Snook - Spooky Reddit Stories

Episode Date: February 28, 2026

These were some Spooky Reddit Stories! What was your favorite story? Mine was the second one... it was so scary. And make sure to rate the podcast 5 stars and follow the podcast! Make sure to subscribe to the Patreon for early access videos and many more perks! ⁠Also! Go follow me on Spotify and Instagram!Yes, my voice is human. The channels subscriber 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 Reddit Stories video. I love making these videos and you guys seem to love watching them so I'll keep making them. So sit back, relax and if you're new here, subscribe, it's the channel's goal to be at 250,000 subs by the end of the year and I think we can do it. So please subscribe and all right. Anyways, let's get into the first story. I used to work on the north slope of Alaska. Here's one of my stories. I used to work on the north slope of Alaska in the oil industry. The work we were doing required us to travel far out into the Alaska Petroleum Reserve, which is basically just untamed tundra wilderness for hundreds of miles. The oil companies would build these long ice roads in the winter that would lead to exploration drilling pads. Our job was to go out after they finished the initial drilling and test rock formations for their oil-producing qualities. It was around mid-January. The sun hadn't quite come up yet, and when I say the sun hadn't come up, I mean, in almost a month and a half. Polar nights are intense.

The particular well site we were traveling to was about 60 miles west of Alpine, Alaska, deep in the wilderness. Our job took a week, but we finished and were headed back to camp to finish our hitch and go home. At the beginning and end of the ice roads are guard shacks that you have to check in and out of for safety. No cell reception and radio's work only up to a distance. If you don't check in or out in a set time, they come looking for you to ensure you're not a popsicle. It was about 4 in the morning, not that it mattered in the land of endless night, and we were halfway across the ice road. Travel was slow as the speed limit on the roads is only about 25 miles an hour. When something appeared on the road in their headlights, it was a man in jeans, sneakers, and a hoodie jacket.

Walking down an ice road in Wilderness Tundra at 4 a.m. and it was negative 20,000. degrees outside. It's not unusual for the local Inuit people to be out this far hunting. Maybe his snowmobile broke down and he's trying to get back to the guard shack seemed plausible. He didn't acknowledge us as our trucks rolled up next to him. He just kept shuffling forward. He didn't seem cold. His clothing, while totally not appropriate for this extreme weather, appeared warm and dry. We also noticed he wasn't Inuit, but Caucasian. I rolled down my window and asked if he needed any help and if he was okay. He still didn't acknowledge us, just kept shuffling forward. His face was completely blank, devoid of any thought or emotions. The other guys in my truck suggested that

maybe he was in an accident and in shock. I continued rolling my truck alongside him as he trudged down the road, still trying to get his attention. Even in this extreme cold, I could occasionally get whiffs of a peculiar smell coming off of him. He smelled acidic, if that makes me. He smelled acidic, If that makes sense, there was just a lot about this guy that made the hair on my neck stand up. The guy behind me and the truck's crew cab had had enough of this. He rolled down his window and reached out to grab the guy. He later said he was just going to try and shake him out of his stupber. Before my buddy's hand could reach him, though, this walking popsicle spun around and lashed onto my buddy's outstretched arm.

He glared at my buddy and then at me with this look of pure rage not removing his hand. from his arm. If emotions had a physical temperature, this guy could have melted the entire tundra that night. My buddy groaned in pain as he tried to get his arm free from Mr. Popsicle. At that moment, this guy starts screaming in our faces. There was so much hate and rage and anger in that scream. It was absolutely terrifying. I slammed on the gas and spun out on the ice for a second before the wheels caught and launched us forward. Popsicle dude still had a whole on my buddy's arm and was trying to pull him out of the truck. He was running alongside the truck while the other guy in the cab held onto my buddy to

keep him aside. After several moments, if could only have been a few seconds at most, my buddy tore free from this guy and we hauled ass to the guard shack another 30 miles down the road. We checked in with the guards and reported what we had just seen. The guard was looking at us like we were pulling a prank, but policy said they had to check it out regardless. My buddy's arm was sore and when he pulled back his sleeve, there were noticeable bruises in the shape of a hand around his arm. We filed a report with the guard and were told to head back to our camp. None of us really wanted to talk about what happened and it was a quiet drive

