Snook - Dark 4Chan Stories

Episode Date: September 19, 2025

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Hey, what's up guys, and welcome back to another 4chan stories video. And today we're getting into some dark 4chan stories. And today's stories are great. I'm glad I can continue this 4chan story series because, as you guys know, or a lot of you know, I'm running out of 4chan stories to tell. So, you know, this might be one of the last videos for a while. So enjoy it. Sit back, relax, and get comfy. And let's get ready to listen to some dark 4chan stories. Like I said, these videos are great. Super good. You'll want to stick around. And please like the video and subscribe to the channel. It helps more than you know. And all right, without further redo, let's get into some dark 4chan stories. So, story takes place in 2007. It was and still is

the only paranormal experience I have ever had. I was working at a TV station in a small town. I'm not going to say which one, but you may be able to figure it out with the details I provide. Don't really give a fuck if you want to try to figure it out. I worked as a master control operator on the late shift. The station I worked in was creepy-ass-fucked for a couple reasons. Firstly, the building was old as hell. A lot of the structure of the building used for storage in the area where the transmitter was, was just an absolutely horrible condition. Cracks and walls, broken lights, exposed wiring, etc. In retrospect, it was probably actually pretty dangerous. The other reason that this building was so creepy was that at one point in the 70s, it fucking burned

down, and it was rumored that several people died in the fire. I have never been able to confirm this, though I've been told specific names of the deceased. Being the cheap bastards to the family that owned the place were, instead of rebuild all the building, they kept just part of the fucking thing that stayed up and rebuilt a new part onto the remaining standing part. When I worked there, the original part of the building was now entirely condemned and all but falling down. There were two floors on the original building, a huge room that used to be a bowling alley, and an upstance, there's part that was used entirely for storage of old files and records. Now, I don't know exactly why there was a bowling alley as part of the old TV station,

but I also know that they used to do a local wrestling show there as well. I guess TV station just did weird shit in the 70s. Anyway, this condemned portion of the building was the creepiest part of it. The bowling alley was frozen in time, covered in dust. Everything's still there. Fuck, I even found old scorecards and shoe cubbies when I went exploring in there on the nights in the weekends. Continued.

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I use it. I trust it, and if you value your privacy, you'll want to use it too. Click the link below and start protecting your online life today. And now back into this insane 4-chan story. The bowling alley was completely cut off from power. It had no light except for sunlight through dusty windows and cracks in the hall. At night, a flashlight was the only lights in that pitch black ass area. It was creepy.

The only noises heard in there were sounds of dripping water. It's worth mentioning that it was pretty much an unspoken rule that everyone understood that we weren't supposed to go in there. The only two doors to access it were behind the front desk and threw a locked door in the copy room. I was like 18 at the time. I didn't give a fuck. I went back there when I was alone or when the skeleton crew was working. Sometimes me and some production and news people would go back there and explore. Like I said, this place was frozen in time. Upstairs along with the files, we found boxes of old records, like music records, Michael Jackson LPs and such, stuff that might have been worth some money.

There were plenty of reasons to take people splurin over there. So that's some history. On to the experience. I was working the sign-off shift one night as usual. The usual procedure was that at midnight. Everyone except Master Control fucked off. Production, the remaining engineer, the news people, all left around midnight. I was generally alone in the building until 2 to 3 a.m.

until the station signed off. On this particular night, my buddy came up to the station to hang out with me. We'll call him Dan for convenience sake. I had people come chill up there pretty often. Friends like checking out the station, and there wasn't shit to do but kill time. So it's about midnight, and me and Dan are chilling watching whatever stupid shit was on air at the time. Likely, Bones or Family Feud or something gay. I start telling them about the bowling alley.

I hyped some shit up about how the people that died in the fire haunt that area and decide we can go ghost hunting. Continue. Pick, control room. It will come in handy in a later post for orientation. So I decided safe to let the automation just to. run for a while and we can leave the control room and go exploring. I take Dan or Dave or whatever the fuck his name is for a tour around the outside of the building first, showing him how effed up it is. There were literally transmission lines going up to the tower that were held up on the supports built

on crumbling she rock. There was a sticker on the door that was bolted shut to the bowling alley that read, watch for overhead wires. You can be killed. God damn that place was jank. Anyway, I give damn the usual tour I've given to like five people by now. Usually it was bitches because bitches love a brave man in a scary as F place. We go back there with flashlights and the walkie-talkies, and the whole time we're trying to contact spirits of the deceased with our walkie-talkies. Listening for voices, interference, etc. Didn't really get anything but some static.

But it's a TV station. What did I expect? We were back there for probably all of a half an hour, and we went back to the control room to resume. being lazy fucks. Some time goes by, and a walkie-talkie that I had left on started making some pretty weird noises. Definitely sounded like a really deep and staticy voice. Didn't think too much of it because, once again, TV station, lots of equipment slash signals. I humored this and tried to talk to what or whoever it was. Push button and talking to Mike, asking if anyone is there. Keep hearing

something, but indistinguishable. Now, this set off walkie-talkies made that very generic, Baloop, sound every time you push the button to talk. After a few minutes of trying to talk to what I thought was nothing, the Waki Taki started making the Bloop noise, all on its own. What the fuck? Maybe the dude on the other end

is trying to use Morris Code or something because we can't hear each other very well? Pick up mic and talk and say, if you can't hear me, beep once for yes. Bloop. Continue. Picture of the transmitter room. We grabbed the second Woky Taki and tune it to the same channel

and nothing is happening. Not only is this only happening to one walkie-talkie, but we cannot make the second walkie-talkie simulate the same bloop noise on the other. Pushing the button is literally the only way to get the thing to make that fucking noise. This was the first moment when I went into okay, maybe something is actually happening here mode. Start asking things like, is anyone there? Beep once. If you can hear me, beep once. If you're in the building, beep once. It would beep once, every single time. Also, it would not beep if you didn't say anything. It literally only responded when prompted. It was not Dan fucking with me. He was right next to me in plain view. Other walkie-talkie was off. Set walkie-taki down on the table. No one is touching it. Say out loud.

