Snook - Creepy Stories From 4Chan

Episode Date: April 28, 2025

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Hey, what's up guys, and welcome back to another 4chan stories video. And today we're going to be getting into some creepy stories from 4chan. You guys have been asking for some longer videos. So today I'm going to deliver a long, long 4chan video. I love these stories and I hope you enjoyed them as well. Thank you so much for stopping by. I appreciate every single one of you. Please like the video and subscribe to the channel.

The channel's goal is 500,000 subscribers. So please subscribe to the channel. And all right, without further ado, let's get into some creepy stories from 4chan. All right, X. I don't really trust therapists and my dad won't talk to me about it. I would have gone on ignoring this too if I hadn't started having the nightmares again. I need to get this off my chest and maybe find some closure. I'm not going to green text everything, but a lot of it will be. I'm pre-typing this in notepad and just trying to stay cohesive. I live in the high desert of Oregon. I won't go into any more specifics for obvious reasons. There's three characters to this story. Me? my dad, and a friend from soccer, Nick. I'll include some picks as they become relevant of similar places in the badlands from Google. I don't have any original pictures of this as back then, my phone was a piece of shit just for texting and calls,

and I wasn't into photography, so I never got a camera. Be me, 15, fall of 2012, live in a fairly rural part of town, like to be outside, and as I'm homeschooled, dad tries to get me into extracurricular sports. I make it on to a soccer team that's not really an official team, but it's something to do, and I don't get fat. Dad is happy, etc. Make a friend. Great Ford.

His name is Nick. I'm not changing his name because Nick is a fucking common name, and I'm bad at making new ones. There's somewhere around 80 Nick people in that town anyway. Towards the cooler season, we three decide to go camping. Dad's happy because it's a guy's trip and that I have a friend. Nick is happy because he doesn't go that often. I'm happy because I love the desert. Take my family's two dogs, German Shepherds, and stuff for a two-day trip.

Dad has three guns, two 22 pistols and a 22 rifle. The pistols are for emergency home-slash-car defense. The rifle is for small games sometimes. They're not big guns, but we've never really needed them. Head out to the Badlands. I'm not sure how many of you are familiar with the Pacific Northwest or Oregon. It is mostly rainy, wet, green, mossy, lush, you name it. However, smack in the lower half of Oregon, there's the Badlands Wilderness.

The Badlands is fucking intense. Hot as hell in the day, cold as balls at night, and it never really changes by season. Just gets colder or hotter. I won't get into the dangerous desert electrical storms. It's full of brush, rock, and thousands of acres of endless sand and short scrub trees and deadwood. It's like a graveyard, most times, because of all the bones and shit out there. I love it still, even after this. but it's a really, really harsh place to be the unprepared.

We have hikers die out there yearly just from weather. A decent amount of it is hiking trails, own land, etc., but the vast, vast majority of it is undeveloped wasteland. We camp in the wasteland. Drive to a trailhead, walk in a few miles, and then weave off. Dad and I have walked our dogs out here numerous times. We know where we are and where we're going, and there's more landmarks in the way of stones and shit.

Dogs are awfully just doing dog things. Nick, Dad, and I all talking. Generally just being dudes, etc. Make it a good five or six miles off the trail before dark. It's a bit dusky. Beautiful sunset. All that shit. Set up in between some rocks.

I would have pictures, but this was years and years ago. They've been since lost and my phone was dog shit at the time anyways. No fire because law-abiding citizens. Got some cook stove and shit, though. Pop it up outside the tent. Roast some hot dogs and BS like that over the tiny-ass flame. It's absurd but fun and we're all enjoying it. Dogs get a bit weird as the evening goes on.

These are not couch potato-ass dogs. One of them was a schnutzhund competitor. Read, trained guard slash sport dog. And the other was an adopted adult that was generally just a good boy. Commence enjoyment anyways. Dogs eventually settled down, but on alert. Period, low growls. And we figure they're just new to this particular.

area, or maybe there's a scavenger animal. The night passes without any issue. Get up the next morning, eat some shitty camp breakfast that we all love because ma outdoors. Dad, it takes a nap, keeps the 22 pistols, but gives Nick and I the 22 rifle. I'm responsible enough to handle it, and Nick's not a total retard. Maybe we plink some rabbits or some shit, we think, but really we're just taking pot shots at dead trees and rock formations like retards. Squeezing off shots and playing around with the scope. Neither of us are a bad shot, and we're just out there exploring and being 15 and 16-year-olds, basically. We have compasses and packs, and like I said, neither of us are full potato. I'll cut the green text for a bit more of a description for this place. It's about a mile north of the broken

