Snook - Paranormal Reddit Stories

Episode Date: February 7, 2026

These were some scary ghost and paranormal stories! What was your favorite story? 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. Subscribe to my 2nd channel - ‪@SnookPlus‬ 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.NEXT SUB GOAL - 250,000 SUBSCRIBERSI love you. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey, what's up guys, and welcome back to another Reddit Stories video. You guys keep asking for more videos like this, so I guess I'll keep making more. They are fun to make and record, so yeah, I'll keep making them. And this video will also mostly be ghost stories, so, you know, yeah, this video will be mostly about paranormal and just ghost stories, so pretty exciting. So sit back, relax, and if you're new here, subscribe, it's the channel's goal to be at 250,000 subscribers by the end of the the year, and I think we can do it. So please subscribe and all right. Anyways, let's get into the first story. A terrifying encounter while in Iraq. I was a sergeant in the U.S. Army and ETSing, getting out from the military when President Bush ordered more troops into Iraq in 2003.

I just returned home to Austin, Texas, when I was summoned into my local National Guard unit at Camp Mabri and told that I was being recalled to the army. But the unit was already tasked out to deploy to Iraq. I was not part of their unit yet, so the commander offered to give me a waiver to deploy with a government contractor, Halliburton, in Houston. I knew that I would make more money as a contractor, so I took the offer. Not long after, arrived in Kuwait at Camp Doha, I began working with the operations team overseeing logistics affairs. We would oversee the daily convoy of supply between KWA and Baghdad, a route riddled with IED incidents, small arm skirmishes,

and almost constant breakdowns of army and civilian vehicles. Because I was a SAW or saw gunner in the first infantry division, while in active duty and was technically still in the guard, I was often in the convoys manning a mounted weapon that accompanied the mostly civilian convoys. During these runs, we had a few strange encounters in an area south of Baghdad, known then as Camp Babylon, occupied by French troops, but then designated as an archaeological site for obvious reasons. Camp Babylon was set up in an area that was said to originally be inhabited by the famous Tower of Babel. Indeed, there were ruins there that did look like a massive structure once stood at that spot.

I had two strange incidents happened to me while passing through there. The first incident seemed a bit banane, but sets the mood for the second. We were passing through Camp Babylon in the afternoon one day when our convoy took small arms fire. The SOP at the time, which is short for standard operating procedure, was to stop the convoy and return fire. This was because, in the past, such incidents ended up being a long gunman attempting to scare the convoy into running into IEDs on the road. Because of this, the SOP changed to stop the convoy, dismount, and return fire. While engineers looked for explosive devices on the road, we scanned their horizon for enemy.

Nothing. They most likely fled immediately. However, the ruins around Camp Babylon were alive with shadow figures. that seemed to move around the area. Several times we would spot the figures, but they would immediately disappear. A contractor, lined beside me with his weapon, commented, how odd that we are in the shadow of Babel in fighting the supernatural.

I didn't respond, but knew he was a 32nd-degree Mason, who was really into the arcane aspects of Babylon, etc. I didn't feel at the time that much was supernatural, but certainly did see the shadowy, and bizarrely small figures dart around the structures. Once the road was deemed clear, we continued on to Baghdad. The second incident occurred about a month later.

At this point, the weather in southern Iraq and Kuwait had turned quite cold at night. During this encounter, we had just completed the supply run to Baghdad and were returning back to Camp Doha in Kuwait when a vehicle in our convoy broke down. Once again, we found ourselves right at Camp Babylon. While the army mechanics took a look at the vehicle and the rest of us took up fighting positions around the area, strange things began to occur. It started with a strange light, bobbing in the desert. Thinking it was a person with a flashlight, we used NVGs, which is short for night vision

goggles, to watch. It was simply a glowing ball of light moving towards a set of ruins. After initial contact with the light, a few of us had moved forward. away from the convoy to see what the source was. After seeing it was self-contained and not a person, we were a bit alarmed. Then we heard a sound that I will never forget. A long wailing began from one of the ruined structures or foundations not far away. It sounded like a woman in agony, mixed with loneliness. On and on the sounds went while we huddled in the cold and dark, wondering what the hell we were listening to. With our NVGs equipped, we used our flashlights to spotlight the ruins.