the rest of the way. We flew home the next day. The next time we saw the guard at this shack, we asked him if he ever saw Mr. Popsicle on his patrols. He told us they searched up and down that road for a solid 12-hour shift and saw nothing, not even tracks in the snow leading off the road. He told us it was a good prank and that he'd get us back from making him waste his shift driving around, but it wasn't a prank. Who would make up a story like that and who would willingly bruise their arm for a dumb prank? We never got a satisfying answer to what happened that evening. I still wonder about that dude, if he even was a dude.

The Alaskan Tundra is a weird place. and that was just one of my many weird stories from my time up there. I'll work to write down more of my experiences and share them to the appropriate subs. Do not go to Rock Island, Wisconsin. Rock Island is a state park located at the tip of Door County, Wisconsin, on Lake Michigan. It's a difficult place to get to.

To get to the island, you have to take a car ferry from Ellison Bay to Washington Island, drive across Washington Island to Jackson Harbor, then take a pedestrian-only ferry to Rock Island. No vehicles or bikes are allowed on Rock Island. Even though the island is relatively small at about 975 acres, it has had an interesting history. In the early 1600s, it was inhabited by a tribe of Padua Tomey Native Americans, as well as a small fishing village of European settlers.

The two groups did not trust each other and did have a few bad encounters that almost led to violence, but for the most part, they lived peacefully together on the island. By the 1640s, the Padawamie had migrated to other parts of Wisconsin. Shortly after the Patatotomi had left the island, some settlers from the fishing village reported seeing a new group of people on the island. They seemed to be more white settlers, but they wore strange clothes and kept to themselves. No one from the fishing village was ever able to talk to one these new settlers or even find where they were living. It was around this time that strange things started to happen in the village.

Several animals, it's not to mention what they were, maybe it was pigs or chickens, kept by the settlers were found slaughtered in the village and seemed to have been used to make markings and blood on some of the buildings in the village. On a different night, a building used for preserving meat burned down. The villagers felt like these things must have been done by these new people on the island and they intended to find them, but after a thorough search of the island, including the wooded inland area, they never found a single person. These strange occurrences seemed to stop soon after the search, and none of the other settlers were ever seen again.

In 1836, the pad of Atomi Lighthouse was built on the northern part of the island. After construction was finished, the lighthouse was inspected and was reported back that the material of which the lighthouse and dwelling are made are of the best quality and that the work is done in a substantive and workmanlike manner. David E. Corbin was appointed the first keeper of the light on December 19, 1837. Only three years later in 1840, despite the apparent quality of construction of the lighthouse, David Corbyn started to complain that plaster started to fall off the building and some sort of liquid would ooze through cracks, leaving the house constantly damp. Corbyn was completely alone most of the time at the lighthouse and some have said while visiting him that he would stare at a certain wall and sometimes

spoke vaguely of the other visitors. In 1845, after eight years of relative solitude at the lighthouse, an inspector visited the lighthouse keeper and determined that while Corbin was fulfilling his duties, he was acting strange. The official report says that the inspector ordered Corbyn to take a 25-day leave of absence to, quote, find a wife, to live with him at the lighthouse. However, some think that the inspector was startled by Corbyn's mental state caused by years of solitude and thought it would be best that he spent some time away from the island. In 1852, Corbyn reportedly fell ill and died that December in the lighthouse. He was buried in a small cemetery just south of the lighthouse.

The next lighthouse keeper also reported the surprisingly quick deterioration of the lighthouse. Some friends that had visited the new keeper say that he would talk of seeing strange things in the house at night, but he wouldn't elaborate on what he had seen. In 1858, after only 22 years of service, the original lighthouse was torn down and a new one was built. From that point on, the lighthouse keepers were required to have an assistant keeper or a family with them at the lighthouse. No strange occurrences were further reported in the Lighthouse logbook outside of strong storms and occasional shipwrecks except on January 20th, 1876. The keeper at the time named Betts reported that he saw two men attempting to row to the mainland from Washington Island. He wrote a terrible storm came up shortly after their departure and they never made it to their destination.

