Snook - Unsettling 4Chan Threads

Episode Date: November 14, 2025

From a creepy "imaginary friend," to a terrifying discovery in an abandoned house, these are some Unsettling 4Chan Threads. What was your favorite story? Also, would you like to see other long videos like this in the future? Thank you all for watching! You guys are the best! Make sure to subscribe to the Patreon for early access videos and many more perks! https://www.patreon.com/SnookYTAnd 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.Sub goal is 1 million subs! So subscribe! Comment down below what you’d like to see in the future!And yes, I'm a human voice.Thank you for watching! Your support helps so much! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey, what's up guys and welcome back to the channel. And today we're getting into some unsettling 4chan threads. Today's threads we are getting into are insane. They are scary, creepy, unsettling, and you'll want to stick around. I appreciate you clicking on the video. It means the world. Please like the video. Subscribe to the channel.

The channel's subscriber goal is 1 million subscribers, so please subscribe. I appreciate you guys hopping by. And yeah, today's stories are amazing. So sit back, relax, and let's get into some unsettling 4chan threads. 10 years old. I knew my mom had health problems. I didn't know what schizophrenia was until later. Dad worked overseas and we lived in the rural U.S.

Mom would take medication while he was home, then wean herself off after he left. A sleep in my bed one night. Mom wakes me up. It's pitch black. She's agitated and worked up. Anon, I need your help. Sure thing, Mom.

She dumps something heavy into my bed. I sit up and feel what she's given me. Five fist-sized rocks, muddy and wet, likely dug up from the creek in the woods. Anon, these kittens are crying. I think their mother is dead, but I need to look for her. They can sleep with you tonight. What? Mom leaves.

I can see her from my window, walking into the woods. No flashlight. just shorts, a shirt, and shoes. Sit up in bed, confused and scared. The rocks are heavy and so wet that the water is soaking through my sheets. Don't want to upset my mom's sew, and I leave them there. Fall back to sleep after what feels like hours. Mom wakes me up early the next morning.

She grabs the rocks and leads me into the kitchen. She has a cardboard box lined with blankets. inside is a mixing bowl full of milk. She puts the stones inside the box. Ainon, this is their new home. Days go by. Mom won't let me even touch the kittens. The milk is starting to sour.

She won't let me pour it out or swap it for fresh milk. Three weeks later, she starts her meds again in anticipation of dad's return visit. Unceremoniously, it cleans the milk, rocks are thrown into the yard. She never mentions it. It's like it never happened. Sorry, I fell asleep last night. I work from home, so I'll write some more throughout the day. This is my first time telling anyone about these.

In town with Mom for a grocery run. She sends me to grab salt. Make sure it has iodine. Okay, Mom. Grab regular old table salt. In the U.S., iodized salt is pretty standard. We check out and make the long drive back home. Mom reaches into the back and grabs the salt.

Aan, try a pinch of this salt. Can you taste the iodine? It's like a shield for your body. Just taste salty to me. Gets home. Mom immediately makes my favorite dish. Home-made mashed potatoes. It's a little salty here than usual. Whatever, I love mashed potatoes. Mom sits and watches me eat it. Won't stop talking about iodine. Over the next few weeks, she puts that salt in everything. Even glasses of water get a quick pinch of salt. She still does this, but to a lesser extent. Find out later it's because she's terrified of a thermonuclear war. We're so far out that not even the nuke of the nearest town would reach us, but the fallout world.

Mom wants our bodies to be constantly saturated with iodine to combat any potential radiation. When North Korea began testing missiles a few years ago, she called me almost every day, asking if I I'd had my salt for the day. Yes, mother. I still carry a little pack of salt from a fast few joint in my wallet to keep me humble. I mentioned that my dad works overseas. He works as a sort of a talent scout for a U.S. university and lives in China for most of the year. Both him and my mom are fluent in the language, and I picked up a little over the years. Dad leaves again for work. Usually mom handles this well. This time she's devastated. stays in bed weeping most of the time.

One day she makes a complete 180. Starts writing letters in Chinese. Non-stop writing. For weeks, she fills notebook after notebook. She begins mailing them to a local news station, the county sheriff, etc. One gets sent to the town taxidermist slash dear processor. He's a childhood buddy of my dad.

Knows about my mom's illness. Calls my dad. He's on the next. Next plane home from Beijing. Dad gets back. House is covered in filled notebooks and loose sheets of paper. Covered back to front in beautiful Chinese characters. He reads a few of them.

Then starts gathering them up. Takes them out to the burn pile. Burns every last one he can find. Him and mom go to the doctor the next day. Mom gets new med cocktail that turns her into a practical zombie. Zonked out, she just watched Jeopardy every day. Dad leaves. Mom begins weaning herself off the meds again. Yeah, I realized it was nonsense like most of the things she did. I watched Terminator 2 for the first time the other day

and chuckled when Sarah Connor got obliterated by the nuke. She didn't eat her eyed-eye salt, L.O.L. I'm trying to think of other stories of her y'all would like. Most of it is run-of-the-mill stuff. Delusions about herself, me, the world. We have a rural mail carrier and an old beat-up Jeep. Butch lesbian, but genuinely one of the nicest people I know. Still send her Christmas cards. Anyway, during one of my mom's episodes, she thinks the communist Chinese government has infiltrated the United States Postal Service to spy on her in dad's communications. Anon does marry, our mail carrier, seem okay to you? Yesterday, she idled outside of the house for five minutes. Mom scans all the incoming mail like a hawk, finds a shred of

loose paper in a magazine. Thinks it was coated with LSD by the Chinese and planted there to dose her. Shows me as proof. Mom, it's just a loose piece of paper. Post offices are full of those. Ainon, you don't understand. The Chinese don't have a problem stooping this low. Please be nice to each other. Schizophrenia is varied and there's no one way people get it. Genetics, drugs, and other things can all contribute. I guess this is a good thing. time to express my own fears. Mom's grandpa likely had schizophrenia, lived in two rural of an area at a time when mental health care didn't really exist. Stories about him practically infirmate, however. I'm fairly certain I carry the markers for it, terrified of developing

it myself, fearful of seeing my first hallucination every time I walk into a room. Scared to death that one day, rocks will start meowing to me like kittens. Sometimes I see something odd and wonder if it's real or the beginning of my mom's disease. Here are a few more quirks my mom has. If y'all are still interested, I'll keep posting after work. Mom loves David Bowie. Maybe because she thinks he's a prophet, thinks Starman is about a real entity circling Earth. Despite this, I still think it's a great song. Mom will melt sugar and pour it on ant hills in the yard, refuses to use chemicals, refused to kick over ant hills, sometimes what we love most kills us.