If you've ever done this, you will know that a normal flashlight with NVGs looks like a massive beam of light. We scoured the area, but no source of the whales or the ball of light were seen. About this time, we were told via radio that the vehicle was repaired and ready to roll, so we decided to return to the convoy. I was slinging my SAW over my shoulder when I noticed my contractor partner was staring at the ruins and horror. He was frozen. I shook him and snapped out of his stupper, quickly leaving the area with the rest of us. Once we were back at the camp and it was pleasantly daylight and following morning, several of us were chatting about the encounter at Camp Babylon before our daily operations briefing. It was then that I remembered the terrified

expression on the face of the contractor, so I asked him about it. He was still a obviously traumatized by the event, who managed to explain that as we were leaving, our position on the Sandy Hill, he saw a tall, black figure standing beside the ruins. It was watching us as we were looking for him, her, it. He said that he felt an instant wave of despair hit him and thought he was going to die. He didn't remember leaving the area. His next memory was in the Humvee headed back to Kuwait, I now write nonfiction books about haunted places for Llewellyn publishing and have visited hundreds of reputedly haunted spots. But I'll never forget the wailing figure at the ruins of Babel.

It's also worth noting that when I related this story to some of our Pakistani employees at Camp Doha and Camp Afrijan, they also were quite horrified. One of them, a translator we called Ardi, said that we had encountered a Dijian or a damned spirit, and that we were lucky to be able to tell the tale. I agree. The White Witch In the early 80s, I lived in Okinawa, Japan. My dad thought that seeing the world would be an adventure that would help my brother and I become better men, and I have to say that I think he was right. Being in the military showed me cultures, many would never get to experience,

and I am thankful for every experience that life gave to me, even the scary ones. While we lived in Japan, my father wanted us to have a fully immersive experience, so he chose to move us into a small Japanese neighborhood off base. He lived in a little house at the top of enormous hill in a cul-de-sac that overlooked. I kid you not, part of a huge zoo, and on one side a fairly large cemetery. Our particular house was set far above the monkey habitats about a mile down hill. Between us and those habitats was nothing but thick Indiana Jones-style jungle. Jungle the neighborhood kids and I would tromp through endlessly,

ignoring the local warnings about poisonous snakes and ancient untripped mines from World War II. We were the only American family living in that cul-de-sac, completely surrounded by Japanese families, and it was amazing. The kids loved us, and although we couldn't communicate through language very well, we understood each other perfectly. Well, most of the time. Opposite us was an older couple, with a lush gardens running their property. The older woman wanted us to call her Mama San, and she had us helping her garden

whenever she could coax us over with green tea and chocolate or banana cookies. We loved her. She was so welcoming and generous, as was everyone else, actually. lived in a wonderful neighborhood. The only drawback to Mama San's home, however, was that she was directly overlooked the cemetery. And that cemetery was unlike any cemetery I had ever seen before, because Akinawa is an island. Burials don't happen often. Instead, above-ground crypts are built. Many of them built into the sides of the hills that make up the island. The crypts are large, made of huge arcs of polished stone, set over.

a large square of that stone, which has a square insert cut into the middle of it for the coffin to be placed inside. Once inside, the square is inset with another piece of polished stone just inside, leaving a kind of shelf on the outside so offerings could be made to the lost loved ones. Yen, food, flowers, incense are some of the offerings given. Below Mama's house was a valley that swooped back up into another hill opposite her home. That valley and both hills were covered with these crypts and spiderwebings, up and down through the crypts, were various stone-set pathways that were old and badly maintained. It was quite a sight.

