know what I expected to happen. Once I began mapping and experimenting, a new element of the dream appeared, one or more people following and monitoring me. I would initially never see them, only hear their footsteps on walkways above me, fleeing

when I'd try to chase them. There is a light coming through windows, but it cannot be natural sunlight. It is a rich shade of sickly orange, and while shadows cast by the sun are, all perpendicular to one another, shadows cast by light coming into the windows are at angles as it suggests the light source is much closer. I've tried on many occasions to wipe clean the dirty windows so I can see where the light comes from or to break them with rocks and rusted tools. Neither works. All that while, I hear the shifting feet of watchers lingering nearby. At any rate, the last time I posted here, you requested that I learned 3D software so that I could provide a map of

the area I have explored so far. I apologize if this is crude, but it's the best way I can do with what I've learned in that time. I have color-coded the various relevant positions, so I can refer to them if you have questions. The yellow rounded room with the tall windows is where I wake up. The green room contains the rows of machinery, the orange things. The blue cylinder is a shaft containing a spiral staircase, with several decks at intervals on the wait. down. These rounded, carved out rooms, seemingly concrete or very smoothly cut rock, contain cages all around the outer wall. Sometimes sound or movement comes from them, but they are dark. I cannot see what they contain, and they are locked. One is open and

empty. And then he links a picture of the 3D render, and you can see the green room where he wakes up, the orange machinery in the room where the machinery is in, and then these weird like cage, concrete rooms. And then it continues saying, for a long time, I thought the spiral staircase was endless. I shortened it on the 3D map for the sake of showing everything in one picture. It continues for such

a distance that unless I devote the entire duration of my dream, in the dream to descending it, I don't remember the bottom before waking up. For that reason, I haven't explored much at the very bottom beyond what you see here. The staircase ends in what looks like some type of old-fashioned office, a rusting

metal chair at a wooden desk, with a few filing cabinets to one side, looking out over an abyss. Outside, it becomes apparent that the room hangs by the concrete shaft containing the stairwell from the roof of a massive subterranean cavern. Outside, there are a few platforms hanging from the cavern roof by chains, with wooden walkways between them. Below, rather than darkness, there are what look like slowly moving gray storm clouds. I have thrown stuff down into that abyss. I never hear an impact, nor can I see any walls of the cavern. The ceiling of it seems to stretch on for miles, receding into darkness.

Here is another shot of the hanging building in the cavern, which gives a better sense of scale. And to be honest, I don't have the original thread, so I can't really see anything in that picture. Let me know if you guys see anything, but I don't see anything. And then you continue saying the platform has originally had some rotting cardboard boxes and tools on them, all of which I have long since dropped off the edge trying to get a sense of how deep the cavern is. to no avail. The clouds below look exactly as you might expect storm clouds to look from an airplane. I am powerfully curious to know what is below them but too frightened to let myself drop from one of the hanging platforms in order to find out. It isn't clear what would happen. I used to have normal dreams, and some night

no dreams at all. This just started all of a sudden one night and continued ever since, never letting up. If it were someplace pleasant, representative of my desires, it would be explicable. But if I feel anything while there, it is cold, wary, and slightly nauseous. There is a sense that something is wrong about the place. The angles, the colors, the nonsense machinery. Every electric light is there emitting the exact sickling orange light that also comes in through the windows, presumably from outside. There's very little variation in color, from grays to very subdued browns. It feels like decay. everywhere. Sometimes I try to fix the machinery, usually without results since it was apparently

never designed to work in the first place, but occasionally I can rearrange it into something that at least moves or makes noise when activated. I feel most intensely watched while doing this, like my observers are trying to learn what the machinery means to me and how it's supposed to be assembled. My therapist is too confident in her interpretations, and they are flattering to an uncomfortable degree. She believes that the incompetently designed abstract do-nothing machinery represents my frustration with an inefficiently organized in operated society, in my struggles to fix some of it and make it work to whatever small degree, represents struggles in my day-to-day life to change the order of things for the better. This is entirely, in my view, a product

of her fondness for me. She is too impressed by what is objectively a pretty dull person, except for these strange nighttime escapades. Perhaps she feels sorry for me. And then he replies to somebody saying, no, I've never tried to write anything in the dreams. I apologize for the delay. I was having trouble getting anything by your CAPTCHA system. It has been a long time since I posted here. I can try riding. I expect some anti-climatic result, like when I experimented with clothing. The experience seems designed to thwart any effort to pry it apart and see it from the outside. literally with regards to my efforts to get outside of the building. I have this lingering, deep-seated suspicion that if I could see what's outside it,