Okay, Mom. She saw a documentary on fentanyl. Now refuses to take any sort of pain medication in case the Chinese tainted Tylenol with opioids. Here's another story or two since most of you seem to be enjoying it. Same summer as the rock kitten incident. It's hot. So hot.

Mom takes a Sharpie and scrawled. the Chinese character for cold on every wall in the house, cranks the AC as low as it will go, then turns it off the next day so the house gets hot as fuck. Tells me it's an old house and needs to be cycled. 10-year-old me just says okay and goes back to plane Pokemon. Wake up one day to find all the characters are painted over and the AC is set back to a normal temp.

When mom has a cocktail of medicines, she sometimes takes one or two. sometimes the whole set and sometimes just doubles up on a single pill slash injection makes for a wild ride her night terrors go out of control when she does this wake up at 2 a.m. to the sounds of blood-cirling screams then laughter then nothing go to mom's room and she's sound asleep stay up the rest of the night i'll post some of the public freakouts they were super frightening for me incredibly rural so we only go into town once every month or so for things like rice, flour, toilet paper, etc. Everything else we grow or raise.

In town with Mom, we make a trip to the store and get our sun dries. Mom swings by McDonald's. Hell yeah. I get chicken nuggets. Can't remember what she got. We sit down and I open my Nuggy box. Mom stops me. Takes the box. Picks Nuggets after Nugget out.

Lines them up. Q the frantic behavior. Anon, what? What did these all look like to you? Uh, nuggets. Ainon, they're all the same shape. Oh shit, she's right. McDonald's used to make nuggets in only four or five different shapes.

Not sure if that's changed now. My entire box was filled with the boot shape nuggets. Oh, speaking of radio stations, Mom would only ever listen to classic rock. Some of those boys did drugs, but they're all good people. people. She doesn't think that about other stations. Every other form of music was maliciously engineered. Classical music was mathematically engineered. Country slash Western was George W. Bush's secret signaling system. This woman voted for him twice, mind you. Christian music disrespected God.

Pop music stopped existing and she thought it did irreversible damage to the human brain. So we listened to a lot of classic rock. Coming right up, don't feel ashamed. This is an anonymous image board where things like this can safely be shared. It may be a little voyeuristic, but it's harmless. Have an old wood grain clock radio mounted in the kitchen for blasting goofy tunes. Looks like, pick-related. It was the only device that could pick up the classic radio station at our farm,

literally the only one. I come home one day and find it completely disassembled. pieces all over the kitchen counter neatly arranged uh what mom comes in explained she had to do it because the station was only playing commercials no music she couldn't find anything wrong with the radio so she called the station she kept demanding to know where the music was i have no idea what the person on the other end of the line was saying but they were probably trying to tell her that and then the screen cap cuts off so i don't know what the rest of that says but anyway I intervened because I listened to it on my drive home 15 minutes later.

Mom starts sobbing uncontrollably, walks herself in her room. I set a glass of juice outside her door and put the radio back together. It never picked up the classic radio station after that. Mom thinks it's her fault and that the station is now selectively broadcasting away from our area. Oh boy, buckle up, Buttercup. Jesus, we never attended church. Despite that mom is deeply religious, believes normally Christian stuff for the most part, except God, the devil, angels, and demons physically walk the earth and interact with

people on a daily basis. In town, Mom would sometimes whisper with a smile, that person is an angel, Anon. Do you see his eyes? Thinks Jesus will return, but only after humans force certain conditions. I never really understood what they were, though. Believes the Holy Spirit is the divine spark that separates us from the animals. We're all the same. when we shed our physical bodies, Anon. One day, we'll all be united in the same spiritual mass. And then the government. Like I mentioned, we are rural.

With that comes an inherent distrust of the government. Schizophrenia cranks that up to 11. Has zero faith in the U.S. government. Thinks they willingly allow China to abduct an experiment on Americans in black sides across the country. Thinks homeless people are largely sleeping. from alphabet intelligence agencies. Believes pretty much every X-tier conspiracy you can think of, but believes the moon landing was real. Some spies and then talks about spies. Not entirely sure.

Like I mentioned, thinks homeless people are monitoring the population for the FBI slash CIA NSA. So I guess she didn't really believe in the whole gang-sogging thing. And then the unabomber. No clue. I'll casually bring it up next time I see her. If she busts, out a copy of his manifesto, all shit a brick. A career in writing. It may have been fun in 1887, but you'll get burned out after ending every day with screen fatigue. I am. Will share a story or two about my dad. Be me, 14. My dad has major psychotic episode. Feels the need to pick up hitchhikers. He needed to get somewhere quickly, so he drove erratically. Voices in his head told him what streets to go down to avoid police.

He had never been down the streets before. Thought my mother was a witch because she likes a cute owl imagery. He's an immigrant. Thought my mom only married him to get into a Mormon cult. She's not Mormon, but some distant ancestors were. Told me to my face that I was the only one he could trust because an assassin would have to be pretty dedicated to wait 14 years from birth to kill someone. Believed his boss was trying to kill him too.

One time he was at lunch with coworkers, and they all ordered the same drink. My dad chose a glass off the tray. His boss takes it away and gives him a different one. He thought it was poison or something. Five years later, he's doing better. He has medication, although it makes him too tired to function. Mom doesn't buy any more owl stuff. Make sure to watch what she says.

It makes a few references to me, and then it keeps going, but it's cut off on the screen cap, and then really love him and wish he would get better. And then some other sort of comments. I fell into it by luck, actually. Met my old boss threw a friend and he ended up liking my stuff. Offer me a job and now I'm still doing it three years later. Pretty sure she's a health nut. And then Southern U.S. is the location, I'm pretty sure.

Possibly it's such an interesting disease. Much of the time it's a burden and sometimes she'll say some pretty woke shit. Looks like a shorter female version to me. Here's one more before I start workday. Another public freak out. First time at Sam's Club, big U.S. bulk store. For you, Euro people. You need a membership to buy things there.