One evening, Mama San asked me to come visit with her alone. She had something to show me, but it was only for me as the older brother. Intrigued and a bit proud, I agreed. She took me to the back of her garden and sat me on a thick wooden bench that was carved with scenes of fishermen and men with swords and told me she had a story to tell. Mama San then disappeared for a few minutes and soon returned with a tray that held hot green tea and sweet rice cakes. Sitting next to me, she smiled and commented on the colors of the evening sky as the sun began to lower. Mama San said she had seen me, my brother, and some other kids staring each other to follow a stairway path down into the cemetery. You have to understand the path from our little home area down to the cemetery consisted of hundreds of steps, many broken or cracking, in and out of bushes, and at a steep incline.

It would be dangerous for anyone, but the real test was seeing how long we could take walking through the crypts at night. Mama Son wanted to explain why that was a bad idea. Many years ago, during the war, Americans were thought to be devils, monsters that would murder innocent citizens for no reason other than to kill. That fear was the product of wartime propaganda used to encourage young men to military service and farmers to fight alongside them. But many didn't. Many ran, and with nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, hundreds of children. Japanese citizens hold themselves off of a cliffside rather than face torture at the hands of their perceived enemy. I was terrified at hearing this. I had no idea this had happened. I was mortified and

hit with such sadness. I started to cry. The sun was setting and the sky went from pink and blue to a deep orange and red. Mama San reached out and held my hand, telling me not to worry. This was in the past, in the past is something we must always remember, so we never go back. She went on with her story. One young woman had followed through with this sacrifice with her two children, but she survived the fall. She was in a coma for months. When she did regain consciousness, she was horrified to realize she was not with her

children. They had been buried somewhere in the cemetery below, in an unmarked crypt that held many others. The woman would spend days in nights, searching the cemetery, crying in pain, the torment of her loss unbearable. Until the day, she threw herself into the ocean to hopefully be urinated with her lost family. But they say she never found her children. Her act of S-word doomed her to purgatory. She would remain tortured for eternity. The son had disappeared. disappeared. The cemetery drowned in in inky blackness. The main path dotted with dim, broken lights, feebly illuminating small areas. Mama Song continued. She still wanders the cemetery,

she said, looking for her kids. You can hear her cry. And then she pointed down. I didn't want to, but I did. I looked. In the back of the cemetery, in the darkness, there was a white figure, At first a bright, white shimmer, moving slowly, kind of shaking. It moved from side to side, like it was moving among the crypts, and you could actually hear the crying. Softly at first, but the low moans and whispers of pain as it got closer, I was terrified. I wanted to run, but Mama San held my hand and whispered that she wouldn't come up here. We were too far.

But that is why we shouldn't go down there after dark. She said many don't know her story and call her the white witch, which angers her. It's best to stay away. It's best to pray for her. Mama San said she comes out to see her often, hoping one day she will find her salvation. Needless to say, I never went back down to the cemetery, not once. And I never sat back there with Mama San again either. either. That was enough for me. I did, however, visit Sward Hill. It's called Peace Prayer Park,

now out of respect. I cried the whole time we were there. I prayed for all of the souls and for forgiveness. So many Japanese citizens spoke to us, welcoming us, telling us stories, sharing with us. I didn't feel worthy and my love for the country and its people was overwhelming. I'll never forget my time there. I'd like to go back to see if she's still there, wandering the graves, looking for her children. Bought my first house and found out it was haunted. I bought my first house in 2003, and it was over the moon. Shortly after moving in, two of my neighbors began joking with me about the ghost in the house. Well, I thought they were joking, so I just played along pretending I'd seen one and it was no big deal. Well, as time went on, that summer, I met more and more of my

neighbors and they all brought up the same topic. Finally, an elderly woman on the block, who was quite kind and friendly, told me a story after I'd asked her. I knew she wasn't going to screw with my head, which is why I asked her in the first place. Turned out the previous owner purchased the home and never lived there because she said it was haunted, sounds in the nights of footsteps and sobbing, and glimpses of a man sitting in the kitchen, covered in blood. One of my neighbors helped me with the renovations to the house and said that he was putting up drywall when he felt something lift up his dreadlocks. Though I've had paranormal experiences before, it had been years, and by then I just chalked it up to night terrors. One day, I went to a small neighborhood

video store to rent a movie, and I had to fill out a forum with my demographic data, and then my credit card info. The owner of the store looked at my form and said, oh my God, you live in that house. I asked her what she meant, and she explained that her former employee had committed S word in my house. She came to the house as soon as she'd heard, but the house had been taped off by police as the potential crime scene. She told me that he had just moved into the house with his partner and called his mom because he wanted to invite her over to meet his partner and come out to her.

