Snook - Scary Skinwalker Stories

Episode Date: October 24, 2025

These are some Scary Skinwalker Stories! You guy's have some scary skinwalker encounters... stay safe out there! I appreciate all of the emails you guys send, I'm sorry I can't include all the stories into the videos, but I read every single one. Feel free to send your scary story to the email down below! Consider joining the Patreon! ⁠https://www.patreon.com/SnookYT Also listen on Spotify and Apple Podcasts! Let me know what you thought of these stories, and if you would like to see your story in a future video, please email [e-mail]! I hope you enjoyed this video, and thank you for watching! Yes... my voice is human.THE SUB GOAL IS 1 MILLION! So subscribe! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey, what's up guys and welcome back to another scary stories video. And today we're getting into some scary Skinwalker Stories. And these stories are all sent in by you guys, viewers of the channel. And over the past few months, I've received a lot of Skin Walker stories. So I decided why not just make a full dedicated video to scary Skinwalker Stories? These stories are great. You guys have had a lot of run-ins, it seems, with Skinwalkers or something of that nature. super scary stuff, but it's going to be a great video.

I appreciate you stop by. It means the world. Please like the video and subscribe to the channel. If you haven't already, it helps so much. And the channel's goal is 1 million subscribers, so please subscribe and sit back and relax. And let's get into some scary Skinwalker stories. My skeptic father still can't explain what he saw in Navajo Mountain, Utah. Hi, Snook.

Love your channel and just wanted to share the story I wrote about my skeptic of a father's experience of seeing a skinwalker. My father and uncle have a story of living as outsiders, non-native, Caucasian young people on the reservation, their tale of experiencing a skinwalker. My grandma taught school on the reservation, and they lived well off compared to the natives living there. From what I know, there's a lot of lore surrounding the Navajo nation, non-natives, primarily older generations, keeping their experiences and stories left unspoken, especially to those not from their culture. Forgive me if I'm mistaken in any part of this, the culture, ideology, practices, or any other part.

I'm just trying to tell the story my family has only spoken to me and whispers about. My grandmother, father, and uncle lived there for a few years, and their experience was much different than the Navajo people who had lived there for generations upon generations. I just want to tell their story and get insight as to anyone else who has lived in that community and any other stories some people might be willing to share. My father and uncle are about two years apart in age. They lived in Navajo Mountain in the 1980s. My dad was 10 to 12 years old and my uncle was younger. As it goes, they were always outside riding bikes with their friends, natives of the reservation. My grandma was recovering from

an abusive relationship with their father and wasn't too concerned with their whereabouts, being it was a small community. There wasn't much trouble around, nor would they know what real trouble was at that age. Trouble wasn't the issue to young white boys on a reservation then. Pure terror was. It was a typical night without any parental supervision. The night was colder than usual, and the night sky was blacker than you could imagine. In such a desolate place, the stars in the sky would light the night. This night was as if the earth had moved to a different dimension. In abyss, the boys race each other as they did every night, until they were compelled to force their breaks in unison. They simultaneously looked up. Each boy's face melted from carefree,

innocent, and adolescent to unadulchered horror. The boys stood motionless, grasping their bikes with every nerve, muscle, and strengthen their body on the dirt road. To the right of them was a mesa, one they rode by every day, the mesa that paralleled from my family's home, the mesa that they could see through my father and uncle's bedroom every night. This mesa would become fear and nightmares of them from this night forward. At the top of the mesa was a roaring fire, taller than any bonfire that someone could assemble, bigger than a group of people could assemble. It raged and was unbelievable. It was almost as tall as the Mesa itself. More unbelievable was the pitch-black figure seen cavorting around the bonfire. The native boys

with my father and uncle informed them. This was not a typical Navajo dance or ritual. Pitts began to form in their stomachs. Friends of my father and uncle turned back around without a word and bolted back to their homes. My father and uncle threw their bike. to the ground and ran across the unpaved road into their home. The two came back in a panic, relaying what they'd seen to my grandmother, but she was unconcerned. A legend of the natives, she told them, and shewed them away. They laid awake all night in their shared room, not saying a word to one another. They forced their curtains as close as possible, too scared to look out the window and see what they shouldn't have begin with. Neither could shake the images