We didn't know this. There is a woman at the front that ensures you have a card. Mom sees her stopping people. Activated schizo powers and masterfully dodged her. Fill up our shopping card. Head to the checkout. Checker asks for Sam's card. Mom is taken aback.

keeps asking what she means. It's explained to her several times, but mom just wants to pay and leave. She's starting to get nervous as another checker, and the manager comes over. Just starts fucking walking with our cart. Manager is trying desperately to stop her, but we live on a farm so Mom is fit as hell. Power walks right out of the front door, throws all the shit into the back of the truck, hands the manager $200 in cash and says, all I wanted to do was pay. We had only like $50 in groceries. Memberships are $100. Go home and eat mangoes.

Thanks, family. And here's a bit about my mom's grandpa. Big ass dude. Never went to school. Worked on the farm until it went under. Worked hard jobs after that. Railroad construction comes through town and they need laborers. This dude was built like an ox. Could carry two cross ties at a time on his shoulders. Took broken tie slash scrap metal from the railroad project and would build things in the woods with no apparent purpose. This even creeped my mom out. Also, he hoarded books despite being illiterate and committed S for it despite being financially secure at the time and not an alcoholic. I'm not actually worried about a nuclear war. If they nuke the tiny town near my mom, radiation is the least of her worries.

I'll let her eat her salt in peace. probably but there's no such thing as a perfectly healthy person everyone has their ups and downs he doesn't know half the things she did because i never told him i justified it with the fact that she was aware enough to go back on meds when dad would return very interesting story um if anyone you know is struggling with schizophrenia definitely you know talk to a doctor talk to a therapist get them checked out and if you are struggling with anything similar because you know crazy stuff but very interesting story I'm glad the OPE shared that. And yeah, I mean, mental health is just such an important thing, but also some stories that stem from it are very, very interesting. I hope O.P. and his mother and father are doing better now. On to the next one. Okay, here it goes.

I've always had an overactive imagination. I'm an artist, and I was diagnosed with ADHD as a child. Never medicated, though, so my mind was constantly everywhere. And I always was drawing. fucking around as a kid. My imagination would do terrible things to me sometimes, probably as a result of watching horror movies at a young age. Scary shit lurked around every corner, but on one occasion, I knew it wasn't just my imagination. I was in the sixth grade at the time, probably 12 years old or so, and I lived in a small town of a major highway, like seriously small. The only major thing in the town

burnt to hell 20 years ago. Then a kid died in the high school, so it was condemned. The only shit here was a cemetery, lake, post office, gas station, all in about four blocks of the town. Another strange thing about this town is the fact that in the early 1900s, it was booming. Now it was a dusty, literal ghost town with only about 40 people living there, people who never spoke or went outside.

The only other kids were my best friends. And there were only three of us. And every morning we walked together to the bus stop, and none of us spoke on most mornings. One morning it was more foggy than usual, but I remember it was cold and a little misty outside. My uncle, now deceased, grew up here, and he always told me fucked up stories about this town. He told me to watch myself. Strange shit was going on here. But he was kind of a loony, so I didn't worry about most times.

This morning, though, this morning felt off. I wasn't too stressed because I knew the others would be waking up soon, though. And when they didn't, I started freaking out. And when I stood alone at the bus stop, my imagination started going wild. I was in the middle of imagining a set of eyes in the mist, when from about 10 feet away from me to the left, I remember seeing something walking. This was absolutely real. I remember every detail.

It was a man in shape and stature. But the way it walked seriously makes my bones numb. slow and rhythmic, like it was floating. My 12-year-old guys bulged out of my skull, and I remember freezing in terror. Good God, I can't even stop shaking while typing this. Then he looked at me. Fucking looked directly at me.

Eyes, his eyes, they were so far apart, they were almost on the sides of his head, which was a blong. Like, I don't know. A sideways egg, but not that long. And he had a small, small nose in this. center. Absolutely hairless. No hair. Just pale, dirty white skin. With crooked, jagged yellow teeth underneath a disgusting smile. I've seen a lot of creepypasa threads and heard almost exact descriptions of ghouls and I've wondered if maybe they saw who or what I saw, but it's

never the same. If there isn't anyone here, I'll stop. He didn't leave me until the headlights of the school bus came over the hell. Then, without taking his eyes off me, he raised one hand and waved, but not like goodbye wave, more like a see-you-around wave, then walked slowly away from the spot he stood for what felt like an eternity. When the bus pulled up, I was crying. I didn't know why. I don't remember what triggered it, but the driver had to call the school who called my mom who came and picked me up. I tried telling her what I saw, but she didn't believe me. She said that it was probably just a guy in a mask fucking with me. I knew it wasn't. I know it wasn't because for the next five years of my life, he was there, watching me, and almost enjoying our time together. Like he was watching his favorite

TV show. For the first few months, his appearance sent me into a terrible frenzy of crying and screaming. And my mom, who was single most of my childhood, worked second and third shifts to keep our house. Was never there at night or afternoon to watch me, so I never had anyone to tell. I was frightened and alone so much. But whenever I would see him, I would call my grandma and talk to her on the phone, hoping he would see this and think I was talking to cops or something. I don't know, I was 12 or 13.

I would shift the blinds and watch TV and try not to think about it. He only would make appearances like once a week, so it wasn't an everyday kind of thing. Then at some point I remember that I realized he never came near me or touched me or anything. He just stood there, watching me. Whether it be outside my windows or in the cornfield, just be on the fence to the playground at school. I remember I got used to him, and after a while he was nothing more than scenery. And when I'd go on my trips or vacation or something, he wasn't there. It was only around this small town.

On one instance, when I was about 15 or 16, I was on a walk with a friend of mine. We were walking near the edge of the town where the paved roads turned into gravel, and the cemetery sits next to the graveyard. When I saw Skinwalker, as I had taken to calling him, he was about 100 feet away, leaning casually up against a gravestone. I asked my friend while keeping my eye on the Skinwalker, want to go into the graveyard? He was down, so we went in. and it had become obvious to me that Skinwalker wasn't noticed by anyone other than myself. So it wasn't a shock that when I walked almost directly next to him, my buddy was oblivious. Shit.

