Snook - Unexplainable 4Chan Stories

Episode Date: March 12, 2025

Hey! This is another 4Chan stories video! Would you like to see more videos like this in the future??? I love making them, so lmk if you wanna see more...Thank you guys for watching, let me know if you would like to see more content like this in the future! Thanks for watching, like and subscribe. Let me know what your favorite video was down below!Subscribe to my 2nd channel - ‪​⁠‪‪‪@SnookPlus‬ And even though 4chan is anonymous and you can't even ask for permission... IF ANY OF THESE STORIES BELONG TO YOU, PLEASE EMAIL ME AT - [e-mail] before filing a copyright takedown or anything. Please, we can get it sorted out through email or some other form of communication, thank you. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey, what's up guys and welcome back to another 4chan stories video. You guys really enjoyed the last one, and I really am enjoying these stories. And they're just really entertaining, disturbing, and honestly believable and just really, really entertaining. And I hope you guys enjoyed this video. And if you do, please comment it down below. How much you enjoyed it? And would you like to see more in the future?

I'm here to deliver, and I hope you enjoy. And thank you so much for stopping by. And before we get to the video, please like the video and subscribe to the channel. It's the channel's goal to be at 500,000 subscribers, so please subscribe to the channel. And all right, without further ado, let's get into some unexplainable 4-Chance stories. Anon explores a crawl space. Coming from mobile can't pre-type, bear with me. All right, let's get into it.

B-2002. 19-year-old directionless Spurg still living with mom. She's got money, buys house out in the sticks. Two-story with basement. Three-car garage, not bad. Move in. Things are cool first night. Begin setting up my room upstairs, discover crawl-space entry for attic, decide to investigate. Open up. Crawl in. Was a little door about two and a half by four feet tall. Tiny window I couldn't find, but I could see from outside illuminated room.

Runs full length of the house north to south. East Wall's floor to ceiling covered in a dry erase board loaded with drawings clearly made by children with what appeared to be permanent markers. No idea how old the drawings were. Best guess is two or three kids, normal stuff, cars, family, rocket ships, each other, mom and dad. In one weird figure, always drawn completely black, short legs, long arms, long hair, no face, just a black circle. Going from north to south figure becomes more common, larger, more prominent, closer to the family, but always behind, always the same features though. Yeah, this isn't creepy or anything.JPEG. Aside from that wall, room is 100% bare, just a layer of dust. Leave, seal it up, put dresser in front of it,

play video and try to forget. Middle of second night hear a weird sound. From upstairs, I crashed in the couch watching TV. Sounds like something bouncing and rolling from north to south on second floor, on hardwood. Only hardwood floor upstairs. his crawl space. For about three hours, it goes north to south, then south to north, then back, then stops. Go to sleep anyway, convince myself it's the woods settling with new weight on it, because I'm a skeptical, R-word. Night three hear it again, with something else accompanying it. My years have to be lying to me, dot Jiff. It's fucking feet, bare feet, small ones, running after the bouncing sound that I now realize I recognize as one of those,

ultra-bouncy rubber superballs. Next morning, open crawl space to investigate. More coming. There are fucking footprints in the dust layer, not even half the size of my 13 boots that I was wearing when I was in there yesterday, but only one set, moving north to south,

then south to north. Basically a perfect loop. Only other tracks are mine. My face went. Close up crawl space, put dresser back, play vidya. Here bouncing noise start again. Hear feet again.

Two sets now. Second set sounds heavier. Larger person. Close to my size. Six foot 170 at the time. Fast. Chasing after smaller feet. Same pattern.

North to south. South to north. Repeat. Super ball noise is firmer now, like it's being thrown instead of just bounced slash rolled. Put in earbuds. Jam to OG Metallica.

Ignore. Tell mom, gets home from work. She's naturally skeptical, too. Next night, nothing happens. No sounds, nothing. Starts up at the crack of dawn. Third set of feet. Lighter than second. Accompanting the first. Try to ignore. Sound stop or zoom video on living room TV. Suddenly hear something coming down the stairs. Bouncing. Cat decides this is an excellent time to suddenly become completely insane, poofs out to the size of a basketball, and begins growling and... hissing at the stairs. A motherfucking Superball comes bouncing down the stairs and I hear tiny footsteps

run away from top of the stairs. Again, my face went. Mid-July in Iowa, nearly 95 degrees outside. AC is off because broken. Massive cold draft now coming from upstairs. Cat fucks off to the porch, yowling and screaming like he's being eaten, pick up and stare at Super Bowl, looks old as fuck, chunk missing out of it. Take outside, throw a dumpster. That night, no sounds, nothing. Garage pick up the next day. Silence for a week. More coming. Sounds start again one night. All three sets of feet. Super Bowl. Officially freaked out, but more angry. Mom hears them too. Go upstairs, tear open crawl space. Footprints fucking everywhere in dust. Three distinct sets of little kid footprints and One set that looks like Shaq has been in our attic, barefoot, four toes, missing pinky toe, larger than my boot.

Way too fucking spooky for me. Seal crawl space. Spend 20 minutes cocking the door shut to make sure it stays that way. Going back downstairs. Here footsteps behind me running across the hall. Look back. The fucking Super Bowl is at the top of the stairs. My face went.

Slowly back downstairs. Sounds start again about 30 seconds after. I sat down, but quieter, only the lighter feet and ball. Decide to check something. Turn on upstairs light that illuminates top of the stairs. My face when the fucking ball is gone. Go stay with my aunt for a week because fuck this. Mom says noises stopped after I left.

