Snook - Disturbing True 4Chan Stories

Episode Date: May 16, 2025

This is my favorite 4Chan stories video ever! I really enjoyed that it was true! Would you like to see more true stories in the future? And why did you think about the taxi driver, what was your favorite story of his? Let me know in the comments below! Also... would like to see more long videos like this in the future? Or shorter? Or somewhere in between? Feedback is much appreciated!Thank you guys for watching, let me know if you would like to see more content like this in the future! Thanks for watching, like and subscribe. Let me know what your favorite story was down below! You guys are the best!Sub goal is 500k subs! So subscribe! Comment down below what you’d like to see in the future!And even though 4chan is anonymous and you can't even ask for permission... IF ANY OF THESE STORIES BELONG TO YOU, PLEASE EMAIL ME AT - [e-mail] before filing a copyright takedown or anything. Please, we can get it sorted out through email or some other form of communication, thank you. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey, what's up guys, and welcome back to another 4chan stories video, and today I've got a great, great story for you guys. This is a long one, but I've been wanting to read it on the channel for a long time, and as far as I know, it's true and so, so interesting, you guys will want to stick around for this entire video, so sit back, relax, and get ready to listen to some disturbing, true, 4chan stories. You guys are the best. Thank you so much for something by. I appreciate every single one of you. Please like and subscribe. The channel's goals. 500,000 subscribers, so please subscribe to the channel. We're getting close. And yeah, all right, without further ado, let's get into some disturbing true 4-Chance stories. Main taxi driver stories,

anyone? Be me, young taxi guy, driving along native tribe named Lake. See kid walking by the side of the road, 11.30 p.m. Kids dressed in sweat-stained t-shirt and sports shorts, no shoes. Pull off, unlock door, and ask them to get in. Nice guy taxi driver. kid gets in thanks me for the ride turn up air conditioner to keep him cool tells me he's going up to the head of the lake where his parents live drop him off tell him to get some shoes he laughs and goes inside pick up newspaper a couple days later kid is dead drunk driving drove into lake find out from cop buddy that kid's body was in the car happened two hours before i picked him up still get the heby-jeebies every time i drive by that lake. I have a shit tonne more because Maine is haunted as fuck. Meh, fuck it. I don't get a

chance to tell these stories often enough. Halloween is when people want to hear about. Maine taxi guy again, by the way. Get a call to pick up at the south end of the county. Tiny woodland town, maybe 500 residents. No gas station, that's how tiny it is. 8 p.m. at night. Late dusk and other words. Still light, but limited. Headlights are on. Logging the run. while waiting for a customer at his trailer, which sits right next to a cliffside slash earth bank thing leading to a stream below.

Toot horn because I waited five minutes and nothing. See tall shadowy figure rising up from the bank. Figure, it's the guy. It is. He gets in the back and asks to go to McDonald's, which is like 30 minutes away. Tell him the fair, he's cool with it. Roll up to Mickey Dees and roll down rear window

so he can order himself. Dude orders 85 cheese. burgers, a hundred lard fries, and 15 chicken wraps. Why wasn't I invited, bro? Girl on the mic is all like, what the fuck is this guy on? 30 minutes to get the food ready, take them home, ask them why all the food? For my friends who live in the woods. Friends, these guys hate electricity. Hermits, huh? McDonald's big in the hermit community? Hey man, don't knock it, okay? They saved me from the demons that live in my my house. Cool guys. They just want fries and burgers in return. They're nice like that.

Fair is like 45 bucks. He hands me $200 bills and asks me to help him bring the stuff to the edge of the bank. Get out, move stuff over. It's too dark to see anything but the water. Here a bunch of bags being opened, happy grunts. Shake head and get back in car. Nope the fuck out of there. I've got a few more stories about the Baron of Burgers. Get a call from Central by picking up Burger Barron again. Noontime. Sure, I can spot his friends if they want my beef jerky. Sasquatch is? Roll up to find BB has axed the telephone pole next to his trailer town. No power to the house now. How did he call? Cell phone, probably? Whatever, dude is loaded. Toot the horn. Guy comes over the ridge. Bro has gone full Grizzly Adams.

It's been like two weeks since Burger Stock down by the stream. Fur coat, raccoon hat. He smells like beef stew. Hey, it's you again, he says as he gets in back again. Yeah, uh, how are your friends? Awesome, we all live in woods now. Yeah, get the fur coat, a goodwill? Nah, man, my friends made it for me.

The hat too? Nah, my cousin bought it for me from Cabell. Oh, my bad. It's cool. It's a cool hat. Where are we headed, Chief? Up to the mall. It's like $130 up there, man. You're sure? It's all good. Well, here we go. Take him up to the mall upstate. He falls asleep in the back. Sleeps like a baby back there. I almost forgot he was there if he didn't smell like soup. We get there. He flashes at 50 and says he'll tag that on top of everything, including the tip if I come in and push the cart. Whatever, I'm in for it.

We go into the home supply store and he buys blankets, jackets, tents, etc. Building an encampment. Sure I am, Uncle Josh. Who the fuck are you talking to? I'm David. No, you're Uncle Josh. Hey man, you're paying waiting time, so you can call me Mama if you want. You're such a card, Uncle Josh.

Uh, okay then. Time to check out. Start down the pots and pans aisle. Guy leaps in front of me, shoves me in the cart back. Uncle Josh, are you crazy? They'll eat you. Pardon all to the fuck, Chief. I didn't see them. Holy shit, this guy is legit insane. He grabs one of the blankets and drapes it over me as he holds me like an injured soldier and takes me to the cash out. Girl at the counter giggles. Girl at the counter giggles. They'll eat me, I tell her rinking. She nods, slowly as she's scanning the tags. He ponies up 500 in cash and tells her to keep the change. Load up the car. Where to now, Daddy, more bucks? He laughs and says to take him home. Falls asleep again. Get him home. He puts 300 in my hand and kisses my cheek.

Ew. See you soon, Uncle Josh. He waves to me as he starts throwing blankets and tents down the embankment. Shut the trunk and cruise away. I got crazy on me. Blah. Main taxi guy again. Get orders from Central that I'm supposed to spend the weekend at a ski lodge downstate with one of the company's valued customers. Away's. This means that I get to drive the escalate. Hated leather seats, navigation, satellite radio also means I get to hang out with ski bunnies all weekend between trucking and high mucky mucks between the lodge and the town at the bottom of the mountain. This going to be good.

Happy family, two teens, braces, cutest fun. fuck. Mom and dad are too busy with their blackberries. Kids get bored of listening to their music. Tell them about the burger chaf. Everybody laughs, good times. Get to the lodge, bring in their stuff. They reserved a room for me. Lucky ass motherfucker. Crash in a studio apartment space, dig the view. Can't smoke inside. Have to smoke by the SUV. Late at night. Get up to piss. Decide to smoke too. Leaning on the truck all bundled up. Here's some coyotes in the distance. fucking hate main puff puff puff about ready to stamp out the cigarette when i hear a coyote cry out in agony like just beyond the headlights of the SUV hear bone snapping holy shit what the fuck

remember burger chief's friends shut headlights off and climb into the SUV locked doors something heavy bumps into the ass end of the SUV rocks it a little holy shit holy shit holy shit Pull hat down over eyes. Couldn't eat me under a blanket. Hopefully hats qualify. Hear heavy breathing on the window next to me. It goes away. Wait for 20 minutes, then click on the headlights. Snowing its ass off. Get out and book it to the lodge. Find bloody footprints under the fresh snow. Looks like a regular dude. Size 10 shoe maybe? God damn, man, you crazy. Cover the bloody stuff up with snow before the family wakes up. Just me posting, huh? Fine then.