I remember that was the closest I'd ever been to him. He was so much more detailed this close, his skin. Christ, I'll never forget it. It was almost translucent. He wasn't pale, just he was old. And he was staring directly into my eyes. His eyes, they were green, not black I remember. Green with a hint of yellow and brown.

I remember he had pretty eyes. But they were so beady and far apart. I'd forgotten all about my friend when he said, Why are you staring at that gravestone? I looked at him and then the Skinwalker, but he wasn't there anymore. Just an old, weathered slab of tall concrete. I looked at it for a second.

Then I noticed a name, blank. 1846 to 1874. I paid no attention to this for a long time. Until I noticed that every time I was in the graveyard, there he was. Same pose, same stone, watching me. One day I was reading a book on the paranormal when I thought about something. Maybe he was a ghost. And maybe he wanted me to help him, so I came up with a plan.

Oh yeah, I forgot to address this. When I first started seeing him, my first thoughts were to hide. But then, when I got used to him, I didn't want to take pictures. I was too frightened to imagine the outcome of photographing him. And yeah, I didn't have a phone until I was 16. And even then, it wasn't a camera phone. My mom had a camera, but it was pretty much off limits to me. We weren't well off on money, so things like that were kept out of my reach.

I rode my bike to the graveyard. I don't know why I rode my bike. At the time, I thought it made me a quicker getaway. if he tried to get me or something. I don't know. Anyway, I approached him. Standing there as usual and I said, can you hear me? He just looked. Blank-faced. No? No response. If you need my help, tell me. Then he seemed to get angry. I don't remember exactly what happened. All I remember was that I ran. I ran and I didn't look back until I was on my bike. And then when I got onto my bike, I turned. He was standing there.

still at the gravestone with one arm stretched out to me, like he was reaching for me, to come back, or like he was sorry or something. I don't know, I didn't stick around for much longer to find out. I rode as a vast as I could, and that was the last time I saw him for a while. A few months went by, and I started to get really anxious, avoiding being alone, avoiding going outside after dark.

I was so scared I would see him again. but at the same time, I felt bad. Like I shouldn't have upset him. I felt sorry for him. I don't know. It's weird, but I felt like we were friends. I still feel like we were friends. The first time I saw him again was,

while I was riding the bus at school. I no longer had to walk to the bus stop, though. I was in high school, but I know it was him. He was walking or dancing down the sidewalk, but it was only a quick glance. He watched me go past him. I knew he knew I was on. And that was it.

His appearance became less and less frequent until one night. The last night I've ever seen him. I was 17 years old and my mom had announced we were moving. Things had gotten serious with her boyfriend and we were moving in with him. Our boxes were being packed and the house was on the market. It was about midnight and I was alone in the house as usual. I was drawing in my living room. I had my supplies laid out in front of me

and I was going to town on the paper when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. It was him. But this was a first. He was in my house. My first reaction was to scream. He took a step back. I remember this as being a strange moment.

I was quiet and he seemed scared. We watched each other for a moment. Then I realized I had nothing to fear, and I went back to drawing. He moved about for a moment and wound up standing behind me. It was like he wanted to watch me draw. So I remember letting him. He moved himself in front of me. He stood there looking not at me, my sketches, but at me.

I'm not sure how long this lasted. But at some point I realized he must have wanted me to draw him. So I did. I started slowly, but eventually it was normal. I just sat completely silent drawing this being, this fucked up thing that had followed me for damn near five years. And when I was done, I held my notebook up. He seemed to be happy.

He seemed to be completely ecstatic, actually. His smile seemed bigger and his eyes seemed more kind. I'm pretty sure I smiled too. He liked it. I have absolutely no idea how long we stayed that way. But eventually, he turned away from me and walked into another room. And then he was gone. Forever.

My mom and I moved and went on with her lives. I'm 20 now and living on my own. And I wish with everything inside of me, I didn't leave that notebook with my mother because it's probably in storage somewhere now. I wish I could show you guys that drawing. But it's not here in my apartment. it, so I did this for you all. Here he is.

His image forever burned into my skull. I would also like to say this. Every year since I've moved, I go back to the gravestone and I leave flowers. Every year, I've hoped to see him standing there. And I plan on doing this until I die. Shit, X, that's my story. Few people know it. And even fewer believe me.

any questions and then the drawing he drew man that is that just gives me goosebumps that is terrifying um I don't know what to think of this story I mean the first thing that came to mind was mental illness

I mean because that's a good explanation to a lot of these stories but this does seem like that but who knows I mean look at that drawing man holy shit that is scary as hell but um luckily this this bean

didn't get OPE you know Who knows if the O.P. will ever see this guy again. But if I was him, I would not want to see this guy ever again in my life. But very interesting story. And leave your thoughts down below. It was April or May of 2009. My friend, let's call him Vinny, was in from out of town and we decided to drink at about noon. We went to a party store and bought some 40s and just walked around town, brown bagging it. We got a call from another friend, Justin, that he and his girlfriend, Kim, were. going to drop by. By now, it was the early afternoon, and we made it back to my place. I had mentioned to Vinny that the house next door was condemned. It had a bright pink sign on the front door with

condemned written on it because the garage behind the house was collapsing. I had never seen anyone in or out of the house in the two years. I had been living next door to it. I had just assumed it was abandoned or just got foreclosed upon. We have a lot of foreclosures in Michigan. Yes, this is in Michigan. As kids, we'd always love exploring the woods and looking for random things. It only seemed fitting that we go into the house and have a look around. We were pretty drunk at this point and just thought, fuck it, let's do this. We went in behind the house through this partially collapsing garage. The door that went from the garage of the house was locked,

but after a while, we were able to force it open. To our immediate right was the basement, so we decided to go down there first. We were amazed by the amount of stuff down there. There were so many tools and hardware supplies in the back of this basement in its own room was a large train track set up. It was creepy. While we were in the basement, we got a call from Justin and Kim that they had arrived at my house.