Over three months later on May 3, 1876, Betts wrote, The two men who were lost last January have been seen several times, once from Caney Lighthouse and once from Jacksonport. The men were apparently frozen, stiff, and sitting upright in the boat among a massive ice. At last account, they were still adrift. There's not much hope, and they will be found and buried. By 1900, most of the island's inhabitants left for, better fishing areas on Lake Michigan.

In 1910, a successful business owner and inventor, Chester, Thornton purchased all of the island except for the land that the lighthouse occupied in the north. He used the island as a private summer retreat for his business in Chicago. Thornton is responsible for the unique and mystifying buildings and structures that are still on the island today. On the south end of the island, he built a giant stone hall that has a boat house on the lower level. A stone water tower was built on the east side of the island and an imposing wooden gate was constructed on the west end of the island. The Great Hall was used to store

Thornton's immense book collection. He had over 11,000 books and it's rumored that he possessed some very rare books on the occult in his collection. Thornton died of heart failure on January 6th, 1945, though some have speculated that he saw something that actually scared him to death. I couldn't find any writings from Thornton, however, that mentioned him experiencing anything strange on the island. After his death, multiple churches and universities were interested in his book collection, but he had willed it to the University of Wisconsin, Madison, providing that they had to purchase it for $300,000, which they did. Some of this history, hard to find on the internet, but there are a couple of binders in the Great Hall that has a lot

of this documented. Thornton's personal papers are housed in the archive section of the State Historical Society of Wisconsin. All of this history I gave is just to provide a little context for experiences I have had, directly or indirectly, on Rock Island. In August of 2021, I took my first And last trip to Rock Island. After taking two ferry rides, I arrived on the island at about 2 p.m. I had booked the remote campsite E, which is a backpacking site that is a little over a mile from the dock. I took my time hiking out to the site to enjoy the scenery and took a couple breaks just due to how heavy my pack was. I was definitely packed more for camping than hiking.

I got to my site, set up my tent, got everything situated, and started gathering sticks and drift. wood from the beach so I could start a fire. On my third trip back from the beach, before I got back to my sight, I heard a single high-pitched squeal noise coming from the forest. It didn't sound close, but it was such an unusual sound that I stopped in my tracks and waited for a good 30 seconds waiting to see if it would happen again. It didn't. So I continued back to my site. When I got back, I began working on getting a fire started. The remote camping site on Rock Island was pretty spaced out. Site C, D, and E are grouped together, but there's probably 100 yards between each site.

There's not a real trail connecting the three sites directly, but enough people have walked along the ridge between the three sites that there's an obvious path. As I was setting some sticks up in my fire ring, something caught my eye and I looked up. Fairly far away, it looked like it might have been at site D or a little further, was a person running in my direction. My first thought was, well, that's odd, because like I said, it's not even really a trail they were on. Then my mind just went to there must be something wrong and this person needs help. They got a little closer and it looked like maybe it was a woman in a loose gray clothes, maybe in a hoodie. It was still far enough way that I couldn't really

make out any details. I quickly stood up from the crouching position I was in and just as I did, I heard that high-pitched squealed noise again. It was behind me, and it was much closer this time. This startled me quite a bit, so I turned around to look behind me. I scanned the trees for a couple seconds, but didn't see or hear anything. I turned back around because I knew the running person must be getting close, but now they were gone. Again, I stood there and scanned the trees, but did not see them anywhere. I was so confused, I was kind of frozen for a few seconds.

It was all very strange, but I was able to reason it out in my head that it was just a fellow camper from site C or D that was maybe running to the pit toilet that was a couple hundred yards west of the sites. I tried to forget about it, but it was really just bothering me. I did not like whatever that squeal noise was, and I just felt strange. With some effort, I decided to let it go and started my fire. I had a quick meal and a couple of dull beverages, then decided to do that I just felt strange. to take a little walk.