Still at the lodge. Eating breakfast the next morning. Family comes by and waves. That explains they want to get to town to buy a new snowboard for junior. And the girls want to go shopping for cute new snow gear. Totally cool with that. Give me the fuck off this mountain of death. Notice a bloody steak on the back gate.

Wipe it off with a handful of snow. Teen girl asks what I'm doing. Just wiping off some crud from the road. Are you going to watch this? while we're in town? Yeah, sounds like a great idea. Drop family off and go to wash the truck. Smartically clean.

Brian can still see blood smear on the back gate, though. Pick them up and return to the mountain. Why? Back in where I was before, parallel to this end of the lodge. Mountain Ranger approaches me as I get out of the SUV. Already dropped the family off. Were you here last night? Yep, came out to have a smoke.

Some weird stuff happened. Animal weird? I shake my head and explain what happened. She nods and blows me off until I dig up the snow and show her the blood. There's a bear down here. What the fuck since when do bears have man feet? Did you tell anyone? Who'd believe me?

I'm going to talk to the other rangers and we'll shut this side of the mountain down if we think there's trouble. So, uh, keep my mouth shut. That'd be best until we do something. The mountain is loaded with daredevil. somebody will go looking for the bear. Right, uh, thanks. She goes back to patrolling, staying clear of the tree line where the noises came from. Last chapter of weekend of horror on Murder Mountain.

Fuck, I hate that place. Smoke during the day. If I go out at night, I stay close to the building and hang out at the hot springs. Swanky, artificial ones. There's a bar, but I can't drink. Cool guy, taxi guy. Drinking a Pepsi, smoking a few while I listen to the Saturday night band. family is upstairs in the grand hall having some fancy-ass family reunion,

chilling with the bartender and a couple of ski bunnies that I've been having breakfast with for a few days. Coyotes again. Heart rate picks up. Are they annoying or what? I asked the bartender. They're a bad omen. Coyotes don't come this far up to the mountain unless they're fresh kill or someone's chase them up. Jesus Christ, man, are you fucking movie character? Well, where's the lighting and dramatic organ? He laughs and shakes his head.

Nothing can get you here. It's too noisy. Right. Relax a little. Stay a little later than I should have. Ski bunnies are drunk. We laugh at up some and I call it a night before I do something stupid. Totally forgot about staying close to the building. Here heavy breathing coming from under the SUV.

I freeze. Standing maybe 12 feet from the SUV, I can't see what's under it. I don't want any trouble, I say with a stern voice, 2 a.m. You just stay under there and all go inside. I say backing away from the SUV toward the entrance to my room, their breathing slows down as something crawls around under there like it's making a nest or some freaky-ass shit. I open my door and it stops crawling.

I see hot breath rising up from the running boards as if it's coming out from under the truck. I don't want to know what you are. Fall through the door and kick it shut behind me, spin around it, put my back against the door. Nothing. No noise. Shut the yard light off that had illuminated the SUV and that thing's breath. Get up in the morning and call the ranger down. Stay in the room until she comes to the door. Knocking makes me shit myself. Peek through the door. What's up, David? Remember that bear?

Yes. I point through the door towards the SUV where some serious marks were left. What happened? I come out when you pull your gun out and point it at the truck. I'm not taking any risks. We approach the SUV. She has her gun ready. There are a ton of marks all over the place like it scooped snow under the SUV and pushed it out. She kicked snow under the SUV and nothing happens. I pull out the keys and hit the panic button. Horns, sirens, lights, but nothing under it. Must have left in the night, she says, kneeling down. Holy fuck you're nuts. I step back as she peeks under the truck and immediately backs away standing up in a hurry. Jaws guy's face. What? What? What did it do? Did it hurt the SUV? No, it. I pissed and shit all over the place under there.

Are you fucking kidding me? I moved the SUV and sure enough it pissed and shit all over the place, rolled around in it even. No fresh snow. Those are people tracks. That's the same foot. Seems like you've got a friend, David. You know what? Fuck you, I say rubbing my forehead. Excuse me, she asks? Sorry, this is just too crazy. Are you guys going to shut down the mountain? Yes, this is too close to the lodge to be brushed off. Whatever did this needs to be chased off or captured. Oh, sweet Jesus, thank you. Family and I book it.

Get a call from the Ranger a few days later, and she says that they never found the guy that did it, but the urine and shit samples came back positive for human. She asked me again, What I saw the night, I pulled my hat over my face. I told her Jack's shit. I never returned to Murder Mountain. Family hasn't either.

But I did travel with them a few more times. Haunted docks anyone? Burger Barron doesn't ride anymore. The last time I talked to him, he called Central and asked for Uncle Josh. The office knows that that's my nickname, I guess. I get on the phone. Hey, Chief, it's been a few months. How are you and your friends?

We're good. Listen, Josh, this is important. I put him on speakerphone. The whole office shuts up and leans in. Okay, Chief. What is it? Josh, the dog. catches the clover and he hung up boom done haven't heard from him in three years as i've said main is a

haunted ass fucking place stephen king isn't lying shit is for real up here the following spring after murder mountain central tells me that the family is back and they want to go down east eastport holy fuck that's far away hey new escalade and i like the family anyway by the way piss and shit smell wouldn't leave the air system of the SUV, so we ditched it and upgraded to a new one. Roll up to the airport, everyone's happy to see me. Dad shakes my hand and asks me how the Burger Baron is doing, tell them I haven't heard from him in a while. We laugh again about it, so it's a long-ass ride from the airport to Eastport,

and naturally they pick up an old-ass B&B to stay in. I, however, opt out for chilling with them and book a room right on the water. They're about 15 minutes away from me. Dad asks if I want to say, and I tell him that they should enjoy the weekend together, and that I smoke. He understands, and we exchange cell phone numbers. So the first night, I'm sitting on the back deck of this place, outside of the restaurant downstairs, smoking with a guy from New York who hates Maine, but his wife loves it. I'm fucking fed up with this wilderness shit, he tells me waving his jack and ginger around.

I know what it is because I ordered a peach smoothly, and the bar handles everything but coffee and soda. breach into the choir. If I could afford it, it'd be in Japan. Why Japan? Really? You don't know why? No, it's full of sex-free. Oh.

I tip my smoothie to him. We tap glasses and laugh. I hear a splashing below us. Mind you, the deck hangs out over the water by a good eight to ten feet. I put my drink down and step to the railing, leaning over. It's just a gentle tide smacking against the rocks. Just sounded like splashing. Paranoid after Murder Mountain.

I sit back down and light up another cigarette. New Yorker asked me, what's up? Thought I heard a struggle down there. Standing on the balcony outside of my room, looking out over the moonlit bay, damn, if it didn't suck so hard here. Smoking again, tapping a can of Pepsi against the railing. You have the splashing again. Look down, I can see the rocks again.

Lots of bubbles down there now. Tides aren't shifting. Hey, anybody down there, I shout down? No reply, just more bubbles from the rocky area. I shrug it off, scary ocean shit. I tap the ashes off of my cigarette and lay my head against railing. It's quiet, apart from the splashing. It stopped suddenly.