If anyone can hear me, beep once. Bloop. Nope. Dan and I run out of the room. We searched the newsrooms, studio, hallways, bathrooms, transmitter rooms, offices, parking lot everywhere for people. No one. I get up to the entry room where the front desk slash bowling alley door was. Bowling alley door is wide open. I close and lock that fucker. I always did. Every time. This is where I began to go into panic and events are a little less clear. Continued. Picture. Another shot of the control room conveniently with the ring picture up. This can be seen in the last pick too. Dan and I head back to the control room and shut all the doors so no one could hear inside the room. walkie-talkie lay silently on the desk by the board ask again if it's in there bloop ask if it can see me

beloup decide that maybe someone could still be tricking me and is listening in on me somehow decide to see if this thing can really see me i stand in front of the board and face the monitor wall if i'm facing the monitor wall beep twice bloop bloop bloop no fucking way this was the first time this thing had beeped twice. I turned 180 degrees. If I'm facing the monitor wall beep twice. If I'm facing the racks, beep once. Beloup. I didn't believe it. I tested it again and again and again. Turning to different orientations and asking for a different number of beeps. It got it right every single time. I'm panicked. It's now like 220 a.m. and I haven't logged break times for over an hour. I can no longer do my job. I'm so fucking terrified. At some point, Dan and I just accept.

that we are in contact with something otherworldly. I asked if it came out of the bowling alley. It did. I asked it if it died in the fire. It did not. I asked it if there was a god. It said there was. Now, last time I told this story, people said,

Herder, your story was good until we got to this part, confirmed for fake. I don't really care. I'm not going to admit it because it fucking happened. As I'm shifting into this new and terrifying worldview, based on the experience I'm having, I ask if there is a hell. Balupe. Are you in hell? Baloop.

On a scale of 1 to 10 by number of beeps, how bad is hell? Bloop, Bloop, Bloop, Bloop, Bloop, Bloop, Bloop, Bloop, and it keeps going. It wouldn't stop. I start crying. Continue. Picture. Behind Rack and Control Room. I don't remember how many times it beeped.

before it finally stopped. I tried to calm down. And pretty much at this point, ignore the walkie-talkies and stop asking questions and start replying shit with like Dan and I trying to come up with explanations and catch up with my work. It's getting close to sign off time,

so I start with my close-up, shot procedures, etc. As I'm shutting some shit off and talking to Dan, this thing starts beeping in a series of three. Just three, pause. Three, pause. Over and over. Start trying to determine and ask if some important of three.

It's like 2.45 a.m. 3 o'clock, bloop. Sign off, bloop, b'loup. No? Is something going to happen at three o'clock? Bloop, fuck this. There is no way I'm going to be in this building. I set up the automation to automatically go to color bars

after the national anthem and just go ahead and turn off the fucking transmitter 15 minutes early. Fuck this walkie-talkie. Turn the flicker off and throw it on the charger. Then I go outside into the parking lot. He leaves. 3 a.m. comes. Nothing happens.

Wait and see what happens because I have to go back inside to load the next day's playlist. Nothing. At like 302, I decide, scared as fuck, to go back inside. As I'm walking back towards the door, I hit the deck after I hear an ear-shattering, clank, wobble, wobble, wobble, kabo, kabo, kab. And then the sound of something fucking electrical, like shorting out. The huge boom came from our main network receiver dish. The thing is like 30 feet in diameter and up on a huge robotic tripod.

The thing somehow slipped out of the lock and literally fell with all of its weight, collapsing to the bottom position, facing the ground. I call my boss, the chief engineer immediately. Continue, one more time. Picture behind the news set. Tells me he'll be there immediately. He lives right up the street, so he'll be there in like two minutes. Follow sound of the shorting out sound.

Find that between the building that the sheet rock, wall, a fucking transmission line broke, and is completely unrelated to the dish falling. That fucking sticker about overhead wires was not lying. Boss shows up. Tell him I was outside smoking when the thing fell. He proclaims, I have never seen anything like this before. We go in together to the sound of alarms related to the dish. I tell him about the transmission line. Tell him the next day's guy will have to do the playlist because, fuck you, I'm leaving. He literally does not give a fuck and has bigger fish to fry. I get in my truck and hit the road. I call my buddy William, who was always fucking up late as shit to tell him about what happened. As I'm going over the events with him,

out of the earpiece of my phone, and I shit you not, it goes, bloop, and will fucking hurt it too. This is exactly how it happened. Sorry if some of you fuckers don't like it because it isn't nice and tidy and perfect, like you're made up Skinwalker pastas. But this is how fucking shit went down. I still can't explain it to this day. And I never tell anyone because people laugh. I come to tell X and some of you will still bitch about it. Well, follow this fucking story away under TruPasa because I did not just type all this shit up to be dismissed. We'll be happy to answer questions if anyone has any. Picture in the control room using panorama. Okay, K, I've put some thought into this and I've decided to share my what the fuck slash nope slash in a wood story with you.

I wasn't going to do it, but after seeing a few other threads with people discussing weird stuff, I figured I might as well. And maybe I'll get a solution for my one and only unanswered question. What I'm about to tell you is the 100% truth. And I'll try and be as detailed as possible. Firstly, some brief background onto me, which I only offer so you might understand my behavior and mindset. I am in my early 30s. I'm an active duty Marine who's been in the Corps for over 15 years. I have quite a bit of training along with real world combat experience. I am a rational, logical, and skeptical person

who does not believe in the supernatural or spiritual, and I'm a longtime lurker here at Kay and 4chan in general. So this all took place in the Californian Mojave Desert at a place called the Joshua Tree National Park. Three weeks ago, over the Thanksgiving holiday, I often go out on short camping trips, and this time, I was out for one night of camping before the weather got too cold to tolerate it. This is a huge desert area, with almost no vegetation other than scrub brush and cacti,

large mountains with very flat valleys, and hardly any wildlife to be seen. I go out there to do some hiking and get away from gadgets for a while and relax. The sunsets, sunrise, and starry nights are really amazing. When I go out alone, I leave my wife a map of where I'm going on my trip, identical to the one I also carry, along with a set timeline. I usually take a ruck with Duraflame log, so I don't have to burn the already sparse vegetation, basic survival gear with food and water, and I carry Ruger 77-slash-357. It's a bolt-action 357 rifle, with that uses five-round rotary magazines, of which I take three more. I carry this because it's a

national park, and no one gives me a hard time about it. It's reliable, very accurate, light, cheap to shoot and powerful enough to kill a coyote from 100 yards if I need to. The coyotes out here aren't deadly, but they are pretty damn fearless and are used to people, so it's a necessity. I almost always camp on the large rock outcroppings now, because one time I woke up and saw no less than six coyotes standing in the dark just outside the firelight watching me, pacing quietly. It was actually kind of neat to be so close to them and we sat watching each other for a while, until one started edging in too close and I had to shrew them away with a warning shot.