I hadn't seen sites C or D yet, so I thought I would check those out and see if I did have some neighbors camping nearby. Site D was empty. I did see the path that led from that site to the main trail and pit toilet, so that made me feel a little uneasy about the runner. I figured it was maybe someone from site C that took a strange way to get to the main trail by going through Site D. It didn't make a ton of sense because it didn't make a ton of sense because, you know, it was maybe someone

because I probably still should have seen them, but it made me feel better. I continued on to site C and saw there was a tent set up. I really didn't want to bother anyone, but I just thought I would go over with the excuse that I wanted to introduce myself as a camping neighbor from site E and see if anyone looked like they might have been the person running earlier. I came up on the site and there was a couple sitting at the picnic table. Neither of them looked like they would have been the person I saw running. I introduced myself and they introduced them.

They were probably in their mid-30s. They were very nice and both seemed to be pretty drunk, but a quiet drunk. I didn't ask about the runner or the swilly noise because I thought it might be weird. I wished them a good night and walked back to my tent. When I got back, I had a cigar and a few more drinks. It got dark and it started as a perfect night. The sky was clear and I was just staring up and looking at millions of stars. I felt better about everything from earlier and felt stupid about the whole thing.

and decided to get some sleep. It was a long day, so I fell asleep almost immediately. At around 2.30 a.m. I woke up to a huge boom of thunder. It started downpouring. The wind picked up and the temperature dropped. I love camping in the rain, but I do not like camping in a lightning storm. A pretty big storm came through and I was starting to worry. The wind was whipping at my tent and the ground was shaking from the thunder and lightning. I did not feel good about being out there in a tent and felt very careful.

exposed. The storm lasted for about an hour before it became just a light, steady drizzle. I was just started to fall back asleep when I heard the squeal noise again. I opened my eyes up, wide in the dark, and just laid there silent. There was another louder squeal noise, and it was pretty close. I knew there are no real dangerous animals on Rock Island, there are deer and porcupines, but nothing like bear or wolves. Knowing that still didn't make me feel better, though. There was just something about that squeal that I didn't like. I say squeal because that's the best way I can describe it. It sounded to me like a pig squeal. I honestly don't know that much about pig noises, but that's what I thought of when I heard it, an injured or angry pig squeal. I continued to lay in

my tent and started to hear footsteps outside my tent. It was still raining so the sounds were a little buried in the sound of rain, but it definitely sounded like a somewhat large animal or human walking around. I sat up in my tent and took a knife out I had just to feel better. In my head, I just kept saying, you know, it's just an animal. It's fine. There's nothing in these woods that can hurt you. I listened as the footsteps started moving away from my tent. I just sat there, being still, holding my knife for maybe 10 minutes without hearing anything else. I started thinking to myself, it's fine. It's just an animal. You're being stupid and you need to be. get some sleep. I was just about to lay back down when there was a very loud squeal and it was right

outside my tent. It felt like my heart just stopped and a shiver went down my spine. My heart was beating so hard my entire body was pulsing and I felt it in my ears. It took everything in me but I forced out a get out of here, not shouting but as stern and mean sounding as I could at that moment. I didn't hear any more squeals or footsteps at night, but I also didn't sleep. I just sat there in my tent for maybe an hour before I lay down. Eventually, the rain stopped and I kept laying there until the sun came up. All that time, reassuring myself that I was being stupid. It was just an animal. It was probably 7 a.m. before I decided I had to get out of my tent to relieve myself. As soon as I stepped outside my tent, I saw that my picnic

table had been overturned and was upside down. When I saw this, I surprisingly, calmly thought, okay, this is enough. I'm leaving the island today. I checked my surroundings and nothing else seemed out of place. I eventually reasoned with myself that the wind had blown the table over during the storm. It still seemed a little strange because the table was pretty heavy and I felt like I would have heard the table flipping over, but that might have made sense. I made some cold instant coffee, had a bite to eat, started to feel better about the whole thing, then decided to go for a hike. I admit, I get easily scared when I'm camping by myself in the woods.

Maybe that's natural. After I had some coffee and food and the sun came out, I realized that nothing I heard or saw was really anything that couldn't be explained. Other than not getting a good night's sleep, I was having a pretty good time. The reason I came to the island in the first place was to hike the seven-mile Thorntzen's Loop Trail that has had a lot of interesting things to see, and I was excited to start the hike. I packed a few things in my backpack and started off. Fairly close to my sight is the water tower.