Come back. They start within five minutes of me getting home and getting my stuff unpacked from ants. Hear loud thud from crawl space door. Nah, I ain't open that shit. Then hear ball bouncing off wall at face height, over and over. Here it hit the wall, then the floor, then pause and repeat. Ballsing moment, I say, hey, play quieter, please. Sounds stop dead. And then nothing for three days. Final day, storing the next post. Morning of last day sounds start again. Just the ball, no feet. The silence,

suddenly hear bouncing noise again, but it's coming down the stairs and hitting the walls on the way down. but nothing is coming down the fucking stairs. Happens over and over for probably an hour. Remembers this next shit vividly. Playing in Titan Fall 2, Singles Weekend Tourney, Gimme Dad Felgard. Game starts. Hear massive crash from upstairs.

Sounds like shit flying everywhere. Then the bouncing. Power an entire house browns out for two to three seconds. So much for the tourney. Head for the stairs scared of shit. shit. The ball is at the bottom of the stairs to greet me like hello mortal plathing. Pick it up, go upstairs. My dresser is in fucking pieces, and the door to the crawl space has knocked off its hinges. Room is easily 15 feet across, and there are pieces of my dresser enclose against

far wall. My face when. Sprint downstairs, outside, hurl ball into field behind home, turn around to go back inside, window to crawl space in plain view. completely black. Couldn't make out finer details because near-sided, like a 3D shadow blocking out this window. Watch as it slowly moves away from the window. Find my nuts, head back inside. Cleaning up dresser, packing my shit because I'd rather live with my aunt than this. Have to be right by crawl space entrance to this.

Bounce. Bounce. Ball rolls out of cross space like it shouldn't be 60 yards deep in the field I just threw it into. Nope. You're breathing in crawl space. Come on, Pookie. Let's just burn this motherfucking down. Grab shit.

Out. Force Mom to leave with me. Take cat. Go to ants. We go back next day to finish getting shit out. Why are there fire trucks? Fire and upstairs. My room in crawl space destroyed.

Investigator blames faulty electric. Get shit out. Never. Return. Next person that bought the land toward the house down. after two months. Anon gets directed to the wrong campsite. Be Me on trip through Western South Carolina with wife.

Last night of trip and we're staying at some state park. Camp site along a creek a few miles into the park. Get to the park later than expected, probably only hour and a half of sunlight left. Not worried, both of us are experienced backpackers and we should be able to get there just about when it gets dark. Stop by and talk to Ranger to get back. parking pass. Kind of weird middle-aged dude. He seems oddly worried about us starting so late,

but is moving slow as fuck getting us the pass. States several times that he leaves at nine and has to shut the gate for the night then. Okay, whatever. Finally get the parking pass. It's dated for us leaving several days later despite us only reserving site for one night. Almost correct him, but I want to hurry up and get going, so figure whatever and let it slide. Then proceeds to tell us that the site is not where I thought it was. was. Thought the site was along the main trail, site 15, pick-related. He says we have to cross the stream and take the red trail to get to it. Okay, he's the r-worded, and I'm somewhat R-worded, can't tell from the map anyway. Head out, see a few people at closer campsites, but none after a mile or so.

Getting dark as we turn off main trail onto orange and then red trail. Trail quality immediately drops. End up basically bushwhacking through underbrush halfway to campsite. Moving slowly, has set behind mountains now. See no signs of campsite before ours. Consult map. We have to be where we think we are. Decide to keep going and look for sight. Hit unmistakable turning trail as it goes up a mountain. Should have passed two campsites by now, but no sign of anything at all. Wife is kind of freaked out. Agree that Ranger definitely told us to take this trail. Start to think about how we didn't tell anyone we were going to be at this park. Continued from above. Wife says what we're both thinking. Weird Ranger dudes straight up lied to us about sight. Think about how he

dated us leaving several days from now. Fuck. Pitch black by this point, drizzling, no moon. Discussed just setting up camp here. Decide against it. Obviously first place he'd come to murder us. Head back to Main Trail. Creeped out the whole way. Have hiked twice the distance we should have at this point. Finally make it back to Main Trail. Two options. Head back to truck or continue down trail to where campsite should be. Almost head to truck and leave. Remember, he said gate would be locked till morning. Decide we're overreacting, probably just a new range or something, head to sight. Finally get there hours after we should have. No sign of life anywhere. Only light is from shitty headlamps we had. Both of us still creeped out. It's dead silent, no longer drizzling,

but it's that type of heavy air where everything feels super closed in and any sound seemed to be sucked up into nothing. Set up tent. Hang bare. bag, wife starts cooking. Sitting around shitty stove and both of us hear something. Sounds like someone walking off the main path down towards our campsite, probably 25 yards away through brush. Oh fuck, here we go. I stand up and draw my carry piece. Shine shitty headlamp up trail. Can't see shit. Sound stop. Not sure what to do, so I start whistling like some fucking hillbilly. Footstep start again. This time seemed to go back the way they came. Stand there for a few minutes. No more sounds from trail. Eventually, get around to eating and then crawl into tent.

Lay there with one hand on my gun all night. High tail it out of there at first light the next morning. Wife still thinks that we were almost murdered that night. Never looked down on me concealed carrying again. I'm still not sure if it was just a dumb ranger and then some other poor schmuck on the trail. I freaked out, or if he really was trying to fuck with us. Anon finds an attic door. Okay, here's one that happened to me less than a year ago. Father lives in Fuck All Vermont in an old house with a billion rooms because the original owners in the 1800s had a billion kids.

I've never lived there before, grew up out West. Stay with him for a summer during college. Get offered's normal room or attic room. See attic room as he shows me the house. Attic room is creepy, A.F. Old wrought iron bed next the window and child-sized door set into the wall. Nope. Assume that if I slept in there, I'd wake up to weird noises and a door being open.