We came back out of the house through the garage again and I grabbed my Nikon. Kim and Justin were pretty pumped about going in. in what we discovered. So we went back in and showed them the basement. After looking around, we went back upstairs to the kitchen. Again, there was a lot of stuff in here. A table in the corner of the room was full of bottles and cans, which was the plan on taking after looking around the rest of the house. There's a 10 set deposit for cans in Michigan. We took some time poking around the kitchen. It, of course, smelled bad in there, but it wasn't overwhelming. The smell was just that of a musty house. I had made the mistake of looking in the refrigerator, and the smell of

that, overwhelmingly from the rotting food, that smell was being contained until I opened it. There was a door that separated the kitchen from the living room, and I was the first to open it. It was a swinging door, and when I opened it, I caught a glance of a figure sitting in a chair facing away from me. All I knew is that someone was in the house and we were trespassing. I quickly turned around and while walking towards the back door, I told my friends and whisper, shit, there's somebody here. And we all ran out. We went back into my backyard. And I told them that I saw somebody sitting in a chair in the living room. My friend Vinnie, who was most likely more drunk than I was, said, fuck it, man. We has no more of a right to be here than us.

he was probably a junkie. I was not as excited to go back in to confront a squatting junkie, but I was convinced when Justin informed me that he was most likely high as fuck and wouldn't be able to do shit. Justin had been addicted to age for a few years at that point, so I trusted his judgment on the situation. He's clean now. We ended up going back and through the back again,

but more quietly this time. When we made it back to the kitchen, Vinnie was the first to open the door this time to the living room. The rest of us stood back and just watched him, watched the figure in the chair. Vinnie swung the door shut, looked at us and said, That's a dead body. We all looked at him in shock, as it was obvious that he was serious. We all trickled into the living room and gathered around the body.

His skin was black, even though we found out later he was white, and was sitting in a chair facing the front of a house. It was obvious that he had been there for a while. while. The smell near the body was almost unbearable. We needed to cover our mouths and nose with our shirts like respirators. This made Vinnie and I sober up really quickly. There was a complete silence between our group of four while we observed the body. Nobody said a word. I can't really tell you what happened next as it gets kind of foggy from there. The effect of seeing a body, a dead body, is a kind of surreal experience. We looked around the rest of the house. We looked around the rest of the

house upstairs and in other rooms of the ground floor and eventually found a journal next to the body. We flipped through the journal and every day he listed what he ate, the temperature, and how much money he made in returning cans that day, which I found strange because there was at least $50 worth of cans sitting in the house. I took some more pictures of the house and of the body, although at the time Vinny was very opposed to doing this and we left to go to the bar. At some point, Kim left and it was just us three. But I remember her taking in the experience quite well. And was not as disturbed by it as the other girls.

Some people don't even want to hear the story, let alone see the pictures. We went to the bar that night, sat in the back and just quietly talked about what had happened. After the bar, drunk again, Justin and I went back to the house to check it out one more time. I took some more pictures, and Vinny and Justin left for the night. I told my roommates about this and one of them told his girlfriend. She was so disturbed, she said she refused to come over until the body was gone. She said if I didn't call the cops then, she would. The next morning, hung over, I decided that I better call the police.

I called my friends to let them know and they made me hold off on doing it until they came over. I waited and called an anonymous tip line when they arrived. When I called the tip line, I simply said that I found a dead person. body. The operator seemed frazzled and told me to hold the line. She told me multiple times not to hang up. I held the line, and we put on with a detective for our city. I explained what happened and what the address was. He asked me my name, but I told him he had to be fucking insane if he thought I was going to be giving a name to him. Right after hanging up, we all went to the front porch to wait for the cops to come. Not even a full minute after hanging up the phone, I saw a cop car around the corner

with its lights on. We were really surprised by the response time, but it ended up driving by the house. A few minutes later, a few cops rolled up and asked us if we had seen anyone in or out of the house lately. I told them that I saw nobody near the house in the last two years I've been living there. The police went in for a while and a white van showed up. Eventually, some girls that lived across the street come over wondering what was going on. The police said they found a body, and we, of course, acted shocked. took out the body covered on a stretcher. They must have had a hell of a time prying him out from the chair. And also took out a gun that was in the house. The gun was an old style rifle

that I had been leaning against a wall in the living room. I talked to one of the cops and he said that the guy's family would have them check up on the guy from time to time to make sure he was doing all right. Apparently he wanted nothing to do with the family and they stopped doing so. He just wanted to be left alone. The only thing that we took from the house was the German. he kept. There is a bunch of nice handwriting in it, and it with addresses and such. The first entry was on January 21st, stating that the notebook was found in the dumpster. There is also an entry talking about when the power was turned out, and notes to buy oil. There were a bunch of oil burning lamps in the house. The last entry in the journal, May 3rd, says, Sick. Very Flew 4cans.

sick as heck flu can't eat it is eerie the date matched up with the most current newspaper we had in a pile in the living room we decided not to take anything out of respect for him and the family i know that certain things were worth a lot of money but i'm not about to be the type of person that lutes a dead guy's house i figured that the family would come and get the stuff but they never did the house ended up being sold and i saw the people who bought it to bring out the boxes filled with sheet music, toy trains, etc. The house has since been fixed up and is being rented out. I can find no information on either the house or the guy who died even over a year later. I'm now posing this just to share my experience. This happened in 2009, but I'm just now deciding to share it with everyone. I'm not trying to make jokes or act like it is a funny story.

The guy died alone in his house and was found by straight. over a year after his death. Make jokes if you want, but this guy was alone and obviously had some problems. Supax. I've been itching to spill my possibly paranoid theories regarding the area in which I used to work. East Yorkshire, specifically the Holderness Coast. The place is very rural, cut off from the rest of the country. Seriously, no one passes through.

and isolated socially due to a number of features, notably the thick accent with traces of old Norris that's pretty much incomprehensible to outsiders. My work was in the logging trade. Six days a week I'd get up at 4 a.m., journey out the only major urban center, hole which, coincidentally, isn't that bad, to a wood farm, cut in bag up logs and kindling, load up my dirty white van and run-out deliveries to all the country folk who still think coal and coke are the only way to heat a bath. During my 12 years in this trade, I ran into a lot of unsettling things, overheard strange ramblings, and witnessed a few suspicious things. Secondly, and this is well-documented, the region has a nasty history regarding missing persons and child hurting. My mother, who is a social

worker in the city, often talked of uncooperative police officers and child lover rings and institutionalized abuse in care homes. So anyway, I moved a few weeks ago and have only recently started to be more comfortable talking about the things I suspect. Whilst it is suspicion, I could never shake the feeling that there was some super structure type thing that I didn't know about. And regardless of whether 90% of the things I'm about to divulge are wrong, there's still these seven people missing a day statistic, age-filled seaside towns, and child-lover rings. Pick related. Mableton's Church.