rock formation where we were camped, across some flat nothingness. It's a small grove-esque cluster of rock, chunks, and dead trees, maybe a living juniper or two. Not big, not thick, more spread out than Root Lush, enough cluster to be shady and notably a bit of an oasis from the waste. Nick and I have no fucking idea what's in there, if anything. Could be some coyotes, man, hardcore as hell. We rambo our asses up there, crouching like a sky rim, slowly creeping in. I've got the rifle drawn and a round chambered. It's a desert though, and we're still being loud enough that no small game would stick around for us anyways. It's quiet, and there's no animals in sight. As we get into the hope slash rock and tree cluster, it darkens up a bit and gives a really neat aesthetic to the whole

deal. We stop creeping like retards and stand up and check out the whole area, probably a solid four or 500 square feet of loosely collected rock spire slash chunks, logs, dead trees, and a couple living trees. Some of the logs and branches fell against a bent tree and some stone like a little natural hut slash thicket slash whatever. There's a bunch of bones and collected detriuses and Nothing artificial, but there's some stiff, long, dead, and dried animal hide scraps. The sand is dark, just general appearances of being a den of sorts. Nick's interested in, I'm not too phased, as this isn't my first time outdoors, nor in the badlands. You get piles of animal bones pretty often if you're looking several miles out.

Coyote's just gnaw the fuck out of anything dead and leave them in piles. The den smells like a fucking garbage heap mixed with sulfur. absolutely atrocious. And we get scared from that noise after the smell hits us. Continue to inspect the grove and from now on in, the store I'm calling at the grove. There's a climbable tree. Technically, most of them are, but this one's the most sturdy looking. The problem with Badlands trees is that they're incredibly fragile and breakable, given that even when they're alive, they're very dry. Finding one that my ass can get up without snapping is difficult,

as my heights and weight are not compatible for these types of things. Prop myself up about 12 feet or so. Take a look with the scope. Pretty cool. Drop down. Nick's back to looking at the den. We should come back here later and see if it's the owner's home. Technically, even if this owner was home,

it wouldn't have been legal to kill it unless this was that Monty Python's death rabbit, as we didn't have any tags or licenses for coyote or otherwise. I still think it'd be cool to snag a look at something, in its home. Nick's never seen this, and though I've seen and shot mine in coyotes, I've never seen one at home. We agreed to do so, but with the dogs, just in case, coyotes are cowards, but this might be a group hideout and we don't want to get nipped before we gun them down for self-defense if necessary. We continue fucking around the rest of the day. Go back to find that

dad has walked the dogs and come back. Small cook stove fire going. In the minute we walk into the camp, though. The dogs get very, very upset with us. They sniff us gingerly and then back away, growling. Doing that, leaning head tilt like they don't understand. Don't let us near them for a while. They always keep a few feet away and then return to being alert. We tell Dad what we found about a mile up and he tells us about his walk. He agrees to come with us and bring the dogs, if only because he wants to see it too. Even again, not quite dusk. I'm watching a rabbit fuck around in the distance with the scope before I get bored and look around in the distance with it. It's absolutely beautiful.

The dark stone in brown sand contrasting with the bleached gray trees, the purple sunset, and the white thing. What? Swing the scope back to the white thing, which was previously perched, to my knowledge, on one of the stones in the distance. It's gone now, but I would have bet money on it. Pausing green text again for this preliminary description. I didn't really see.

see it too well the first time on the rock, but it was crouched, either quadrupleletal and standing or bipedal, and sitting with its arms and hands on the ground. It wasn't especially big at first, but that may have been the distance, bleached white like a bone, not really much detail at the range I was in. Continue observing for the white thing. Maybe it's a pale coyote or something else, but don't catch a glimpse of it. Based on where I saw it, it was maybe directly, or slightly off kilter to our west. Asked that if coyotes can be albino. Basically get a response of, yes, you fucking retard, aren't you in school? Shrug, called an albino coyote and forget about it. Fast forward through some idiot shenanigans and conversation to True Dark. Lay in intent,

dogs inside with us. Suddenly, the younger one goes berserk, a few seconds before the other one joins in. jerks between sides of the tent, which is relatively large to service three men and two dogs, just pacing around, growling, barking, hackles up. They look like monsters. I've never seen these dogs quite like this. It's full-on defensive-offensive posture. Genuinely thought they were going to attack us for a second. Before I got awake enough. Smell of garbage and sulfur is back, though faint. Dad wakes up. Nick and I can smell it, but he doesn't seem to be bothered. We don't mention it, and neither does he. He might have smelled it, but who knows? I don't think he did at that point. Steps outside the tent. Dogs run out in front of him, the very mill sucking the door

on Zips, and begin pacing the length of the tent and our little camp area. Dad puts their leashes on and says, well, we may as well go on now. Didn't get as much of a nap as I wanted, but it's about midnight. Fucking dad and his fucking naps. The dogs are still on defend and destroy. Red alert 9,000 or some shit, looking around erratically, constantly pulling against the leashes. Finally, my dad snaps to them to heal and shut up and they do so. Albeit's still grunting and growling. We all piss into the desert stands like men, and one of the dogs loosens his lizard too. Grabbed the headlamps and two flashlights and we're off, dad carrying a 22 pistol, Nick

holding the other one. Nick moment. Holy shit, this is so cool. Nick's parents never gave him guns. In hindsight, it was probably autistic to give him one, and he's not a very, but he's not retarded guy and it's a fucking 22. I, of course, proudly bear the 22 rifle. We head north. It's a pretty simple walk back to the grove. Dogs are still not pleased by this venture. Breaking green text to talk about my dogs a bit more. And my dad, myself and Nick, physically.