I look down again and my Pepsi can gets sucked out of my hand. I'm on the third floor, mind you. Swoop, down into the bubbles. Fuck. I throw my cigarette after it and turn away from the railing. The splashing starts again and my Pepsi can is smacking against the rocks. The smacking gets rhythmic. Tap, tap, tap, pause, pause, pause.

Tap, tap, tap, pause, pause. I go down to put an end to the noise. There's a rocky beach down there under the deck, and I climbed down to get the Pepsi can. Why the fuck am I doing this? Oh, yeah, too paranoid to listen to ghosts tap the can all night. I lean out over the rocks and grab the can. I pull it up from the water and dump the seawater out of it.

I climb back up from the beach and toss the can in the trash nearest where I climbed up from. As soon as the can hits the bottom of the barrel, I hear a boat rub up against the dock. Shit, fuck, it's going to eat me. I spin around with my fists up, like I'm going to punch the cracking or something. Oh, it's just a boat. This is God, telling me to stop smoking. I set my head down on one of the pylons that poke up from the dock supported, and I discover my cigarette is under my hand.

Huh, lucky me. The ash broke off, so I lighted it up again and look at the boat rubbing on the dock. It's a cabin cruiser. The name on the ass end is C-Toy. C-Toy rubs up against the dock again and again as I'm smoking. I step off the pylon dock and onto the floating dock. I grab C-Toy's rope and wrap it around one of the weird boat-tie thingsies. It stops rubbing.

Finally. I turn around and there's another cigarette on the pylon above. I still have mine. Huh, uh, okay. Time for bed. I rush up to the gangway to the pylon dock and throw my cigarette. over the edge. Get to the room, lock the door. Nope, nope, nope, too much lactose. You're just having visions. I pull the shades over the glass door that leads to the balcony. Early in the morning,

I wake up to find that the curtains are knocked off the railings and the glass door is wide open. Oh God, it knows where I sleep. I fix everything as best as I can and lock the balcony door this time. The family and I explore Eastport for a while before they rent a sailboat and go off pretending to be pirates. At the hotel, the New Yorker says he heard me last night. I tell him what happened and he laughs at me and offers to buy me breakfast. We have breakfast, his wife nags him to go sailing, I guess they sailed up here. My face went he owns sea toy. I spend the morning sipping Pepsi and texting a friend back home about what's going on. And the splashing starts again. I ignore it and go inside to again find my room messed up. The housekeeper's

keepers say it's not them. When dad, mom, and kids get back, I ask if there's a room at the B&B. I stay with them for the rest of the weekend. But it gets better. Holy fuck does it go off the rails next? At the Eastport Inn, the owners have hired a medium to entertain the guest tonight. Springtime spooky shit. What the fuck? So I hang out with dad in the back of the den while the family and a couple of newlyweds get right in on the action. This gypsy-looking woman comes into the room and the owner shut the lights off and light candles. Well, here we go. Dad and I have to shut off her phones, making the ghost mads. Sure, sure. We both watch as this lady starts walking around the room, waving her hand over people's

heads. She says some superficial stuff about the kids and the newlyweds. Tells mom that dad thinks she's pretty. Duh. She gets to me. I give her glare. She smirks and grabs my cheeks. And you? You've been marked. The fuck you say? Mark? I'm freaked out now. You're marked. Something to do with your smoking. Oh, hell not. I pull her hands up from my face and dad waves her off. What was that all about, he asked. I explained the cigarette and the sea toy, my room and the splashing. He shakes his head. He doesn't know about Murder Mountain, by the way. I rub my forehead as she goes on about a maiden that died at the docks. vengeful husband drowned her after she fell in love with the highway man dad nudges me i wave a hand too

interested do not listen to her she goes on and says that the husband killed her when he smelled the cigar on the highway on her dad begins to chuckle i nudge him and he starts laughing out loud i get up and leave the weekend goes off without a hitch we leave east port and dad teases me about my ghost girlfriend the whole way back to the airport last summer get a call from sensuals to go pick up at one of the shitty hotels across town. I wheel in and pick up a scraggly looking guy, long hair balding on top. Smells like piss and weed.

He asked me to turn off the car radio and my taxi radio. I can't cut communications with Central. Just don't talk on it while I'm in here. Fair enough. We go to the Goodwill. He pays in quarters and gets out. Joy. Laundry money.

A few hours go by and I get called to go get him. He comes out with a card load of 80s tech radios, alarm clocks, record players, phones, and a couple of TVs. Oh, fuck me. I help him load all of it and we go back to the hotel, but stop at a mom-and-pop food stop, so he can pick up a couple bags of frozen dinners. Nice.

So I help him unload these stuff into the hotel room. Room smells like piss and weed. He pays in quarters again. Hello, CoinStar. The next day I get a call to go get him again. I wheel in and find him standing outside of his room, facing the door dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow, one of those buy costumes.com ones. Fake hair, sticky beard, shirt, hat, the works.

He slides on a pair of men in black shades and gets in the back. Ahoy, Captain, where we'll be headed? Funny. Goodwill again. And shut the radio off. Good enough. He asked me to wait while he goes in. He comes back with two gigantic speakers and we load them up. I help him unload them.

He's nailed the radios to the wall, the clocks are hung like Christmas lights, the record players are playing in reverse, and the TV screens are linked with bare copper wire in the shape of a square. He pays in quarters again. Hey, it's probably not okay to nail stuff to the... He shuts the door in my face and I hear him lock it up. Okay, well, see you for breakfast then. I ask jokingly as I go back to my car.

A few days go by and I get a call from Central that the police department is to come pick someone up at the hotel this guy, was at. Captain Quarterbag must have gotten busted for defaming property. I roll up and get out. My cop buddy is the one who called. He tells me that Captain Quarterback got his hands on a shotgun and shot his caseworker when she finally tracked him down. Vietnam War veteran. She's in the ICU and he's nowhere to be found. He opens the door and the sky had gone epileptic Spider-Man all over the inside of the hotel room with copper wire. I looked to my cop friend who then asked me what I know about this stuff.

I confess to knowing that he nailed to the walls, but not this level of crazy. I tell him about the stuff he bought and how he dressed. A few weeks go by, and my cop friend calls to tell me that now that the investigation is over, I should probably know that they found him, cocooned in the coppered wire. His body was all charred up and jerkied,

having been cooked by the wiring. Why did I need to know this? He tells me not to take his personally. and in the future to tell me that when weird stuff like this happens. So I should just put you on speed dial? Morning, new and night, he said. We don't talk about that, like, at all. I never saw any of the guy's body, but it just sounds disgusting anyway.

So this is from over the winter, December. Have a regular transport with a mentally challenged client, cool guy not big on the talking, unless it's a pretty girl, driving on a sloppy road. Plow guys are slacken. Splish splash might be taken a bath soon. So I'd slow down as we come down the sleep hill and tires give. As the end of the car starts to come around like the trunk is going to lead the way now. Oh, fuck not. I cut back into the drift and tap the accelerator so the rear end straightens up. Fish tail for maybe 100 feet until we get to the bottom of the hill. Few. My client, let's call him, Shee's, giggles a little and I laugh too. We're four.

friends. I'm stopped, giggling like a little kid when a blue light appears in my rearview. Cops? Is it not having an accident? Illegal now? Nope. Something comes over the hill and up into the air Duke Boy style. Slush and shit rains down on my car and being an idiot I am cover my head like I'm going to get rained on in the car. Dirk. Blue light comes over the top of the taxi. 8 a.m. in December. Old Mr. Sun is just getting up. Orange skies frame. this icy blue triangle that glides just over my car and slows down, like it's saying sorry. Sheaese leans up to the glass of the windshield and looks up at it. I keep away from the glass. It doesn't fly away, it just fades out. It kind of reminded me of condensation evaporating off of the

cold glass. Sheaise doesn't remember it like I do. He just remembers me being a dumb ass and nearly getting us killed pretending to be Paul Walker. This is a short one, but you can probably experience it too up here. Late October, a few days before Halloween, driving on a rainy night. How do I get talked into this? Leeds falling out of the tree getting sucked to the windshield. It's a fun time. Roll the window down to smoke. Cigarette dangling out of the window while I cruised down to the next city along the coast to pick up a homeless guy and bring him to the hospital up in my way that'll take them. Groovy tunes on the road. I come around a tight bend and I hug the line a little closer than I should have. Why Toyota is in my lane.