Anyway, this particular night was unoffentful, aside from the coyotes making a ton of obnoxious noise around 0400. It was also pretty damn chilly, and since I was awake already, I started heading back before the dawn even broke. I can make pretty good time and distance on foot, so my campsite was about four miles out, farther than most people bothered adventure. In fact, I've never ran into anyone that far out now that I think about it, even though it's not that far. So I'm heading back, and I'm hiking back down a large hill that has boulders and crevices all along it. nothing too crazy, definitely not rock climbing or anything. I stay away from dangerous area since I'm alone. I get no farther than 400 or 500 yards from my actual campsite and there lying on the

ground in front of me, I see a blue and white knit beanie cap, the kind with the tassels on the sides. I stopped and started scanning the area, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. I called out with a hello and got no reply. I walked over and reached down to pick it up. And as soon as I touched it, I heard a faint, hello, off to my left. I stood up quickly, but saw nothing. Walking further to my left, I saw a large crevice in the hill that went down about 30 or 40 feet and curved hard to the right among a few very large boulders.

I couldn't really see anything down there because it was still too dark and the angle wasn't good. But as soon as I had got to look down into it, I heard a much louder, hello, come up from below. My mind clicked into gear and I thought, shit, someone got lost and probably just spent a long cold night trap down there. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need help? I called down. The voice came back. Please, come help me. I realized. Holy shit, that was a child's voice, or it sounded like it.

So I tossed my pack and rifle on the deck and started yanking out some 550 cord as I yelled. Don't worry. I'm going to help you. Stay calm. I tied a big loop off around the stone near me, and then wrapping around my arm, I came quickly back to the edge. I started to lean forward to find the best way down when several things happened. I yelled down, stay calm, and then immediately got a whiff of the most awful smell I've ever smelt as I leaned over. Imagine what a long, dead animal rotting and a mud puddle on a hot day would smell like. Just like that.

In the gloom below, I saw a slight movement, just a shape, but far larger than any child could have been. And then I heard the child's voice, please, come help me. I froze. That phrase had sounded exactly the same as before, and I mean exactly in tone, inflection, cadence, everything. It was so exact that that's what made it weird. A few seconds went by as I hesitated. Then again from below, exactly as before.

Please come help me. Now, I don't scare easily, but I was suddenly overcome with unexplained fear. Not a fear I've ever felt before. like an adrenaline pumping kind you'd feel from a car accident or firefight, but a gut-wrenching predator and I'm the prey-type feeling that made me panic. I went into full flight mode. I reeled back, scooting on my hands and feet, and grabbed my rifle panting. I remember thinking to myself, this isn't enough.

I should have brought my M1A. And a second later, I heard scraping and scrabbling sounds coming up the crevice. I stood up and fucking ran, left all my gear behind. Just rifle in hand right down the hill. I heard panting, huffing coming from behind me. And then loud as shit, please, come help me. I was sprinting in the dawn, nearly hysterical with fear.

And then I was back, through the park entrance, and straight to the office. When I started banging on the door, hell, I was kicking it even, and yelling for help. A park ranger came from around the side of the building and told me to knock it the fuck off. Thinking about it now, I realized he had his hand on his pistol,

and I very nearly got myself shot, with all my bonkers behavior. Mind racy and I told him the only thing I could think of that would make sense. I was coming back from my campsite and someone attacked me and chased me. He looks at me and says, who? I tell him I have no idea. I never got a look and that I could take him to where it happened where all my gear was. So after a brief chat with another ranger,

this old fella and I get into his ATV and head back to the hill. We get up to the crevice and the rock and sure shit, my gear is still there, but the cords still wrapped around the stone like I left it. but no one else is there, and no blue and white beanie either. The Ranger gets a little pissed and asks me if I'd been drinking or doing drugs. And after returning to the office and taking my statement, he tells me, maybe next time you come out here, you might want to leave the rifle at home, okay, buddy? So that's it.

I headed home, took a shower, and tried to figure it out. I decided that either some seriously fucked up kids I'd just prank the shit out of me or that I'd almost been robbed and killed by some tweakers in a desert hiking ambush. The only problem with these that I can't figure out is that if either one is true, then what was that fucking awful smell all about? And then people start to reply. Honestly, I don't know California legends that well, but I'll be the first to say it, Skinwalker.

Basically, comrade, you met something that eats people and a skeptic who thinks you're a 5150 case. This means never turn to that area again. One, because the ranger might try to get charges on you for some reason, and two, because whatever that was, might remember you and decide to deliberately hunch you. I'm going to look into this, but it's really hard to believe it, even after living through this. Also, my statement was actually filed as an actual report at the Rangers office, and is on public record if anyone wants to verify that. I'm telling the truth.

Although I may have left out some of the more interesting parts of the encounter in the report, for obvious reasons. 29 poms. Are you an instructor out there, Gunny? I miss bouldering at Joshua Tree, and those were definitely some of the most beautiful night skies I've ever seen. Kind of haunting to think I was camping and drinking in Skinwalker territory. Yes, I'm an instructor with a year left to go out here at 29 stumps, but I'd rather not get too detailed here on 4chan about my specifics. Okay, now, to people who say nothing crazy happens out here in this desert of the park, you obviously aren't a local who's lived here their whole life.

I've lived in Yucca Valley my whole life, and I can tell you that in these super tiny towns, there are several of classes of people getting lost or going missing every. every year out here that you don't want to hear about. Usually tourist types. It's not hard to keep it out of the news when your only real news outlet is a couple of town papers run by four or five people each. It'd be really bad for what tourism we have if word got out that people are going missing out here regularly.

What usually happens is that people misjudged distances in the desert, thinking things are closer than they really are, and then the dryness dehydrates them quickly. Here's something that happened to someone I personally knew about four years ago in this same desert that OP was in. A kid I went to high school with was apparently going through a rough time and he decided to commit S word. This guy drove out, parked his car, left a note in it, and headed out into the desert. A couple of days later, they finally found some of the guy's clothes and backpack with weed still in it, but never found the guy. Now, if you weren't friends with the family or locals from here, you'd never know these details. But the news never said a peep about it. Not even a boy missing

spot. Now this was intentional, but my point is the same. People get lost and go missing out here far more often than you'd expect. Okay, I'm going to take some time to read up on this stuff. Right now, I think I need a break. Rethinking about this over and over again makes me feel a bit nauseous. I will say that there's some weird shit out here in the desert, plenty of meth head tweakers, old abandoned mine shafts and hell. They even permanently shut down parts of our training area a few months ago because they found another Native American site full of artifacts during a live engagement. When I was younger, I had the misfortune of knowing someone who I believe to this day is an actual

and complete fucking psychopath. I'll just call him Frank. I met Frank in an after-school daycare in second grade, and we were Insta friends. He was actually the only friend I ever had there. The owner was a shithead who encouraged kids to bully each other for entertainment. She's in jail now, so no other friends were made. Three months later, in the summer between second and third grade, we had a field trip to the local pool, and Frank and I were just doing our thing.