Max was slightly smaller of the two and a few years older. He wasn't as quick on the draw ever, but was still a very sturdy and reliable animal. He made you feel safe, but was generally more high strung. Beaver was the larger and younger of the two, laid back when he was trained from puppyhood to be a god among animals. I'm about 5'9, was back then too, and Nick was about 6 foot. We were both fit from soccer. Dad's about 511 and didn't age the best, but was still muscular. Everyone gets a pot belly. Max seems the most irritated, constantly breaking focus to bark once or twice before hushing on his own. And Beaver is a silent asshole, mine in the leash but on tenter hooks of aggravation. We get to the grove and the garbage slash burn smell is about three times as

bad as when we were there the first time. The dogs straight up refused to go in like they actually refuse. They dig their heels in and max begins growling and staring before lurching back and forth as if unsure if he wants to bum rush the grove or stay put. Dad sighs and looks around. We can't leave them on their own because it's the desert in the middle of the night, but Dad doesn't want us out here alone. running on our own and check. You're only a few hundred feet away anyways. Okay, son, don't be long. I'm going to sit down and look for constellations. Not sure if worst dad or best dad, but he's my dad, so it counts for something. Those few hundred feet become very long when you're being gnarled wood and rock formations in a shadowy black world and you turn around and all you can see

is a lone light from a headlamp. Nick and I, however, emboldened by our guns and teenage idiocy, pressed on through and towards the smell. This time we really did make an effort to be quiet, almost crawling in the dark. Our lights all off except to one flashlight, which he held having only a one-handed gun. Behind the beginnings of the grow, however, that teenage strength began to fail me just a little. The pudered smell, the eerie darkness, and the lack of dad made me somewhat unnerved. By our low light, we estimated we were maybe 20 feet away. from the area of the den. We are correct. However, we had to creep around to the front,

having approached it from the back. Breaking green text here, as we cleared the backside of the den and weren't in the front, we heard a crack from nearby as a very odd white creature fucking sprinted, almost too fast to notice in the low light, about 10 feet in front of us and into the den. If it wasn't for being so white, the light might not even caught it, and we might have played the crack off as an owl or other bird and been unaware that the den became occupied in front of her eyes. We did, however, both notice, and I kindly thank my dad for always preparing us with flashlights and other gear on our journeys. The thing was rather tall, and not especially broad as it was long, but then at first we only caught the side view in low light.

We froze, and here comes the part that haunted me for two years, almost every night before it passed, and what has recently resurfaced. It all happened very quickly from here, and I'll try not to exaggerate details. Nick and I continued to get close, but this time both of us had a round chambered and were pointed to the guns of the den. We made our way until we were about five or six feet away from the entrance, and then flipped on our headlights. I don't know why we did that. I think it was on our intent to startle it

and be able to see it and then run. It was very startled and let out a very disgusting, screeching growl bark like a short buff than most canines do, but very ugly sounding. It was also higher pitched and sounded like there was spit and snob behind it. It was very apparent to us that, at that moment, this wasn't a coyote.

We bounced back a few feet and the creature didn't emerge. We could still see it, but it was moving around inside the den in a bit of a frenzy. It made the scream growls a few more times and Nick and I unanimously began to yell into each other, fucking run, dude. That was probably the biggest mistake of the night, but thankfully, neither of us suffered for it. What we should have done was open fire the minute we realized it wasn't a coyote. The second we turned and ran, I could hear sand and bone rattling and being tossed as it ran after us. Nick squeezed off a few random shots, I think out of fear, and I managed to get up into a

tree, about five or six feet in the air. Nick was right behind me, but instead chose a rock formation about 10 feet away. He played forward, after all, so his sprints were harder than mine, and I think he just wanted to run at the moment. The white creature pursued Nick, backing off whenever he turned, and then leaping along after he took away. It was a dangerous game that only took a few seconds to play, but it unfolded in slow motion for me. Nick popped off the rest of the 22 clip, and then the white creature began to scale the rock. I wasted only a second more before leveling the rifle and firing blindly. I could have hit Nick. I'm glad I didn't. I did, however, scare the white thing, or at least attract it. It left Nick and then bark screamed at me,

leaping off the rock. I began shimming up the tree, and in the darkness, I cracked my head against a branch, sticking out directly over me. The Mongrel began to climb the tree below me, and it dazed my vision blurring a bit. I popped another two or three shots. The clip of the rifle only had six rounds, and I kept that in mind. I figured I only had two left, as I wasn't counting very well and didn't want to be overconfident. Nick's yelling at something, maybe the white creature, but then I hear a different pitch of scream. Nick just fucking threw the gun at the white creature and hit it.