it would answer many of my questions about that place. And then you respond to another question saying, The parts are not the same from machine to machine. They are in some places similar, but never of identical dimensions. The tools are seemingly random in shape. It isn't obvious that they're even designed to do anything. I've searched for similar tools online and found nothing. Some change shapes slightly if I look away even for a moment. Then look back. I've managed to use them awkwardly to affect minor repairs only because some are coincidentally shaped such that I can use them as levers or are badly fitting wrenches. Some implements found mainly on the cage levels aren't tools so far as I can tell. They have sharp jutting points or blades, they might be weapons, but they have hinges, handles, all the trappings of tools.

Not all can even be used safely without injuring the user. Who designed them and what are they for? I feel like the answers are outside the building, but the harder I try to escape the further, away it becomes. Something always prevents it. There's this strong sense that it's a charade, an inward-facing bubble of illusion, like the set of a television show. If I could find some hole in it, somewhere that the builder forgot to patch up and get outside, I'm certain I'd see it for what it really is. If there is a world outside of it, I cannot imagine it will simply be a city, or countryside, or anywhere, intuitive.

The cavern seems to preclude that, as does the deep tungsten lights coming in through the tall windows at angles all wrong for sunlight. Perhaps it's all underground, or perhaps there's some land outside of it, with something other than the sun bathing in it, that nauseating orange light. I'm desperate to find out, and in the past few nights, every effort has gone towards probing the furthest reaches the building for some escape. So far, nothing. And then a random commenter asks,

Have you ever tried holding onto some object like a tool until you woke up, to see if you could bring it with you out of the dream. And then the O.P responds saying, yes, with the same result as the clothing experiment. For a time I accepted that as proof positive that it was in fact just a very persistent recurring dream, I moved from that to taking very seriously the possibility I was losing my mind. Following some soul-searching and self-testing, I determined I am still in fact sane,

just rattled by an unusual experience that won't stop. There's something wrong with it. Little things. Like there aren't any plants. In a lot of these urbex photos of abandoned industrial buildings, there's grass, moss, whatever, none in the dream. No plants, no rats, no living things other than myself. Little things like that.

And the chairs aren't all the same size. Some are small enough to not quite be plausibly child-sized, but still difficult to sit in. Others large enough you must hop to get onto them, often skewed at a slight angle, like slightly melted, like the tools, none of them are right. I can't believe this is,

or is a reflection of, any actual industrial building that ever existed. And then someone asked the OP, saying, didn't you say you saw a creature previously? And the OP responds to this saying, the boy in the overalls. It was exciting when I finally caught him. I believed he was the source of the footsteps I've been hearing. But even when holding him down, trying to get a look at his face and discovering only a smooth, featureless expensive skin where it should be, smooth as an egg,

even then I heard the footsteps and shuffling of nearby observers. He has also been following and watching me, but he isn't one of them. I haven't seen them yet. I think he used to be in the one cage that isn't locked part way down the stairwell. He got out or someone let him out, possibly. That's what's in the rest of the cages. This is a close approximation of the color of the light. And then he links a photo and he can kind of see the orangish yellow light. Then he continues saying from outside and from the bulbs. Why this color? I thought it was grime on the bulbs or that they were tinted. They aren't tinted. The glass is dingy but clear. All light, regardless of. of source is the same gross orange. The only respite from it is darkness. Sometimes I turn off

the lights in the stairwell just to escape that color. That was before I found the cages. Now I don't want to be in that stairwell with the lights off. I can't entertain the thought of being in that cage for more than a moment. That's where the boy in the overalls came from. And I have an unwelcome suspicion that I'm intended to take his place. I avoid it now, but it is always on the back of my mind. Someone asks, also, pre-form experiments on the boy, see if he slash she is in pain. Most likely not.