Then he stops talking mid-sentence and stares out into the open. We were having a pretty mundane conversation, too. I don't even remember what it was. A flash of rage crosses his face, subsiding to a calculating expression of premeditated violence. Another flash of rage, and he punches me in the face. We were in the deep end, and a little me was pretty weak. He presses his thumbs into my larynx and holds me under water. I remember holding my breath, kicking him, trying to move his arms away.

And worse yet, I remember seeing his face through the ripples. I feel like he was just gazing down at me blankly. His expression was so neutral that it must have looked like nothing was happening. 35 seconds, I couldn't hold it anymore. Then I remember more splashing, frantic, feet and fist flying around me. An older girl dragged me out of the water at the last second, while another boy my age wrestled Frank off of me. Frank fought back and the other boy broke his nose.

But the way it happened, it almost seemed like he was just letting it happen. Then he went crying to the lifeguards and the owner, bawling his eyes out. I saw pain, fear, regret, shame all on his face, pushing tears out with their enormous weight. Or so I thought, for maybe a second. Continued. For just a moment, not even four seconds, there was no one looking at Frank. The lifeguards were seeing if I was okay, any parents present had tuned the situation out almost immediately. The girl was off to the side defending her brother's actions,

and the daycare lady had turned around to yell at him, instead of consoling what she also thought were some genuine emotions on Frank's part. Literally the second no one was seeing what he was doing, Frank's head was pointed at me. It was so frighteningly instantaneous that I was looking right at him, and I didn't see his head move. It was there, and then it was there. No apparent motion in between. He was blank again, no emotions, no sobs, tears, drying on his face. That looks slowly turned back into that expression of calculation. Brows raised, chin up, sides of his mouth tense, the face of premeditated violence. I was so scared. I started crying, and then, as the daycare lady began turning back towards him

before they should have even been able to see each other, he looked up at her and resumed his sobbing. Everyone believed his side of the story, that I had dared him to hold me under the water to scare the lifeguards. No one believed me, or the older girl, or the other boy. no one. It's been over 10 years, and there's still no one on this earth that I fear more than Frank, and nothing I remember more clearly than that day. And the worst part is, I have more Frank's stories. If anyone wants to hear them, that was just the first. More Frank. Grade four was the next time I met Frank. He was in my class. I begged and begged the principal and the counselors and just about anyone who would listen to me to put me in a different class. Whenever I saw Frank, he was staring at my

friend, who we will call Jane. Every time she caught him staring, he didn't quickly look away like any other fourth grader boy who was just discovering that dames ain't so bad, you know. If anything, I think this was his version of a first crush, but he would never avert his gaze. No matter how many times she caught him, he would just keep staring. He would never stop until a few minutes after she would try to make him stop. I remember during recess one day. He walked up to her and I and asked to speak to her alone. Some of her brady little girlfriends heard this, and made their usual ooh, a descendant and yet polar opposite of ooh boys have cooties. So she felt pressure to go and talk to him.

Jane's friends walked away and I just stood there, watching them. Frank whispered something in Jane's ear and she looked terrified. She stood there, tears in her eyes and total shock on her face. Frank stepped towards her, pushing his chest out and looking angrily down his nose at her. Her feet were glued to the ground and she was just staring back at him, seemingly afraid to break eye contact. sobbing quietly and looking terrified. I couldn't move either. I was too shocked by what I saw to step in.

After a full 30 seconds of this, he smiled and blayed her a polite, bye-bye. He walked away, and she ran towards me, burying her face in my shoulder and sobbing. First time I ever touched a girl with repulsing and horror. By the way, because, you know, elementary school. She wouldn't tell me what he said. She didn't speak to any other students for the next five days. Then she was moved to a different school. and my wish to change classes was abruptly granted.

I had no Frank to worry about. Continued. I still saw Frank around the school and whatnot, but it was years before he paid me attention again. He had plenty of friends by fifth grade, and he was smiley and nice and acting normal, and so at the time I thought he was fine. Jane, on the other hand,

I was always suspicious, always worried about what had become of her. The next time I saw Jane was a full seven years later in 11th grade. She didn't look anorexic or anything, but she was so small and delicate. I talked to her for a few hours, and we'd caught up with each other on everything that happened since then. Mostly she had a nervous frown on her face, avoiding eye contact and speaking softly.

She looked down, stroking her hand across her opposite shoulder whenever she spoke. A couple times, I put my hand on her shoulder or I just said the right thing, and she'd smile and chuckle a little bit. There was a lot of small talk, but we also told each other where we had been since fourth grade. I stayed in the same town, same school system,

the entire time. She always missed her friends here. And the day that Frank died, she and her parents started making plans to return. She had taken the rest of fourth grade off and it took months for her therapist to get her to repeat Frank's words. She still won't tell me what he said. That was the only time she ever repeated it. She was homeschooled in grade five and six on the other end of the province. And after that, they said she went to normal school and had some normal times. To this day, she is incredibly timid, except for a few moments we've had, but still very happy and stable. The only lapses in her mental stability seem to be when someone mentioned Frank, psychopaths in general, or, worryingly enough, R-word. Then she gets paranoid and stays that way for a few days.

Not even Frank's violent demise stopped her from having one more encounter with him. But if I say more, I'm going to tell the stories in order. So that comes later. More Franks? More Frank. In grades 5 and 6, I didn't pay much attention to Frank. Everything I remember him doing in that period was pretty normal. He went everyone on a bicycle, had his first girlfriend, I think he was on a soccer team or something.

I didn't talk to him, but he had plenty of friends and seemed well adjusted. Maybe he just had little boy problems. I think we all remember two or three little boys with anger problems when they're little. That kind of thing just goes away eventually. I totally thought that was the case with Frank. Then enter grade 7. Frank was in my class again that year, and he kind of started to free people out after a while. Every seventh grader wished to be a badass, but Frank would never shut up about knives and guns and

a P-word. Everyone, including his friends and even teachers, started getting really scared of him again. Being fairly nice for a 12-year-old, I figured he just needed someone to spend time with, so I volunteered some afternoons, and we hung out a few times a month. He had a much better home life than I would have thought. His dad died when he was little, but his mom was. a lovely lady. After being a guest in her house, I could understand why your mom jokes made Frank so angry. Things were good. Frank started seeming well-adjusted again in around January, and we had a bit of a group of friends going. Things were good. Then Frank started showing me things.

He owned dozens of knives, hunting and combat and utility, all sorts. His mother did not know about them. He started bringing them to school with him. I think I was the only person who knew. He would show only me during lunch every day. He'd pull a different little one out of his pockets and say, just in case. I thought he was paranoid about other people. In March, tensions built between Frank and another boy, who we will call douche canoe. I don't even remember what they were fighting about. It was whatever pisses off 13-year-old boys, I guess. I saw Frank giving douche canoe that blank stare, that one I had forgotten, that one I had feared. It was during class, Dush Cano noticed and told Frank to stop.

