Snook - Paranormal 4Chan Stories

Episode Date: August 25, 2025

Make sure to check out Cyberghost VPN at https://cyberghostvpn.com/Snook! They are a great VPN, and you can never be too safe online! And this was one of my favorite 4Chan videos I've ever read! Thank you all for watching, I appreciate it so much! Also, please like and subscribe, it helps more than you know!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.And yes, I'm a human voice.Channel sub goal is 1 million subscribers! So subscribe! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey, what's up guys and welcome back to another 4chan stories video. I found a few more 4chan stories to cover. So here's another installment in the series. You guys seem to love this series. So I'm going to keep making these as long as I can keep finding scary 4chan stories. And as long as you guys keep watching, I appreciate you stopping by. It means the world. And please like the video and subscribe to the channel.

It helps more than you know. And all right, sit back, relax, and grab a snack, get hydrated. And get ready to listen to some paranormal 4chan stories. Today's stories are ghostly, weird, paranormal. You'll like them. Stick around. And without further ado, let's get into some paranormal 4-chance stories. This is a story about something that happened to me a few years back. I haven't told many people. And those who I did tell dismissed me out of hand. So now I come to you, the internet. Sure, most of the people who read this account won't believe me, but I still cling to the hope that someone out there will take me seriously. Maybe someone has a

similar experience. Anyway, that's enough rambling. Here's my story. And before we get into his insane story, I'd like to thank today's sponsor, CyberGOS VPN. With over 38 million users worldwide and a stellar reputation backed by tens of thousands of reviewers on Trust Pilot, CyberGhost is one of the most trusted VPN services out there. If you think private browsing mode keeps you safe, well, think again. Your internet provider, your school or workplace, even your own Wi-Fi router can still see everything you do online. That's where CyberGhost comes in. Just open the app, choose from 100 plus locations, and instantly hide your IP while encrypting all your traffic. That means your online activity stays 100% private, away from hackers,

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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 4chan story. I grew up in a small town in Restcooch County, New Brunswick. For those of you don't know, the area is a cool mountainous region of Canada known for its beautiful forests and rivers. And it lives up to its reputation for natural beauty, the rolling hills, golden shores, and lush woods made it a pleasure to explore in the summer. However, being fairly far north, it cools down quite a bit by early autumn, which is when the events I'm about to describe took place.

As I said, I grew up in a small, friendly town. We didn't have much in the way of haunted houses or urban legends. But one town over, a few miles down the road, there was an old Victorian-era mansion that was said to be haunted by the spirit of a woman. I'd always heard the story growing up, but by the time I was about 12, I'd stopped believing in ghosts and other such nonsense. but I'm getting ahead of myself. I should explain the legend as it was told in our area.

The spear was known to local kids as Old Nan, or the Shrieking Woman. Some people who thought it was all bullshit would dismissively call her screaming granny while shaking their heads at the foolish people who believed in her. Now, the details of the story vary dependently on who you ask. But here's the most common version. During the 1800s, there was a local outbreak of pneumonia one winter. There were some other sicknesses like colds and flus going to, as well. It was a cold, snowy year, and everyone spent their days huddled inside, perfect conditions

for a disease to spread. Coupled that with the poor hygiene and primitive medicine of the time, and it's no wonder that people started getting sick. The doctor in town, and yes, there was only one, was extremely busy treating the sick and trying to slow the spread of the disease. He went up to a large house on the outskirts of town, trekking through the snow and icy winds to check on the family that lived there. Now, the history of this family was tragic enough already. The man who owned the house had died several years earlier of an unknown medical condition. His wife, distraught at losing her beloved so suddenly, had run away to America in the hopes of starting a new life, leaving her three young children in the care of her mother. The last anyone heard of her, she was drunk living in

the slums of some American city, though no one can agree which city it was. I should stress that the details of this tale are hard to verify, and that I am merely explaining the story as I heard it growing up. Anyway, by the time its outbreak of pneumonia hit, the three kids were in the care of their grandmother, a kindly old woman who tried her best to hold what was left over of her family together. When the local doctor made his way up to the house, which was outside of the main settlement, he was relieved to find no signs of disease in the family. He explained that due to the high rates of sickness in town and the difficulty of journeying to the outlined house in such inclement to weather, he wouldn't be back for at least a week. He was satisfied that the inhabitants of the

house for healthy, and as long as they stayed home, they couldn't contract any disease. Of course, the doctor had neglected to consider that he might have carried the pathogens from his patients in town up to his family. This turned out to be the case. For even though the doctor had not fallen ill himself, he must have been carrying some sort of bacteria or virus when he visited the family on that cold, bleak day. He spent the next week or so working almost without rest to treat the ill and dying in the town. And during that week, it snowed every day. It was one of the hardest winters on record, but on the doctor kept his word, and as soon as he could, he made his way back up to the old house outside of town where the

grandmother and three children lived. Apparently, it took him four hours just to walk through the snow that lay thick upon the road, though at least the blizzard had finally stopped. When the doctor arrived, he knocked on the door. He received no response, so he knocked again, calling out to the old woman. Again, there was no answer. So he let himself in. I don't know if the door was locked or not, but he got in somehow, and what a terrible sight he found. He first walked through the kitchen, seeing utensils and old food strewn about half-hazardly. The furniture was in disarray. Now very concerned, he made his way into the dining room and gasped in horror.