If so, try to cut him a mouth. That's a little bit of a sadistic question. But then the opi replies saying, He's scared. He writhed under me and made muffled, distressed noises through the skin. There was no jaw movement when he made those noises. If I cut into that smooth face,

I'm not certain there'd be teeth and a tongue under it. perhaps just a equally smooth, featureless skull. I think he knows what is wrong with this place. It could be he was changed to prevent him from telling. I've also thought that he might have been someone else who had this dream, that I might end up like him. If I could see into the cages, it might answer that. I tried rigging up a light on a cord,

but the shadow inside had substance, volume, like a mist or cloud. The light only penetrates so far. I can hear something, a grinding and a dull, muffled moaning. I can see hints of motion in the shadow, but nothing more. I hate that part of the building and don't want to visit it without good reason. And then someone else asks, saying, you just said there were no living things and now you're saying there was a kid? Why didn't you bring this kid up from the start? And I do agree with that question.

I mean, it's kind of weird. He said there was no creatures or people, and then he just brings up this kid from out of blue. But the Opie responds saying, I meant plants and animals. There is no growth, typical of abandoned buildings, nor rats you'd almost normally find there. The boy is not clearly a normal human being, and maybe something like a hallucination. His anitone is implausible. There are no orpices through which he could breathe, for example.

Like the machines, there are obvious problems with the logic of how he works. I wish there was some way to communicate. And then the OP says, the writing idea, as novel, I will try that tonight, and I think that's him referring to writing on the pieces of paper he finds. He also says, I'm concerned that if I spend the money on an old camera, I'll just be thwarted again. The recurring theme is that of a carrot dangled in front of me and then yanked away every time I reach for it. This place defies every effort to pin it down and extract details from it beyond what I'm apparently permitted to see and map out. At times, I resign myself to this.

At other times, I'm consumed with frustration in the drive to find some way outside to pry answers from this place when I am content with the mystery of it. I'm for some reason able to venture further, see more, like I'm being punished for trying to color outside the lines. And then someone asks saying, if you can supposedly take things into this world. And then the opi says, I've tried that in both directions, in the dream holding in a tool until I woke up, while awake and in bed clutching my notebook and trying to take it with me. Only my clothes make it through. I think what is being transferred here is my outer appearance, not objects near or on me, like a projection. I have no strong religious convictions, but some degree of spiritual feeling. I've never fit into any organized conception of spiritual belief. I have no concrete ideas about beings or places. My only experience with that sort of thing

is this foundry. I can't say whether it's supernatural. It defies every effort to prove it's anything other than a dream, while simultaneously showing uncanny, impossible to ignore signs that it is a real and persistent location that I somehow visit while unconscious. I'd like to see what my brain looks like to an fMRI machine while I'm there. I'd volunteer to be studied, but I doubt anyone with access to that equipment would take me seriously enough to go through with it. And then someone says, if you change something in the surroundings, like for example, scratch something on the wall, does it last until your next visit? And someone else says, and anything I break or move remains that way in the next dream. Well, he just answered his own question. He says, it is, in fact, persistent. Everything is

each night the way I left it the prior night. That's one aspect that makes it difficult to accept as a recurring dream. Why is it so specific? Why the particular, unusual properties that are consistent throughout the structure. Why that color of light from every source? Why no bathrooms? Why no exasines? The drawers have no handles. It's like it was built by someone who only had descriptions of factories, refineries, and so on to work from, but didn't actually understand what they are for. I need to understand what's outside to know how much, if any, of my suspicions are accurate. Someone else says, leave something organic, probably some small amount of food. I'm curious if it'll rot until your next visit. And then the Opie says,

I can try to bring food with me, but I don't expect I'll have any more success with food than with any other object I've tried to transfer. Is there some removable part of my body, like hair or nails that would show visible signs of decay over time? I'm not going to cut off a figure. or something. I have injured myself, just cuts, in an attempt to see if there would be a fresh wound or at least a scar when I woke up, but there wasn't. But the pain was absolutely real. I can cause pain to myself there and feel it exactly as if I were awake. Hence, my reluctance to drop from the suspended platforms in the cavern. I have no idea what might happen if I die there. What about feces or vomit? I never feel the need to eat. I never feel the need to

eat or defecate there, but it stands to reason I should be able to try. And then a commenter makes fun of the OP for that last little bit, posting a picture of some AI, which I guess he thinks are the watchers or whatever. And then the commenter says, oh, for fuck's sake, what is it? It's a test animal. It took a shit in the maze. Well, clean it up. We can't interfere in any way or would ruin the purity of the test. Listen to you, fine, but it's going to be awkward showing students' footage of this with a big, a big, stinking human turd right in the middle of the shot. So you just kind of making fun of the watchers or whatever is in the OP's dream. And then someone else adds to it saying, test administered to human, time to completion of puzzle, did not complete. Results,