I have no idea how it originally worked or why it had to be a tower, but it's an impressive building with a fireplace that looked like something had recently had a fire in it. A little further down the trail was a cemetery where two sisters and a few others are buried. It's believed there are still more buried here in unmarked graves. These likely are some of the settlers from the old fishing village. The island has three cemeteries. There's one by the beach, and that's where Chester Thornton is buried. There's one on the eastern part of the island, where the two sisters are buried,

and there's one on the northern part of the island where the original lighthouse's keeper, David E. Corbin, is buried. There's also at least one Potawatomi burial area on the island, but no one knows exactly where that is. I kept walking on the trail until it came to a nice scenic overlook area with a beach where I sat down and drank some water. I started to hear some talking on the trail ahead of me, but I couldn't see anyone yet. There was a bend in the trail and the trees were thick, so I sat on the beach waiting for these people to come around the bend.

The voices were coming closer and I could tell that they weren't speaking English, but I couldn't place what language it might have been. Both voices were very, very deep and guttural. Then back, deep in the woods I heard a loud and quick, Ooh, ooh. Immediately both the voices I was listening to responded with their own. Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh. I kind of smiled because it sounded like these two heard whatever it was in the woods, and they were trying to be funny and mocked it by responding.

I got off the beach, put my backpack back on, and started walking in the direction further down the trail where the voices were coming from. But I never did find these people. The rest of the hike went very well. I visited the cemetery where David E. Corbin is buried. I took a self-guided tour of the Pattautomi Lighthouse. I passed the wooden gate that apparently used to be part of a larger structure. I walked by the Great Hall and Dock area from where I arrived on the island, visited some of the other structures on the island,

came across the cemetery where Chester Thorwoodson is buried, then finished a loop by returning to my campsite. It was a very nice hike with a lot to see and wasn't especially difficult, but I was tired. I did walk down to campsite seat to ask the couple I spoke with the night before how they did was a little bit. the storm during the night, but they had packed up and left. I was disappointed because I also really wanted to ask them about the squealing noises during the night. The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful. I built a fire, made some meals, had a cigar, and some drinks. As soon as it got dark, I was ready for bed since I had such little sleep with the night before. I got in my tent and quickly fell asleep. I might have been asleep for about three hours when I woke up suddenly

and was immediately fully alert. Nothing that I was aware of caused me to wake up. but I felt something was wrong. I sat up in my tent, and this part is a little hard to explain, a feeling of complete dread washed over me. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before. It felt like there was something in the tent with me, and I could feel that it was angry, seething with anger, rage full even, and I could feel its hatred for me.

It felt like something very bad was about to happen, and I couldn't do anything about it. I started to shiver uncontrollably. There was a smell of garbage or rotten meat, and it got stronger and stronger to the point where I wanted to throw up. But I couldn't because I was frozen. I had never felt so exposed and helpless. I stared forward at nothing, just frozen. And the weird thing is I accepted whatever was about to happen to me.

It was like my brain telling me that whatever is about to happen, even if it's death, will at least be relief. Then I passed out. At least I have to assume I passed out. That's all I remember until I woke up at around 8 a.m. the next morning. When I woke up, I was laying outside of my sleeping bag on top of it, and my legs were in an unnatural and uncomfortable position. I was on my back with my left leg straight out, and my right leg was bent so that my foot was up against my left knee. My heart started pounding, but I kept thinking to myself. It was a dream, I'm leaving now.

It was a dream, I'm leaving right now. I packed up everything very quickly and started back towards the dock to come. catch the first boat off the island. Since the first boat from Washington Island doesn't arrive until about 10.30 a.m., I had to kill a little time around the Great Hall and Dock area. I wanted to get off that island so bad, but I did feel a little better just being out of the woods and I could see other people. I sat down on a bench a little to the east of the dock and lit a cigar just to give me something to do while trying not to think about the night before. I was sitting a few minutes and scanning out over the water when I was startled by someone behind me saying,

Hi. I jumped in and was embarrassed when the person came around saying, Sorry, sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I saw you smoking and just came over to ask you if you had a lighter. I felt like an idiot and told him that's fine. I just didn't sleep well that night and was kind of zoned out. And I handed him my lighter.