There, in her favorite rocker set the kindly old grandmother. But she was a hideous mockery of her former self, covered in blisters and cysts, with her skin in a pale gray color, her eyes were bulged and glassy and her nostrils were flared. Perhaps most disturbing, however, was her mouth. Her lower jaw hung open at an impossible angle. Her few remaining teeth, yellowed and worn with age, jutted out of her now bluish and shriveled gums at odd angles. The doctor felt her hand. She was frozen. She had obviously become very ill and passed away. And with no one to tend the fire, the house had become frigid, freezing her disease-ridled corpse. The doctor got up and ran up to the stairs screaming for the children.

He burst into the nursery to find two blueish, unmoving forms. He began to weep as he tried hopelessly to resuscitate one of the children, but was surprised and relieved to find out that he actually began to stir. The child was frostbent and ill, but still clinging to life. His sister was less fortunate. She had frozen almost as solidly as her grandmother. The third child was missing. It is presumed that he tried to go get help in the blizzard and froze to death on the way.

Though since a body was never recovered, no one could be sure. The surviving child was delirious and could not remember where his brother had gone. This one fortunate boy was nursed back to health, and eventually he was adopted by the doctor, who felt immense guilt at having carried the fatal disease to the small family. The old house was never lived in again. Anyway, that's the story as it was told to me in my childhood, and it persists to this day. But I have yet to touch upon my own experience with Old Nan. As I mentioned earlier, I had stopped believing in ghosts, including this one, by the time I was about 12.

But later in my teen years, I developed a fascination with the occult and paranormal. I still didn't really believe in any of it, but like many people, I enjoyed being scared. I loved the tingling in my spine when I heard a good horror story. Unfortunately, none of my friends shared my interest. You have to understand that back then, believing in fairy tales was a sign of weakness after a certain age. And though my town was a pretty friendly place overall, some of the young punks would mock or beat up people, but they didn't like. My ghost hunting hobby and collection of horror stories made me a bit of an outcast. But I guess there are assholes everywhere, people who will punish those who are different.

I didn't so much mind the teasing, but the fact that no one would come along when I went to check out haunted locations was discouraging. Nevertheless, when I was 16, I decided to go by bus the nearby town where this supposedly haunted, house was. I know I'm repeating myself, but I must stress that at heart. I didn't believe in ghosts. I've always been a skeptic, but I did enjoy scouting out creepy, abandoned locations, and a part of me always wanted to find evidence of the supernatural. I guess these days people call it urban exploration. It was a blend of that in half-hearted ghost hunting. Anyway, this would be my first expedition outside of my immediate area. After half an hour, the bus arrived, and I got out. I didn't bother asking for any directions.

I knew the name of the street and the house was on, since I'd heard this story a hundred times. It was at the end of Birchwood Lane. Besides, I didn't feel like embarrassing myself by asking anyone where the town's haunted house was. After wandering around the core of the town, what you'd recall downtown, where the place not so small and sparsely populated,

I saw a street sign marked Birchwood Lane. Following it, I made my way through a few blocks of modern houses, then some older buildings, eventually the town thinned out entirely, and I found myself walking into the woods. At the edge of the woods was the road, which had been paved up to this point, gave way to a gravel trail. I sighed and pressed onward. I brought a flashlight with me, but as the sun had not quite gone down, I didn't need it yet. As I continued the path got more and more uneven, and the sinking sun was increasingly thick foliage above me shrouded the narrow trail in darkness.

Before I got the light out, however, the trees thinned out again, and I saw before me a large, dilapidated two-story house. By this time, the day was nothing more than a fading orange glow on the horizon, and the mansion was basically a silhouette. I'll admit, I was a bit apprehensive at this point, but it was far too late to turn back. I walked across the overgrown lawn, which was covered not only in tall grass, but also shrubs and a few young trees. As I got closer to the house, I could see it more clearly.

There was a single door hanging from its hinges in the middle of the facade. The remains of what was once a front porch lay rotting beneath it. Above the door, a small awning bent dangerously downward, looking as if it could give way at any moment. Only one of the pillars designed to support it still stood. The exterior of the house barely had any paint left on it, and what little still remained was chipped and cracked. Most of the windows were shattered, though only one had been boarded up.

The house looked old, to be sure, though it didn't look like it had been abandoned for 200 years. If that had been the case, it probably wouldn't have been to remain standing so intact. I reasoned that someone must have kept the building in shape for a while after the old woman had died and only fell into disrepair sometime afterward. As I came to the door and climbed up over the remains of the front porch, I felt a chill run down my spine. I felt fear before, but this was different. It was more than fear.