Holy fuck, it's gonna die. Dirk the wheel to narrowly miss the car. Come to a stop to get my wits. Crazy fucking kids, this is what MTV gave us. Frazzled and lost the cigarette. Lided another one and park for a minute, puffing to some white lion. Taping the side of the car listening to the music. Some guy grabs my arm and leans in.

You okay, mate? I smack his arm away and lean away from the window. Fuck you. I shout like that's going to scare off the woods demon that just tried to tear off my arm. Friendly middle-aged guy, greased hair, shit-stained mustache. Hey man, just checking on you. Glanced at my rear view and spot the Toyota sitting behind me. Well, man, uh, sorry, you scared the shit out of me.

Sorry, I said hello, but I guess the music was too loud. You're okay, right? Yeah, yeah, sorry for yelling. It's cool. There are a couple of deer on the road up ahead. Watch yourself. I nod, and he gets in his car and pulls away. I take a minute and cool off.

Put in gear and roll on. Round the bend he was talking about and come to screech and stop, turned sideways in the road. That's not a fucking deer. It's not even a couple of fucking deer. Middle of the road stands a moose, over the top of a dead moose's body. Moose is ripped to shreds.

Got hit by a moose blender or something. Other moose is standing guard. I inch up on the guardian moose and it lowers its head ready to charge. I stop and beep the horn. It lifts its head and steps aside. I cruise by slowly. Moose turns his head as if it's scoping me out for the guy who did this to its rife, such buddy slash whatever.

I pull me on the moose and stop, looking back through my mirror, and the other moose lays down next to the dead one. Oh, okay, time to leave. I get the guy in, come back to that same way, because there's no other road that is as direct. Pass the moose carcass, but no guardian moose. Round the bend again and discover it's been hip-up. dump truck, took its head clean off. Slow down as we passed the head, and those damn eyes were

looking at me. Felt like it anyway. Fuck this shit. Drive off. Passenger was asleep anyway. Theory. Spyplane that went kabuli when it hit the upper atmosphere. They tell us, Lauren Air Force Base is decommissioned and is just used to repaint the service humvees. That's bullshit. You know it. I know it. Spy planes take off, Supersonic hits atmosphere, or snaps and a half, boom, what I'm told. Best part of taxiing is government loves to truck people through. Black Shades Guy and his blunty assistant get picked up in Portland. Transport them to the Air Force base in Bangor.

Neither one of them talks. I ask about it. They shake their heads. I shrug. Roll up, guide the gate, ask for papers. CIA types don't do papers. Gate guy gets miffed. Ask for ID.

CIA hands him a letter. He radios the instructions into the books. base. Humvee rolls up to the gate, the gate opens and gate guy leads me in walking just ahead of my bumper. Humvee opens from the inside. Dark shades and Blondie get out and get into the Humvee. Get turned around by gate guy.

I pull up to the gate and pull down my sunglasses staring at the guy. You know what? That guy's an asshole. Expect us to go to war with Russia any day now. He waves me on. Oh, thank God. I'm diseased. I live on a lake. Shitty Lake camp,

but it's a swanky bachelor pad and I'm cool with it. This was back at the end of last summer. Sitting on the front deck, looking across the street to the lake water, rocking back and forth on the porch swing. The loons are calling, frogs are trying to get laid, it's an LL being commercial. I put my hands behind my head and drift off to sleep. I wake up to the sound of something clattering around in my trash cans. Oh, come on. I sit up and look toward the bottom of my driveway. There's this kid poking through my garbage. He's got regular kid clothes. Hey you, cut the shit. His head snaps up and drops the can't see his eyes, just know he's looking. I stand up and point at him. Go home, leave the

trash alone. He stands there, staring. I get the same singing feeling I did when I heard the coyote bones being snapped. What the fuck now? The kid's arms twitch a bit, like he's got to chill or something running up his spine. Well, he leans down to the trash again. Hey! I stepped down off of the deck and onto the gravel. My foot makes a crunchy noise and something dashes into the bushes at the top of my driveway. The kid runs off down the street.

I hear his footsteps for a while. I sit down on the steps for a minute contemplating getting my gun. There's a sploosh in the lake across from my place. Like a frog just jumped into the water or something. The loon stopped calling for a minute. Well, time to go inside and lock all the doors and windows. I finally get to bed after locking the house up and listen to the loon start calling again. Sitting in town one night, full moon, window down listening to music, guy and gal walk by, wave and say hello.

I wave back, nice couple. I turned down the car radio and get out to walk around the car. I parked down at the boat yard near one of the waterfront bars. I sit down on the hood and light up a cigarette. A girl walks up and asks for one. I offer her the lighter and a cigarette. She joins me on the hood after lighting up. Is this your job?

No, I do this for the orphans. Very funny. Yeah, I've been doing this longer than I can remember. Are you happy? Lady, I'm sitting on the hood of a Crown Victoria on a Saturday night. I'm not up for life lessons in philosophy. Fine, just want it to know. I feel bad for being a jerk.

It's not a great job, but... But I meet people. I like people. It's a good quality to have. How about you? Smoking with taxi drivers, your job? Ha, no, I'm just a girl wandering through the world. A traveler, huh? Welcome to the road. Thanks. She gets up and walks off into the darkness of the boatyard. Okay, bye. She waves over her shoulder. I hear a hard thud come from the boatyard. Time to man up, David. Get in the car and cruise into the boat yard. High beams on. She's standing on the edge of the boat lift with a piece of broken rowing ore. I get out and walk up to her. Everything okay? She nods and tosses the ore into the water. Gypsies are always okay, traveler. She looks over her shoulder toward me. Her eyes are that

weird reflective kind that animals are so you know that they're about to run out in front of you. Nope, nope, nope. I get back in the car and back out of the boatyard. Radio to central discentral send the cops down. They find a broken oar and her jacket, but nothing else. Cop friend tells me they chase some gypsy off the public beach the morning after. Gypsies come through town a lot. They fuck round up in Canada too much. I should sign these. Sincerely, the unluckiest bastard in Maine. A couple weeks after Burger Barron's last phone call, off-duty, downstate for a jazz festival. Come across a guy pissing on a building. Classy.

Walk by him and under a catwalk that connects two banks together or some rich-y-rich shit. I stopped using the catwalk as I spot a dog walking up the street. 1 a.m. Saturday. On that side of town, I guess. I pulled my hands out of my pockets and clap for the dog to come to me. The dog stands there, under the street lamps light looking at something on the other side of the street. Its ears twitch occasionally like he's hearing something. I approach cautiously. Maybe he's tracked a raccoon. The dog's head lowers as I get closer, but it's not looking at me.