Not into that Coraline shit. Mentioned the creepy attic bedroom to mother, uncle, and friends when I call them because I find it comically creepy. Do lots of work around the house for my father, including putting up insulation in the attic. So I passed by the attic bedroom plenty of times. Summer ends and I go back to college. So nothing creepy happened with the door when I lived there, beyond child-sized doors being inherently creepy,

but the story doesn't end there. Flash forward three years. Graduated college and living in Texas. Father invites me and my girlfriend to visit him in Vermont. I've told my girlfriend about the creepy attic room. I don't want anything to do with ghosts and spooks, but girlfriend has never had any paranormal experiences and want to have one. She pleads that we sleep in the creepy attic bedroom.

Really, really don't want to, but I love her, and we compromise on spending one night in the attic bedroom. Ask my father if we can stay in the attic bedroom. Uh, sure, Aynon. You can sleep in the attic if you want. Get to Vermont and sleeping in regular bedroom the first night. Girlfriend asks if we can look around the attic and see the attic bedroom. Sure.

Grab flashlight, no license attic, and head up to shore the bedroom. Look all over attic, no bed, and no bed. no child-sized door. Assume that I've forgotten spatial layout of attic and promise to try again at come daylight. Go back up to the attic the next day. Still, no bedroom and still no child-sized door. Hmm. Girlfriend very disappointed and thinks I'm pulling her leg. Ask father about old bedroom with child-sized door since I can't find it. Looks at me a little confused. Yeah, A-Anon, I didn't really know what you were talking about when you kept mentioning that. I was just joking around that you could sleep in the attic because you slept in the basement as a child.

What? Informs me that there has never been a wrought iron bed in the attic. informs me that there was never been a child-sized door in the attic. Go back up to the attic and check room that remember being the bedroom. Realizing that if the door was where I remember it being, it would be in an exterior wall and thus not able to go anywhere. I assume at this point that I merely had a vivid hallucination or something and apologized to disappointed girlfriend.

Something still doesn't sit right. Call mother, uncle, and friends and ask them if they remember me talking about the attic at the father's house a few years ago. They all say yes and ask if I mean the bedroom with a creepy child-sized door. Well, fuck, I've been spooked. I was up in the attic working for hours at a time that summer and passed by that bedroom dozens of time. If the bed or the child-sized were suddenly missing, I would have noticed. Either I had a persistent hallucination of that bedroom for an entire summer, or there was a

ghost door and ghost bed that appeared to me and then vanished. Very glad I didn't sleep in the attic the first summer and get my ass corollined. Anon visits Potemkin, Utah. I think I found a fake town last year, like Truman Show Fake. Be me, last summer, cross-country road trip, hidden up some national parks for going out. In central slash southern Utah, it's getting late like 10 p.m. Been driving since 6-shish. It's dark as fuck. No moon can only see what's lit up by my headlights. Decide to find some place to rest for the night and next exit. See a town off in the distance. Turn off on only pull-off I've seen for over an hour heading towards town. Pull-off. Pull-off. is unmarked and unlit. Not on car GPS, no cell service. Town is directly ahead, though. Keep going.

Road turns to Dirt Road and is about five miles until it turns to pavement again, right at the town where businesses and houses started showing up. Immediately town strikes me as weird. Nobody is on the streets, no cars on the streets, or in the business's parking lots. Jazz music is being pumped through the streets for some reason, not loudly but loud enough to hear. This town that looked to be about seven blocks wide from some miles out has every major fast food chain I've heard of and seven hotels on the main street. Still no cell service, still not on car GPS, go to get food. KFC was fully illuminated and unlocked. Nobody there. Same thing with Jack in the box. McDonald's has a cashier and cook when I go there. Both looked annoyed.

Take my order, give me distinctly non-man. McDonald's nuggets and fries leave. Start going to get a bed for the night. Hampton Inn, empty parking lot, third annoyed-looking person informs me they're all booked up. La Quinta, person I'm now convinced was the cook at McDonald's, is behind the check-in-counter, also empty parking lot, also fully booked. Holiday Inn Express, empty parking lot, person that was clearly the fucking cashier at McDonald's is behind the check-in-counter. Surprisingly, they have rooms. Ask him if he's the guy for McDonald's. Uh, no.

That's my brother. Fuck it. Good enough for me. Get to room. Wi-Fi exists, but nothing loads, shower, crash. Wake up next day. No breakfast in lobby. No other guests.

McDonald's guy is still there for checkout. Ask him how to get out of town. Same road you came in on. Head to McDonald's to get something to eat. Town is still plain smooth jazz. Still nobody on the street. Order at drive-thru. Drive-thru lady is definitely lady from the Hampton Inn.

Ordered a fucking McGrittle in black coffee. She hands me a microwave, English muffin, sandwich, and what I assumed to be, some kind of instant coffee. Place is too fucking weird to stay and argue. Heading down the only fucking road in and out of town. Maybe three miles onto the five-mile dirt road notice big metal wire fens on both sides of the road in the desert. Meet on the road in a big motorized gate that is open.