It was a feeling of being unwelcome, of not belonging. I dismissed it as paranoia and gave the battered wooden door a push. It was partially open already, but the wood of the door frame was warped for it to be swing freely. I pushed it again harder and heard a loud crack as the rusted hinges broke apart. The whole door lurched and then fell outwards. I had to jump out of the way as it nearly fell on me. I dusted myself off and clambered inside. The sunlight was now gone entirely, and I was extremely wary of tripping over old furniture or

holes in the floor. I switched on my flashlight and swept the beam over my surroundings. I was in some sort of large hallway that branched off in several directions. At the end was a staircase. I walked along the corridor and looked into each adjacent room as I went. It was hard to tell what any of these rooms were supposed to be. Each was just a mess of exposed wooden beams. Old trash and pieces of the walls fallen onto the floors in the pervasive smell of mildew. A few books, ruined beyond recognition, lay upon a shelf in one room. There were several broken jars on the floor. I made my way slowly to the staircase and began to climb it. I was nervous, as these stairs were old and rotted and creaked loudly under my weight.

Carefully, I got up to the top and looked around. The second floor was much like the first, except that it was even more uneven. This did little to comfort me, as I knew that the floor could give way under my feet and sent me toppling down nine feet to the lower floor in a pile of debris. But what can I say? I was a dumb, fearless kid. To me, giving up and going home seemed worse than risking my own neck. It's funny how teens think sometimes. As I explored, I came upon a bathroom and it looked so dated. It may sound weird, especially since the whole house was pretty ancient, but just seeing the old-fashioned pipes, the archaic toilet, and the bathtub on little ornate legs just seemed so quaint. I was a bit confused when I looked into the bathtub.

and found dark reddish stains. While the first thing that popped into my head was the phrase, bloodbath, I laughed when I realized that they were probably just rust stains. The next room I entered was truly unnerving. I recognized it almost immediately as the nursery from the story. There were two small beds and a small cot. For some reason, the child's size bed were made up, with moldy, moth eaten blankets, tucked neatly all around them

and turned down partly at the top. I guess the last caretaker of the house had just left them like that, but it seemed so eerie to me. It was almost as if someone had just prepared the beds for the kids a few hours ago. The cop, by contrast, was completely bare. Now, if this story is making me sound brave so far, please realize that I really wasn't. I'll admit that I was terrified. The feeling of being unwanted hadn't left me.

If anything, it had grown as I explored the house. As I got further from the door, my heart began pounding harder and harder. But as I said, I was determined not to be a chicken out and leave. I steadied myself and fought the urge to run. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have. There wasn't much more of an interest upstairs, as the other bedrooms were pretty much empty. The furniture had mostly been removed long ago, and I spent about another 20 minutes upstairs before heading back to the creaking old staircase and carefully making my way back down. I realized that I hadn't yet seen all the rooms on the ground floor, as I have been eager to look for the nursery upstairs. I really felt like I needed to leave, but that stubborn part of my mind stopped me. I made. my way through a few small, non-descript chambers without finding much. But then, in one of the last unexplored rooms, I saw her. Look, this is still hard for me to think about, much less type out. The memory is so vivid. I spent the last six years trying to forget what I saw that night, and now I'm recalling it. And the image hasn't faded at all from my mind.

Fuck, all right. I'll do my best. I came around a corner into a new room. room, and as my flashlight beam swept across the wall, I saw her face, the dead grandmother's face. I swear to you, it was only there for a split second, but it was so clear. I know I didn't imagine it. Her skin was molted gray, blackened in some patches. Rinkles and cracks covered every inch of exposed flesh. Her eyes bulged out, but they were pure white, as if covered in a thin film.

Her lower jaw hung slack, but not in a way I'd ever seen before. It was as if her jaw was dislocated or outright broken. A few small, jagged teeth sat around her gaving maw, and a swollen tongue was visible between them. Her white hair clung to her scalp and patches, matted and stained. She wore an expression that I can only describe as desperation, almost as if she was pleading for someone or something to save her from her awful fate. I really only got a good look at her face, but I also glimpsed her upper body,

and while I can't be sure, I think she was clutching something in her wizened hands, a bundle. It was about the size of a small child. As soon as I saw her, I screamed. I screamed louder than I ever had before, or since come to think of it. You know that feeling of pure, absolute, all-encompassing terror? Fear so powerful that it numbs you, while at the same time making you hyper-aware of everything around you? Some of you will know what I'm talking about. I dropped my flashlight and ran.

I ran through the house, now completely dark without my flashlight. I tripped and hit a couple of door frames. But remarkably, I seemed to remember the way out even in my state of total panic because I was outside in about 10 seconds. I just kept on running. Now with the moonlight to aid me, I'm not sure exactly when I stopped screaming. But by the time I saw the outskirts of the town, a little while later, I was merely sobbing.

I ran to the first house that had lights on and pounded it on the door. A bewildered man opened the door and I ran inside, nearly collapsing on the ground from exhaustion after running so far. My mad dash for town had left me with more than a few scratches and bruises. When I calmed down enough to speak, I told the man I needed to use his phone. He still didn't really know what was going on, but he led me to the telephone in his kitchen. I'll skip the details. I got a ride home with my father.