I step up to the dog. It jumps a little once it realizes I'm so close. Dog snaps back to what was looking at. There's this bat thing resisting on the brick wall, like a full on attached to it. I placed my hand on the dog's head, gently massaging his head. Easy. It's just another animal. Dog bolts off suddenly.

I watch it run off into the darkness and turn back to the bat thing. It's wings spread in. Holy shit, it's huge. I'm looking at a bald eagle-sized bat thing. It crawls a little higher on the wall, ignoring me, I guess, as it heads toward an open window. Uh, what? I'm stunned. It's huge, and it's headed for that window. I pick up a rock from the road and toss it into the trash cans. It makes a big rock hitting metal noise. The bad thing falls off the wall and into the trash, tearing it to shit. I hear it snorting and tearing at things as it goes after the rock. Well, leaving now. I take off the same way the dog did. Homeless guy tells me it's lived there for a few months since warm weather came. The homeless avoid it. I ask him why. He says some crazy guy shit

about how it steals souls or something. I ask him how that works. He asks for money. Nice. I hand him a 20 and he stuffs it into his underwear. Ugh. He tells me it comes to them in their dreams and that a couple of his friends have died after saying they'd seen it in their dreams. I sit down next to him and think for a minute. He tells me the homeless call it Dreamcatcher. Really? That's the best he've got? I ask him why the name. You got a better name? Nope. Dreamcatcher it is then. I get up and offer to buy him a coffee, but he's content with the 20 and draws his legs under himself. I leave him in the city I was visiting. Haven't heard of Dreamcatcher again. On duty. Christmas time, 2010. Santa's Village downtown. Kids everywhere.

Gypsies are in town, selling stolen shit. Good times. Having breakfast at the bakery downtown. Hey, David. Have you any affairs headed out to the old train station? Nope, it's condemned. Nobody lives there. Weird.

A guy that came through here the other morning asked to have a wedding cake delivered down there. You didn't take the job, did you? Nah, he couldn't give me an address to just the old train station. I'll keep that in mind. I go about my day. Christmas rolls around, no kids-slash-wife-to-be-around. So I'm working, torturing thumbs by the boat landing, watching snow. Central tells me to head over to the honky town, country bar at the edge of town.

Who the fuck is drinking on Christmas? I head over, old guy smoking by a truck that slid off the road. Need a lift? Called a cab. I turned my top light on. Guess you're the guy. I'm the guy. He gets in and I crank up the heat.

I ask him where he's headed. He tells me the old train station. Okay, it's condemned. I can't leave you in the wintertime with nowhere to go. Relax, I'm not living in the station. I'm converting a box car into an apartment. Oh, apologize for being a shithead. Everybody's creeped out.

It's fine. Drop them off. Christmas morning. Wake up downtown. Fell asleep waiting for a call, I guess. Central tells me that the guy at the train station wants me to come out before we get off work. Goody, boxcar, Willie, wants to sit down. I cruise over.

Wheel into the train station's parking lot. Can't get to the rail yard without walking around the platform. I get out and lock the car just in case. I walk around to the rail yard and find that he's been skinning dogs, deer, rabbits, cats, etc. He's sitting on the landing, wearing a red coat in black jeans. He spots me as I spot the skins. Hey, David. Thought I wouldn't see you.

Fuck, if I've run, he'll chase me. Hey, Vanna, go. Just a fake name, I called him by his real name. I step onto the platform and try to ignore the skins being stretched in the doors of the box cars. I keep a good 10 feet between us. My truck is pretty fucked up. You think you guys could handle moving me back and forth between here and town?

It's our job. Sounds like a plan then. He stands up and I step back. He turns away from me and sets a glass of wine down on the floor and reaches into his pocket. Pulls out a watch and some money. Gold dollars and regular bills. He offers $50 to me to make sure he gets top billing when it comes time for a ride. I accept and wish him a good day.

I book it out of there. Tell Central I want nothing to do with the place. Send Ken or Barbie down. Better not send Barbie. She'd make a nice coat. Van Go Away hung around town for a while before he abandoned the rail yard and I guess joined the gypsies. Friends of the Mountain of Murder slash Eastport's girlfriend Goate. family booked me to take them down to a richy-rich gated bayside community rent a house for a $2,200 a week.

What a deal. Fuck my life. Fancy new escalade in the middle of a tourist community. Out-estaters everywhere. It's cool. I'm from here. I speak the language. Brought wife and husband here. I'll call them Mark and Clio. Mark and Cleo rented a house and wanted me to stay in town because there's no taxi for at least an hour. So I stay at their place in the mother-in-law's house out back. I'm hanging out by the waterfront talking to an old flame. The fog is rolled in, and the lights along the docks are making shapes out of the fog bank. Looks cool. In the distance, I see a white light, like a flashlight, but out over the water, bobbing up and down. The lighthouse about a mile away starts sounding off a warning to boats. Foghorns are loud. Foghorns a mile away are deafening.

Hang on, foghorn. I put my hand over the phone, watching that light. Looks like a rowboat with a headlight. Shitty time to come in from the island, Bucco. The horn fades, and I pick up the phone again. So, how are the kids? We talk for a bit and I watched that light. The waves are crashing because the tide's going out. Still, that light doesn't move except to bob up and down on the waves.

Hey, I think there's a boat stuck. I'll call you back. I hang up and put the phone in my pocket before heading out to the foggy dock. The light seems to be sitting at the end, but it's too far out there to be tethered. I step out to the end of the dock, at least where it feels like at the end, too foggy to tell. I grab onto the railing and a lamp post just to make sure I don't take a dip. Hey, are you okay? I shout into the fog.

I hear nothing. The light continues to bob up and down. Hey, uh, I'm not a cop. Just, uh, tell me you're all right. No reply. The light just sits there in the fog. I smack my hand against the railing. Look, it's, uh, not cool to just be an asshole in the fog.

I'm pissed. This dense fucker could get hurt. I step back from the edge. Something brushes up against me like I stepped into it. I turn around suddenly, expecting the person in the boat to be there. This 30-yard dock is crawling with fog people. This is a legit phenomenon in Maine. Humanoid figures wandering through the fog. Holy shit, ghost convention. I latch onto the railing. What the fuck do I do? I push myself off the railing and toward the shore. through the fog people. I can feel them walking through me or I'm walking through them. I see them dancing. I try to step around them but it's just unavoidable. It feels like I'm walking through cobwebs and hot hair. I jump down onto the beach once I'm close enough and rush up out of the fog. I turn the headlights of my escalate on and I can see them clearingly now. 20 or 30 of them walking around dancing just being fog people. I climb into the SUV and call my friend. Hello? Fog people, all over the docks. Calm down, David.

They walked through me, Alavra, not a real name. No, you walked through them? Are they pissed? No, just happy to live again. Are you serious right now? Do they look like they're going to eat you? No. Go to bed and leave the fog people alone.

I explained the light to her. It's probably just a manifestation of the fog people. This is why we couldn't work. You're fucking insane to be okay with this crazy shit. Go back to Mark and Clio's place, lock the door, and hide under the blankets. Years ago, I thought I was in love. Hot engaged to an Irish haughty. Good times. Her stepdad liked me. We drank together. They lived in a farming community next to Amish, strangely enough. They owned property, about 80 acres or so. 60% of the property is wooded.