Frank didn't even blink. He sat and kept staring, just like he had done to Jane, knowing that a fight was coming. And I've never been much of a fighter myself. I did the only thing I could do to help Dush Canoe. At the beginning of lunch break, when the fight was soon to go down, I picked Frank's pocket and threw his knife down a storm drain. Frank stared Dush Cano down. Dush Cano was terrified.

Frank once again had the face of premeditated violence. I remember his shoulder. looking broad and square under his old leather coat. Frank marched towards Dush Canoe, with the same I gonna R-word you, body language used on Jane. Dush Cano panicked and swung first. Frank moved so fast. It was like Dush Cano's arm snapped itself. Frank drove his foot into Dush Cano's jaw and tackled him to the ground. You read for his pocket and found nothing. I'm glad I took the knife. I remember Frank's blank face throughout the whole thing. He looked bored as he pounded Dush Cano's head into the dirt.

the chanting and cheering stopped, and everyone just watched in silent horror. Frank's alternated arms with his punches, and each was exactly one second after the last. But each individual punch was frightening. He would raise a fist up behind his head and drive in a douche cano's face in an imperceptible fraction of a second. I sure hope the teachers were doing something, real fucking important that kept them from intervening in a whole three minutes. The kids who I had gathered, including myself, were crying in empathy and fear for douche canoe as Frank stood up. face the teacher, instead without blinking, smiling, frowning, or even the slightest movement of his eyebrows. Call this boy in ambulance. Frank got a 10-day suspension. Duce Canoo got two months in the hospital.

The scariest thing about Frank's demise is that it wasn't the last time Jane or I ever saw him. There's always a group of boys who do this in eighth grade, start a gang, walking around their suburban town with untouched knives in their pockets, running around and hiding like criminals when their only crime is a kid. occasional loitering. Every eighth grade wants to be badass. The difference with Frank is that while his friends grew out of it, Frank grew into it. Grade 10 is when high school starts in my province. And while it's a great school and a super fun time, it exposes you to the fact that even the quaintiest little burbs aren't completely innocent. In fact, being as close to the mountains as we

were made our town into quite the cutesy little drug highway. Frank became a drug dealer. The rumor to this day is that Frank never took any narcotics, not even once. The guy was fucking crazy on his own. I wasn't the best high schooler either, so I was with a client of his during a trade once. Frank did it the whole time, the stare. Maybe he was doing it on purpose, using his reputation to intimidate. Maybe he was just doing it. I don't know.

There was even a rumor going around that he R-worded a girl. The last year Frank's life was fairly shrouded in rumors. But there were a few that I didn't believe. This was one I didn't need to believe because he told me himself. I saw Frank the night before he died. It was the first time I had ever seen him afraid. We bumped into each other near a Tim Hortons and had a coffee and talked for a while.

He didn't understand what he had done to people. He didn't understand why everyone was freaking out about the rumor that he R-worded someone. We talked about her, and Jane and Dush Canoe, and countless other people he had wronged. He just didn't get it. He called them cattle, sheep, human livestock.

He didn't care. He just didn't understand why anyone else would. It's not like they're fucking important anyway. I tried to get up and leave. He put a firm hand on my shoulder and pulled me back onto my chair. Suddenly, and for the first time that I know, he looked afraid. Vulnerable even. He explained to me that his boss lived in the nearby city.

And he was scary, powerful gangster. For reasons I don't know to this day. Frank and his boss had a falling out. The look trickled onto Frank's face. eyebrows raised, chin up, sides of the mouth tensed, the face of malevolence. I just got my driver's license, and Frank asked me to drive him to the city, ordered me. I was afraid to say no. We didn't talk on the way there.

The last time I ever saw Frank, he was pulling a pistol out of his coat. He told me to pull over. He got out and walked away. I drove away as quickly as I could. He must have stayed somewhere overnight. The next day, there was news report of a gunfight, but no known fatality. A few days later, Frank's stepdad reported him missing. After a week of uncertainty, a body matching Frank's description was pulled out of a dumpster by a police officer, rotting and riddled

with bullet holes and trapnel. The scariest part? I lied when I said that was the last time I ever saw Frank. No, I'll tell you they end. I don't know if the mainstream media bothered with this, but the local news went crazy for weeks. The bodies of all sorts of gangsters started showing up dead out of nowhere, a body matching Frank's description that had been found, but it was mutilated. Very few people know that he is in fact alive today, and Frank isn't his real name, so don't bother. My theory is that he spent that first day picking off aggressors one by one, finishing by pitting the last few against some poor schmuck about the same height, weight, and color. But really, that's all conjecture of my part. I don't know how he did it. It's not like he'd just have a twin line around at

his disposal. A year after graduating high school, Jane and I were at my apartment, catching up. I'd cleaned up my act a lot since grade 10, and Jane had a fairly spotless act to begin with. She was so relaxed that day. The air of nervousness, the tension she carried around, was absent that day. She was as quiet as ever. I suppose she just had a small voice, but she wasn't timid. My buzzer went off. I can't explain how or why. I felt so uneasy. I opened the door, Jane closed on my heels, to see Frank turning to walk down the staircase. We saw him, but he didn't see us. I don't think he knows we know he's alive.

Jane was silent with terror. I was shocked and angry, but I let that go and I knew she needed some calming down. I don't know if it was a sick fucking joke or something, but if you read the first Frank story on this thread, this will almost disgust you. He left only two things on my doormat, a pair of water wings and a snorkel. I still haven't found a photo. I've been trying for years. Truth is, even his parents just want to forget him.

Pick is not him, but equally creepy. Okay, so I've been meaning to tap this story up for a while now and post it to you guys, but keep getting put off by work and other shit. Before I begin, I'll keep you some info. 26-year-old male, living in the UK, born close to Burr. Birmingham, moved to Tick Nalwin 10 because reasons. Quiet village in the middle of nowhere. Old people everywhere.

Just so you know, the events that I'm going to write about happened over the space of like 14 to 15 years. So I may jump around a bit, but please stay with me if you can. I'd like to get some clarity and or reassurance on this if possible. So here we go. December 2002. First Christmas and new house. House is pretty big.