Despite his repeated questions, it took me a few weeks to tell him what had had happened. He was pretty upset that I had broken into an abandoned house, and to this day, he doesn't believe me that I really saw old nan. Whatever, I wouldn't have believed it either. It was months before I could get a full night's sleep again, and even today I have nightmares about that dread, pitiful face staring out of the darkness at me, and though she made no sound when I saw her that first night, in my dreams she screams in wales. They say that memories of important or traumatic events are far more vivid than memories of mundane events. I guess that's true. I'll remember that face until the day I die. I don't blame you if you don't believe me, but I'm not the only one who's

seen her. There are a handful of other unlucky people have gone into her house at night. I've heard a rumor that someone even snapped a picture, which is online somewhere. I don't know about that, since I never searched for it. I never want to see old man again. So, I have a story for you. that you X people might can explain. Be me, 2018, get diagnosed with diabetes at age 30 because fat, starting and healthy and go hiking. 2019, lost some weight, wife supports me, hiking is our new hobby,

invite friends often to hike as a new activity, show them all the good spots we discovered. This one time in November, we drink the night before, and it gets much later into the night than we planned. Good times all around. Next day, we are all kind of hungover, so we sleep in and start hiking way too late. It's already getting dark on the way there, no problem.

Been there once before, I'll find the way. We wanted to hike in this ravine. It's pretty cool. It has a waterfall, which is awesome, but the stone path is slippery, mossy, and wet. It's kind of remote and unknown, too, so all around untouched nature, but we definitely need the torchlights. In before. Not a Skinwalker story.

The things that happened are not even that exciting, but it was kind of unnerving at the time. So we walked through the forest that leads into the ravine. When a fog raises up and makes it hard to see. Not spooked yet, it's just really dense fog. When we go inside the ravine, we admire the natural formation as rock, lots of mushrooms and a general liking the nature. The fog makes it night concern on pictures, too. Then friend A asks, if we heard that.

Confused glances. No, no one heard anything. Trugs it off. Probably some animal. Some time passes and we make good time getting down to the deepest point. Then friend B thought it would be funny to start climbing into one of the small caves, where some kind of wooden box was laying, joking that it might be a drug stash

while climbing the idiot drops his phone so now he really has to go down there to get it we wait around for him to make his way into the narrow cave kind of worry he could get stuck the box surprise surprise was not a drug stash just an empty box he fiddles a while around in piles of dried leaves finally founds his phone suddenly says

what are those drums none of us up here can hear any drums I make some minds of Maria jokes that now the goblins will come eat them drums drums in the deep we can not get out i keep quoting because i'm just that funny he gets stern and insist no ain't on i'm serious i'm hearing drums friend a now chimes in and confirms that he believes what he heard earlier sounded like drums too friend b is still calm just confused and makes his way back up pressing his back into the rock to get out the last few meters we pull him up i'll agree that

this was a stupid thing to do you still hearing drums i ask him faint he replies eyebrows are raised Like down there? No, I think from there. He points in the direction we are heading anyways. At this point, I'm thinking that A and B are making this shit up, because it's dark and spooky. Wifey is getting nervous by all this talk. She doesn't like spooks at all,

wants us to stop talking about it. We continue on our way. 15 minutes or so later, goosebumps. Now I can hear the drums. They sound like they are some way ahead. Clear is day, but they don't sound like any drum. I've heard so far. Hard to describe.

The sound kind of changed pitch. Now I ask, if the others can hear the drums. Empty looks from them. Wife gets really pissed. I tell her not to worry. It's probably some hippie smoking in a circle. Don't really believe that myself, it's November and freezing, and she doesn't buy it either.

We continue walking. We still have like an hour of walking ahead before reaching the halfway point. Finally, all of us are hearing the drums, including wife, who doesn't find this trip enjoyable at all now. Drums are getting louder. sounding like they're around in the corner. Then they stop. Friend A suddenly goes off the path,

going to the spot, where the drums seem to come from last. Suddenly exclaims, what the fuck? We go after him and find a rock. No one around just a rock. Confused faces. The distance is kind of correct to where we heard the drums too. The rock is smeared with the yellow powder.

Then we look closer and see what Friend A is on about. It has been carved with all kinds of shit. No idea what it is. it means. Pick-related. It's the rock. The rock has a crevice that seems to go all the way down. Friend A thinks that the yellow stuff is sulfur, cliche much. We make the pictures and go back to the trail. Make the rest of the journey without much talking. All of us kind of nervous. Get back to the car without any trouble. No further events whatsoever. Wife is very happy once sitting in the car. We Google the words as soon as we get home. No results. Today, Wife says,

Remember those drums? That was creepy. Remember those events and decide to post it on XSC, if you have any ideas. Hello all. Well, I've had a fair amount of real paranormal experiences in my lifetime, and I'd figure I'd post a few here. Everything from growing up in a haunted house to visiting the most haunted spot on Earth. Pavelgia. For my first story, I will share my experience on the island of Pavelgia, along with my own personal pictures. This place had a weird impact on me, and hence I adopted the name.

as my own online persona. Hopefully you all enjoy, and maybe it will even inspire someone to create an effect off my story. The history. Pvelgia is one of the most haunted places in the world, and for good reason. This small island is the Lagoons of Venice

once had its own government until it was destroyed by war. It's now part of the sightseeing tour, but you won't be setting foot on it. Visitors are not permitted. When the bubonic plague swept across Europe, the number of dead and dine in the streets became unbearable.