burnt into their memory. But the sun managed to rise and peeked through into their room. A sense of release washed over them as the darkness had faded. The boys left their bed and traveled to the kitchen to try a second time to tell my grandmother what they saw that night. They tried to get a handle on what they saw, but it was as if they couldn't explain it. Again, my grandmother brushed them off with a coffee and newspaper

more important than their story. She told them to climb the mesa, and investigate. The boys wrangled their friends who shared the experience with them the nipe of Friar as they passed on their bikes. The friends stayed on the dirt road. Looking up at the mesa as my father and uncle climbed up to see any evidence of the hell-burning fire they witnessed together. The mesa wasn't much taller than an average once were your house, so the brothers took less than two minutes to climb to the top where the nightmare took place. When they got to the top they were hysterical and also relieved. There was no indication a bonfire of that normity,

or even a fire at all, had taken place on that mesa. They had clearly seen it the night earlier. They climbed down and told the message to the friends who had also been a part of the shocking scene. Their native friends looked at them in shock, but neither said a word to them. They immediately turned their bikes around and proceeded home. It was never talked about again, despite my father and brother asking about it. My grandmother and everyone else in the community refused to talk about it again. My father is a skeptic.

He does not believe in anything paranormal, aliens, ghosts, mermaids, you name it. But whenever I ask about the Skinwalker, he saw, he turns pale and white. He gets quiet, jumpy, and curt.

I had to plead to get the full story out of him, and I could see the goosebumps and every hair standing up on his arms when he shared from his experience. My grandma took me to the Navajo Mountain in 2019 to show me her history and to see how Navajo natives still live on this reservation today. According to her, not much has changed since living there in the 80s. I hiked and explored what I could of the reservation, as to not invade or violate any of the Navajo reservation and its beauty. However, I did feel a change in

mood when I visited. My existence felt heavy, as if I wasn't supposed to be there or if I was in on territory that wasn't meant for me, not caused by any of the community there, but just by my presence being on the land. I will never forget my experience visiting and all that I learned about reservation life. My intention is to hear any other stories from Navajo Mountain residents or talk with some people with similar stories in the Navajo Reservation. I climbed the mesa where the Skinwalker my dad and uncle claimed had its ritual. I felt pretty normal until I got to the top and stood in the middle. I felt some darkness creep into me as I stood there.

I've never been the same since. The watcher beyond the ridge. I've heard that some places just don't want you there. Not because of anything you've done, but because you don't belong. Because something older and quieter is already watching, already listening, and it doesn't like being disturbed. I used to think stories like that were just a myth. Backwood superstition. The kind of stuff old people whispered at night when the wind howled too long.

I'd roll my eyes when I'd hear them. Skinwalkers. Ghostlights. Wendigos. Creatures that weren't meant to be named. They were stories you told around a fire when the batteries in your flashlight died. I used to laugh at all of it. Then I went back to my grandfather's land.

And I stopped laughing. I grew up in the Four Corners area. Arizona side, a place where the map turns to rust and shadow, where the air is bone dry and even the birds seem to watch you sideways. If you've never been out there, let me paint it for you. There are miles of jagged rock, dead rivers, and canyons that seem to breathe when the wind moves just right. The land feels hollow in places, like he remembers things you'd rather forget. My grandfather, Daniel, was full Navajo, born in the late 30s. He was a silent man, not the kind who told stories for attention or amusement, but when he did speak,

it always landed like a stone dropped in still water. One time, when I was maybe 10, I asked him why he never went out past the ridge at night. It was the flattest part of the whole land, beautiful and wide, nothing but desert scrub and sandstone and sky. I like to sit out there with my comic books. I figured he avoided it because it was a long walk. But he just looked at me and said, that's where the watchers move. I asked him what he meant. He didn't answer. He just went back to whittling wood like the conversation never happened. Later, my dad told me not to worry about it. That grandpa was old, grew up with strange ideas. The desert does things to you, he said. People used to make up monsters.

to explain things they couldn't face. Just remember, we're not superstitious. That stuff's not real. I believed them. For years, I believed them. Fast forward to 2018. I was 24, fresh out of a long-term relationship that had ended like a controlled demolition. Quiet from the outside, but everything inside collapsed.

I'd graduated from university that spring, but I wasn't ready for anything. Couldn't take a job. Couldn't talk to people. could it sleep without feeling like I'd been dropped into the world with no parachute. So I did what most rootless people do. I went backwards. My grandfather had passed a few years earlier, and the old family cabin had been sitting empty. My dad had stopped visiting after the funeral said it gave him a weird feeling, so it just sat there, waiting.