This was in the early 90s when being gay was a big deal. His mother already knew he was gay because he bought a house with a man and disown him right over the phone. That same week, he received a letter from an HIV testing center stating he had tested positive for HIV. This is when HIV was a death sentence. He then sat at the kitchen table, ate a bowl of cereal,

and shot himself in the head with a revolver. Since then, she has had multiple paranormal experiences in the store, with videos flying off shelves and even levitating off shelves. The most I've experienced is sounds at night, sounds of Cheerios being poured into a bowl, I don't eat cereal, and sounds of sobbing in the kitchen. I often awake to both. I remember my grandmother saying,

When the dead come to you, they want something, perform an act of charity in their name, and pray for them. So I did. I sat down at the kitchen table one night and lit a candle and told him that each night I would recite a novena prayer for him before I lit a candle. On the ninth night of the first novemberna to St. Anthony, patron Satan of lost souls, I heard uncontrollable sobbing. I felt a strong presence of grief and despair, in the sound of hyperventilated

breathing, as though someone could not catch their breath. I sat in the presence of this, knowing it was not malignant, but rather a connection of intimacy and compassion of which he was in need. For 45 days, I set a novena prayer before a lit candle for his soul and had a mass said in his name. A few times I had awakened to feel his presence standing over my bed, but knew it was not a malignant presence. This still happens from time to time, but less and less frequently. My trip to the slaughteryard, a story my mom wouldn't tell me until my 30s. So let me start out by saying I enjoy writing, so this will be long, but it will hopefully be an interesting read. I also admit that I have absolutely no memory of this experience.

I was a little over two years old and just starting to walk on my own when this event took place. My mom only told me this story about three years ago when I was 32 and about to get married. My mother was raised in a very tiny fundamentalist Christian community and had no belief in the paranormal. She believed that our souls sleep until judgment day or something like this. Ergo, there are no ghosts or spirits to haunt houses. Even over 30 years later, she still sounds terrified as she told me this. This woman, who always talks way too loudly, was literally whispering by the end of it, and she was white as a sheet.

I believed her completely and still do. My mom never talks about stuff like this. I'm just glad I can't remember it too. In 1988, my parents had their second child. This was my brother Victor. We were very crowded and our rented flat with two babies. My parents decided to move to a rambling, old two-story farmhouse on a seven-acre plot in southern Ohio for more room for the family. It was way out in the sticks and took almost an hour to get to town from there.

My mom said, the first time I saw the house, I freaked out. I was crying and saying things like, Don't like Mean House, Mean House, Ugly House, Don't like, Scary House Mama, don't like. My mom says this behavior was very out of character for me, but I stopped complaining about the house after a few weeks. So she talked it up to the stress of the move. Now this house was Ramshackle A-F and in the middle of nowhere.

The kitchen was to the far rear of the house and, until recently, before we moved in, still had a working ancient wood-burning cooking stove against the back wall. This had caught the back wall on fire a couple months before we moved in and caused a lot of damage. A lot of this damage wasn't fixed, so my young, broke parents, got a very cheap rent agreement. Gotta love the 80s on the second floor. Directly above the kitchen was a locked room. The landlord claimed it had heavy fire damage, but her son, who had done the repairs,

claimed the only fire damage left was in the kitchen, since that had been the worst and was beyond his skill level to fix. Either way, the landlord was adamant that the room was off limits, and my parents always respected that. I would have looked 100%. I know all this because I heard stories about the crappy farmhouse with the creepy door my whole life, and there are pictures of us in and around the farmhouse. The locked door was right next to the upstairs landing, so there was no avoiding it, and both my parents have told me it gave them the creeps. A few months after we moved in, my mother and I were in the yard with our pit-slash-doberman mix, Boss. She was hanging laundry and I was rolling around with the dog. She said that just as

she noticed that everything was way too silent, Boss started going apeshit from surprisingly far away. About 500 yards from the house on the left, there was a small duck pond. Boss was in between the two, running towards my mom, then turning and running back towards the pond, barking frankly the whole time. My mom saw something thrashing around in the middle of the pond. She took off towards the water full speed, boss beat her there, and drug me out of the water himself. Thank you, Papa. Although my mom was confused how I got so far, so fast, and I had gotten to the center of the pond since it was over my head and I couldn't swim.