In Venice, the solution came in the form of Pavagia. Bodies were hauled to the island and dumped into large body pits. Some were burned, but it became worse. The living victims were taken to the island and disposed into pits of rotting corpses, left to die or burned, as they painfully died of the black plague. It is said that part of the island's core consists of a layer of human remains and that often fishermen avoid the area because they may pull up body parts. The war and the plague would seem sufficient because for ghosts.

to inhabit this horrible island, and they reportedly did, but a new population was soon to be added. A hospital was built on the island and still stands today, although it is no longer in use. The patients often reported seeing people in their rooms and hearing whispers. One particularly cruel doctor watches patients succumbed to the madness and took an interest in their delusions. He began to experiment with the human mind, physically with his studies of the brain itself, and mentally as he sent the patients to an observation building, where they would be subjected to further torture. The complex also contains a haunted oven room in a morgue. Eventually, the doctors began to see the spirits himself and jumped, or was thrown from the bell tower

to his death. Rumor has it, he has now bricked up in that same tower. Some say you can still hear the bell ringing late at night. You would think skeptics and believers alike would learn their lesson about Pavelgia, whether or not it is a place of evil is unknown, but it certainly does have a history of tragedy, and yet it is to be used again. If you search hard enough, you will find plans for an educational center to be constructed on the island for tourists. They want to bring families to the island built on restless corpses. It's a horror movie waiting to happen. My tale. I have always had an interest in the paranormal and unexplained phenomena. It goes back to my youth, where I had the disturbing experience of being haunted from approximately ages 5 to 16. But that is a different story.

I first heard of this accursed island while I was watching television. The island immediately caught my attention as being an interesting story. After that, I didn't research or even think much about it. A few years later, I joined the U.S. Army, and my first duty station was to be in Vincenza, Italy. Of course, I was excited. Not many people that were my age get to travel to Italy, let alone live there for three years. After about a year of living in Italy, I remember the show I had seen back in the States, and I happened to be living only 20 minutes away from Venice.

I gathered a few brave souls from my units and told them to tale of the island and a few more ghost stories that had happened to me in my lifetime. I sparked their interests in the mystique of ghostly-put phenomena and eventually managed to convince them to tag along with me on a weekend trip to Venice. There was five of us set to go. My girlfriend at the time, Anya, Roger, Rich Spoon, Klein, and myself. We came equipped with cameras, watches, cell phones, and money. Anya and myself boarded the train, and we're on our way to Venice.

Olivera and the others would meet up with us in Venice at a later time. When we arrived, Anya gasped at the sheer beauty of the city on water. We walked out on the train station and wandered a few blocks over to a quaint little hotel. We purchased a room for the weekend and went upstairs to drop off our luggage. Picture. The first building you see when you exit the train station in Venice. It was under construction at the time. We then set out to explore this marvelous city.

We hopped on the nearest boat bus. The city streets are water, so the bus is there. had small piers all around the city like our bus stops, and rode it to the end of the line. We got off the bus at the end of the line and walked towards the majestic San Marco Square. There we gazed up at the beautiful building to see lifesty's marble statues of horses on an upper balcony. Above the balcony, the statues of countless saints peered over the crowds of people below. We entered the church and saw a breathtaking array of scenes in images from the Bible adorning the walls and gold. After walking out of the church, my cell phone began to ring.

It was Olivera. He and the others had arrived in Venice, so I told them what hotel we were staying at and agreed to meet them there. After another trip on the bus, Anya and I met up with her friends of the hotel. We stopped at a local Trotoria and feasted on a few paninis. After dinner, we hit up a few local clubs and parted the night away. The next morning we all awoke, groggy from the night before, and headed out for a quick breakfast. We then spent the rest of the day sightseeing until late afternoon. While we were at dinner, I started discussing Pavellia, and everyone got hyped about it, and they all wanted to travel out there right away. Being the investigative person I am, I decided to interview a few of the Venice locals

and see what they could tell me about the island. I quickly found out that the Italians and Americans approach the paranormal in very different manners. If an American neighborhood has a haunted house, every teenager and some adults will head out there at one point or another for a few cheap thrills. not the Italians. If a place is haunted, they stay away. The Venice government even went so far as to make the island forbidden and no one is allowed out there. The caribini, Italian police, even patrol the island during the day, but the second nightfall hits, they leave. And for good reason. Pvelgia is no haunted house. It is a dark, evil place where hundreds of thousands of people were tortured, maimed, and killed in unimaginably horrible ways. After attempting to interview several locals, I found barely anyone who would talk about it,

and most simply said, stay away. I interviewed our hotel manager at the front desk. Excuse me, I said to him. My friends all stood nearby. The manager quickly turned towards us and put on his typical salesman smile. How can I help you? He replied in a thick Italian accent. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the island of Pavelgia.