It felt right somehow. A place to reset, to be quiet. No Wi-Fi, no traffic, no X. just me, the sky, and the desert. I packed a week's worth of food, some books, a journal, and headed out just before Labor Day weekend. The drive out there is like a time machine. First, you lose the pavement, then the radio stations, then the phone signal. You start seeing rusted out trucks half swallowed by the earth,

faded signs in two languages, stray dogs that watch you as you pass like they're judging something you can't see. Eventually, even the fences disappear. It took me six hours to reach the cabin, most of it on roads that hadn't seen it greater in decades. The last half mile was a dirt trail barely wide enough from my Tacoma. Sagebrush scraped the sides of the truck, and the sun hung low like a lid on a pot, turning the sky in angry, gorgeous red. Then I saw it, just like I remembered. A single-story structure made of weathered pine and stone, tucked between two sun.

tucked between two sloping ridges. The place looked half-swalled by the land. No lights, no movement, just stillness. Like I had been dozing off for decades and was surprised to be awake again. I stepped out of the truck. The silence hit me first. You don't realize how loud the modern world is until you're somewhere that's truly quiet. No planes, no traffic, not even birds, just the crunch of gravel under your boots and the occasional sigh of wind through the journey of hers. I stood there for a long minute, just listening. It was peaceful, yeah, but it also felt tense like the land was watching me, watch it. I told myself it was just the stillness messing with my head that I was projecting.

But a part of me, the part I'd learned to ignore, was whispering something else. This place hasn't forgotten you. I brushed it off, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. I woke around 2 a.m. to the sound of something moving outside. Not the casual rustle of a rabbit or a deer. This was deliberate, slow, heavy. I killed the light and moved to the front window. Heart already pounding.

There was someone standing on the ridge. No flashlight, no gear, just a silhouette against the moonlit rocks. Perfectly still. staring at the cabin, staring at me. I stayed frozen at the window for maybe a full minute. Eventually, the figure turned, too fluidly, and disappeared behind the ridge. I should have left right then, but I didn't, because I still thought I was imagining things. That would change.

I spent the next morning trying to rationalize. I even hiked around the ridge, looking for prints, gear, anything. But there was nothing. Just undisturbed sand and statured, in that same awful silence. I returned to the cabin with my skin prickling like static. All I could think about was my grandfather's warning. That's where the watchers move. That night, I kept the porch light on and slept with a hunting knife under my pillow. I didn't sleep much. Just after midnight, I heard it again. This time, it was footsteps, slow, deliberate, crunching on gravel just outside the door.

and then a voice. It sounded like my mom. But it wasn't. It was wrong, too slow, too flat, like a cassette tape recorded underwater. It's cold out here, the voice said. Let me in. I froze. Then it said it again.

Same intonation, same syllables, a perfect repeat. I reached for the knife and whispered the prayer my grandfather used to say before every hunt. I didn't remember the words exactly, but I remembered how it felt, like spitting iron into the air. The voice stopped. I waited for hours, barely breathing, hand white-knuckling the blade. When dawn finally crept through the window, I looked out. The ridge. It was back.

The figure. Closer this time. Down by the tree line. Its limbs were wrong. arms too long, knees bending the wrong way. The skin looks stretched, tight like plastic wrap over something hollow. In the face, there wasn't one. Just blank, featureless skin, like wet clay.

Then it tilted its head and mimicked the voice again. It's cold out here. I stayed locked inside until sunrise. By morning I had decided I was leaving. When I opened the front door, I froze. On the porch was a dead coyote. Its eyes were gone. Its mouth was filled with rocks, and next to it, carved into the wood, were symbols.

Deep, jagged, ugly. I didn't recognize them, but I knew what they meant. A warning. I packed everything in under five minutes. Didn't clean, didn't lock the door, just got in the truck and floored it. As I drove away, I made the mistake of checking the rearview mirror, the ridge, the figure, still watching. When I told my father, he didn't believe me.