As soon as I pass through, gate starts closing. get back onto road. Finally get onto 62? That's not right. Could have sworn I was on 89 when I decided to pull off and there's mountains in between. Finally get cell service. Nothing matches a description of the town. None of the charges ever show up on my card. I told some people and one suggested it was Richfield, but I know I was south of there. And you know, they would have actually charged me for stuff. Anon finds a full service gas station. This happened a few years ago when I lived in Tennessee, driving home from Memphis to Nashville. Be about 3 a.m. Halfway home, I realized I forgot to get gas. Take exit with the scant hope that I'll find a gas station that's open. Drive about 10 miles and come upon a Sunnico. Pull up to pump. Ding, ding! Attendant runs out from a garage and promptly begins fueling my car. Feeling pretty confused since full service stations are rare and one being open. open this late is flat out weird. Attendant starts making small talk with me. I mentioned how

odd it is that they're open at this time of night. His demeanor changes from affable to wary. Things get silent and awkward. That'll be $19. Hand him my debit card. He stares at it, puzzled. What am I supposed to do with this? Explain I have no cash, only debit card. He just stares at me. Well, don't worry about it. This one's on the house. Thank him and get back on the highway. Two weeks later, I'm passing back through the area. Get off at the same exit, follow road to where the gas station was, intending to pay for the gas I got and thank them for being so helpful. Pull into lot. The place is dilapidated. Looks like it's been abandoned for about 30 years. Get super creeped out and head back for the highway. Had a family member that had one of

these experiences. South Dakota, 1990s, stormy night. Lightning illuminates what, would have been a completely dark landscape. Father is driving out to visit my grandmother and help out on the farm. Storm gets fierce, can't see you good enough to drive. Unfortunately, he's still a ways from the farm, but he's also a good distance away from anything, literally anything, just miles and miles of flat prairie. Through the heavy rain, lightning illuminates a windmill,

overlooking a small barn off on the right. My dad thanks his luck and pulls off the road to take shelter from what he assumes, going to be a nasty hail storm. Waits for lightning to illuminate windmill? Sure enough. Crack. He takes off for the shelter of the barn. Once inside the barn, he hunkers down. Storm gets worse. Ends up sleeping on the floor, safe from the hail storm erupting outside. Morning the next day. Car windows blown in by hail. Had he been in the car, he would have taken a beating. Brush his glass off the driver's seat and pushes on towards my grandmother's. Helps and we.

to my grandmother about the barn. What barn, she says? The one just west of here. On the right side of the road? Oh, you must have been mistaken. There's nothing in that direction till Pierre. Sure, as shit on the way back home, my dad passes where the barn should have been. Only a foundation stands, a few smashed pictures of a young couple, long dead rot and a pile of rubble. Did some research, found that the the owners of the barn died in 1956 when the barn collapsed in a snowstorm. Anon works a cushy security job. Be night shift security guard. Work in a nice office building in a nice neighborhood.

Always just me and one other guard in the entire building. Literally no crime, no problems. Basically, just fuck around on the internet all night. Only have cameras on first floor and parking lots. So if you're on any other floor, you can do whatever. It's literally the cushiest job ever. They've got a huge flat screen TVs, Wi-Fi, a nice gym, expensive coffee machines, and tons of other shit. Every single door is locked by key cards, so the building is extremely secure.

Just started shift. Go to floor two. Notice someone left a light on in the south wing. A lot of lights here are motion activated, but this one just uses a light switch. Happened sometimes, so I just turn it off and go back to doing a quick patrol so I can get back to fucking around on the internet. Finish that up, eventually the other security guard does a patrol. It's about two hours after my shift started and I go on another patrol to stretch my legs. Go to floor two, south wing. A motion sensing light is on. Right next to the light switch I

turned off two hours ago, which is still off. The motion sensing lights are only supposed to stay on for 15 minutes. Me and the other guard had been sitting next to each other for the last hour. I go back to the security room to tell the other guard about it and ask if he knows what's up with it. He says that when he was there, the light switch was on, and he turned it off himself. I'm 100% sure that I had already turned it off. He says he hasn't seen or heard anything, but since there's no security cameras on floor two, we have no idea what if anything could have activated the light. I decided to go back up to floor to two to check it out again, and I tell the other guard that if he doesn't hear from me soon, to call my cell phone, our security company never bothered to

issue us radios. Continued. Go back up to floor two. The light switch is back on in the on position, motion sensing light still on. At this point, I'm genuinely concerned. Consider just running downstairs and calling the cops. I figure that if it turns out to be nothing, I'd look like a huge F word. Security guard calls police because the light switch was in the wrong position. Decide to check out more of the south wing. I suddenly hear a loud banging noise. I jump a bit and start to freak out. Then I remember that when the AC comes on, it makes a loud banging noise.

Calm down and check out the rest of the wing. Only takes about another two to three minutes. No signs of intruders. All doors locked tight. Nothing broken or missing. Look at my watch and see that I've been at this for about 20 minutes now. Start wondering why the other guard hasn't called me yet. I lean up against an air vent and take out my phone.

Start going through my content list to call on myself. Hang on a sec. The air vent isn't blowing any air. Nope. Call the other guard's phone. No answer. Fuck. Lock myself in an office.

Call 911. I tell the dispatcher what happened and he says the cops are coming. Asked where I am. And I tell him. Ask if the police will be able to get into the building themselves. Shit. All doors are locked. Run through the building, down to the main entrance, and run outside.

Wait for the cops outside while still on the phone with 911. Cops get there. I let them in and bring them to the security room. No sign of the other guard at all. The computer that displays the security cameras is turned off. Well, fuck. Give each of the cops one of the spare security cards so they can search the building. They find no trace of the other guard in the building.

His car is still parked in the parking lot. He's still missing. to this day. Happened about a year ago. Anon has a visitor. Be me last night. Live in house built in 1900s through 1910s. Get in bed around 2 a.m. with my cat.