His expression immediately changed to his scared look. The hotel maintenance man who was working nearby, I abruptly looked up and walked away in an almost frightened manner. There is plenty of nice things to see in Venice, the manager said, trying to compose himself. He nervously pulled out a map of Venice and started pointing out majestic churches for us to visit. I interrupted him while he was telling me the history of one of the local churches. We've seen all that already, I replied. We want to go out to Pavelgia now.

There's nothing out there, he said in a very quick, nervous manner. His smile once again faded and an almost angry look appeared on his face. I know that, I said, but you should not ask about these things, he interrupted. He then stormed out of the room in a nervous and upset manner. I looked at my friends, and they all looked shocked as well. That reaction was weird, I thought to myself. We exited the hotel and approached several taxi boat drivers, who refused to take us out there.

After about an hour of people refusing to take us there, we had almost given up hope. But I wasn't about to give up. I approached the sleazy-est taxi driver I could find and asked them to take us out. out there. Fortunately, this taxi driver was Russian and obviously had no knowledge of the local lore and superstitions. He agreed to take us out there and back for a hundred euro. We excitedly reached into our pockets and chipped in for the cost. Spore ran over to the local store and picked up a bottle of wine for the trip out there. We then excitedly entered the cab, popped up in the veno, and we're off. After about a half an hour boat ride, the sky turned from a midnight blue

to black. Nightfall had come. We were so excited about it. getting the cab driver to take us that we had not realized how late it was. Then I stood up in the boat and pointed in the horizon. There it stood. In the distance and dark island full of trees could be seen. Poking up above the tree line, we could see the silhouette of the insane asylum's clock tower, where the mad doctor was pushed to his death by unseen hands. He island of Pavellia, as we approached it in the boat. By this time, it was almost completely dark outside, below another picture of the island and the dreaded bell tower. The closer we got, the more the hearts started to pound.

As we approached the dreaded island, all of us stood there in silence. The eerie silhouettes of the building stood before us in the distance. A chill crept down on everyone's spines who stood there looking at this place. The silence was broken by my buddy's voice. Dude, my cell phone just turned off. And he wasn't lying. As soon as we got closer to the island, all of our cell phones turned off. I am not talking about having no reception.

I am honestly saying that everyone's phone was off and would not turn back on. It was like we passed through an invisible energy field because all the phones turned off at the exact same time. By this time, we were almost upon the island. As we pulled it into a narrow inlet, we noticed a small set of stairs that we could use to dock at and walk up to the island.

The boat driver pulled up slowly to the staircase and shut off the boat's motor. Now, I must say, I have had some very scary experiences in my life and I've been to some very bone-chilling, haunted places, but Pavelgia Island definitely had an evil feel to it. Typically, when you go to a haunted house, cemetery, etc., you get that feeling that someone or something is watching you, and it feels generally uncomfortable. Pavelgia had more of a, we need to get the hell out of here right now, feel to it. But since we

are so determined to check this place out, we put all those feelings aside and jumped off the island to explore. By this time, our boat driver, who reminded you, had no knowledge or experience with this place was freaking out beyond control. He kept yelling, hurry, we leave soon, okay? Towards us. As if being on an incredibly haunted island in the middle of nowhere isn't enough, we had to now also worry about this guy taking off on us suddenly. Remember, none of our cell phones can even turn on at this point. So I suggested to the rest of our party that one or all of us stay close to the boat in case this guy tries to leave. The island was very black. The only light source was the full moon above us and the occasional flash of one of us

snapping pictures. Three of us had cameras and we were snapping away. The island was eerily silent. No birds, no crickets, no animals, nothing. It was almost surreal. The boat driver had a floodlight on the front of his boat that he was frantically shining all over the buildings. You could tell he was extremely scared. We walked up to the doorway of the main building and took a few pictures. The flash illuminated a huge room that had debris all over the floor. We wandered around the front of the buildings, snapping pictures like Taurus for about 10 minutes. Somebody suggested that we go inside the buildings, but the doors and windows had what looked like a lockdown mechanism on them, so we decided against it. We continued taking pictures of the building in the ominous bell tower.

And I'm not even going to try to do a fake scream, but a scream happens. Ah, and then the most terrifying scream I could ever hear my life pierced through the sounds like a knife. All of us stopped dead in our tracks. It took us a second to comprehend what we had just heard. We all looked at each other. Stunned. Before we could even talk about what we had just heard, the entire island erupted in screams. Our boat driver was freaking out beyond control.