When I told my grandmother, she didn't blink. Just nodded and said, you saw one of them. A yee, not a lushi, a skinwalker, a shapeshifter, a dark medicine user. something that mimics life without being alive. She told me they live on the edge of things, ridges, twilight, dreams. That if you hear your name called by a familiar voice in the dark, you never answer. I sold the cabin two years later to the nation, haven't been back. But sometimes when I drive near Chinle or window rock, I'll feel that stillness creeping again,

that quiet tension in the chest, and I'll change. check the ridges because I know it's still out there waiting, watching, and remembering me. Hey, Snook, I'm a huge fan of your channel, and I thought I would come on here and share with you a true story about my near encounter with a Skinwalker. Every word I type here is true, and I'm still mulling it over. Anyways, on to the story, and I hope you and your viewers enjoy. Four days ago, I posted a video on TikTok, replying to a comment asking about something. skinwalkers and what mimics are. I posted a comment on a video about a lady who was seen in a public bathroom making faces and struggling to imitate human speech in a mirror. And I suggested she might

have been a mimic or skinwalker. This is where I fucked up. You know how saying Skinwalker is a surefire way to draw them to you? Well, I said Skinwalker, and I counted just how many times I said it. 20. I said it 20 times in one video. I know. That was super dumb of me, and I've learned my lesson. Now onto the consequences of my stupidity. It took them a day to get here. But three nights ago, I woke up at 150 in the morning after only three or so hours of sleep with a massive headache similar to a hangover, even though I didn't drink before I went to bed, and an extremely uneasy feeling in my stomach. So, I was just goofing around on my laptop until 3 a.m. sharp. when I heard the most terrifying sound I've ever heard in my life.

I don't know how to describe it. I wasn't able to record it on video because it didn't last long enough for me to pick up my phone, go to the camera, switch to video, and press record. Believe me, I tried. But the second I reached from my phone, it stopped. It started out as one inhuman voice that seemed to be calling out. Then another voice that sounded the same started calling back. It was so damn loud.

My friend on the completely opposite side of the country, complex heard it. It was one loud, long note with no rasp or breaks in it, and it was wavering up and down in pitch, but only slightly. I messaged the group Chad and asked him what the hell that was, and he said what I feared, and that's when the true horror started. My friend saw one of them through his window multiple times while we were talking on Discord, and he said that they seemed to be searching for something, or someone. That's when I came clean and told him what I did, and he tore me a new one. Now, I'll admit, when I filmed the video, I said Skinwalker a lot, feeling like I had the most valid God complex. I thought that I'd be fine and dandy, as I live on the edge, but also in

the middle of my apartment complex. Think left, center stage. But there's a lot of light near my apartment, which I believe is the only reason I'm here typing this. At around four in the morning or so, I heard, and I'm not fucking joking. One of them growling right outside my window. It was right there. More feet away from me. I mean, in that moment, that if I looked at it, I was dead meat. I kept my blinds down and sat shaking on my bed, frantically typing to my friend that one of them was outside my window. My friend at this point was using talk-to-text and was also ended up saying Skinwalker four or five times, which pissed them off even more. So, one of them was scampering around outside his window.

He's on the second story, and the other was hanging around mine. I'm on the first floor. I tried to drink a Dr. Pepper. as it's my comfort drink, but I felt sick to my stomach and was shaking too bad. I was terrified, panicking, and nearly shit in my pants. I felt fear, terror even, before but nothing like this. So I sat on my bed, typing away for hours until it got light outside. Then I went back to sleep, only to be attacked by the worst sleep paralysis I've ever had in my life.

So there you have it. I know I fucked up, and I firmly believed that that was both a warning and a, if you come outside, you're going to be my early morning breakfast. So, guys, the moral of the story is never, ever. Ever, say Skinwalker and think you'll be fine, that nothing will happen to you because I guarantee you. You're not special to them. They don't give a shit who you are.

You're just a meal to them. And a meal they're insatiably hungry for. And I swear, I swear to God himself, that every word I've typed here is true. Every single one. So please, don't do what I do, because I thought I was special and safe, and I wasn't. I'm not. Let me start by giving you some context.

I'm 19. This all started about seven or eight months ago. I live in a small town in northern Colorado. One of those towns you'll have no idea exists if you pass through on a road trip and you're taking a nap. The town is mostly surrounded by fields and farmland, so you'll hear some noises but nothing too out in the ordinary. Sometimes they pack a coyotes or dog barking. At the very worst, a gunshot from a farmer keeping coyotes off his land. One night, I was walking with my friend.