Stepdad and I are walking in said woods. He's kind of half drunk, half serious, and he starts going off about how the woods are in his blood. Oh yeah, are you related to Woody the Woodpecker? Let's call him Appleseed. Appleseed chuckles and says no. He's part Malasite, a tribe from here in Maine. That's cool. Is that why you don't get sunburned? No, it means I turn into a fucking wolf.

Huh. No? I stop in my tracks and grab his shoulder. You can't be that drunk already. I'm not kidding. Let me show you my altar. Oh, fuck. Indian Juju.

I follow him quite a ways down in. So far I can't hear cars anymore, or really much more than some annoying birds, he leads me to a clearing man-made that sits at the bend of a river, rushing water. He stands near the edge and places his hand on a carved stump. Lots of faces carved into it, birds, wolves, foxes, etc. It's not a totem pole. It's just a tree trunk with shit carved into it. Look super old. He passed the side of it and asked me to come touch it too. I touch it. Feels like a slimy wood. Okay. He shakes his head. Be clear. He says, glad she loves you. You are as mortal as they come, my friend. I shrug. Means I won't be choned with

wood, I guess. He chuckles in me, go back to the house for dinner. A few weeks later, I get a call from his wife asking me if I've seen him. No, he's your husband. Don't get smart. He's been missing for too long. I come over with the fiancé and we go down into the woods, blood and guts everywhere. She body parts all over, and I stop in the path as we get closer. You, you two should go back. Oh, fuck, you want to go back? They go back up the hill. I grab a bunch from the side of the path and hold it like a club. I get closer to where his altars were. No birds. I step into the clearing and I spot the altar he showed me, caked in blood. Sheep's head resting on top of it. The ground is covered in sheds of his clothing. Appleseed is nowhere to be found.

There's a fire going through in a rock pit that he made, I guess. He's got a piece of stone in the middle of it that's making the fire green and blue. I can hear a bunch of rustling in the bushes all around me. There's a feeling in me like I should run. My feet stay planted as I hold the branch up, ready to swing. Appleseed steps out from the bushes behind me. I turn and swing. He catches the branch. He's like 53 or some shit. I'm 23 or some shit. Holy shit, he's naked, by the way. Ugh. Appleseed is covered in blood. It's caked under his nails. He's got it in his hair. His balls have blood on them. He smiles to me. His teeth are bright yellow. Told you. He says, tugging the branch out of my hand like I'm a toddler holding a wiffle bat. I step back from him as he

kneels down to pick up his glasses. Why? Had to prove something to you. What the fuck could killing sheep have to do with proving anything to me? Had to prove that you didn't belong in this family. Good point. Bye then. I leaned over and grabbed this shirt. Here, clean your balls off. I basically died on my way up the hill. I felt him following me the whole way. I didn't look back, but I could hear his feet on the twigs and branches in the path. He said he breathed space away from me the whole way. Get back up to the girls. He's just camping. Guy's stuff. Better leave him alone. Broke up with fiancé. Found out later she was cheating on me anyway. Don't go in the woods on a full moon. 2009. Up in Holton, way up on the Canadian border, the Woodstock side. Having dinner with an old friend.

who just made it to be in a country music star. Let's call him Art. Art and I went to school together when I lived up there ages and ages ago. I left when I was about 10 and never looked back. We're outside of a bonfire talking about tits and ass. Good times. Art gets up to get up here, and one of his new friends comes back out with him. Let's call this one Jason. Jason and Art talk about the crazy shit they saw when they were loggers over in Jackman. Jackman is over on the bad border with Canada, the Montreal side. One rode in, one rode out, and it sucks. Jason starts the story.

Never heard of Bloody Bones David? Doesn't sound familiar. Is that a new band? No. It's a nickname of a killer. Nifty, so how about them, Red Sox? Art laughs and Jason continues. Here we go. Bloody Bones was a stalker.

He'd follow newlyweds when they came out to the northern. woods of Maine. He was raised by the Catholics of St. Mary's, but escaped into the woods one day and just kept going north. He lives in the woods outside of Jackman. One night this couple of Massachusetts was up that way and got stuck on a logging road headed to their honeymoon cabin. No tow truck till morning. They take refuge in a local church. Bloody Bones was there. They say he toyed with them for a while. I sank down into my share. Shit, I hate this shit. Bloody Bones chased the husband back to the car and then skin him alive. Art leans into my face.

My name's Bloody Bones and I'm going to kill you tonight. He found the wife hiding in the woods and chewed her fingers off first. Art leaned in. My name's Bloody Bones and I'm going to kill you tonight. Jason continues. He cut her up into small pieces but sucked the meat off her fingers. His trademark was to make a necklace out of their finger bones. and hanging around their necks.

The police found their bodies. Art leaned in, but he took their wedding rings. You can hear him coming when you hear the jingling of all those wedding rings echoing through the woods up there. My name's Bloody Bones. Yeah, yeah, fuck off. I kicked dirt on them.

Bloody Bones sucks. He's real, and we heard the jingling in the woods. Yeah, fuck you. I still don't believe him, but it's a thing to think about when you're going up north. 2009. Spring. Condominium opens up in the city, full of old people. Hell yes. Peace and quiet. Fuck all of you motherfuckers in this apartment building. I move across the city to this place. Youngest person in the complex by 40 years. An old woman in my building, only dude in there.

Elderly ladies are 70 plus. Get settled in and come home from work late one night. Sign off from Central and carrying my six pack into the place with me. One a.m. Downstairs neighbor catches me as I come through the door. Hello, love. Her name is D.D. She's originally from England and brought me cupcakes the first day I was there. Sweet old lady, cute accent. Howdy, Missy?

I replied with a southern accent. She smiles and leans against her doorway. Black Trats suit, wine glass and hand, half full. Is my TV too loud? Can't even hear it in the hall. No, D.D., it's perfectly fine. Turn it up if you want to. Oh, well, thank you, sweetheart.

I was worried I'd wake you. I nod and head up the stairs. Later that night I hear moaning coming through the floor. Ah, bitch. I roll over and listen for a bit, and D.D. is listening to Corn. Fuck my life. Old lady is, M. wording, below my bedroom to interracial corn. Well, it can all be sunshine and rainbows.

Get out the next morning, and D.D. meets me downstairs at the mailbox. I look like shit. D.D. leans over to me and whispers. Did you sleep well, Davy? No, not really, just adjusting to the new place, I guess. Lies, all lies. I can sleep in the middle of the road if I have to. Might be more comfortable. I'm sorry, Davy.

Do you need more cupcakes, maybe? No, no, I already look like a cannibal with legs and arms. That's very kind, though. Well, can I ask a weird question? Sure, D.D., what's up? Holy shit, this is it. I'm going to have to make a move. Neighbor lady wants to R-word me.

You have a gal, Davy? No, Dee-D. I don't. Well, maybe you should meet one of my friends. They're around your age. What do you say, Davy? Want to go to know a special gal? Oh, thank Jesus. Sure, Dee-D., you know where to find me.

I step past her and head up the stairs again, going through my mail. Your haircut is sexy, Davy, don't change it. I shudder a little going into my place. A few days go by and I pick up a woman from one of the swanky condos by the river. She's all dressed up, headed to my building. wonder what's up. I try to talk to her, but she just smiles. Okay, doesn't speak English, great. I drop her off, head back to work, central calls, and three more women are headed over there. All of my what? I pull into the hotel. These girls get in, none of them talk to me. I drop them off. Okay. I get in late that night,

3 a.m. or so. Back is killing me. I come in and head up to my place. I open the door and come in. Turn on the light. Dizzy and four women are sitting in my kitchen. Holy Mother of Christ. Fall through my doorway and into the hall. Didi, what the fuck? I shout as I sit up, hearing her and a couple of girls rush my way. Sorry, love, it's a surprise.