Not hard, but those metal bastards weigh a couple pounds, and later on I realized why it hurt. Again, this whole sequence took maybe 30 seconds, but it felt so much longer. Then, as the thing is looking to climb again, I see it go flying out the tree trunk. Beaver, Max, and Dad came to the gunshots and yelling. My dad several seconds behind. Beaver had just ripped the monogrel off of the tree by slamming into it and grabbing it. I'm unsure how many of you are dog people, but German Shepherds have very boxy, broad chest and shoulders. If they leap at you and their teeth miss, they'll still knock you flying a few feet if they intend to.

In this moment, time seems to totally slow down. Even in the nightmare as this particular sequence plays out very, very slowly. Nick and Dad are yelling. Max and Beaver are snarling and yelping, and my conked head vision is starting to clear. The headlamp clearly illuminates this thing. as it tries to deal with the dogs. It stands up. It's not quadrupedal.

It's bipedal. And for two or three seconds, I got a very clear image that's burned forever into my head. It's tall, maybe seven feet and skinny as hell. I mean scrawny, long forearms,

long hind legs. All of it built like a dog. Somehow, even though it's so thin, I can't make out bones, but maybe it's the flashlighting and the white, that's obscuring it. It's blistering white. Stained and now with red, either my dogs or its own blood. The neck is rather long and it has a very long pointed muzzle and face. No discernible ears

or facial features. There's a gangly little tail and its eyes and nose appear to be black, but I could be wrong on the eyes and the circumstance. It had teeth, but I couldn't tell you what kind. The forearm, paws, hands, whatever, had fairly long digits and there were short claws on the end. I less saw them and more heard them make contact with the dogs. Overall, the thing mostly resembled a whipet or a greyhound and how skinny and long it was. In the face, it was built like a canine as well, but it definitely stumbled around on two legs to get the advantage on the dogs for many, many seconds. It wasn't just rearing, it was balanced like that.

that. In its back and chest were appropriate for it. It looked natural to see it on two legs, basically. Again, I'm unsure if you're familiar with German Shepherds, but when they bite, they bite hard. They're the third or fourth hardest biting dog in the world, pound for pound, if I remembered correctly. When they bite down, they don't let go. Beaver at least had some great purchase on this thing's arm, and I heard a loud crack in the most horrific bark scream released. Max was just snapping and ripping into whatever he could grab, I think. Dad didn't shoot. I don't think he wanted to hit the dogs, and I didn't either, so I didn't waste my shot. The dogs did good work, and I don't think this monster even wanted to fight,

but we walked up on its house in the middle of ass-fuck nowhere. I hear a more normal yelp, and Max's head gets drizzled in blood. The ugly thing flails and beaver drops a few feet to the ground, as it had been swinging the dog a bit. It screamed again and then sprinted, it on its hind legs and I lost sight of it after it left the grove. This is where the nightmares ended, at least. Max's ear had a hole in it, towards the middle, and had likely been bitten. It bled a lot but was minor, and he's had far worse. Beaver was unscathed. Thankfully, overall, none of us were really hurt. Blood was all over the clearing and in both dogs' mouth. I crept down from the tree and Nick got off the rock spire. I landed on the 22 gun, where it had been the two gun, where it had

been thrown and knocked into the mongrel, picked it up, shoved it in my pocket, and ran to my dad. Too scared to cry. Nick was shell-shocked as well. The dogs gave pursuit, but my dad called them back. None of us said anything really. We walked back to the campsite. I don't remember ever putting the rifle down and dad still had a fully loaded gun. The dogs were still aggravated, but seemed quieter, as if they believed the fight was over. We all stayed awake, sitting outside of the tent, my dad and I clutching guns. Nick just staring. Come on, we packed up and marched out, still not talking about it.

When we got back into town, my dad looked at us in the backseat and said it was some kind of diseased coyote and to not worry about it, we nodded, not really knowing anything else to say. None of us believed it. It was a short encounter relatively, but we were all scared out of our minds because that tall-ass white thing wasn't a damn coyote. Nick and I neglected to really keep in touch

once soccer season ended and by then I had gotten a job so I didn't sign up again. I tried to bring it up to dad once but he just shook his head and told me to stop thinking about it. We've never talked about it since. I've been out to the badlands a few times since then because I still love it and my dad has too. Having once been a part of search and rescue a few years ago, we've never seen anything and though we don't mention it, we make a point to never go anywhere within 10 miles of the grove. I would really have loved to not ever think about this again, and for a few years I haven't. I'm 20 now.