We'll call him Larry. He is 19 as well. We were walking down the main road of town, but more towards the outskirts where we live. We're coming up on the first intersection of the town, and from across the street, we hear what sounds like a cow mooing. Every three seconds exactly. I was with my friend and wanted to make him laugh, so I jokingly yelled, Is that a skinwalker?

Worst decision of my life. We then heard it mooing for 30 seconds continuously, nonstop. Then it was silence. We froze. We didn't know what to do until we heard a twig snap. We started booking it to my house and I told him he was staying the night there. After that, we noticed some things, mooing, coyotes, laughing, etc. It wasn't until a month or two ago that I got more active.

One night, Larry and his 17-year-old brother Mitch were staying. in the night at my house. We were having fun, smoking weed, playing games, the works. Around 1.30 a.m., I started to get tired. I was going to watch YouTube on my phone, but I realized I didn't have my earphones. They were in my car from when I got home from work. I told them I'll be right back. Now I'm going to grab my earphones from the car. I grabbed my keys and walked out the front of my house. The front of my house is facing a field across the street. I also parked my car on the street. Once I get to my car, that's when I heard a voice across the street say, Hey, I look up and see something hunched over in the shrubbery, with two piercing eyes staring at me.

I froze, unsure as to what to do. That's when it stood up. It was a seven-foot tall, pale, humanoid creature. I panicked and ran away back into my house. But every time I looked away, I could hear it getting closer. A few weeks later, I had my girlfriend over at my house, and we decided to go get Taco Bell as a late-night snack, so that's what we did. After we got back, I got out of my car and started walking around to the passenger side of my car. That's when I heard a footstep in the grass across the street. Immediately, my head snapped to where the noise came from. I saw it hunched over again, its eyes staring into my soul.

I kept eye contact with it and told my girlfriend to unlock the door and get inside the house. She held the door open for me, and every time I looked away from it, I could hear another footstep in the grass. That night, we heard rustling going on in my backyard. If you don't hear from me after this post, I've accepted my fate to whatever is following me. And you might think that's the end of that story, but I replied to his email saying,

this is a crazy story. And being from Colorado myself, this makes it so much scarier. And I said, I'm excited to read it for a video and, you know, hopefully you're okay. And then he replies back. Hey, Snook, I still love your videos, and I just wanted to email because there's more that's happened since I sent that original email in April. I've moved to Newhouse about a week after with my family. I don't remember the actual date, but I remember it still being late April.

It's in just the next town over from where all the original encounters took place. I don't know why, but when we first moved, I had a feeling that it would all go away. I thought that this Skinwalker, or whatever the fuck it is, that was following me, would lose my trail and leave me alone. And it did. for a while. About three months ago, my girlfriend, Jessica, was coming over to my house. I worked at a place that was open until about nine at that point. I was the closing manager, so I'd typically be out of there around 9.30, then a 30-minute drive home, and I'd be home at 10. Jessica got off work at 7.30, so she went to my house around 9.30 to 9.45. I don't remember the exact time,

but I remember it was already dark, and I was on my way home. As I was driving, listening to this music, she called me. I answered the phone saying, hey baby, what's up? expecting just a normal phone call. Her next words ran a shiver of my spine. All she said was, it's back. For context, down my new street is a cul-de-sac, and beyond that is an empty field that is part of a property for a high school that was there. She said she heard that same repetitive mooing every three seconds exactly from that field. I told her to get in the house, make sure the doors were locked and act casual with my family as to not freak them out. When I got home shortly after, sure enough, I heard that mooing. I figured it found an area I was around but didn't know exactly where I was until about a month ago.

Me and Jessica were laying in bed. She was asleep on me and I was watching one of your videos, funnily enough. Then I heard a tapping on my window. At first I thought it was just bugs landing on my window. But that didn't sound right. it was rhythmic, a tap every second or two. Now granted, it could be a neighborhood kid trying to fuck with people, but it was 3 a.m., and they would have had to hop my fence into my backyard to tap on my window.