Lots of land to it. 10 acres. Behind the house is a woodland. area. Behind woods is a large reservoir. Me and dad regularly go walking through the woods, sometimes fishing at the reservoir. School holidays. Mom and dad both have time off. This never happened, so we spend lots of time doing stuff. One day, walk through woods to reservoir. Everything perfectly normal, sitting on a bench looking at some boats and shit. Suddenly noticed something in the water. Long, white thing, can't tell what it is. It's about 50 to 60 feet away. Pointed out to parents and

ask what it is. Might be a dead heron. I roll with this as I've never seen a dead heron. About an hour later, walking back towards the woods, I ran off ahead to feed the ducks. Notice white thing again. Close at this time. Close enough to see what it is. It's a white sleeve with a blueish hand at the front. A fucking severed arm. Freak out. Parents run over, ask what's wrong. I explain that there's an arm floating in the water. Dad calms me down and tells me to look into the water. The arm is gone. Might just be a stupid kid, brain fucking with me. Fast forward to February 2003. In the woods with my cousin, Tom, about eight years old. I'm 12. Building a den. About four in the afternoon, so sun is going to be setting soon. Not dark yet, though. Tom goes to find more sticks for the den. I stay and

carry on building the walls, not a great den, only about three feet tall. I put the last stick on the wall. Tom isn't back. I shout Tom and he answers. Can't see him, though. Start looking for more sticks myself in the opposite direction to Tom. Two minutes later, I hear a scream. It's Tom. I'm scared. Why is Tom screaming? Pause for a second. Don't know what to do.

Start running towards where Tom is. Tom is heading towards me crying. Like, really crying. Sobbing like a little bitch, red face, panicked. I ask what's wrong. He screams that a man tried to take him. We run back to the house. Parents try to calm us down.

Make hot chocolate. Give us a hug. And shit like that. Tom tells the story. He says the doctor told him to go away with him because he wanted to make him better. Parents are concerned. Dad calls the police to report it just in case. Two hours later, police arrive.

Ask us questions and then search the woods. No one there. Loll, obviously. It happened two hours ago, you plebs. Next month or so, Tom doesn't come over and parents get a little bit more productive. No more in the woods for you, Anon. Jump forward again now to the end of May 2005. I'm 14 now. Little brother. Dylan is six. We regularly take walks through the woods and look at birds and stuff. He loves birds. Today is particularly warm for this time of the year. Cousin Tom is visiting again. We go to the woods. Dylan and Tom go ahead. I'm absentmindedly texting or something. I sit on a tree stump and carry on texting. Dylan and Tom go on ahead. Dylan runs back and asks if you can climb trees with Tom. Parents always say no. I'm not a parent. Yeah, go for it.

I'm about 30 minutes past. Tom and Dylan laughing, shouting to each other. I decided to put my phone away and see what they're up to. Suddenly notice I can't hear them. I shout out. No response. Not concerned, just annoyed. I reckon they're up to no good.

I see both of them standing by a tree about 30 feet away. Head towards them and ask what they're doing. Both boys silent. Staring up the tree. What the fuck? Get closer and ask again what they're doing. No response. Look up at the same.

the tree. Nothing there. What the fuck are you doing? Both Tom and Dylan look at me. Visibly scared. What's he doing? Freaky little fuckers. Who? What are you on about? The man in the tree. Why is it in the tree? Fuck this. There's no one in the tree. There is no one in these woods. Tell boys that it isn't funny and we're going home. Quiet freaked out now. Get back to the house and the boy said on the sofa, look pale and worried. Jenny, Tom's mom, asks, what happened. I say they were playing a stupid game. Go to my room. You can hear parents talking to Tom and Dylan from the top of the stairs. Both boys say that they saw an old man with a white coat was up in the tree. Boys say that I couldn't see him when they told me to look. Dad asked

what kind of white coat the man was wearing, like a long doctor's coat. About 10 minutes later, dad comes up to my room. Asks about man in the tree. Didn't she shit? Later that night, once Tom has gone home and Dylan is in bed, I come downstairs. and dad talk about incident, we all conclude that the boys must have seen something on TV. Think nothing of it. About 2230, so late at night, I'm on my computer chatting on MSM Messenger, old school. Mate will ask if I want to meet him and some other mates at the reservoir tomorrow. Suddenly, I have a realization.

The reservoir. The white-sleeved arm. Like, an arm in a doctor's coat. Get a bit freaked out but try to rationalize a situation. Must be nothing. Go to bed. Now moving to August 2005. Families are over for a barbecue. Uncle's birthday. Good party, much fun. It's a Saturday night so all of the kids stay up late to play.

About 11-ish. Everyone leaving or left by now. Tom's family's still here. Darren's family's still here. Darren is another cousin we never saw much of, only appeared at special occasions, like Santa. Darren is older than me, must be about 16 at this point. He's so cool. He smokes. Secretly. of course, so they doesn't get into trouble. Me, Dylan, Tom, Darren, and Paul, Darren's 10-year-old brother, are all sitting on the bench by the edge of the woods. Away from house and family, not too far, though. Darren is smoking and offers everyone a puff.

Nobody wants to smoke. Shut the fuck up, a slur. Darren is a bit of a P-word. Darren's dad shouts over. Says they are leaving in 10 minutes. 10 minutes later, Darren's dad shouts again. We all decide to go back to the house as he is leaving. As we stand up and start to leave the bench,

Here a noise in the woods. Rustling leaves. A branch snapping. Must be a bird or a fox. No big deal. We get about 20 to 30 feet away from the bench, then hear a louder noise. Rustling and footsteps. Sounds like something walking through piles of dry leaves.

Strange, but not enough leaves on the ground to make so much noise. We stop and look into the woods. Can't see much. Sun has been down a while, but the horizon is still quite light. Can make out of the trees and branches in the woods. Suddenly notice on the trees. moving. Not big, not small. It stops by a tree. What the fuck is that? Can't see much, just a shadowy figure. Looks like a tall man. At the distance we are standing, I'd say between six to seven

feet tall, just standing by a tree, kind of peering around the tree. Darren decides he's a big man. Oi, who the fuck are you? No response. Darren suggests going to have a look. Have a look at the strange, shadowy figure that randomly appeared. What a fucking. dick. For some reason, the other boys agreed to get closer. We start to walk back towards the figure slash bench. It was about 10 feet behind the bench. As we get close enough to start seeing the detail, my heart sinks. I start to feel sick. The person is wearing a long white coat. Dylan, Tom, and Paul freeze in the spot. Darren and I move a bit closer forward. Darren shouts again. Don't remember what he said. The figure steps out from behind the tree. Can only make out certain details.

tall man long white doctor or lab coat glasses can see the slight reflection from them we should go back to the house darren tells me to not be a pussy okay you need piss off before i smash your face in keck darren looks like an emaciated schoolgirl not sure how he intends to smash anyone's face in the figure takes two steps forwards younger boys are scared start crying dillon and tom tell me that it's the man from the woods the man from the tree i'm freaked to him too much out now. Tell Darren, I'm taking the boys back to the house. Darren turns to call me a pussy again or something. Turns back, where the fuck did he go? The figure has gone. We tell the adults about this. Dad, uncle, another cousin, Jack, who's 24, get torches and go to look. About 15 minutes past, they come back, no one in the woods. Eventually, everyone goes home and we all go to bed. Now moving to, I think it was November of 2005. Might have been early December, not sure. Get home late from school. one night, about 7 p.m. Was helping do the sound for a stage show the drama club put on.