He thanked me, lit a cigarette, then handed the lighter back to me. We started talking about the usual things you might talk about. He said he was from the Madison area, we talked about the storms we've been having, he seemed to be a real outdoorsy kind of guy, and talked about his plans to move to Washington Island. It was a nice, normal conversation, and kind of took my mind off the night I had just had for a little bit. He seemed like a pretty nice guy. Then, naturally, he asked me what sight I had been saying at. I told him I was saying at Site E the last two nights, and he said he usually books that site, but I must have reserved it before him. He said he had booked site D the last two nights.

I was surprised by this because no tent or anything was at site D the two times I walked past the site. I told him this and he said he comes to the island a few times a year and you have to book a site, but he actually camps at different areas on the island. I asked him where he camps and he told me most of the time he camps in the East Cemetery, but he also likes to camp in the woods south of the lighthouse. He told me that he hikes about halfway down the Fernwood Trail and just heads north of into the woods where he finds a place to camp.

He said that one time he found the ruins of a small log house in those woods, and he's going to try and find it again and camp inside of it. At this point, I started to change my opinion about this guy and wanted to change the subject, but then he asked me if I heard the screeches in the woods. I took a second to reply and knew he was talking about the squealing I had heard. I told him I had, and asked him if he knew what it was. This time he took a second to reply, and I saw his face change. He looked as if he were thinking if he should tell me something, like a secret.

With no expression at all on his face, he said, Matter-of-factly, a demon lives on this island. Under any other circumstances, I would have laughed this off, but not after what I experienced the night before. He looked at me and must have seen the anxiety and fear I was feeling. He surprised me by letting out a quick laugh. He asked me if I saw anything that night. I told him I hadn't seen anything, and he stared at him.

me like he was trying to figure something out. I felt like he could tell I had experienced something. At this point, I was ready for the conversation to be over. Then he told me he had seen something in the cemetery that night. Now his face and mood kind of changed again like he was trying to confide in me. I really did not want to ask the question, but I knew he wanted me to ask it. So I asked him what he saw in the cemetery, but my voice was shaky. Then I could tell he had changed his mind about telling me. He actually looked at me with empathy and told me that what he saw was hard to explain. But if I was afraid of the screeching noises, he didn't think I should go near the cemetery. I didn't say anything right away, but he said four words without any context,

Keepers of the flame. I looked at my cigar and the ash was long. I put it out and told him I was going to wait by the dock for the boat. He nodded and I started to walk away. After a few steps, he said, hey, and I turned around to look at him. He just said, don't come back here. I turned around and started walking again. I don't know if that was a warning or a friendly suggestion, but I took it to heart. I was definitely not coming back to Rock Island. When I got home, I looked up Keepers of the Flame, as it pertained to Rock Island. I found three things that he could have been referring to. The name of the Native Americans that lived on the islands, the Patuotomi, could be translated to Keepers of the Flame, the Lighthouse Keepers of the Flame. The Lighthouse Keepers are

on the island were sometimes referred to as the Keepers of the Flame. Then there was also a 19th century cult that was said to visit the island from time to time that called themselves the Keepers of the Flame. I know that hundreds of people visit Rock Island every year and have a great time camping, hiking the trails, and exploring Chester Thornton's buildings. My humble suggestion is this. Do not go to Rock Island. And anyways, this will be a shorter-ish video.

I mean, it's 30 minutes long. so it's not that short. But please let me know down below. Do you like long Reddit Stories video or short Reddit Stories video or a mix of both? Because I really don't know which ones you guys prefer more long videos or short videos. So please comment that down below what you would like to see in the future. And anyways, I hope you enjoyed the stories. I enjoyed reading them.

And let me know what you'd like to see in the future and subscribe and like. It helps the channel a lot. Thank you so much for watching to the end. And yeah, until next time. See ya. Thank you.