It could be my little brother, but he was asleep to get back into the routine for school. I refused to turn around and look at the window. I figured if I ignored it, it would go away. That worked for a while. Last week, a similar thing happened, except this time. me and Jessica were both wide awake. It was around 1 a.m. and we were playing Stardu Valley on my PS5 when we heard the tapping. She asked what it was and I shook my head showing to just ignore it. Then clear as day, we heard something from my window go, as if it was trying to get

our attention. I froze and my heart dropped. She went to close the window since I had it open for the breeze. I shook my head again and closed the window without even looking towards it to make sure I didn't see the thing. I don't know if my original story got into a video, but I thought regardless on if it did or didn't, you could use this to get it more out there. Tell your fans to not fuck with this shit. It's real and terrifying. Coming from someone who's on the receiving end of it, I hope you have a great day slash night. And yeah, man, that's terrifying. Please send me any updates if, you know, this is continued. I wonder what it is. I wonder if it's a Skinwalker or some, have you even considered being a weird stalker? I don't know.

It's a very weird situation and yeah, it's terrifying. Hopefully it leaves you alone soon and at least your girlfriend is also witnessing it. So you're not like alone and think you're going crazy. So that's good. But I'd probably tell your parents about it. I mean, I would. But that's a creepy, creepy scenario. Please send me updates and hopefully it doesn't get you.

And yeah, hopefully I can hear from you soon and put it into an updated video about Skinwalkers and scary stories. So please send when you can. and everyone else watching, please send any sort of Skinwalker stories. I'd love to read them. Anyways, on to the next story. Skinwalker encounter on Seminole Land. So, a buddy of mine and I decided to spend the night on a campground in Cluston, Florida on Seminole territory.

It was a nice but quiet campground, with cattle and ranches surrounding us. The day was very calm and uneventful as we had some beers. Listen to music and bullshit with each other. However, Nightfall was a completely different. story. We did not plan it this way, but we happened to be there for a total eclipse. Once the sunset for the night, we decided to take a walk on a dirt road, headed toward the cattle ranch. The walk was eerily quiet and harmless until we heard a noise to our right, seemingly out of nowhere. A group of about eight cows, about 50 feet to our right, suddenly broke into a full-out sprint,

like they were running from something. We had seen the cows start out the day, but did not see them running or acting uneasy, so the timing was very odd. After this, around 930, we decided to get a few hours of sleep for the peak of the eclipse at 2.45 as it had been a long day. However, at around 12.08 a.m., I suddenly woke up, not knowing what had woke me so suddenly, as I am typically a heavy sleeper. However, I soon heard footsteps around our campsite. We have been mindful of throwing out our trash as this is one of the few areas in South Florida where bears are common. However, whatever was creating the noise sounded bipedal and stayed for hours instead of a few minutes like bears typically do. Unfortunately, I was the only one awake until around 2.30 a.m. For those two and a half hours,

I heard constant footsteps near where we had are fire and around the tent. At one point, I heard a deep exhale right next to my ear outside of the tent. However, things took a turn for the worst at around 145 to 2 a.m. When I heard a gut-wrenching cries of a cow in the field about 100 feet to our left, it genuinely sounded like flesh being torn off of its skin. During this time, the footsteps and sounds were still there. About 45 minutes later, and once my buddy woke up, we hear the unmistakable sound of a pack of coyotes howling and yelping in the area that the cow had seemingly been killed. This lasted for about a few minutes. After a while, we entertained the idea of returning to the car

as there was only about 10 feet from the tent's entrance. However, once we had built up some courage because of the lack of footsteps, they began again. At some point, around 3.45, I somehow passed out due to the exhaustion and the very high level of adrenaline I had felt for the last four hours. However, when I woke up at around 9 a.m. the next morning, my buddy tells me that after I fell sleep, he heard another cow meeting the same fate. The coyotes returning in the footsteps remaining until sunrise 7 a.m. We are not avid campers by any means, but thought that camping

on native land sounded like a fun idea, not sure of what we'd see. However, once I got home, I looked into Skinwalkers more as I'd become familiar with them through scary stories on YouTube, but I did not know the full extent of their habits or characteristics. When I did this, their correlations terrified me. The fact that it is known to disguise itself as bears and coyotes specifically. The fact that the footsteps sounded bipedal, yet imitated a four-legged animal. The harm seemingly caused the livestock and the other events seemingly meant to draw us out. I don't know what to think.

I became even more confused when we looked over the campsite in the morning and found no footprints, let alone paw prints. Even our trash and other belongings by the fire didn't seem to be moved much. I'm not trying to convince myself of this because we were on native land and it makes for a cool story. I was genuinely scared for my life and I felt like I was being watched all night. I just wanted to share the story and possibly hear any input as these events had taken place just 13 hours ago at the time of me writing this.