Breaking and entering might be okay in London town, but here in the States is not cool. One of the girls, it's the first one I brought, helps me to my feet. Oh, hush, come in. We have booze. It's my place. Are they my booze? Of course they are. Fantastic.

I can't report her. She's an old lady. Who's going to believe me when I say an old lady in a squadron of supermodels broke into my place? I take my jacket off and set on the couch, flanked by two of them, both blondes. Okay, this isn't too bad. D.D. steps up to me and takes off her jacket.

Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. D.D., I have to work in the morning. I don't have time to do this right now. Relaxed, love. It's just warm in here. Calypcio, you and Juliet give Davy a good drink. Next morning and I will. wake up to, Dedy knocking on my door. I know it's her because she's calling for Davy. I get up and go to this door in my boxers and tank top. Davy, I heard you screaming last night. Are you okay? Why didn't you

ask last night? Um, it's fine, Dedy. I don't remember screaming. Oh, maybe I was dreaming of you screaming. She walks off down the hall and goes down the stairs. My face went. I shut the door and check out those scratches. Gone. All gone. Just a bloody tank top on the floor. A week passes and I'm home late again. Bar nights are keeping me out longer than I want, but Central trusts me to tow the line while they find a new bar guy. I come in, covered in confetti this time, bachelette party. So much tities. I come through my door and turn on the light. No, D.D., no strange women. Find a note on my bed. Open it up and it just has a black thumbprint in the middle. Leaving your mark, huh, D.D. I throw the note into the trash in and go to bed. I have nightmares about being ripped apart by those girls.

Didi jumping on my chest. I wake up to the smell of burning cinnamon. Not cool. I go out to the kitchen. It's not my place. Smell the air. It's coming from the floor. D.D. is burning something.

The smell goes away by noontime. Central gave me the day off. I spend it, napping, snacking, and watching shit on YouTube. That night my apartment gets really, really warm. Sweat and balls, man. I draw on myself a cold bath and fall asleep in the tub. I wake up a few hours later hanging out of the tub like,

somebody tried to brag me out, scratches on my shoulders and arms. I stand up out of the tub and immediately feel like I'm lighter than air. I wobble around on my feet for a bit, trying to remember how feet work. Burning cinnamon again. Get dressed. 11 p.m. Go down to Dede's apartment, knock on a door. Rustling. D.D. comes through the door in just a robe, half tied. Gonna barf. Hey, is everything okay? Yes, David. I keep smelling burning cinnamon through the floor. It's not of your business. She sets the door and go about my business. Notice later that the scratches are gone. Get to work late the next day.

Central's pissed. I tell them to deal with it and go about my day. Get a call from the landlord that he's renting a hotel room for me for the next few days. Why? Electrical fire in Dede's apartment. Is she okay? She wasn't home. Well, that sucks.

Go by and get undies and swim trunks. Hotel is a pool and a hot tub. Chalax in the hot tub all night long. See Calypso and Juliet check out. One of my company's cabs takes them away. They look freaked out. I needy back in Slutopia, I guess. Landlord calls.

Did Did Dede tell you she was moving? Nope. She's gone, Dave. Oh, darn. Oh, gosh. Oh, gee. Apartment gets released and I come home. Landlord is in Dedy's apartment.

Let's call him Gerald. Gerald spots me and calls me in. She's gone, David. Took the carpet with her. Damn. Place looks like no one had ever lived in it. Notice a black thumbprint above her bed. No more scratches or weird dreams. Never hear of or from D.D. ever again.

2004. Halloween time. Leaf peepers watching the trees and shit. Roll up in the old escalated before the piss and shit monster of murder mountain ruined it. Pick up a guy King's Gates. Here we go. Stalker got kicked out. Nope, let's call him Samuel. Samuel is studying under Stephen King to become a creepomatic writer. We drive off and the guy maybe in his 30s, throws his briefcase into the back onto his luggage. Something wrong, champ? That guy is like a child. Oh boy. It's like I'm dealing with an eight-year-old. What's wrong with him? Get this, okay. He has to sleep totally covered by the blankets with only his head poking out. I stare in the mirror for a moment and nods slowly. Hell, if I had all the nightmare fuel living in my brain, I'd probably shrink

wrap myself before bed. He has to have nightlights in his every room and every hallway. So he's a weirdo. Oh no, it gets worse. Great, bitchfest all the way to the airport. Did she see the house next to his? Mossy abandoned looking heap? Yes. He bought that off the people that owned it after their daughter was R-worded and murdered. I blink a few times. Disbelief lingered in my head. So, that's odd. He goes on and on about how that little girl came over and gardened with his wife and pestered him about his writing. He and his wife would send her home after a while, but she always came back, so she gets kidnapped, R-worded, and murdered. Parents leave town. King buys the place, get this, he uses it as a haunted house. That's a little sick. I know, right? King uses it as a haunted house

for Halloween for a few years, says it's because the girl loved Halloween. Weird shit starts happening, right? People get pushed. Here laughing, footsteps. It's a haunted house. It's supposed to do that, right? In July? I nod. Fair enough. So he shuts it down because he's afraid someone will get hurt. He has his office moved to he can look at the house while it works. On rainy days, he locks himself in that room and sits in the window watching the house.

It's like he expects her to make faces at him in the window or something. Well, uh, that's a whole new level of fucked up, I reply. That's not even the worst part of it. When he gets stressed out, he goes over there and talks to her. Nope, nope, nope, nope. We get to the airport, the guy pays me, and I wish him well. Taurus wanted to see King's house. I tell Central to send another driver. My brain only sees that little girl standing in the window, shaking her head.

So I just wanted to note that on the day that this happened, I also had to dodge a body, careening down I-95 in Newport after it fell out of the coroner's truck. Get a call from Central to head down to Augusta Air, bringing hippie chick to hippie encampment just outside of town. stock up on Pepsi. Take a piss. Headed out of town, Dave? Yep, more hippies headed out to the hippie camp. Out of Satas.

Too bad, they're so pretty. Store clerk and I laugh. Head down to the airport and the escalade. Standing at the gates holding a sign. Darla. Tie-dye, babe, straight out of Sunny and Cheer music video, Waltz is up to me. Welcome to Maine, Sunshine. Ola. She teases and hands me her bags.

Yep, baggage, bitch. I loader things up and get in the SUV and we head north. So what brings you to this part of Maine? I'm going to Free Meadows to lead a cleansing ceremony. That sounds pretty fun. Men are allowed. Not so fun now. She giggles and smacks the back of my seat.

Oh, stop it's to cleanse the female body. So men don't need cleansing? You're a little too far gone. I nod slowly. Feels bad, man. We roll up to the Free Meadows and a bunch of look-like like hippie women come out of their teepees and cabins. They circle the SUV. Friends? Believers. She replies open in the door. I get out too. They give me a wide berth and slowly make their way

around to her. Everyone hugs. Now kiss. I close the back gate after unloading her things. She motions for me to come to her teepee. Ah, anyways, I call her things up there and tuck them into the back. She's taking her shirt off. Should I go? Does the female I'll form frighten you, David? No, Darla, I'm just polite. Social structures, there is no polite. She slides a tie-dye dress on and kicks her pants off the rest of the way. So will that be all?