Cuddling and watching YouTube. At some point he gets up and walks to my closet door. Starts flipping the fuck out and jumps up on my window sill, licking himself like crazy, starts clawing at the window a ton. It's completely avoiding the floor, only jumping up on my dress, bed and window. Fuel, some liquid start dripping on me. There's nothing on me and nothing coming from the ceiling. Start seeing great figures pop up around my bed. Grab special Damascus snife, I keep next to my bed since it's the holy steel. The figures disappear. A couple seconds later, I hear humans screaming

outside. I can hear it come up to the porch steps. Loud crack and screaming stops. Here footsteps come up porch towards windows. See figure move past first window. Goes around corner to second window. It looks like some pale, mangy, seven-foot dog with human-like front legs. Starts fucking with window. Windows are just wooden frames with glass,

so no locks. Window starts to lift up. Dive out first window with cat and knife. Jump up on railing and climb onto roof just before it reaches me. Waited out till sunrise and boxers on roof. with cat. Watch it go into woods behind house. Get back inside and in bed. Cat finally calms down and goes to bed. I haven't slept yet. This is the third time. This has happened, but it's never been this bad.

Pick related, it's my cat now that he's sleeping. Anon camps in Texas. Let me tell you about the long men of Tawhalconi, Anon, always visit grandma and parents at least once a month. They live out and take Tywakani in East Texas. Bum fuck middle of nowhere, pastures in lakes. Lakes are filling up real good this year, by the way, almost six feet above average. Me, brother, his girl go camping because tired of family shit. The equivalent of staking a tent in the middle of a barren-ass field because we ain't got no woods out here, son. We all get drunk off our ass and pass out. Wake up early with a hangover. It's about 4.30 going off my phone. Leave tent to go take a piss. See man across the field. No biggie, just, probably Hunter. It stops when it sees me. Gives me this really

weird-ass wave as if his entire arm was stiff. Wave back. Guy keeps standing there, waving. Crawl back into the tent and wake my brother up. Couldn't have been in the tent more than 10 seconds since all I did was give a boot to his side. Step back outside. This motherfucker cleared 600 yards in 10 seconds. Standing and waving that. stiff-ass arm. She'll runs down on my back. Hair stand up on end. No from previous experience that this shit ain't good. Tell brother to grab his gun. That woke his ass up. He comes out with his rifle. Tell him to aim it at the thing. Thing stops waving. Tell his girlfriend to get into the truck. Both are still shit-faced and hung over, but oblige. Take the rifle and keep it trained on that thing.

Its fucking arms unfold. The reason its arms are so stiff is waving because it was waving like them, an R word with its arms bent up to its shoulder. Motherfucker had like six foot long arms. He stops louching. Easily, eight feet tall, going off a distance of 450 yards. The most banshee-like screech I've ever heard mixed with a guttural roar amidst from the thing.

Its jaw distends to the point that it's where its collarbone should be. Pot shot it. Thing lengths onto all fours and high tails it away from us. We come back to the campsite later that afternoon with our shotgun filled with Buckshot and the AR-15. Just in case, of course, tent is shredded. All our food is gone. Track the garbage towards the swamp line. See a ripped-ap-up part muskrat hanging from a tree. We both decide to call it quits and just get the fuck out of there. Trucker Anon shares some stories. Allbyte have no idea how long this will take so. Strap

in. Going to be a couple of stories from my time as a trucker. Be me, freshly 21 years old. No aim in life recently was evicted and lived with my father. Decided one day, randomly, while playing American truck simulator that, hey, I could do this, no problem. I'm a bit spontaneous with my decision-making, getting in contact with a company. They agreed to ship me out across the country for training. Excited. I've never really left my Midwest state and wanted to see the country.

Plus, the money I was going to be making was crazy to think about. Get out there. Get the training done. took about a month altogether. A lot more when he's driving semi-trucks and hauling shit than my shitty video lead me to believe. My first partner is some 50-something Army vet. He's a bit strange and has a short temper. But I just keep my mouth shut and always say, yes, sir, when he gives me advice. I was brand new, and he had been doing this for years. The first delivery we do is from San Francisco to upstate New York, literally coast to coast, which meant a big paycheck. Before we ship out, he decides

to stop our little conversation, and light-hearted, jokingly, got very serious. You see this? He's holding up one of those 100-page notebooks with the funking pattern. Think that the NED's declassified notebook as anyone knows what I'm talking about. It says diary on the front. Never, ever touch this or read it. It is my property and my business. Yes, sir, of course.

A bit strange, but whatever. Fast forward like four months. From what I can tell, the dude isn't. completely right in the head. The most minor inconvenience will make him flip his top. I mean, someone will cut him off or won't let him merge and he'll yank the entire rig over on the side of the road to have a scream slash cry fit. Tears, snot, thrashing his arms, the whole bit. It freaks me out a bit. The dude is obviously unhinged, but I chalk it up to PTSD from the army. One day, he decides he needs to go home and handle some personal little business, something that happens often.

We pull off in a trucking parking lot somewhere in Pennsylvania. His East Asian wife, who speaks zero English, picks him up. I'm sitting in the truck playing hearthstone on my phone, waiting for him to get back. I look over to the passenger seat. It's his diary. He must have forgotten it. The thought crosses my mind to look in it, but resist the urge at first. I mean, it's sort of a dick thing to do, and I'm not the type to do something like that.

Or so I thought. After about 10 minutes of going back and forth in my mind about it, I decide fuck it. I'll have a bit of a peek. Flip through it. Shit about how lonely it is on the truck and months at a time on the road. With loneliness comes frustration. Sexual frustration even. Uh, okay, sure, I get it.

He continues on about how it weighs on his mind more and more. Finally, catch up to the part where I got on the truck. The mood of the diary immediately shifts. Instead of describing me by my name or even age, he starts writing about how smooth my skin is. Uh, excuse me? How exciting it is to have someone else to finally share the road with. How my clothes fit me well.

Oh, God. Please, no, please. How my smell is, and I quote, invigorating. He then explains in his fucking diary that he did a bad thing. How he took one of my pairs of boxers for use later. My blood ran absolutely cold. I immediately ran to the back of the truck where the bunks are, and I flipped the bottom bunk open where I kept my suitcase.