She figured she underestimated me and brought in the baby gates and playpenes. I was to be contained from now on. A few weeks later, she was cooking downstairs. Boss was outside. Victor asleep in his crib, and I was in my playpen in the room upstairs. I also had a gate on my door and one at the top of the stairs. The stairs ran up from the side of the kitchen, so my mom said she could listen for us crying or fussing while she cooking.

My mom said no longer than 50 minutes, after the last time she looked in on us, kids, boss starts going crazy again in the yard. She runs up to check on us. Victor's still sleeping. Every baby gate is still shut and locked, but I am not in the room. A frenzied search reveals, I'm not in the house at all. A sudden image of boss saving me from drowning causes my mom to rush outside to see what he's been trying to tell her this whole time.

She said he was running in circles in the yard, barking uncontrollably. When she got outside, he took off towards the right, away from the pond. He would run ahead, turn around, and bark at my mother, wait for her to catch up a little before raising off again. He ended up leading her almost a mile and a half out onto the dirt roads that separated our property from the neighbors. He led her to a thick stand of trees on our neighbor's side of the Rocky Drive. She said what hit her first was the foul stench of advanced decay.

She plowed into the trees with her heart and her throat. in her stomach full of ice. She said she noticed many piles of corrugated, thin, tarps, tires, and other debris. The myasma was emanating most strongly from the junkyard Carnes. Peking under a sheet of tin, she discovered the extremely decomposed corpse of a butchered cow. As she headed deeper into the thicket, where the tree cover was denser, she said less care was taken to cover the remains. gristly pieces of bones and rotted chunks of bovine littered the area. Apparently our neighbor, in an effort to cheat his taxes, had been illegally slaughtering cattle in hiding the remains in, at least,

one of the few thick stands of trees around. She found me in the dead center of this thicket, just standing there, looking around like I was confused, surrounded by carnage. She said I didn't seem scared or anything, just standing. She rushed over to me, and, after ascertainating that I wasn't injured, began questioning me on why I was there, how I got there, etc.

Keep in mind that although my mother said I started speaking very young, I still didn't have much of a vocabulary. She said I told her, with the serious look only small children can give, that the children brought me here. Shadding her pants at the thought that anyone, even children, could walk right past her through the kitchen, get me from upstairs,

and walk right back past her on the way down the stairs and out with me. She demanded to know what children and where the hell they are now. I looked at her dead serious and told her the ones that live with us in the room at the top of the stairs that I didn't see them anymore. After a moment of stunned silence, she started asking all kinds of questions about these children. However, she told me that I refused to say anything else. She said as long as she questioned me about what happened, I would just stand there. staring at her with a serious expression and my mouth closed. She said this same pattern held true every other time she brought it up to me,

so she was always left wondering and immediately began hounding my dad about moving closer to town. While the incident with me getting to the pond was highly unlikely, it was at least remotely possible. My mother is adamant that me, being in the hidden slaughteryard, that day was flat impossible. She says there was no way I could have even known it was out there. much less have the ability to open and relock the baby gates, get downstairs, past her, and end up almost two miles down the road and in this place in under 15 minutes. I was only two, and as slow and clumsy as most hoddlers. As I said, she's still shaken by it after 30 years.

Personally, I have no idea what happened that day. I've thought about hypnosis, but haven't yet decided I really want to remember. Maybe it's better to let it be a mystery, because whatever the fuck, fuck those things were, I really don't think they were children. Don't talk about the Skinwalkers. I have a story. It isn't mine, but it happened to my uncle. He used to tell the story when we went camping it, scared the lights out of me every time I heard it. We live in Utah and my uncle, Mark, went on a mission at 19. They sent him to an Indian reservation in Arizona.