A hamlet, I detested. Too small locals to sly. The original was torn down in the 1850s, I think. My grandfather told me a few old wives tales, as he called them, regarding the reason for it's tearing down. The original structure goes back to at least 1,100. Firstly, the old wives tale, my grandchild. grandfather used to tell me about the church. In the mid-19th century, Hornsea, a nearby seaside town,

now filled with H, was very popular with factory workers from H. The story goes that the congressional used to kidnap kids from the town, bringing them a few miles down the coast to Mableton, and, well, you know, do spooky stuff to them. He never said what, but left it to my imagination. After a shipwreck near Hamlet and the murders of the survivors got out when the port authorities came looking for the goods, they found the graves of the kids took from Hornsea beneath the floors of the old medieval church. They tore it down and rebuilt it. Don't know anything about what happened to those involved. He never claimed to know, but I now think the whole tale isn't too far from the truth. One incident sticks out, or rather a collection of events. That leads me to believe

child kidnapping is still a pastime for those backward fucks. Pick related. Hornsey when it had some semblance of an industry. Should have made it clear. The congregation of Mapleton's church. In the late 1990s, when I just started in the wood trade, Mableton used to be three makeshift shacks on some land behind some terrace houses in the sea. I delivered to one house here. An old woman called Diedri, though she was known to me and locally as the. The witch, and Diedrie was a heinously ugly woman. The nose, the warts, even on the nose.

Wrinkles, rotting teeth, the works. No idea how old she was, but she could have been 50 to 90 years old. Poor people aged quickly. The other two shacks belonged to her sons, whom I nor anyone else claimed to ever see. Her shack was standard wood, salvaged PVC windows, and corrugated thing, covered in dirt and at least an inch of soot. during the year in question a couple of kids had gone missing in one of the villages around the area not a lot of fuss was made parents were junkies apparently so it's not like it matter to anyone during my rounds in the village i overheard a conversation on my way into the back garden of one of the houses very softly on the wind mine so i could be mistaken but it went along the lines of the witch never asked us when i entered the back garden i greeted my customer old dirty

fat guy, toothless, etc., etc., and a farmer I haven't seen before then. I asked them the standard question. Been up to out or note? Translate, what have you been up to, dear sir? To which the customer replied, laughing, lucking, there what's mine. Translate, looking for what is rightfully mine, my good old chap. I asked whether the witch had something to do with it. He was startled by this, and the mood became a bit aggressive.

Needless to say, I left it after that. I continued to the witch's shack and knock on her door thing. No answer. Knock loudly. No answer. So I leave it. Cursing her for making me lug heavy bags of coal for no reason. The farmer I worked for, old happy Mike Gray, pro tip, he was a miserable side, was quite

the Jew with regards to currency. So he was distressed to not of got the pennies he was entitled to from the old witch and sent me back the next day. This time, she answers. She blocks the door and tells me she'll take the bags of coal in. Obviously, she can't carry bags of coal, so I insist. Been polite and whatnot. Instead of the cheery thanks for my niceness,

she just huffs and puffs and lets me in. However, there were tiny handprints on the doorframe leading to the adjoining room, and traces of tiny footprints where the floor hadn't been traversed as regularly. Obviously, I put two and two together, act as if I didn't notice jack's shit, and promptly made my way to the post office to gather intel. The post office is the hub of social life and rural villages. I asked whether they'd seen the witch coming and going the past few days.

The subpost mistress winked at me. No shit and says, hey, and so take care of that. Translate. Affirmative, old being, but I'll see that your inquiry is acted upon. She made no effort to appear ignorant of what actually. I was obviously hinting at. I mentioned the tiny handprints and the soot, and she just acted so well, she just didn't seem to care that I suspect her complicity in this thing. I ringed the police helpline for the case of missing kids and tell them what I saw. They promised to follow up on my

report and treat me a bit like a fool. I start dreading go back to her shack the following week, but I didn't have to. A big storm hit the coaster in the week. Coastal erosion is a massive thing on the coast, it loses a meter a year, and during storms is not unheard of for 10 plus meters to slip into the sea. And when I go back to Mapleton, drive onto the land where the shacks were, I see nothing. The witch's shack obviously fell into the sea, and her son's shacks, which were further forward, were gone as well. I can see these shitty concrete flooring from where sun shacks used to stand. I go to the post office again. There's also like, nowhere else to go in Mapleton, barring the cliffs, and ask about her.

Into sea. Translate. In the sea chum. Ask about her sons. She just tells me they've gone with her. I'm pretty peeved now, because she's obviously lying. I mentioned the concrete floors, and she just laughs me away, saying I'm a cheeky mare. I feel the atmosphere changed to one of aggression again and leave.

So at that time, I'm really confused by it all. I carry on my rounds. the final house I delivered to in the village was one of the terraces which overlooked the land the witch's hacks were on. As I'm taking the logs into the front room I see in the kitchen, one of those mega-block, I think pirate ships.

This old guy, who swore like a sailor, had no family or friends that I knew of, was not spending a spare time playing with a kid's toy. Obviously, the villagers knew that the kids were nearby, or someone's kids were nearby. and they obviously used the storm as a cover to get back at the witch for what presumed to be her taking a kid without their permission. Sounds far-fetched and I'd agree with you, but the people in the general atmosphere of the town, plus the subtle cues I picked up on, or just wanted to pick up,

leads me to think otherwise. I pushed the whole cursed fortnight to the back of my head to comfort in the fact I'd reported what I saw to the authorities and carried on as usual. I try and make light of it now, but it's still. still really gets to me. Moving City, I'm in Aberdeen now, has improved my way of coping with that, and the other things I've noted. But anyhow, that's one of the more stark, obvious, nasty shit things I've seen and been witnessed to. More to follow, though not necessarily as major. Thanks to those of you who are reading this. It's nice to get it all off my chest and stuff. So I've made it pretty clear that I think a lot of the rural folk around the area used to kidnap kids.

detail a few other things that aren't really super creepy, but that I just kind of stood out as odd. In one hamlet, even smaller than Mapleton, called Rise, there was a primary school, not unusual in the country, but it was a derelict and other schools. Larger schools in the area existed. I'd usually get there quite late as it was on my route back to the wood farm, about 4 p.m. in the day for me, and I'd always arrive with an old school bus, like a converted van thing. waiting outside the school. Old guy in the driver's seat, no children in the van,

no lights on in the derelict school. He'd just sit there in the van, idling. Sometimes if I was delayed, I'd see him drive off. Still, no kids in it. Never sat well with me. Why was he there? Every week. Huh.