When you only have a certain amount of clothes and you wear them for months nonstop, you notice when one's missing. I count my boxers, including the ones I was wearing, one's missing. I started to get a sick feeling in my stomach. I packed all my things, loaded them off the truck, and got a motel. Called the company and I told them that I wanted another partner. I didn't care how long I'd have to wait. They obviously asked why.

I tell them, my dispatch said, I'm so sorry, et cetera, et cetera, instead he had called me back. 30 minutes passed, and I get text blowing on my phone for my partner saying everything from, you broke my trust. That was confidential. And my favorite, you were asking for it from day one. Keep in mind, I'm a 21-year-old dude. Call him a freak, lock the number. About an hour later and a half, I'm watching the shitty cable TV they have in the motel.

Here, stomping coming from down the hall. You're beating on my door. I mean, it sounds like someone is trying to kick it in. Hear my partner's voice. You motherfucker. Your ass is mine. Get the fuck out here, you lying shit. Call the front desk who called the police.

While they're on their way, I decide to look out the little eyehole thing in the door. He's completely naked in holding a tire iron pacing back and forth in front of my door. Police eventually get there. Apparently, he has a history of this sort of thing. And my dispatch told him, over the phone, he needed to leave his shit at home because he isn't getting back on the truck. He's fired. The guy then goes livid, calls the branch office that handles paying for motels. They haven't got word yet of what happened. He calls them and asks what room I'm staying in and that our truck broke down. They then tell him not only the motel I was

staying in, but the floor and the room number. All right, since the last one was just about my crazy partner and was long as fuck, here's a shorter one. Don't remember how long this was into my driving career. Let's say six months. Got a new partner. some packy dude who lived in Vegas. The only partner that wasn't a huge weirdo and was actually funny as fuck, super chill. Driving with him was a blast. Out in Wyoming, it was cold as fuck and wasn't even winter yet. During training, my training partner was some boomer named Russ.

He lived in Wyoming and would tell me about how many accidents were there. I had this idea that Wyoming was some dangerous mountain of twisting roads to navigate. Leave Salt Lake City on a delivery to Philadelphia. Take I-80, which cut straight through the entire. state. When I enter the state, I'm confused. It's literally the straightest roads out of any state I've driven in. Think this will be a piece of cake. Around 200 miles in Wyoming, I get an alert on my Qualcomm, which is like this little touchscreen computer that acts as a GPS and a messaging system between the truck and a dispatch. Wind danger. Seek immediate shelter. Huh? The fuck does that mean?

There's no storms in the sky. It's clear. And then the wind hits me. Wham. Feel like someone just struck me on my passenger's side. My trailer fish tails and I begin to see the tannums, the back tires of the trailer, lift off the ground. Freak the fuck out and try to countersteer while breaking, but not breaking too hard or I'll lose control of the truck. Manage to come to a stop, pull off to the side of the road and put my flashes on. Get out to set reflectors on the road. At this point, everyone is pulling over. The wind is crazy. Get out and actually got knocked on my ass by the wind and I start rolling, like some shit you see in Looney Tunes. Realize, putting out reflectors would be useless they'd just blown away.

The wind is like ice against my skin. I mean, it actually is. Painful. It's so cold. Make it back to my truck. Entire interstate is shut down at this point. Nobody is going nowhere until this wind dies down. Get bored listening to Coast to Coast A.M. Talk about C.

And decide to turn on the C.B. This was my partner's truck. So he had a CB installed. They usually left it off because it was just boomers wheezing about young people. Listen to them talk a bit, hop in, and start bullshading with the older dudes, banter, laugh, etc. Thick fog rolls in, and I mean fucking thick. Can't see anything.

Can't even see my trailer behind me in the mirrors. It's bizarre to have all this fog with the amount of wind we have. In fact, it shouldn't be possible. Some time passes and someone hops on the CB and sounds fucking pissed. Anyone off, you assholes fucking with me better quiet. I got a gun and I'll shoot your diabetic

asses. We ask him what the fuck he's on about. Some punk thought it'd be funny to either knock on my truck or throw something at it. I laughed. The thing these are words will do when bored. Then someone else pipes up says it just happened. I get a bit spooked, but whatever, it's just some guys, having a bit of fun trying to scare people. We notice a pattern. It's going down the interstate heading west. Then the guy in front of me, some black dude by the sound of it, said someone just pounded on his door waking up his partner.

I sit up in my seat wide-eyed, turn on my brights, and what I see, what I fucking see, Nothing. Literally nothing. Stand up so I can get a look over the hood of a truck. The moment I do, bam, bam, bam. Loud as absolute fuck. Trip over the CB cord and almost piss myself. Get up and about to see who it was when I come to my senses and say fuck that. Make sure the doors are locked, set an alarm for sunrise and climb up on top bunk to get some sleep. Sit there staring at the roof while listening to the wind howl outside. Almost sounds like someone screaming. Get no fucking sleep. All right, here's a spooky one for you. And one I actually have pictures of I took myself. It was a crazy night. Sleeping in the bottom bunk, or trying to, sort of in and out of

consciousness. This was my packy partner I mentioned before. It's almost impossible to get much sleep on the top bunk while the truck is moving. So we just shared the bottom bunk and would swap sheets out every time it was our turn to sleep. On I-40, leaving Arkansas and entering Oklahoma, I'd say about 80 miles from Fort Smith, if anyone is familiar. All of a sudden I hear, Bismala, fuck, fuck, and the truck starts swerving. He is putting all of his weight on the brake pedal. Here the engine brake engage. It's also called a J-break.