In the last two-ish years, it's mostly faded from memory, but in the past week, the nightmares are resurfacing, likely because of stress from other things in my life, and I need to talk about this somewhere, so I put it here. So that concludes my story, X. If anyone has had a similar experience with that white hell spawn or has questions, I'll probably be awake another hour or so. X moves slow and I'll be back in the thread tomorrow. Beaver's older, but is still healthy, and Max's ear healed fine.

He's passed elderly now and missing most of his teeth, but both dogs made it out okay for those concerned. Finished. And now I'm going to read some of the replies and how the O.P. replies. Someone said, what you found was just a mod for Skyrim. And then OP says, no, it definitely wasn't a werewolf or anything similar. I've looked at all the descriptions.

I've put years into this thing and I have no idea still what it was. The only things it resembles aren't canine at all really. That seems about right. I know it was in range of a cluster fuck like that, but after looking on the maps and the satellite view, it's difficult to pinpoint it more exactly than that. It's probably fairly accurate. I'd have to get out there to be more exact.

And bear in mind, it's been a long time since I've been out there near the grove. And then he did, like I said, the sequence of events was very short. He came. Pick also related, sort of. It's the dog breed that's thing most resembled. That type of really skinny build and long neck and head. No ears, though, still. May have had them, but I didn't see any.

Going to actually get to work on the sketch now. Someone can work with this, right? Anyone polish the basic idea? Make it more a... Not shit? Trips here, with the drawing I promised. Can you give me more details on it? Which of the hands is right?

A better pose, too canine, or to human? Skinny enough? I'll do a better sketch and a better pose, but I'll need more info. And to be out of class to do that. Fuck man, I got shivers looking at it. That's really close. The correct hand would be a mix of the two. Shorter digits than the right, longer than the left, not quite like fingers, but longer

than normal animal toes. It's a bit too human, needs to be more on the canine side. The head looks nearly exact and the body is too human. Is this close? I tried to fix the orientation while still keeping it reasonably able to be bipedal. Is there anything else you can tell me about it? On mobile? Hope it doesn't stoop it up the picture.

That's about perfectly on it. That's so damn uncomfortable to look at. And all the pictures listed, and this is what the OP... must have seen out in the desert. Pretty disturbing. Worst part is the fucking consistency of these stories from legitimate sources, i.e. real people and real experiences and not creepypasta, and from people that have never heard of a skinwalker or any of the stories. There is something in the woods of North America

that makes the other animals run away, stay quiet, or just never go to an area. An apex predator that is not man or bear or wolf or big cat. It is smart, human level smart. And just too much people seem to dismiss it. I have even had a run in with something. I was in a woods. I love hiking. I love camping.

I love telling the world to go fuck off for a week or two. So I'd go hiking slash camping like 50 miles from the nearest road, making trails, not following them level hiking. Carry a handgun cause wild animals. One day walking. Can tell animals are keeping distance from me. Normal for deep in woods, they fear man and are not accustomed to him, but can tell that the area around me is the only area that is disturbed by my passing.

And then it gets weird. Have not seen deer or signs of them for two days. Weird this far into the woods with few hunters. Have not seen smaller smart animals like pop. and raccoons for a night and a day, have not seen squirrels all day, have not heard birds for 30 minutes, stopped hearing insects. Something is scaring the animals, and it's not me. Very far into the woods, so it's not likely another human, and people leave their unique mark on a healthy forest environment.

Think tracking missing persons, so I can always tell when someone is near me in the woods. This is something different. It is not human. Something predatory is near me. Start to walk slower and lighter, so my own footsteps don't cover up sounds. Something's moving 75 yards away from me. Too small to be a bear, and bear don't scare the birds and bugs like this. Medium-sized like deer or person by the amount of tree limbs it disturbs as it moves.

It's going the same direction as me. Go left. It follows. Go right. It follows. Put a large rock formation between me and it. It followed by going over the rocks. Not deer, deer our prey, so they avoid large exposed area that predators can see them like over the rocks.

Not person as people that are not an Olympic gymnasts will have problems climbing the rocks. Definitely predatory. And hunting the only thing going this way. Me. So it can't be a large cat or wolf because they're kind and are functionally extinct in this part of the country. I don't know what it is, but it's staying 75 yards back into the right and following me. I brought a gun for something like this. Get pistol out and load it.

Come to a somewhat flat part that is before an open area a thousand yards away. It will attack as I get to the open area, as it will have cover and I will not. And have I run, I will run to the safety of the tree line where it will be waiting, or into the open area where it can chase me down like a lion after water buffalo in the African savannah. 1,000 yards still the open area. Me and it are still in some dense woods. I have a loaded gun, and it's time to let the predator know that this prey is not an easy meal. I turn and start running toward its position.