They paired him with a companion named Carl. When they first got there, there was a huge rift with the locals on the reservation with them being there. They didn't want my uncle and Carl staying on the reservation grounds. Eventually, they came to the compromise that they would stay on the outskirts in a trailer. This reservation wasn't very big and was located next to a heavily wooded area. The first night, they were trying to sleep when all of a sudden their trailer started to shake violently back and forth. Startled and not sure what was happening, they climbed under their table for cover. Mark could distinctively hear someone pushing it from both sides of the trailer, like a group of people. After about five minutes, it stopped. That next day,

they made rounds on the reservation and were talking to the locals. Carl made a comment to one of the families that their trailer was shaking that night before. The family got very quiet and then told them they had to leave. They thought it was strange, but didn't think much of it. The next night, it happened again. They awoke to the trailer, shaking back and forth. Again, they climbed under the table until it stopped. This went on for two more nights. Anytime they tried to talk to anyone about it, they got quiet and told them to leave. Mark started thinking that, due to the tension of their arrival, the locals were doing this to scare them off of the reservation. They then go into a convenience store, and they were talking together about how frustrated they were with the situation.

The clerk overheard and said, they can't talk about it. It's forbidden. Confused, they ask him, can't talk about what? The guy continues to tell them about the skinwalkers. He says they are evil demons and were once Native American witches. If they talk about it, the skinwalkers will come for their souls. They just walked out of their baffled. They thought it was another scare tactic, so that night, when the shaking started again,

my uncle decided to be brave and confront them. He went to the trailer door, flew it open, and yelled, Hey! When he did that, he saw these three animals run off. Two were wolves. One was a bear, but they looked strange, almost with human features. As he watched them run towards the trees, all three stood up on two legs. and walked slowly towards the trees, making a human cackling laugh.

It scared him so bad that they called their mission president that next morning and asked to be moved. They were relocated that day. For a year, nothing happened. One day, they announced that Carl was being relocated to another city, and Mark was getting a new companion, Jimmy. They had to drive for about an hour to pick Jimmy up from the airport. The road they traveled went through the boundaries of the reservation. They arrived at about 8 p.m. and met Jimmy, and they go to leave. The mission president tells Jimmy, we are driving through a dangerous area at night,

so we can't make any stops. If you need to use the restroom, you need to go now. Jimmy says, I'm fine. The mission president gets serious enough to even freak out, Mark. I'm not kidding. Go do your business. Jimmy was incessant. He was fine.

So they hit the road, as there were about 30 minutes since the drive. they were going through the area of the reservation boundaries. Jimmy starts complaining that he needed to pee badly. The mission president says, we can't stop here. You'll have to hold it. Jimmy keeps going on. I really can't hold it. So the mission president stops the car and says, okay, but you will do your business next to the door. And if I say get into the car, you better get into the car fast. With a look of confusion, Jimmy says, all right, opens the door. and starts to do his business. About five seconds later, the mission president says nothing and just yanks Jimmy into the car and floors it. Jimmy and Mark start freaking out. What is going

on? The mission president says nothing and just increases his speed. All of a sudden, Mark sees something next to the car to the right. A giant wolf-looking man was running on two feet next the car. Mark looked at the speedometer. They were going over 60 miles an hour and still increasing. The wolf creature kept right next to the car for 10 minutes until it finally took off into the trees. Shaking, Jimmy gets out of the car when they arrive. They didn't speak through the whole ordeal and says, what did I just see? The mission president says, next time I tell you to take care of your business. You take care of your business. are normal experiences at my ranch. I swear on my family, it's true. So my grandpa has this ranch about