To me, that kind of sounds like a skinwalker, or maybe just a stalker in your campsite. That's really weird. I would never camp on Native American land personally. I just think it's too sketchy. But I don't know. That sounds scary. That's good that you made it out alive,

and I'm sorry for the late reply since you said this to me like months ago. But let me know if you've been back. please comment or send another email back if you've been back to that land or camp there again. I'm really interested to hear, but that's scary as hell. I heard like an exhale next to your ear or like through the tent. That's terrifying. But it's also weird how there was no footprints, no anything like that.

You know, I wonder if you're almost imagining it because you were exhausted. I don't know. But if you've gone back, please send a follow-up email. And yeah, thank you so much for sharing. I'll see the next one. Hey, I love watching your videos, especially the ones involving cryptids or skinwalkers. I decided to send in one of my own stories coming from my father and his life growing up in the Appalachian. So, here we go. If you need credit for the story, just call me Sarah.

I live up in the Midwest, but my father comes from the south, specifically the Appalachia area of West Virginia. He told me this story a few years back. He grew up in Virginia and had a few strange encounters, but this one apparently scared him the most. Here is the story in his own words. It was late fall, and I had just come back from grad school to go back to my childhood town in the deep Appalachia in 1989. My father and I used to go hunting often together as my brother was the quiet book type. We also had a handful of hunting dogs, my favorite of which was a border collie named Gunner. He was young, around three years old.

I asked my father if he could go hunting, but my father was suffering from heart issues, but he encouraged me to go alone for the first time in my life up to that point. I decided to take my dad's rifle, grab a coat and my dog, gunner, and go hunting. We hopped in an old pickup in the afternoon and drove a gravel small pathway to a nearby forest, which back in my childhood was dense and lush, full of life and color. On this day in late fall, the forest was bleak and dull. All the colorful dugwood leaves were gone and the grass was a dull yellow. Nothing like the spring green of my childhood.

I shrugged it off and started on the hunt, Gunner going up in front of me to scout. I was young so I could walk quickly and for a long time, the time seemed to fly by in the days of my youth, and that day was no different. The forest seemed empty, no birds singing in the trees and no squirrels darting from bush to bush.

I eventually caught a rabbit, skinny, but it would do. After about one or two hours, we came upon a small clearing, surrounded by dense forest and thin trees. As we approached, a prickling feeling shot on my spine like an electric current. An old wood cabin stood in the center, overrun with ivy and other wildlife. It must have been there since the 1800s, at least. The cabin was dark brown and barely standing.

A old wooded chain was inside, but that was all. That was visible behind the thick foliage. Gunner started to stop at the edge of the clearing. Tail tucked between his shaking legs. He didn't dare look back at me, his eyes looking at the tree line. He was whining and scared. The sky was getting dark and the fog did not help my unease. I felt like prey being stalked. I looked at Gunner and whistled softly to tell him it was time to go. I had a bad feeling and knew it was time to go. A rustling came from the tree line. Not a soft rustling like prey

darting around but more like a large predator giving away its location behind the cabin and at that moment something told me to run. So I did. I dropped the rabbit I had caught and as fast as I could was Gunner at my side. I turned around and I saw a tall, skinny figure hunched over where I stood moments earlier, mouth and hands covered and what was left to the rabbit. I didn't stop to look back as me and Gunner ran to the rusty pickup, scared shitless. We sat there for what seemed like forever before I decided it was time to go. I rolled out of the gravel parking lot and started driving. My father said the part was that, as he was driving, he thought he could make out a tall figure standing behind the trees, staring at him smiling, smiling like the creature smiled at the rabbit on the forest

floor, and that he would be next. My dad never went hunting alone for many years. Something in Gunner changed, and Gunner was never able to venture outside of the perimeter of the yard in which the family's house was located. He wasn't able to go be a hunting dog after that. Shortly after, Gunner went missing after we let him outside to do his business at night. My dad's father went looking for him the next morning. My grandpa refused to tell my dad what was left to Gunner, only that he had passed on and not to go out at night. During the time after the encounter, while staying at his family's house,