I know it can hear my footsteps as they're kind of loud as I run. I can tell it takes off at an angle when I get to about 25 yards away. Move fast, but I can also can't hear it still going, so it moved away and then stopped. Get the spot it was and stop. trail where something moved into the woods and going off the left like i heard it turn to the direction it went and i know it is still is no more than a hundred yards away takes several very loud steps in its direction fire one shot into woods in its direction here it dive to one side for cover here it then start to try and get closer it's not afraid of prey fighting back and not afraid of gunshots

but knows to not get hit by them okay now i'm scared what the fuck is this thing I yell out. I know you're out there. Hell, it may be a person. And if it's an animal, then the sound will let it know. It's in for a fight. I hear in a voice that is like my own in a recording. Out there.

Out there. I know. Out there. I know you're out here. And a sound that sounded like an attempt to make a gunshot sound but lacked the volume. And it's 75 yards away. So much, nope. My emergency mode kicked in, like for my.

EMT paramedic work where my emotional part just overloads and shuts off and my logical part takes over. I don't run as I know running will make whatever it is attack right now, sensing weakness and fear. I walk away in the direction I and it had come from. I walk in a steady pace for a while and then just stop and turn around loudly with the gun. It follows. It tests me by coming closer and being loud about it some of the time it stopped. I do not panic. panic fire or start running as I know if I did that it will attack sensing fear and panic and an opportunity. We play this game for the rest of the day. It really starts to test when it starts to get dark and I'm still over 20 miles from anything and two days hike from where I started.

Thank God I have a cop flashlight that is also a club and is a halogen running on 3C battery so it's an artificial sun. It stays away from the beam of light and keeps its distance, 10 to 20 yards all night. Day comes. It is still with me. I walked all day and night and in a straight line for the place I parked. It stays 50 yards or so away. I still have not seen it, but I've heard it following.

It keeps getting bolder and testing more often. I see leaves and brush moving where it is when it gets close and test me to see if I'm still alert. I let it know I'm stopping and facing its way every time it tests. Late on the day, but before Sunday, down, I get to the area I parked at. It's still with me. I look in its direction with the gun pointed and get the keys out. It stays 25 to 50 yards out but move circular to my position. I keep the gun pointed at the sound of it in the woods. I get me and my large backpack in the car all without taking my aim off of where it is. It finally shows itself as I'm getting into the car

and it shows it can't follow me at the speed of a car can drive away. So it shows itself finally. Out from a clump of trees, 25 yards away, it stops avoiding open sight lines and comes out. It looks just like me. Same, even the same clothes I have on. Same camo pants. Same t-shirt with dirt on it. Same backpack. Same gun.

Flashlight is wrong, but it has one. And it waved at me. Then just stood there looking at me as I drove away. I now carry an AK-47 whenever I'm on hiking or camping now. I tell people it's for bears. It's not for bears. There's something in the woods. I don't know what it is, but I carry a big gun if I ever see it again.

Worst part is it's not fiction. I think this is why scary movies and creepyposses don't scare me. I had some really weird shit happened to me for real. The real fear didn't hit until a week later when I became paranoid and locked all the doors and windows and slept in the attic with the attic ladder up and nailed shut with my flashlight pistol and phone. I'm now one of the crazy gun nuts that carries an AK when hiking and camping and tells people that I meet in the woods that they go back and stay near the short trail

or get a gun. And when they say, oh, like bears, I just say predators. All right, X, I have a story for you, so sit a while and listen. This takes place three summers ago during a boar hunting trip down in a very rural, area of the Ozark South. My main reasoning for sharing this here is that ultimately, I don't believe in the paranormal. However, I believe I may have run across something that I couldn't explain and I want some input. Fair warning. I'm no good at green text. However, I'm not going to assault you with a wall of text. In any case, enough pretence aside. Be back from college and wanting

to get out into the woods. Be bored as fuck on a Friday night and decide to head out super early for boar hunting with a buddy of mine, J.D. J.D. is an Eagle Scout, not prone to being spooked very easily, and I have been hunting in places ranging from deep south swamps to Alaska. We pack our shit up and leave his place around 12.30 a.m. After stopping for energy drinks and beef jerky, every hunter's best friends, we end up getting out there at around 2.15 a.m. We'd hunted this area for boar many times in the daylight, seeing tons of deer, squirrels, and even a baby fawn that fell asleep by the way. warmth of our car engine once. Basically, a nice place. We pull off the gravel tract, 40 miles from town

and three miles from a podunk gas station slash deer check station. Decide not to fuck about in the woods at night. We'd had a mountain lion walk in our tracks on a previous hunting trip, roll down windows and try to take a short nap. Instantly, we're hit with this nasty, cloying, sickly sweet odor. I just brush it off and say, Just some wet deer, ha-ha. Should mean our scent won't travel far in heavy damp air. JD just looks at me and says, That smells like death, bro.