25 miles east of Pace in Arizona. For those in Arizona, it's between Heigler Creek in the 260s. It's very secluded, but the land is good for grazing. I spend a lot of time running Jersey cattle on the range. Every night, one of us rides out to check on the cattle in the field and to check fence lines for holes in the wire. A few days ago, I was riding out to check on the herd at about 1.30 a.m. I kept hearing rustling in the tree line running along the fence perimeter. Figured it was coyotes or squirrels. I see a lot of them up here. It went away every 10 to 15 minutes and then I could hear it again. The second time I heard it, I was off my horse and walking him to a little water trough. The cows were about 150 to 200 yards away just within my

view with the moonlight. I heard the rustling again, but this time it was, heavy. Me and my horse, Vegas, both looked up at the same time, wondering what the fuck we were hearing. At this point, I came to the eerie realization that whatever was out there was tracking me and Vegas, didn't seem so interested in the cows. So in an attempt to scare it off, I got back on my horse and grabbed my whip and uncoiled it. I don't use it on animals, I only use it to make a loud noise to move cattle, and cracked it a few times rather than using my pistol. The rustling stopped, and the forest was dead quiet once more. Not thinking much about it, I went back to count the head.

I marked 38 heads. All the cows were there. So I started my way back to the house. I was about three and a half miles away. It's a bit of a trail ride to get back. It was about 10 minutes of silence until I heard it rustling again. At this point, I was getting pissed. I figured it was some little dumbass coyote thinking we were going to lead him somewhere.

So I called my grandpa on the radio. There's zero service out there whatsoever and told him I was going to fire my gun so he didn't get worried. So I reached down and pulled my revolver from my side, for all you guys who like firearms, is in a birdie replica, Colt 45 piecemaker, chambered in 45 Colt, and I fired one round into the air. The wrestling stopped as the shot rang out through the woods and mountains. My ears rang and the smell of gunpowder filled my nose as the smoke settled. After I calmed Vegas down, I started riding back, only for the rustling to come back five minutes later. I started getting really nervous at this point because usually coyotes run away when they get scared

by a loud noise. I didn't have a flashlight on me because I'm dumb and I forgot. So I used my lame-ass iPhone flashlight and dismounted. I slowly walked to the tree line where I heard the rustling as I had my gun out, ready for an animal to jump at me or something. my lad around through clearings in the trees. And to my right, I heard rustling about a hundred feet away and turned over, and to my surprise and confusion, I saw a black silhouette of a horse run across the trail. I immediately thought, shit, is that one of our horses? Is that someone else's horse? So I rode over to where I saw the horse, shaking with anxiety. I looked and was confused as how a horse even ran out of and into the forest because it was so thick with shrubbery.

And when I looked back behind me to start riding back, I stopped, frozen in fear, as I got the chills. I dropped my gun and heard the sound of it hitting the ground echo through the woods, because in front of me, about 50 feet away, was a silhouette of a man, wearing a flat brim hat and appeared to have chaps on. I picked up my gun and aimed at the figure, and it was gone. I got back on Vegas and rode like the wind to get out of there, constantly looking behind me and the fear of it following. I made it back and told my grandpa. He was trying to calm me down and said, he's had some weird experiences too. My real life ghost story. Years ago, I was living outside of Buffalo, New York, on an old estate on the Lake Erie Shore. I rented the carriage house of an old mansion at a doctor and his wife owned. The doctor was a heart surgeon, and they were a well-to-do couple.

with multiple properties, so they weren't around that often. I liked the solitude of the place, having just gotten divorced, and although the carriage house was slightly decrepit, I loved living there. The mansion looked over the lake, and my house was closer to the road, off a private drive that went from one side of the estate to the other. The carriage house had been servants' quarters for whoever lived in the mansion at the turn of the 20th century. There was an enclosed courtyard outside my door that was bordered by the back of my house, the carriage barn, which had stored carriages back in the horse and buggy days, a row of empty horse stalls, and a brick wall with an entrance into the courtyard. It was a very cool place to live. The rent was cheap, and there was a private,