Police car parked outside. Oh shit. Get inside and find two police officers sat at the dining table talking to my dad. What's going on? My dad rushes over to me, visibly upset. Tells me to go to my room for a while. I head upstairs and on the way back. I check in on my little brother.

His room is empty. The light is on, but he's not in there. My mom and dad's bedroom doors open. Again, light on, but no one in there. I sit in my room for a while wondering what the shit is happening. 20 to 25 minutes later, my dad comes up to my room. Tells me that my brother was rushed to a hospital. My mom went with him.

So many questions. What happened? Is he okay? Why were the police here? My mom went into the garden to put some rubbish in the bin and found Dylan unconscious next to his swing set. That explains that he hasn't woken up and says police were here to get information. Suspicious accident involving a child or some shit.

Says that we're going to the same thing. the hospital now. Get changed and head out. Been at the hospital for about three hours. Everyone is upset, obviously. Dylan has no visible injuries. Just won't wake up. Doctor says that he will do some scans to rule out problems like stroke or brain hemorrhage. Oh fuck. Hours pass. Scans come back clear. Why is Dylan unconscious then? Doctors say it may be a severe allergic reaction to an unknown allergy. Runs more tests. 2 a.m. That decides to take me home so I can get some sleep. Mom stays with Dylan. At about 5.30, we get a phone call.

We need to go back to the hospital because Dylan might not have much longer. Are you fucking serious? What is happening? We get there and Dylan looks weird. Skin is kind of blue slash gray. Fingernails are a light purple. Mom and dad both really upset. I'm just kind of numb. Doctor says that Dylan may need to be put onto life support.

Heart rate, blood pressure, and breathing are all dropping. Two more hours passed by. Dylan starts coughing and mumbling. Dad calls nurse who then calls doctor. Doctor is visibly surprised to see Dylan waking up. Dylan starts crying and can barely keep his eyes open. Another hour is passed and he has calmed down. Just lying there, skin back to normal color.

Seems alert and okay. Just looks tired. After 24 hours of observation, Dylan gets to come home. He hasn't said much, just keeps saying his throat hurts. The next day, Dylan gets up and wants some food. He's been sleeping on and off for about 16 hours now. now. My mom starts talking to him about how he feels. Ask what happened. Dylan gets upset and just stares at the floor. I go over to him and try to reassure him. Tell him that everything is okay

and all that shit. Eventually, he stops crying and keeps staring at the floor. The man from the woods was here. What the shit? Mom is clearly panicked. I ask him what he means and he seems a little calmer now. The man that we saw in the woods came to take me to his house. He said that, little boys that are poorly need help. Mom runs the phone and tell my dad to come home from work. I tell him that this is not a joke and that he should stop telling stories. Dylan insists he isn't. I asked Dylan to draw the man that he saw.

He draws a tall, skinny man with glasses and a long white coat. Just like the guy we all saw in the woods but a kid's drawing. Eventually, Dad gets home. Police are called. Whole area is on alert and looks out for this man. This went on for about six months and eventually, it all stopped. People started saying that Dylan was a liar or had an overactive imagination. Now jumping to April of 2008. I have some friends over for the night. Me, Jay, Kirstie, Natalie, and

Andrew. Mom, dad, and Dylan are away for the night visiting family. Me and mates playing games, eating pizza, drinking beer, usual teenage stuff. About 10.30 p.m., we all decided to go for a walk in the woods. We'd watched Halloween and Nightmare on Elm Street, so we were in the move for a fright. I tell everyone about Dylan's experience in the woods. They all laugh and play it off as a kid's imagination. Andrew says that Dylan must have slipped into a coma and was so scared that he used the man in the woods as a way of rationalizing his fear.

We light a fire and get comfy, telling ghost stories. Jay goes off to piss. A few minutes later, Jay shouts out. Something like, stop fucking round dickhead. We all laugh and call out to see what he means. He comes back to the group and says that it wasn't funny. We ask him what he means again. He says that one of us was tapping.

in his head with a twig while he was pissing. We laugh. That wasn't us. About half an hour passes and Jay gets jumping again. He says that he keeps seeing something moving in the trees. We've all been drinking and telling ghost stories, so we think of nothing of it and give him a beer. He insists someone is watching us. Girls get freaked out and ask to go back to the house. The mood has changed now. We decided to move on. I suggest heading closer to the reservoir. It's a 15 to 20-minute walk through the woods. Everyone agrees and we head off. Suddenly, Kirstie's screams. What's that? She points through the trees. We all look. My heart sinks. It looks like a man in a white coat. He stood about 30 feet away. Without thinking, I say, it's the fucking doctor.

Everyone looks at me like I'm a freak. Something seems different now. The man is walking towards us. He's never approached us before. We start walking back the way we came as quickly as possible. The doctor lets out a high-pitched shriek, like an injured animal. Starts running at us. We panic and smear the fuck out of there. We get out of the trees and are back by the bench at the edge of the woods. We turn to see where the man is. No sign of him. Is he there? Still nothing. Then suddenly, he appears from behind a tree, still running towards us. We run into the house and lock the door. The girls are crying and huddled on the sofa. Jay is freaked out, standing motionless by the stairs. Me and Andrew look out of the window. The man is running up the driveway towards

the house. He starts banging on the door. We shout at him and Andrew says to call the police. One of the girls does so. The door is being hit. hits so hard that it sounds like the wooden frame is cracking. I shout, Fuck off! We've called the police. The banging continues. I look out the window on the other side of the house. The man is kicking the door. His arms and legs seem too long for his body. He has shoulder length, greasy, strands of gray hair, almost resemble worms. He stops and stares right at me. His eyes seem sunken and almost yellow. I don't know what to do, so I just stare back. He looks back at the door. Then he runs away. Back towards the woods.