It restricts the muffler's air and forces the transmission to downshift. And I finally come to, and I'm laying on the dashboard of the truck. I flew all the way from the back of the truck to the front. It's a miracle I didn't fly out of the window. As I climbed down off the dashboard and ask Said what the fuck his problem is, it just points in front of the truck. An entire rig flipped the fuck over. It can't be more than a couple yards in front of us.

Sit there staring at it for a second. Then I realize, fuck we have to help them. I throw in pants and hop out of the truck running over the cab. By this time trucks had stopped behind us. Thank God they didn't strike us from behind and are running over as well. Me and some younger Mexican dude climb up on the cab trying to pry the door up. I ask if they're all right and I get a moan in response. Can't get the door open.

Tell them to cover their eyes as me and this other guy begin breaking the window. We finally bust it and the Mexican dude climbs in first. He was smaller so it'd be easier to pull him out. We finally get this guy and his partner out of the truck. They're bleeding but insist that they're okay. Pick related. The red truck is mine. Censored the truck number for obvious reasons.

The guy that wrecked our father and son, some Indian dudes. I mean, Indian, as a Native American. The son was driving, father was apparently sleeping. It's a miracle. The old man wasn't hurt worse. We aren't going anywhere for a while until the police get a crane truck to pull their truck out of the way. The question finally comes up.

What the fuck made you turn over your truck like that? My mother. Huh? It was my mother. I know it was mom. He then begins to explain while driving he smelled the perfume his mother used to wear, as he's trying to figure out what that. that smell was, and this is what he said. His mother, playing his day, was standing in the middle of

the road while he was going 70 miles an hour. His first reaction without thinking was to swerve and avoid her, causing him to lose control and flip the truck. His father cuts him off saying, that's enough, no more. He begins arguing with his father about it, and I ask, how could your mother be out in the middle of nowhere? The father looked straight at me and says, My wife's been dead for 14 years. He must be mistaken. My blood runs. I walk away and get in my truck, smoke a sick, and try to process what just happened. Cops finally show up two fucking hours later and begin to attempt to move the truck. They take my statement, my partners, and a few other people.

I don't know what Saeed told them, but I told the officer what the son and father said. I see the color drained from his face. The, the, that'll, that'll be all right. That'll be all. Thanks for taking the time, sir. Have a good night. Second cop walks up to me laughing and shaking his head. I ask him what's so funny.

This truck was hauling fertilizer. A few more feet and you would have struck the trailer. I'm sure you know what would have happened then, right? I just don't know my head. Well, if that's not luck, I don't know what it is. Ha ha. Yeah. Anon dig some holes in the desert.

Be me, 2002, 22-year-old homeless alcoholics, starting out life on a hard mode. Life in the southwest, fall in love with Mexican day laborers. Work hard. buy booze sleep repeat but he says he's found a sweet deal of a job it's a dig job ask him to hug me up says it's twice as much money as what we've been getting for the same kind of ditch digger shit we've been doing meet with jeff says keep your mouth shut and do what i say and get paid two hour van ride into the desert volcanoes i what the fuck i had no idea there were volcanoes on the mexican border park in the middle of fucking nowhere and grab shovels and lanterns Go in a weird, big-ass fuck cave, no graffiti, no trash, literally untouched, no bats, no guano. Big-ass fucking stone circle in the middle. Jeff says, don't touch that shit. Gatorade and shitty ham sandwiches for lunch.

Boss man says, dig here, then dig there. Do this all day. Keeps checking shit on some little yellow box like a vault meter. Keep finding little stone objects shaped like D&D dice. Boss loses his shit when he's. we find a metal one instead of a stone. Are we grave robbing? Fuck.

Walking back to Van, wore the fuck out, sun just dipping on the horizon. Here whispering from the shadows, buddy hears it too. Bossman says, keep your eyes down and keep walking. Busing in my ears, inside my head. Walk faster. Not sure this is worth it. Day two, we're back at the cave. Big stone disc has been moved,

and there's like a circular well underneath. Can't see the bottom. Boss man freaks out. Everybody out. Job's over. Goodbye money. Everyone's super quiet on ride back. Feds rolling next week, asking everyone, you seen this guy? It's boss man. Even being a stupid drunk at 19, I know, never talk to feds. Feel dirty. Nightmares every night. Can't stand the heat anymore. Can't stand the sun.

Take everything I own and what little cash I have and go cross-country and beg my sister to let me stay with her. Never going back to the desert. Anon hears a rumbling sound. Nothing amazing but likely truer than the rest of this shit here. Land Nav training in northern Florida, camp landing or something. Pitch black groups of four together. Cadre driving on dirt paths on ATVs everywhere to check on us. Crickets and frogs chirping.

Nightbirds doing their usual night calls. Gets unusually louder. Gets so loud it starts to hurt. My buddies notice it too. chirping goes for like three minutes seems forever we can barely talk to each other goes dead quiet in a snap it's a relief so we're more content than concerned five minutes go by we find a land nav point we notice it's still dead quiet buddy mentions it usually means a predator is around we don't give a shit we have red lens flashlights and rubber ducks training m16s another buddy's asked do you hear that

low grumbling slash rolling our sound notice we're heard it since the chirping stopped sounds like it's in our head and at different points around us simultaneously camp landing is in the middle of fucking nowhere no machinery slash buildings near the land nav point we get concerned not sure whether to continue on or go back to the SP starting point talking back and forth for a few seconds we then hear a bullhorn blast three times. Cadre announced over loudspeakers for all cadets to return to the SP immediately. Double time it. We didn't give a shit and felt badass with our fake M16, so we just half-ass jogged back. Along the way, flocks of birds are taking off any panic all around us, start to get concerned, so we start picking up the pace. After about 10 minutes of jogging, we see the floodlights at the

starting point. And multiple high-powered flash slides zooming around the starting point, the entire time the cadre were frantically ordering all cadets back to the SP. Each call more frantic than before, and increasing in frequency. We arrive almost all lights on us. We're blinded and can't see. Here, that's them. Just four, right? Just four. Count them. Should be four. I don't see another. I don't see another. Seriously concerned now. Rumbling sound behind us in the woods. Cadre tells us we're the last to arrive. Do a quick head count. We get in cattle trucks. New reduce and a half. We take the fuck off. We left everything, including floodlights, tents, tables, vans, etc. at the starting point.