An old lady in another village, I forget its name, apologies, had a nasty tumor on her face. Seriously, she was called Mrs. McCaskill. She was a very small and had mannerisms akin to crow, very nasty eyes and face, ha-ha, cancer face, and very twitchy and sharp in her movements. The thing that bugged me about her was she had three chains bolted to the exterior of her house's back wall, well, placed about four foot up, attached to leather, possibly neck straps. The wall was stained with grime. I reckon it was

shit and piss. She didn't have any pets. No idea why she had those chains there. None whatsoever. This memory is very hazy, as it comes from my childhood. I got into the wood business via my grandfather. I used to travel along with him most weekends as a kid. I used to deliver to the village when I was older. It's called Halsham. I remember a young-looking guy opening the van door whilst I waited for my grandfather to drop off some kindling. He leant over the driver's seat and reached out for me. Then it gets hazy. I vaguely remember my grandfather having it out with the kid verbally and me having to go with him to a village hall, I think, and sit in some dude's office with the young guy. Like I say, it's a hazy memory. I don't remember much, but crying a lot. Ruse, a collection

of several large mansion-type things, had one guy who had no fingertips. Nice enough to me, but he had the type of land filled the rusted cars, and he had a son with serious learning difficulties. who looked like he had FAS, and FAS stands for fetal alcohol syndrome. What was sinister was his son been caught fondling a young person on some abandoned land north of Hull. It was in the local rag, and the topic was obviously broached by me, in a polite way mind, on one of the deliveries.

The guy with no fingertips was quite adamant. He didn't do anything wrong. When I mentioned he might get away with a lenient sentence because of his FAS, he looked offended and told me in no uncertain terms he was a normal, healthy kid. He wasn't. I replied if he didn't have health issues, he did something quite wrong. Yet he still remained adamant, it was fine.

Something about country folk, not being pansies, and taking what they're entitled to. I left it at that, remembering the Mapleton episode. On top of those relatively minor things, I used to see quite regularly lights in the wooded areas during winter when it got dark early. Was so regular, it never struck me as odd until I saw a couple of men walking out of a wooded area in front of me with shovels across the road into a farmer's yard. Again, nothing on its own. But with the culmination of the atmosphere and shit, it did make me wonder.

Another customer, from old Ellerbury, used to give me some homemade preserve on the longest and shortest days of the year. She always promised me her special jam with a wink. needless to say that preserve was always thrown away when I got home. Thanks for the feedback, guys. Makes me feel like I'm not in an echo chamber, ha ha. Next up, I'll tell you about the shit my mom used to talk about before she passed. She was hurt as a kid and adopted when she was eight.

So she'd seen shit, but she was incredibly strong and pursued her career as a social worker, protective services, rapidly. It kind of destroyed her health, and she died relatively young, 52. There's a lane on the outskirts of Hull, technically, in a village called Cottingham, which is notorious for the murders carried out down it. It's called rather aptly Sward Mill Lane. The most recent murder down there was about three years back. Some poor sap got jumped by two low lives with baseball bats and was pretty unrecognizable

from what I heard, so, but anyways, I digress. In the 60s, when my mom was still a teenager, a 6-year-old boy was found rolled up in a car He'd been hurt, R-worded, and starved. Basically, he'd been kept as a plaything. Oh, God, that's horrible. Finished off with a knife and dumped. Not too unusual, sadly, but my mom always maintained that the reason why there was little to no investigation was because of the Holes' child lover ring, which reportedly contained senior police officers, judges, and counselors. She maintained till the day she died that it still existed. And I believe her. Not just because I respected and trusted her, but because in the past decade or so, more and more senior members of whole social and legal elite

have been outed and prosecuted as child lovers. Never whilst they were an office or anything mind. Google Humberside Police Chief and Child Loving. Do the same for counselor. However, the kid wrapped up in a carpet in the 60s, nothing on the net about him. Never been able to find shit. Make of that what you will. Next, I'll repost the stuff about Langthor Hall, which is up there with Mapleton in terms of how it made me feel, plus extra stuff on what I reckon is going on.

I made this hideous screencap wall of text thing because word limit kills me, and he includes it, but not the whole thing. So I can't even read it, but he kind of summarizes it at the end here, so let's get into that. So I mentioned in the pick that Charlie, a friend of his, inherited the estate fairly young and had to see it to its business.

I rang him yesterday to ask more about it since he sold up, and he was surprisingly forthcoming regarding some details. His mom and dad both used to attend church and knew elderly on a Wednesday, late night. He reckons they were part of some extreme Christian cult thing. Regarding the tunnels, he said he knew as little as me, but did say that one of the conditions of his running the estate, was to allow the people staying in cottages access to the basement, says he didn't ever see them use it,

but then again, he wasn't there regularly. Still won't tell me about the horse incident and got upset when I mentioned it. Don't blame them. We haven't been close in reality for a long time. More residuals platonic love left over from the past, so I don't think I'll ever find out the truth about that incident. To be honest, it was pretty exhausting talking to him about these things.

Couldn't get the idea of those missing kids out of my head the whole. whole time. And let me explain some of this since I read the big screen cap a little bit. I mean, it's just not the whole thing. So it's just not worth including. But basically the horse incident, apparently O.P. was over at his friend's house, Charlie's. And he went outside to grab cigarettes. Op. did. And he just saw someone like picking up a dead horse or something weird like that or taking a part of dead horse. And then I think the basement incident, I think they went down there, looked around. It was weird. But yeah, not a lot. inside the big screen cap, so that's why I didn't read it. But anyways, let's keep continuing.