Like a cow that's been out in the sun too long. I launch into a diatribe about him being a gigantic pussy and how he should deal with it. In any case, since we don't want either to be mucking around about in the woods, home to mountain lines in the dead of night, or be accused of night hunting by some F-word ranger, we decided to go check and see if the podunk gas station is open. Surprise, J.D., shitty old, four-banger won't start. Fine, looks like it's a nap followed by hunting, while we wait for some

toothless mechanic to come jumpstart his car. All the while, this smell just seems to be seeping in through the vents and the cracks in the windows. It gets to the point where I'm actively retching in the car. Enough's enough, and we decided that if something had gone and died, we prefer not to be stuck in a gigantic tin can right beside the corpse. We get out of the car, parked in the middle of this gravel parking area, surrounded by tall grass on the north side and woods on all the others. A swamp was to our direct west, full of boar, deer, and critters. As I'm sitting there, loading up the magazine to my rifle, J.D. just keeps scanning the tree line with his eyes. To the Europors and northerners, hunting in swamps is close quarters. We hunt boar with

semi-automatic rifles in the south. You want a quick follow-up shot in case the 400-pound ball of muscle with 8-inch tusks decides to charge you from 25 to 30 yards out. Something's got his hackles all up, but I'm feeling fine, so I just dismiss it as F-Wordjury. Anyway, suited up, we make our way down to the small footpath, one to two feet wide, that winds its way down into the swamp. However, reaching the tree line, we both just stopped, staring into the woods for a few minutes before either of us spoke. It was almost like shining a flashlight down a mine shaft, where the darkness sort of dissipated the light. I could feel my skin crawl, and something deep in the hindmost parts of my mind told me just to walk right back to the center of the clearing and wait

for the light. Nope. So we do what any caveman would have done in that situation. We grunted about a few excuses to preserve our manhood and went and sat the fuck down by his car. Like, fuck, I'm going to bumble through woods with mountain lion, weed growers, and God knows what else at 315 by that point in the goddamn morning. The mood lightened and the smell had seemed to recede a bit, so we just busied ourselves checking our rifles and talking about girls, politics, and history. We're a weird bunch. After a while, the smell started coming back and we began to voice our concern that something that smelled fucking dead was moving around. As the smell started growing more and more oppressive, I start hearing branches and twigs breaking the undergrowth. Whatever it is, it's

moving. I don't like that one bit. At this point, I'm thinking it's a mountain line that's all covered in go from a recent kill that's about to go full territorial mode. That wouldn't have been out of the question, but it wasn't. As I strained to hear what it was, I noticed that the snapping didn't come from the pat, pat, pat, pat of a four-legged animal. It resembled the crunch. It resembled the Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch of a novice hunter picking his way through the undergrowth. My first thought was we either had a ranger with a sick sense of humor, a drug grower with a great sense of humor, or worse, a motherfucking serial killer. Either way, weapons were shouldered, bolts closed on loaded chambers,

and lights pointed towards where the sound was. Nothing. It's fucking nothing, just the smell. And a slower, now, crunch, crunch. And it stops. The smell is everywhere now, and whoever it is sitting far enough back in the tree line not to be silhouetted by our lights. Smart asshole. No eye shine either, which ruled out just about any animal other than a boar, which make enough noise to be easily noticeable. Once again, the caveman brain rears up deep within my psyche and tells me, Fire.

A fire, you idiot, build a fire. So what do we do? Jady and I build a fucking fire. Throughout this whole affair, other than a few moments where we'd been mostly quiet. However, the fire gives us comfort, and whatever it is seems to back off into the forest, if only for a while. As the fire burns hot, we start joking again, having a decent time, convincing ourselves it was only a cougar.

However, there's only so much timber in a gravel clearing, and after a while, we'd have to venture out of the firelight to keep the fire going. That time came, and as the fire burned down to embers, the smell came back more oppressive than before, and with that smell come an almost oppressive feeling of fear. Not regular fear, but an intense guttural fear that made your muscles tense, your stomach turned and your eyes go wide. Every fiber of our being told us to get more wood to keep the fire high, only with fire, would we survive the night?

So we cautiously walked to the closest tree line, barely able to see from the dying light of the fire. We'd been trying to save our flashlights. I was on guard duty, as we figured out that my Ketme, a 308 semi-automatic would be better standoff weapon than J.D. small carbine. I'm tactulating the fuck out at this point, adrenaline flowing from a profound feeling that something just isn't right.