human took a dump on the floor, conclusion, not sentient, recommended extermination prior to settlement of Earth. And so that's a little bit of joking that went on during the thread. But then the OP continues saying, the time you were undressed to yourself in the dream, did you find your clothes where you left them the next time or were they gone? And the OP said, gone. I did think of taking them off every time in building a gradually larger pile, anything to try and provoke some kind of intervention from whoever watches me while I'm there. They might have been taken away and burned after I woke or somehow returned to my body as of course I woke up in those same clothes. I could catch the boy in the overalls, but so far I cannot corner the source

of the other footsteps. It's more than one person and they move as a group, but I cannot so much as a glimpse of them. There are far many things I want to ask. And then someone else says, also try and polish metal with your clothes and use as a makeshift mirror. Try to see a reflection. And the OPE replied saying, I did this once. I won't do it again. That's very, very ominous. The OPE then continued saying, the least rusted metal surface I could find was a boiler. Boilers aren't usually made of reflective metals to my knowledge. But this one was reflective enough when wiped clean, with some spit in my sleeve that I could see myself reflected in it. My face was featureless, identical to the boy in the overalls.

It's wrong. Or the reflection was distorted. I can see while I'm there so obviously I have working eyes. I don't want to try again. I don't want to see that. It's enough to know I have eyes. I can speak so I know I have a mouth. When I touch my face, I can feel my mouth in eyes.

eyes. I don't need to see my reflection. I'm not doing that again. It isn't necessary. That's very, very ominous to me and honestly creepy. But someone that says, if this an experiment, I'm betting everything that is to test the lengths you will go in order to satisfy your curiosity. That includes experimenting on the boy and cutting off a limb or jumping to your death. That's either the success or failure condition of the test. And the only surefire way to bring it to a conclusion. And the O.P. replied saying, I'm afraid to try this, but at the same time, what you say makes a lot of sense.

But so did an earlier suggestion that I tried to create order and cemetery by returning the boy to its cage. Both assume it's a game or a puzzle with some way to win or lose. That could also be a red herring. Someone else says, what do you see in the therapist about? And the O.P. responded saying, the dreams originally. But she's part of a university training thing for psychology students. She isn't properly qualified, but it's free. I'm no longer distressed by the

dreams, nor do I still think I'm losing my mind, but that doesn't mean I'm okay with it. You have some sense of normalcy and continuity to your life where nothing obviously abnormal happens in day-to-day experience, but it happens to me every night. We aren't made to cope with that. We can handle short bursts of it, but when it's there, night after night and there's no escape, the anxiety makes it difficult to think clearly. Sometimes I get locked in these patterns of thought where I don't want to remember being in the cage room or looking at my reflection, but I am pulled back to it over and over, like a computational loop, like having to return there every night. And then a commenter says, can you draw one of the rooms up with detail? Not too much just to understand what it looks like.

If you could, the room with the machines would be cool from what you would see if you walked in from the door. That was terrible grammar, but I hope you understood that. And then the OPE replied to saying, I can try that for the next thread. I'm not a very good artist. I've been choosing picks that are as close as I can find. But yeah, if you can tolerate poor drawing skills, I'll do that for the next thread. Based on suggestions, I also intend to draw something with my finger in the grime on a window or to use something sharp to carve words into a wall. I'm curious to know whether words I write will be impossible to visually comprehend, or if it's only the language already written someplace in the foundry. And then the OP responds to a question

saying, why no mere? And the OP said, it has taken a long time to come to terms with this. I'm just now to the point where I've made peace with the knowledge of that based on what I've seen, this will never end and that each night, regardless of what I want, I have to go back there. It has not so much seen my reflection that I can't handle on top of all that. It's what some in this thread have suggested that it means with regards to the cage in the boy. Someone else says, I won't lie. Your attitude is weirder than your experience you're describing here. The opi then replies saying, she said acceptance. And adjusting to my new reality would diminish the anxiety. She was right. I have no reason not to trust her advice.