She nods and I leave the teepee. She already paid before we left the airport. I get back into the escalate and head out. I watch in the rear view as they all hug again. Filthy hippies. Later that night, I get a call from Central to go back out there. They send me in the regular cab. Darla is sitting by the road.

You rang? I asked Roland on the window. David, please go to town and bring back bottled water. You got it. I returned with the water to find no Darla. I drive down into the campman and discover a huge bonfire at the south end of the camp. I get out and pop the trunk. Darla steps up behind me.

Wickerman's shit going on here. He's wearing a stuffed elk's head. Whoa. I jump out of my skin as she comes up behind me. I nearly drop the water as I lean away from her. Good work, David. She hoists two watercases out of the back like their packages of socks and totes them to the fire. I walk behind holding the one case that I can carry.

Feels bad, man. One of the women steps in front of me and places her hands on the case. You can't go down there. I nod slowly and she takes the water from me like it's nothing. Cleansing or steroid therapy. Darla returns and hands me the fare. Then asks me to leave. I can ply and go about my business.

Central calls me when I get to town that I have a couple of people. A couple of bar rats headed out of town. Drive by Free Meadows on the way. Big ass fire. No people. Uh-oh. I keep my eyes on the sides of the road for the rest of the way. Drop off the drunks in, head back. Fire is out. Poof, all out. It's super dark down there and I half wonder what's going on. I slow down by the road to enter, but I don't go down. I come to a stop looking down the road. Moonlit figure standing in the middle of the road, eyes like fire. I swallow hard as I can feel those flaming red eyes look into mine. I sit there for a moment, contemplating what to do next.

I radio to central that I'm getting out to check on Darla. I put the car in park and engage the hazards. I get out of the car and walk around to the trunk. The figure in the road is gone. Oh, good. I tap my hand against the hood, unsure of what to do now. The brush moves a little closer to me, then where that figure stood.

A bright silver elk steps out of the bushes and assumes the same position the figure had before. Same red eyes. I stepped towards the road. The elk begins to trot up the road, dizzantly uncomfortable now. What the fuck is happening? It's like 60 yards away. The thing is huge.

Looks like a meat bus standing in the road. It stops at 50 yards and stamps its foot. I put my hands up. Okay, I'll go. I step back away from the car and then get back in. The elk comes up onto the road and stands behind the car, her eyes peering through the back window into the rearview mirror. Sweet baby, Jesus, deliver us from evil.

I put the car in gear and pull away. The elk follows for about half a mile. When I look back up, it's trident down the embankment from the road headed back to the camp. In the morning, I get a call from Central to head out to Free Meadows. I pick up the escalate as the boss tells me it's Darla. I enter the encampment, a little weirded out from last night. Dala steps out from her teepee and her shirt and pants again. Other women follow her lead and step out as well.

They circle the SUV again as Darla gets in. I load her things as every move I make is being watched. I get in after closing the gates. They clear a path for me to leave. You shouldn't have come back last night. I glanced into the mirror shrugging. The fire was out too early, so I figure, Don't give me excuses, David.

Okay, fine. We stay silent for a while, and I drop her off at the airport. An airport attendant takes her bags. Darla faces me and hands me a wad of cash. As I took the money from her, Darla grasped my hands nearly crushing it in her grasp. Don't you ever. And I mean ever. Interfere with which you don't understand again.

She growls through her teeth, her eyes shifting that red color that the elk had for just a second. All right, all right, I'm sorry. She releases my hand and turns away, all in one motion. I get in the SUV. Radio's essential that I'm clear and headed home. I get home to find out that she gave me a little. almost $200 and a note with a heart on it. I throw away the notes and pocket the cash. 2006. The city I live in has a spring-fed pond on a side street, decide to go ice skating

with a former fiancé. She's really good. I, on the other hand, look likely our word on stilts. She laughs as I fall on my butt. I smirk and pull her down into my lap. Ha-ha, fun times, cheating, bitch. It's about 8 a.m. We are early risers. It's maybe negative 10 degrees Fahrenheit hide out deep February normal temps i get up after she does actually she helps me to my feet i look at my butt print and shake my head the pond is known for never freezing solid in the middle urban legend says it connects to an underground aquifer almost two miles below the surface of the earth yeah whatever geology is for nerds i wobble around a little more as these kids come under the ice to play hockey i remind them about the middle and they blow me off whatever die see if i care fiancee and i huddle up in the pavilion by the pond

and watch the kids fuck off on the ice. Suddenly, there's a massive thump from under the ice. One of the kids falls over. I snicker, but my fiancé gets up to check on the kid. I see the ice pick up and drop, like the whole pond. I'll grab her arm before she steps under the ice. Wait, Alana, just wait.

She's offended. The ice picks up and drops again, another huge thump. Get off the ice now. I shout to them as they scramble for shore. I kick off my ice skates and rush over to the edge. They're like eight, maybe ten years old. grab a couple of them and yank them up the embankments away from the ice. Kid that fell over crawls to the edge as the ice picks up, drops down on his hand.

Crunch. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I grab his hand, fingers are broken, I know it. The ice lifts and yank him and his bum hand off the ice. Fiancee is gawking in disbelief of what she's seen. I stand up and realize my toes are freezing. Shit. The center where the ice doesn't freeze solid begins to swirl.

I look to my fiancé and then to the kids. A loud poppy noise fills the air around us before the swirling center just blasts upward. Thin ice chunks fly all over the ice as the ice picks up again. Feats are freezing. The ice settles down once more. The kids start crying. Fiancé sits down and I whibble-wobble back over to her. I sit down next to her and massage my feet warm again.

What just happened? I don't know. I'm not going to stick around to find out. I reply sliding my boots back on. What about the kids? I look over to the kids who are just gallop. helping down the street in their socks too. They're long gone, honey. We should be too. I get her to her feet and take her to the car. We get in as the ice groans like it's about a

shatter or something. Alon, it's time to leave. She puts the car in reverse and we speed away. Hear from my cop friend that there was a sewer leak into the pond. Oh, so hot shit made it look like something was trying to escape? You don't remember Taco Tuesday in high school, do you? Huh, very funny. He tells me the kid with the broken fingers will be fine and the kids are being told not to lie. I feel bad, but what the hell could I say? Pond Monster tried to chow down on some teeny bopper breakfast? I haven't been back to the pond. The pond has no living animal in it. No frogs, no birds, no turtles, no lizards, just bugs. Every once in a while, I hear a bunch of bubbles erupting from it during the hot summer days, but nothing more than that. And all right, guys, that wraps up some

disturbing true 4chan stories. I really enjoyed this one. It was a long series, and I've wanted to read this like main taxi driver series for a long time. And I think just these, you know, a bunch of story in one, uh, things are really great. Like just like one guy telling a bunch of stories from experience. I thought a taxi driver in Maine was super unique and super interesting. So comment down below if you thought it was interesting too. And if you enjoyed it and would like to see more or maybe not, uh, just let me know another comments. I appreciate all of you watching at the end. It means so much. And please like and subscribe to the channel. Helps more than you'll ever know. And, uh, yeah, I just appreciate it.

you being here. I make a lot of videos like this, so if you enjoyed this video, I'm sure you'll enjoy another one, so go look on the channel, you'll find something you like. And yeah, thanks for sticking around. I appreciate you all, and this was Snook, and I'll see you next time. Bye.