We all frantically jumped on board for the boat. The driver could not get the boat started right away, and we were all freaking out. Finally, the engine started and we quickly pulled away from the island. The screams were still continuing. It sounded like they were all around us. Then, as we were pulling away from the island, the bell started to tell, in the distance. This freaked us out even more because the bell is no longer in the tower. It was removed after the island closed down. Once we got away from the island, mysteriously, all of our

cell phones turned back on. We excitedly talked among ourselves on the boat right home about what we had just experienced. The second we got back to her homes in Vincenza, we rushed to get our photographs developed and to tell everyone our story. We were taking pictures just to show off the island to her friends, but we caught something else in one of the photos. Once I examined the photos, I noticed that we had captured a ghost on camera. Not an orb or reflecting piece of dust, but the actual silhouette of a man who was not standing there when we took that photo. I took the picture to three different professional photographers, and they could not explain it. You can see through the guy. See if you can spot it in the second photo of this blog. Anyways, after we left the island, some of the people we went with

were still having weird things happened to them while they were at home, like something had followed us back. Some of them just felt uneasy all the time. and some were having insane nightmares and others kept reporting hearing dripping noises in their houses when they investigated there were no drips or leaks anywhere and this happened to more than one person in more than one house on the same night overall i think pavagia goes beyond the realms of haunted and there's true evil on the island too bad we are only there for about 20 minutes i would definitely love to go back but a bit more prepared next time we had no flashlights equipment etc only cameras with us it is one of my life goals to give

back out there and investigate further. I have a lot more pictures, but I could not find them this evening. All right, so forgive my formatting. I don't really post a 4chan a whole lot. I usually just lurk-X, but since the holidays, I've been able to hear more stories from my dad, so I think y'all might enjoy. The first couple are from my grandpa. I'd heard stories about my grandpa ever since I was a kid. He was my dad's dad and had experienced a lot in life. And this, in turn, generated some of the most amazing stories I had ever heard in my childhood. After the Korean War, he became a law enforcement officer in Lubbock, Texas, in the late 50s. Being the first Hispanic to be employed in the Texas Civil Service System there, and then from

1960 to 1967, he served as a Texas Border Patrol agent, becoming one of the first of five Hispanics to be employed by the agency up to that time. He later worked for the U.S. Customs Agency Service, and the DEA in the 70s, my dad always told me some amazing stories, and not all of them fit here, and some are not for me to share. But he also has two that although did not happen to him, have been told to my dad, who later told them to me in pretty good detail. So the next two stories take place between 1960 and 1967. My dad's family was living in the southwest Texas town of Eagle Pass, which is a border town that borders the Mexican city of Piedras. My grandpa is doing border patrol work there and in the nearby border towns that are scattered along the Rio Grande

River, the sand trap. Now before I get into this first story, I have to explain what a sand trap is. It's not necessarily a trap exactly. There's some spots along the Rio Grande that are low enough to cross over without much effort. These areas are patrolled but can't be monitored 24-7, especially back then. So sometimes immigrants pass through without detection. In places where the brush wasn't too thick, they would throw down layers of sand and smooth it out. This allowed them to monitor and count footprints and track who or how many people were crossing the river and into the U.S. My grandpa worked the morning shift and arrived through the station to supposedly catch up on paperwork and get some coffee. That's where he found the late-night officer, who all referred to as Mr. L.

At this station back from his post earlier than he should have. He was pale and looking very distraught. Grandpa asked Mr. L what his deal was and was told the following story. Mr. L. had been hearing rumors of some creepy post out in Del Rio, a town about an hour north of Eagle Pass. Essentially, there was a low point in the river where immigrants would cross and enter private ranchland. Multiple BP agents would be sent to check the sand trap there to see if anything was turning up, but they never got any footprints. They needed someone out there to monitor it more closely.

However, nobody wanted to stay after dusk. The area was rumored to be unsettling and quite possibly haunted. Mr. L thought that was a crock of shit. My dad describes Mr. L as a very tall man, shaved head and very tough, the kind of person that doesn't take any bullshit. He decided that he'd go out there by himself at night and show these other guys that they're just being a bunch of sissies. He drives to the Del Rio station and starts getting ready.

A lot of the guys were telling him to not worry about it. They can just check the trap in the morning for footprints and showed obvious signs of concern. But of course he brushed it off and was handed a large ring of key. keys. The keys were to unlock the multiple ranch gates in the county, as he would be driving deep into the middle of nowhere and through multiple properties. He got in his service vehicle, made sure he had all the supplies he needed, and took off down the country road, and then would later turn off to the gate of ranch road. It took him over an hour of passing through multiple

gates and driving unkempt dirt roads just to get to the spot. He left in the late afternoon, and by the time he arrived at the post, dusk was just upon him. He said the spot was loaded with mesquite, Chris Oates, and all sorts of brush. You couldn't walk through the brush unless you had a bush, hog, tractor, clear the place out. There was, however, a small warm path leading from the river that you could get through just barely. This is where the sand trap was placed, since it served as a choke point for any foot traffic. Of course, the trap is devoid of any footprint, so he settles down and waits for nightfall. The night was pretty uneventful. The moon was out and lit up the area in a dim ethereal light. The air was still and despite being out in the middle of nowhere in Texas,

there wasn't many of the usual night sounds he was accustomed to. He says he would have fallen asleep, but the lack of sounds kept them on edge. It made him unnecessarily anxious. At around 3 or 4 a.m., he was getting the feeling that maybe this spot wasn't so bad after all, and his anxiety was just from him hearing rumors. Then he heard the faint sound of footsteps. He put out a cigarette and tightened his grip on his 357 magnum sidearm, the sound of brush being pushed away and footsteps getting closer. The moon was lower now, and it was very dark, but he could still see these silhouettes of three men come into view.