And then the opi finally says, I'm so tired. It's 5 a.m. I've put this off longer than usual. Once I stayed up for as long as I could, it wrecked me. And it was a useless attempt at defiance. In the end, I still woke up in that room so long as I need sleep. I won't be able to stay away longer than a few days. Soon I'll be there again. I'll open my eyes and see the windows. Then the staircase. The full extent of my power to avoid it is caffeine pills and other drugs

that can delay this for maybe 72 hours, but it is futile. It's like eating a calorie-restricted diet just to gain a few years. You still inevitably die. This is a long one, so feel free to skip if you prefer short and sweet. Also, none of the names I'm going to use here are real, but the people are. When I was still working on my master's, I landed a job working part-time out of paper. It was a small-time outlet, and I mainly applied because I enjoyed writing, and it was a pretty easy part-time work, not because I was serious about becoming a journalist. However, the boss man went ahead and saddled me with a

big feature article covering the poorest neighborhood in the city. I was very green, but my boss told me my writing style would suit the subject matter. So I'm scheduled to meet up with this guy, Reverend Downey. His job is to explain a bit of the neighborhood's history to me, as well as to introduce me to a few interesting locals. So one morning, I meet up with him and his office, in the neighborhood church. Reverend Downey turns out to be hilarious. He tells me all about the neighborhood, mixing in bits of history with funny anecdotes,

all great stuff in my article. As he talks, I'm taking notes. When I hear a crowd gathering outside. He tells me it's the weekly food pantry setting up inside the church. Also mentions the needle ladies showing up. Needle ladies, I ask. It's a group of women who set up a needle exchange on the church grounds. Drug addicts show up, tell them how many needles they use daily,

and the women give them fresh needles for a week and take their used ones. The Reverend excuses himself to go check up on things. Meanwhile, I get up to stretch my legs. Step out of the office where a crowd of women and children bustle around. Picking up canned items spread out over a few different tables. I'm watching the dead-eyed druggies waiting in line. When I feel a tug on my shirt. Turn around.

There's a little black boy looking up at me. A giant smile on his face. They got a nothing man buried outside. he says. At first I think he says Muffin' man. Excuse me, I ask? A nothing man, he repeats.

I can see everything from my window. They made it inside. Then they took him outside and buried him. He points behind me and says, Right there. I turn around to see Reverend Downey walking back inside. He says in his big, warm voice,

Come on out. I want you to meet someone very special. I turn around to say goodbye to the little kid, but he's gone. I am introduced to Grandma Kane, who is raising four grandchildren by herself. The children all have AIDS, Reverend Downey tells me. Grandma Kane and the four children live in a tiny room in a run-down apartment building down the street, and I walk back there with them to do a mini-interview.

The apartment building is absolute shit. Elevators don't work, parts of the ceiling are missing, holes in the wall exposing the wiring beneath. There's also no AC. it's the height of the summer, so we're boiling as I'm interviewing frail Grandma Kane next to an open window. They don't all have AIDS, she says the children. Just three do and one don't. Apparently, their mother was an age junkie who spent most of her life in and out of jail. She basically slept herself out for drug money nonstop, so all the kids have different fathers. Mom eventually

went away to prison for good and the kids went to Grandma. What about the fourth child? The one who doesn't have AIDS. The oldest, Grandma Kane tells me. Martha. She claims that Martha was not born with AIDS and that she's been tested, a very rare thing in that neighborhood. She also claims that Martha was R-worded when she was very young. Didn't get AIDS then either, luckily, but the event traumatized her. Over night, it was like a flip switch in the poor girl's head. Martha started spending all our time running around the neighborhood with drug dealers and criminals. She's very young and has already had two, I can't say the word. I mean, don't blame it on me. It's just to get around the guidelines, but, A, you can see it on screen. I asked Grandma Kane if she knows who R-worded Martha.

She refuses to tell me. I'm kind of surprised. She's been so forthcoming until this point. I assume that she's afraid of someone. Was it one of the drug dealers? No, she says. So then it was one of the neighborhood boys, I say, or a man, maybe? No, it wasn't. one of them. She seems to be getting more and more nervous as I ask her about it. Then she says something that leaves me puzzled. Everyone knows about criminals and drug dealers, but nobody knows the truth about the ghetto. I ask her, what is the truth about the ghetto? She seems exacerbated and finally says, it's just there's worse things out here than drug dealers. I press her. What things?

She looks me dead in the eye and makes a motion like she's zipping her lips closed. My curiosity is peaked at this point so I tell her we can do things off the record. I always wanted to say that if that's what she wants. So I turn off my recorder.

But she's fidgeting now, staring out the window. Before she seemed nervous. Now she's scared. I say, Is someone threatening you to keep quiet? She shakes her head. I ask.