J.D. leans down into undergrowth to pick up a stick, reaching into the tree line. He screams and falls backward While branches break right in front of him He gets up freaking out Doesn't himself off saying he saw something Staring at him first Sunkin eyes a thick brow ridge

Ashy gray skin Then it smiled at him Not so much as smiled But curled back its lips in a Sheeshire grin We are at NopeCon 1 gentlemen I'm going to ignore the next hour Of this hopscotch game of the

fire dying, this smell growing more intense, him, as we call it now, drawing nearer, building the fire back up and him retreating back to stay away from the firelight. However, it should be noted that this entire time he was circling us, probing our defenses, seeing if it could find a way to get up close without being seen. By the time 5 a.m. rolled around, we'd exhausted almost all of the dry firewood that wasn't within the tree line. Except for the tall grass on the northeast side of the road in. We, of course, do what we have to do, and slowly pick our way over to the tall grass.

By this point, I have taped a flashlight to my rifle and switch it on as we leave the fire to give them dry grass. As JD is filling his hands with tender, I check my right-hand side and look down the road. I wish I hadn't. Just as I swing my flashlight over the road, I see him for the first time. It's grayish black with either slowing skin or matted gray fur.

I honestly couldn't tell. It crossed the 10-yard wide track that seemed like an instantly, hunched over maybe 5-5 to 6 feet tall, moving like a gorilla does. It's over. Something in my head just started screaming, it's over. It knows you've seen it. It's not just being territorial. It's circling like a predator.

It is a predator. That feeling hadn't been one of the fear, but of impending predation. Somehow, the lower parts of our subconscious had known what was going on long before we did. In any case, we ran back to the fire, popped the dry grass on top, and waited for the smell to recede. It didn't. It was close. Very close.

And this time, it wasn't moving. So we pushed out and got on the trunk of JD's car and listened as it passed behind the front of his car back into the trees. In a burst of brilliance, I decide that we either make the three-mile run. through dark countryside to the gas station and pray the lights are on, or we build a fire big enough that one of the farmers or someone driving the main road can see it. We end up deciding that sprinting three miles through dark countryside, guns on our back could be at the worst get us devoured by him or shot by a terrified farmer.

So we do the next best thing. I pull a fucking small tree out of the ground. I'm not talking about a bush. I'm talking a small eight to nine foot tree. It's amazing what adrenaline can do for you. So much adrenaline where your facial muscles are drawn tight and your eyes dilate to be nearly black. Jady's description of my face.

In any case, the fire burns bright, very bright. After a while, and he, retreats further into the woods. This fucking tree burned a long-ass time. Eventually, maybe 30 minutes after throwing the tree on the fire, three lifted trucks come barreling down the road and flying to the gravel parking area. The first truck had an obscene amount of those off-road lights on the bull bar and roof, which lit up the whole glade like the fucking sun. The smell almost goes away entirely, still there, but almost impressible.

No one gets out of the first truck. A man wearing a National Guard t-shirt and ACU pants hops hops out of the second truck with his hand on his hip, concealed pistol. He questions us for about 10 minutes, makes us disarm, clear our chambers, and set a while. rifles in J.D.'s car. He tells us there's a burn ban. We shouldn't be out here, fucking around, et cetera, et cetera. We explained our car died when we came out hunting and made that as a signal fire. He just looks at us strangely at the word hunting. Walks back to truck number one, comes back and tells us not to come back there unless we have all our ducks in a row. truck three drives over and a man hops out to jumpstart our car i shake his hand and thank him profusely and he gives me a worried but sympathetic look he doesn't say much but walks back to his truck and drives away truck two drives away shortly thereafter one we've got all our shit packed up truck one's window rolls down and another fat man and a polo calls me and jd over there's no bore here boys if you're hunting for bore you'd best be looking further down the road

at least on the other end of the county redacted. Bullshit, tons of boring there. But I don't say that. I'm not going to mouth off to the halebilly militia that just saved my life. So I thank him for his advice. J.D. and I get back in his car, debating whether he had gone away with all the commotion. Just as soon as Fatty McLight Bar had pulled out, the smell returned yet again. Nope. We're out.

Hop on the gravel road, drive to the highway, drive past a few farms, and make our way towards the western border of county redacted. We noticed we're being followed by a small white Honda. Guess who's sitting in the front seat? Fatty Mick Lightbar and Hillbilly Militiaman. They follow us all the way out of that county, then turn around. So, that ends my experience. It's hard to get green text to express emotions,

the exact description of the smell, or the fucking primal fear we felt. I wrote an after-action report of sorts that morning after the hunt, but haven't been able to find it after I moved, hence the green text. In any case, I've debated going back with more than two people to hunt him, but I'd like to know what exactly I was dealing with. This is, of course, not touching the fact that the hillbilly militia patrol seemed to know more than they were letting on. Any ideas, X-Files? And all right, guys, that wraps up some creepy stories from 4chan, and I hope you enjoyed this video. and comment down below.

Did you enjoy these stories? Would you like to see stories like this in the future or something else? And also would you like to see shorter videos or longer videos in the future? And yeah, that wraps up some creepy stories from 4chan. You guys are the best. This was Snook, and I'll see you guys next time.

Bye.