We drive back to the hardball, main road, and continue at a fast pace to the staging area. A staging area has floodlights. We have to run guard shifts with stupid rubber ducks and a radio. Cadre doesn't fall asleep, stays awake till sunrise. Once sunrise hits, we go back to the starting point to get our equipment. Everything knocked down. Tense flattened, a wooden table collapsed, maps in crumpled messes. We pack up quick, per orders, and start heading back to the main part of post.

Entire time, cadets are anxious as fuck because we had no idea what was going on. Everything was a frantic mess. Cadre seemed just as confused and nervous. As we're getting back to head back south, the BC tells us, we had to leave so fast because of an incoming thunderstorm. It was cloudy, but no signs of rain. But it never did rain. I got scared shitless when I heard other cadets talking about a rumbling noise and the woods that were all around them.

and in some cases, in their head. Kind of a lacklesser story, but it was just fucking weird, especially with the sound and how panicky all the cadre were acting. Anon hears someone come up the stairs. About a little over 10 years ago, my mother and stepfather were getting a divorce. My mother, brother, and I moved to a townhouse complex. It's a full house, but the next house is attached. At the time I was 11 or 12.

I only saw my mother every other weekend due to moving in with my dad for her stability. Whenever I was over, I always felt uncomfortable in there. I developed a fear of the dark, which I had not had since I was about four or five, and I only had one staying in the townhouse. It always felt like I was being watched and in a place that didn't belong, the basement being the worst part of the house. I refused to go back down there alone. It was one huge room, the size of the whole house's length and width. I never, fucking never, would go to the dark half of the basement, felt someone or something watching, me from the half of the basement when I was down there. It always felt like I was in some sort of danger. I developed depression while I was there. My nights consist of me staying up to the lights on. My brother's room was next to mine, but it was out. Out here, several times a night, the door to the front door open and footsteps walk upstairs. One night it was constant, the sound of walking up and down the stairs. I went outside my room to ask my brother why he had got home so late and if he could keep it down. There was nothing there. I checked my

brother's room. He was asleep. Turns out he had the night off and didn't go out that night either. After that, I knew it wasn't my brother making that noise and I got worse for me. I started picturing a bearded man in my head whenever I heard the stairs make noise. My brother also got into trouble around this time. It was very angry all the time which was unlike him and still is today. I never met the neighbors, but you could hear the woman and man and their kid often. We only had two TVs and I liked watching G4 TV, so I'd watch TV in my mother's room. I liked the basement. Felt like I was being watched and it was uncomfortable. Unlike the basement, I didn't feel in danger. I always kept checking over my shoulder into the open closet and bathroom, just instinctively.

Recently, I had a nightmare about the fucking place. I decided when I saw my mother to tell her about it, just as a small talk. I told her everything I experienced there. She gets serious with me. Apparently, she had the same experiences, but never wanted to alert me or my brother for various reasons. She said, she often called me downstairs because she was afraid of the basement as well and could hear shuffling in the back half, where I said shit was really creepy. She often heard noises of doors opening and closing and someone walking up the stairs during the day when I was at my dad's. She assumed it was my brother home early, often because he was, and it sounded like he rushed inside, ran up the stairs, and slammed his door, but without saying anything. We often

heard our neighbors, like I said, but she actually talked to the guy living there. On more than in one occasion, we heard a woman and man flirting in the evening and laughing and having a good time, usually when we were all eating dinner, same for a mother and child during the day. The guy living there was a med student who was often not home. He said he was usually out at nights and sleeping during the day and told my mother he lived alone. He apparently never heard us, even though we were a loud bunch. My mother said she believed my depression and my brother anger, which she had been getting more aggressive, was tied to the home. She actually paid. made for my brother to move out, telling both of us that she thought it would help him with school

and work, which it did. My mother's boyfriend, who I forgot to mention, moved in after about a year, also experienced the same shit, but only told my mother. He said he often saw people walking around in the other room in the corner of his eye, even when he was alone. My mother also told me about this man who she often woke up to. He was always standing in the doorway of a room. She described the man who I pictured in my head, but said he had these sunken, dark holes where his eyes should be. Apparently, the look he gave her was one of pure hatred. He was translucent as well, which I think kept her from calling the cops. We asked the managers of the townhouses if there was a death on the property before moving out or if there was a demolished home or anything to explain

the hostility that we all felt from this guy. There was nothing on the property prior to the complex. I kind of wonder if it was maybe demonic or something. To be honest, I really don't know much about hauntings or demons beyond horror movies, so I could be speaking out my ass. But the thought of that place still scares me pretty badly in my mid-20s. And all right, guys, that wraps up some unexplainable four-chance stories. I really hope you enjoyed. I love these four-chance stories. They're different from the Reddit stories, and they're just, you know, written differently. They're just kind of more authentic, I think creepier, to be honest. They're just really entertaining and really fun to read and really scary, to be honest. I've gotten goosebumps.

many time reading these, and I hope you enjoyed them as well. Please comment down below if you would like to see more of these in the future. And just thank you so much for watching the other video. It means a ton. And yeah, until next time, this was Snook. See ya.