They emerged from the brush, but something was off about their appearance. He thought maybe it was the lack of light, but their silhouettes were pitch black. It was dark, but these forms looked like they were darker than night. Their eyes were glowing similar to how a cat, hats would if he shined a light in their face in the dark. He called out to them, but they kept moving, ignoring his commands to freeze. They walk in single file, slowly ambling along the path.

He points his vehicle spotlight at them and feels his blood run cold. The forms look like shadows cast on a wall and a puppet show. He said it looked like someone was walking in front of his spotlight, but the shadows that were cast were disembodied and didn't belong to anything. He stood in awe and fear for probably 45 minutes. The forms are gone and there was no longer any sound coming from the brush. He went down to check the sand trap and found that it was still smooth and it was like nobody had ever crossed that area. He suddenly felt dreadful and as though something was watching him. The feeling wouldn't go away and he started to feel fearful. He got in his vehicle and left. He drove straight to Eagle Pass and since my grandpa came in early, he heard everything from the now

shaken Mr. L. My grandpa didn't have a fun time. as Mr. L didn't bother to lock the numerous ranch gates behind him. I wish I could say this is the fun part of the story where my grandpa goes over there to close it for him and see the spot for himself, but he had stuff to do and delivered the keys back to the Del Rio station and let them take care of it. Mr. L never went back to that area,

but he stopped making fun of his fellow colleague stories. Funnily enough, not much changed about him. He wasn't scared of anything and was a mean guy all around. But whenever Mr. L. retold the story, at later times, my dad could tell that it was an event that really shook him. My grandpa continued to hear stories about that remote Del Rio post, but over time, he heard less about it as he was given assignments that took him away from the town. He believed it was haunted and people said it was an evil place.

And although they never caught anybody in that area in his seven years as a Border Patrol agent, there surely was something crossing over. This one is another one of my grandpa's Border Patrol stories. It's another one that didn't happen to my grandpa, but was told by his colleague, as they were exchanging stories one morning at the station. His colleague, who we will call Angus, was another one of those true Texan no bullshit types. He graduated from Texan A&M University, was a bona fide cowboy, and had worked as a ranch hand for years before coming onto the Texas Border Patrol.

He would patrol ranches and other properties near the border on horseback and would monitor sand traps and look for anything or anyone suspicious. This one instance took place near Rio Grande City. He was on a horseback, in the middle of nowhere, on a ranch in Star County, Texas. The sun was hot, and he hadn't come across anything or anybody for hours. He was miles away from any surface road, much less a county road, and he started to get thirsty. He took a quick break to drink some water and get his horse hydrated too. He wiped the sweat off his brow when maybe 500 feet away.

He saw a figure moving across the plains at a decent pace. He took a sip out of his canteen and got his binoculars out. He could see it was an older man, with a cowboy hat riding a horse at a slight trot. Angus closed his canteen and put his binoculars back around his neck. He radioed in the incident and mounted his horse and took off after the person, hoping to intercept him. He started off with his horse at a full gallop, kicking up dust behind him. The a area was hilly and he passed to bend and saw that the rider was now further away than he was before. confused but determined, Angus drove his spurs into the side of his horse to goate it and to going faster.

They started to gain ground on the other rider. He disappeared around another bend, but Angus was close behind. When Angus came around the bend, he saw that the rider was even further away. Angus started to get pissed off. Obviously, the guy was fucking with him, and he was ready to apprehend him. He gets his horse to go even faster. His hat was barely hanging on, and everything was shaking and starting to come loose from their holsters and bags. He gained on the figure yet again, but after another bend, the figure came even further away.

He had never made his horse go this fast. Its grunts were harsh and labored. After each bend, the figure got further and further away, until it finally disappeared. For fear of his horse's safety, he decided to call off the pursuit and radio in that the suspect had got away. He dismounted and gave his horse some water. They'd probably traveled about five to ten miles from where they originally spotted the lone horseback rider. He decided to double back. He started to notice that the only tracks were his own.

No other tracks but the ones from his horse were found the whole way back. He told everyone on the McAllen horseback unit about it and asked them if they ever experienced anything like it, but not one of them believed him. Said it was just a mirage or he had a heatstroke. Angus assured them that he knew the signs of heatstroke and his limits. He had been a ranch hand for years after all. He wouldn't have continued if he knew he was not well enough to do so.

He let it go for a while, but told my grandpa eventually when he did some work in Eagle Pass. He never seemed scared about it, but perplexed. He continued working in that area of Stark County, but he never experienced anything like that ever again. And all right, guys, that wraps up some paranormal 4-chan stories. Usually I don't cover paranormal stories because I don't really like them much, but I really enjoyed the paranormal stories in this video. The first one is scary. I really like the last one with the cowboy kind of theme.

I love Cowboys stuff. And yeah, super interesting. And don't forget to get your CyberGos VPN for $2.3 a month plus four months free. I mean, there's no better deal than that. That's 84% off. Risk free with their 45-day money-back guarantee. And stay safe. Stay private.

Check the description for the link. CyberGos VPN is the way to go. Link below. And thank you so much for watching. I appreciate it. This was Snook and I'll see you next time. Bye.