150-foot beach that was hardly ever used by anybody but me. But it was very isolated if there was nobody staying in the mansion, and there weren't any close neighbors because all of the houses along the roads were big estates, and a lot of the rich people living in the area weren't full-time residents. But I was young and brave, and it was a big estate full of decay and spookiness, and I'm a weirder that likes that kind of stuff, so I was overjoyed to find the place. One night I was coming home late, around 1 a.m. from a friend's house. Driving down a street, a mile or two from my house, I saw a dark figure up ahead, standing close to the road. I thought that it was kind of odd, because it was a late night on a week.

weekday, not exactly party time in the Buffalo South towns. I started to get a little nervous because the person was standing as if they were waiting for someone to pick them up. And as I got closer, I could see they were wearing an unusual, black, shroud-like thing, long and dark and draped, with part of it wrapped over the person's head to look like a hood, similar to someone wearing an a Baja or a hijab. Only much looser, like a bunch of material just wrapped around somebody's body. It seemed totally inappropriate to what I knew of the people that lived in the areas to see anybody wearing anything like that, and certainly not outside at 1 o'clock in the morning on a weekday. The person was just standing by the side of the road, looking stooped over and old.

I slowed down to a crawl as I approached, worried that the person needed help. Maybe it was a old, senile person that had walked out of their house in the middle of the night, confused. When I got close enough to really see the person, she lifted her head and looked my way. And I saw that it was my ex-mother-in-law. I was absolutely positively sure it was her. The same gray-brown hair, the same of eyes, the same enigmatic smile that I always made me wonder what she was thinking about but never saying. She raised her hand and waved to me. Not a stop and help me wave, but more of a, gosh, it's good to see you wave.

It scared the hell out of me. My mother-in-law had died three years previous to when I was driving down the road. I sped up and kept driving. My hand shaking on the steering wheel. But after a few minutes and a few deep breaths, I told myself I should go back and take another look. My mother-in-law had loved me. I couldn't imagine her son would appear seeking revenge on me for divorcing her son, who had not treated me well.

to say the least. I drove in a square by making left turns and went down the same road again. But there was no one there. I was too freaked out to go back to my spooky carriage house with the weird sounds in a hundred-year-old history. With nobody there but me and the ghosts I was convinced probably inhabited the place. So I drove to the local all-night Greek diner and sat there for an hour drinking coffee and calming my nerves. When I finally drove home and into the courtyard, I could see that something was wrong. My door was standing open. The glass windows broken. The door cracked almost all the way through from one side to the other. Someone had destroyed the door to get into the house. The next day I found a crowbar in the courtyard, thrown off to the side. The only things I noticed

missing from the house were a few pieces of my clothing, super creepy, a jar of loose change, and a knife from the kitchen. I was just divorced and not exactly rich. I didn't have much worth stealing. It's very scary when someone breaks into the house you live in all by yourself in an isolated spot. They must have driven right into the courtyard and would have been hidden from view while they broke down the door. I called the cops.

They never caught anyone. With all the upset of the break-in, it wasn't until hours later that I remembered seeing my dead mother-in-law waving at me from the side of the road, dressed like the grim reaper. I'm convinced that she somehow appeared to delay me. from going home. That if I had driven straight to the carriage house, whoever the person, or persons, who had broken my solid wood, hundred-year-old door, practically in half with a crowbar, might have been waiting there for me, or I could have surprised them, and the things might have turned out very differently, maybe very badly, for me. Now I write fictional horror stories,

I even wrote a whole ghost story novel, but this story is 100% real life. true. I swear on my ex-mother-in-law's grave, it really happened. You might even say that seeing mom by the side of the road that night is part of the reason I write scary stories. So it's my recommendation that people should remember to be nice to their mother-in-laws. She might help you out even after she's dead. And all right, that wraps up another Reddit stories video. I hope you enjoyed the ghost and paranormal Reddit stories. And let me know if you want more like more niche topics like these. Like if you want me to deep dive on kind of a bunch of different stories instead of just like a broad Reddit stories, it could be, you know, paranormal or

something else like that. Leave your ideas down below. And thank you for watching to the end. Also, let me know how long you want the videos to be. Yeah, just would you like shorter or longer Reddit stories videos and stuff like that? Just let me know down below. And yeah, like and subscribe. Thank you for watching to the end. And until next time, see ya.