Police turn up. We tell them our story. They know we've been drinking, underage and all that. They confiscate the rest of our alcohol and leave telling us that they'll be back to see her my parents tomorrow. Nothing much happens for the rest of the night. And as they said, the police come back. I get grounded for a while and nobody believes that this man was chasing us. We decided to not talk about it and we avoid the woods for a long time. Now moving on to June of 2010. That was 19 now and had got a part-time job living at home and saving money. My girlfriend, Emily, spent most of her time in my house and my parents were getting an extension built, a small summer house kind of building at the back of the main house. Friday afternoon. Builders are

working on the extension. I only heads out to work. I have three days off and no coursework to do, so I get on with some serious gaming time. After a couple of hours, I decided to go for a walk. It was a nice day. One of the builders calls me over and asked if I know what time my dad will be home. Nope, says he has something important to ask him, so do list to let him. him know when he arrives. I think nothing of it, and head off for my walk. After about an hour, I'm close to another reservoir, not the one by my house, stonked and harold reservoir. I meet my Jay's mom, Karen, says that Jay was talking about going camping. Sounds fun. Karen jokes that she hopes nobody chases us this time. Bitch, this ain't no joke. I head home soon after and start thinking

about the night again, get back to the woodland area near my house, decide to go and explore a little. not really spent much time in the woods since that night. I'm standing at the place that we had that fire. Walk over to the tree where we first saw the man. Nothing unusual. Spent about 15 minutes looking around and then head back to the house. Get back and a builder calls me over again. Tells me that they saw a tall old man in the house.

Ask who he is, as they hadn't seen him before, and have been working here for six months now. Oh, fuck. Ask for description. Old, tall, glasses, white coat. The builder tells me he was in the window on the left of the second floor, my brother's room. I go upstairs and into Dillon's room. Nothing there.

Nothing unusual or out of place. I figured the builders were local and had heard about the police being called that night. Shrug it off and get back to my game. Jumping forward again to May 2013. This is the last time I saw the doctor. I was 22. Getting ready to move out for university. Had some friends over.

Me, Jack and Jay. We were drinking in the woods. had a barbecue and stuff. I kept tapping Jay's head with a twig. Remind him of that night. He tells me to stop being a P-word. Good point. Hours passed, and we decided to search for the old man slash doctor.

We figured that it was just some childish bullshit and that now we are older, we wouldn't experience it again. Jack had his camera with him. It's about 7.20 p.m., so getting a bit darker now. We take photos and call out for the doctor to show himself, like a shitty paranormal show. After an hour, nothing. We carry on for shits and giggles.

Jack Softon says, That's weird. He shows us the screen on the back of his camera. He took three photos of a tree. On two of them, there is a strange looking greenish mist in front of the tree. On the other photo, it's gone. We take more photos and call out some more. Jay decides that he wants to threaten the old man, says he saw it on TV.

Dickhead. Ten to 15 minutes pass and we hear a noise. Sounds like a dog throwing up. Lull, what? We went to find the source of sounds. Nothing. Jay calls out again. The noise stops.

Then we hear another noise. Footsteps on dry leaves. We look around but can't see anything. Jack's still taking photos. I get my phone out and turn the torch on. Looking around area. Suddenly Jack calls us over. Five new photos with weird things in them.

First photo looks like it was taken through a dirty window. Second photo, a white mist is blocking the view. Next three photos show the tree here. he was looking at, but it looks like a hand is coming around the tree. We decide that this must be a spot. Call out again and again. Hear the weird dog vomit noise again. This time behind us. Louder. Turn around and see a shadow by another tree. Surely not. It looks like a man is standing there, watching us. Jack takes photos. The tree is too far away to focus in such low light. We get closer. Suddenly notice a smell, like a mix of wet soil and shit. Disgusting smell. Disgusting

We call out and ask who is there. No response. We get closer still. Then we can see it. The white coat. I shout at the figure and ask who is there. No response. It doesn't move.

Jack changed the battery in his camera. Me and Jay moved closer. Literally about 10 feet away from the doctor now. Can hear him breathing. Like a low, deep, rattling growl almost. The smell is so fucking bad. Feel sick. Get a little bit closer.

can see his eyes now. He's staring right at me, literally making eye contact with him. I'm not a small guy around 6'3 foot 3. He makes me look short. I'm having to look upwards to hold eye contact. Who are you? What do you want? He remained silent apart from the heavy breaths. Jack comes over and takes a photo. The doctor fucking erupts in anger, starts growling and screaming and waving his hands around. We move back and he starts snarling like a dog. We shouted him to stay back. He starts swaying from side to side in a really unnerving way. I've never seen anyone move like this before. It's hard to describe. Like he's defying gravity almost. Jack takes another photo. Fucking madman. The doctor lets out a horrible shriek. I tell Jack to stop taking photos. Don't want to get

butchered by a tall old man in the woods. The doctor stops, like perfectly still. As still is the tree he is standing next to. Absolute silence. We wait for about 30 seconds and then call out to him again. Don't know what to say. Hello? Nothing. He is standing perfectly still. Eyes still fixed on me. It's like he just shut down or something. Jack tries to take more photos. His camera had stopped working. Fucking typical. I got my phone out again and took some photos of the man with it. When he looked back at him, they hadn't turned out. I tried to get another one, but as I raised my phone, the man started running. We chased after him. He was fast, almost too fast, like absurdly fast. We couldn't keep up with him at all. But then we stopped again. That same weird,

perfectly still position. He turned and stared right at us again. I shouted out, something like, stop running or stay still. I wanted to get a proper look at this guy slash thing. He let out another screech. It was a sound I will never forget. Almost like a special effects sound from a film or something, like a dragon or some shit. Then he started climbing a tree. We ran over to get a better look. Again, he was moving too fast. We looked up the tree, but I couldn't hear or see anything. I shown the light from my phone up the tree. Couldn't see shit. We waited for about 20 minutes. He was gone. We stayed up all night drinking and wondering, what the fuck had happened. We were all spooked. We uploaded the photos to the computer, went through each one. We went back into the woods

that following night, didn't see or hear anything. Soon after that, I moved away to university, and now I live with my girlfriend. We live about ten. or 12 miles from the woodland, but I've never been back into those woods. I visit my family from time to time, and I always feel uneasy when I look at the trees. I feel like I should go back to the woods now. Maybe have another look around? My family still lives around there, but I've never seen anything else, other than the dog getting spooked every now and then. The dog refuses to go into the woods alone, and when she goes outside a night, she refuses to move away from the house and just stares at the woodland. If you put your hand in front of her eyes, she moves her head around your house. She moves her head around

hand to keep looking at the woodland. Thank you everyone for watching. This was some dark 4chan stories. I really enjoyed all of these stories in today's videos. They were super unique. They weren't like, you know, conventional 4chan stories, which I really liked, like the kid who, you know, was a psychopath. That one was really interesting, really weird.

The first one was super good as well. I just really loved all the stories today's videos. And yeah, get CyberGose VPN for $2 and $3.3.3. $3 a month plus four months free, that's 84% off, risk free with their 45 day money back guarantee. Stay safe, stay private, cybergo's VPN. Link below. Thank you guys for watching. Please like the video and subscribe to the channel.

This is Snook and I'll see you next time. Bye.