Who are you afraid of? And she snaps at me. It's not a who boy. Instantly her body relaxes and her eyes seems to glaze over. She turns and looks out the window. At first I think she's just ignoring me. But then I noticed her chest isn't moving. She's not breathing.

I'll cut you to the chase. She died right fucking there. With the grandkids screaming and crying and crowding around her, I call 911. Nobody shows up for an hour, and I call again. This time I tell them I'm a reporter, and a woman is dead. The dispatcher says the police will be right over, and they are. Two squad cars, no ambulance. And it hits me.

Nobody's even coming to remove Grandma Kane's corpse. After a short chat with the police, where I explained what happened, they tell me to leave the premises and assure me that the body will be dealt with. Then they put the kids in the back of the car, and I asked where they'll be taken. One of the officers says, probably the prison, they got a child care facility there. He was not joking either. By this point, it's almost dark and I need to go home. I make the walk back to my car and I'm passing the church courtyard where I hear a familiar voice.

You want to see where they put it? I turn around and it's a little black kid from earlier. Big, goofy smile on his face. After the shit I just went through, his silly grin kind of catches me off guard and I find myself laughing a little. They put something on top of the nothing man's grave, he tells me.

You can see it poking out like a belly button. He points towards the churchyard. Don't ask me why, but I walk over and begin to inspect the churchyard. I know he's probably just telling stories but I guess partially I'm on autopilot, processing the events of the afternoon. Then, after a minute, I find a round patch of dirt that looks like it's been recently dug up. And in the center is something that kind of sparkles in the low moonlight.

I reach towards it. Then I pull my hand back, squeezed into a little groove in the dirt, right in the center of the freshly dug dirt, is a human eye staring up at me. I almost gag and step back. Then I hear another familiar voice. Did you find something? It's Reverend Downey. He's leaning in the doorway of the church,

almost completely hidden by the shadows. For a moment, I'm at a loss of words. Then I point down at my feet. Have you seen this? But he doesn't respond. He just says, I kept an eye on your car for you. Before I can respond, he says,

You gotta keep an eye on things around here, he said, or they disappear. He's not smiling now, and there's no warmth in his voice like before. During our interview. Things go missing around here all the time, he tells me. Cars, people, and the cops don't even bother investigating. I get myself collected and ask, Is someone buried here? Reverend Downey steps out of the shadows and says,

I heard about Grandma Kane. There's an odd expression on his face. It finally dawns on me that I'm being threatened. If I weren't a reverend, I might bet you. They never find what killed her, he says. And I'd win that bet. Who the hell is buried here, Reverend? I ask. It's not who, he says.

It's a what. I begin to feel nauseous, and dizzy. And you're going to find out just what that is if you don't step back. He reaches from my hand, from that goddamn grave. He grabs my hand and yanks me back, away from the ring of recently dug dirt, and from the eye on the ground, and I instantly feel better. I noticed then that the reverend is sweating heavily. His hand is on his chest, his fingers searching for his crucifix. He tells me to go home now. And I hear a strange sound. An odd hummus. that seems to be coming from beneath the ground.

I don't even think twice. I scrambled to my car, fire the ignition, and peel out, away from the church and out of the neighborhood. As I'm driving, I pass Grandma Kane's apartment building, glancing up at her small window. I can still see her dead body

sitting up in his chair. I'm not sure if it was my imagination, or the shadows, or the fear. But it looked like it was missing enough. eye. Neatless to say, these events shook me. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do about the article. In the end, I wound up taking the easy route and writing a feature piece like I was

asked to do, focusing on the emotional struggles of living in the ghetto, ignoring all of the truly disturbing things I'd seen. I spoke to a local poet and some recovering addicts to build my piece, but I steered clear of the church and of Reverend Downey. At some point, though, I couldn't help bringing up something to the poet I was interviewing. He was a very knowledgeable historian of the neighborhood, and I asked him if he had ever seen or heard of something called the nothing man. His reaction left me wondering. There was a flash of recognition in his eyes, but he insisted, I only know it by name. He knew it was an old urban folklore, popular in the neighborhood long before you had been born, and that was now largely forgotten.

It's something you might have heard kids talking about during the Depression. A spooky story to scare each other. Beyond that, I have no earthly idea. And then the OP included two photos. I don't know what relevance these photos have. I mean, this one photo is creepy, disturbing. The eye and eyelashes around it. I don't know.

Very interesting drawing, I assume. And then another kind of abstract painting with Church of God. and maybe this was in the neighborhood.