he often heard rustling outside the house. Too quiet to be a bear, but not small enough to be a raccoon. Scratching, tapping, and whistling often occurred throughout the night, from dusk to dawn. On one occasion, my dad claimed to see Gunner in the woods, but he looked mangled and something was wrong with his face. My dad claimed whatever it was, followed him home, took Gunner and wanted to take him next. My father left a week later to go back to college and these strange events eventually stopped

within the next month after his departure. That's about it from what I can remember of this tale. My dad had experienced a few weird things after, but nothing seemed to scare him like this. My dad is a tall, burly man, and I've never seen him scared. when he tells the story, a flash of fear crosses his eyes. Hey, Snook, I love your videos while I drive. They're amazing. I just listened to the Skinwalker one and decided to share mine after me and two others agreed not to telling one. I figured since I'll stay anonymous, I'll take the risk. I also hope if you put this in a video,

you can give your opinion, but if you don't, I'm glad you read it. So, this happened roughly somewhere in 2024, after school ended. It was sunset, and me and two others, N, who was 17, and K, who was 18, were cruising on back roads. That was nothing but red dirt and gravel. This is important detail later. We are blasting music, messing around, and we come across an open field with nothing except tall grass and a perfect view to watch the sunset. We're in my truck, and we talk about pulling the tailgate down and talk about life and vent. As soon as we open the doors, we hear someone shouting help. We pause. We look at each other asking, without saying anything. Did you guys also hear that?

I start the truck, turn the headlights on, and there it was. A woman who seems to be in her mid-40s based off the silhouette shouting help like she's being killed. We don't know what to do, but we have the doors closed and we ask her each other what it is. N says, could it be a skinwalker? Kay and I disagree saying it couldn't be, but after we talk and understand, we realize the chances of it being a skinwalker is high. I decided to be dumb and ask if she's okay. Worst mistake of my life, and it haunts me to this day.

This thing looks at us, and I feel like I'm going to die. I get in my truck, K and N ask what's wrong, but I ignore them. I put it in reverse and book it trying not to spin out. I put it in drive, but before I do anything, I look again and it's closer. I tell them what happened, and they were terrified, shouting at me to drive, and I shout back. I am, but I drive as fast as I can, but as soon as I see me going about 50, I start spinning out because of the gravel. I was inches from landing in a ditch before Jesus took over the wheel and kept us safe.

We talked about it and decided to go back the next day. We head there about three in the afternoon and we get out and walk over there. We smell a gut-wrenching stench like something died. We looked and it was disturbing. And threw up and we headed back immediately. It was a dead body that was decayed with bugs all over. We told each other to not say a word to anyone because people will think. think that we would have had something to do with it, and we agreed. I looked up skinwalkers when I

got back to my house, and it mentions how they imitate the last sentence of their prey as a type of trap to lure in their next meal. I also found out that they skin the people to form a bond together spiritually. After that happened, I'm terrified of driving at night in the back roads. Whenever it's night, I always make sure there's highways around. And, um, geez, that's terrifying. I mean, did you look at the dead body is was it the same woman um that is scary i don't know what to really say about that i mean could it be a skin walker yes but our skin walker's real i don't know that's definitely terrifying i don't know what that could be um that's good you're alive though and um i mean yeah that's terrifying i mean did you ever go back was there any reports of a missing person in your

neighborhood or town, that's really scary. And I'm sure, it could have been a skin walker. It's a very, it was a very weird situation for you. I mean, at night and a woman in her 40s walks up saying help. That's a terrifying situation. And I probably would have done the same. I can't blame you for that. That's very weird, very creepy, very scary. I'm glad you got out alive. But yeah, was there any reports for, you know, a dead woman or person in your town? or area. And to be honest, you probably should have reported it because if you didn't kill her, why didn't you report it? I mean, people could have thought, but, you know, it would have been disproven. That's very weird. Please send me an update email. If you can answer any of those questions,

I'm very curious to, you know, here. But thank you so much for sending it in. And this was the last story of today's video. If you'd like to see longer videos in the future, please send in more stories. I like the Skinwalker stories. You guys seem to love them as well. So If you have any Skinwalker stories or experiences, please send them to the email in my description. I appreciate it. I read almost every single email. I can't include them all into these videos because I get so many. But thank you so much for watching.

It means the world. And please check out some other videos on the channel. It helps out a lot. And please like the video and subscribe to the channel. It helps more than you know. This is Snook. And I'll see you next time. Bye.