The pick is looking east towards Langthrope Hall. The house itself was freaky at night, and I often used to see faces at the big Georgian windows. But your brain does shit like that when you're already wigged out at night and look into the pure darkness. This incident occurred when I was 18. Charles' mom was on holiday, but he wasn't allowed keys to his home at this point. We had a party which was busted by the people from the cottages who just let themselves in at 2 a.m. or something ridiculous like that. We just chilled and smoked in the fields. We often found chewed up rabbits and wood pigeons, not unusual, but on this night, we were

being extra stealthy, knowing what the people in the cottage were like with regards to protecting the estate. We went exploring the outhouses and found a lot of creepy stuff, such as kids' clothing, crayons, old, moldy, corn mags, and some bloodstains, though the bloodstains are definitely most likely from animals when the estate was still actively a farm. After this, we traveled north-ish towards a wooded area through crop fields. It was spring, so the grass wasn't tall enough yet to be all-signed style. Coincidentally, Charlie was never allowed in the fields when the wheat was at its highest. I'm with Charles, Ed, and Tomo, another good friend, but a major druggie. He's dead now.

Odeed and Grimsby a year back. Roughly a hundred meter from the woods, we hear a fox cry. unusual, but it was followed by barking and shouting. Fox hunting has been illegal for a few years now, so we're all engaged in super vigilante mode and start jogging towards the sound to see some country bumpkins getting aroused from hunting a fox with a pack of hounds and all his buddies. Charles is an avid supporter of fox hunting, country boy though. It's very dark, so we can't see anything distinguishable in the distance, just shadows. We start crouching through the slightly tall crop field until we're about 60 meters away from a group of people. They number about 10-ish. There's a break in the clouds, and the moonlight illuminated the scene better. There's a few on horses,

and the pack had stopped. We're all watching with baited breath, even Charles. Some guy dismounts and takes out what was either a large rag or an item of clothing. I think rather paranoidly that it was a kid's shirt or something and gives it to the hounds. They start going wild and run off into the woods. Now this bit is up for dispute. I could easily be wrong, and Charles denied it at the time, but me and Ed were in agreement. Tomo didn't talk much about it after. That a distinctly human kind of yelp was let out. We saw movement at the far side of the woods at which point, unseen by us, someone fires a rifle, and the movement ceases.

We can't see the hounds through the grass and scrubbing the woods, but we can hear them barking. The bloke scallop up towards the woods and we can hear clapping and such. Me and Ed pull out our phones, convinced we'd just seen a murder. I still am. Charles assures us it's just a fox hunt. Tomo, through all of this, speeds roll a massive joint and starts creeping off back to the house. Me and Ed meagishly follow, and we don't talk about it again. When we left, Charles and Tomo went separately.

Me and Ed together. Early morning, we pass a car towing a horse box. Both of us are still suitably angry at Charles for his denial and equally as worried. He does a three-point turn and follows the car with the horse box. We're both still a little high, but we've gone that weird intent that comes when you think you're in the right. We follow for an hour before we realize the car in front of us is doing the same circular circuit over and over again. This realization convinces us both to go home and forget it. I never did, obviously, given the Mapleton Escapade had happened a,

few months previous to this and wow who knew so much crazy stuff was going on in east yorkshire which i assume is england but a very interesting story and um i believe the guy i mean there definitely could be weird you know cultish uh rings of child lovers and i know you guys hate when i say that word i hate i have to say that but i have to do that for you to be able to see this video and for this video to be monetized but um very very interesting story leave your thoughts down below and um On to the next one. Let's talk groceries, specifically, your groceries. With Instacart, you want your groceries just the way you like them, right?

Well, the Instacard app lets you do just that. They have a new preference picker that lets you pick how ripe or unripe you want your bananas. Shoppers can see your preferences up front, helping guide their choices. Instacart, get groceries just how you like. I have only shared this one with a few people, and still want to think about it and freaks me the fuck out. I was 16 or so, and growing up in a small town exploring out in the hills was the thing to do. This incident took place at the north end of Ruby Valley in Elko County, Nevada.

Someday I will play around on Google Earth to try to find this place, but it is slightly north of the road off of the Highway 93 that goes into Ruby Valley. I also like checking out old mine shafts and ghost towns. That shit really intrigues me. At the burger bar in Wells, Nevada, where I am and grew up, they had these old turn-of-the-century maps under glass on the tables. On one of them, it showed several ghost towns just north of Ruby Valley, so I figured I'd go check them out, as I had not been in the area very often.

I gassed up my 72 Dodge W-200 pickup, in being a redneck and K, before 4chan even, I grabbed my HK-91 and set out. I had found some old foundations in the lower country, and started heading into the mountains themselves, and started finding abandoned mine shafts. Shit was pretty cool, so I kept going up. I took this ancient road that was no more than an overgrown cattle path by this point in history

and came upon a tree blocking the road. It was an old pinion pine about two feet in diameter that blocked the road. After the tree, the road continued straight for about 200 yards, then hooked right before coming back 180 degrees. Continuing, going to sketch up some key locations for next post. I parked my truck in front of the tree and set out on foot. I grabbed my HK91 with a 120 round magazine in the rifle and put one 20 round mag in my back left pocket. I always had a rifle with me, as I've encountered mountain lines and mine shafts before,

and just generally I like to shoot shit. Get up on ridge lines and shoot boulders from a couple hundred yards away anyways. As soon as I climbed over the fallen tree, I had a fucking creepy feeling as if I was being watched, I continued on for about 200 yards to the point where the road started curved. right and gaining elevation. Going towards the cabin, at this point I had the realization that not only did I feel like I was being watched, it was also dead quiet out. This was in June or so, as school had just gotten out. Everywhere you went, you could hear those cicadas, but not here. It seemed as soon as I crossed the fallen tree, the mountains were silent, no bugs, no birds,

nothing. Deffinant silence. As I came up to the turn, there was, was this big rock. The thing had to be about 15 feet in diameter. You could tell that it used to be on the road, but due to years of erosion, snow and all that shit, it had slid down just slightly off the road. It seemed to be red limestone or something like that. It stood out since they are not common in this area. I looked at the rock and you could tell that there were carvings in it at some point in time. Due to weathering, the whatever was carved on it had been worn off. I kept walking up the road, being creeped out. But I really wanted to check out this old cabin.

As it was pretty obvious, no one had been here in quite a while. At this point, I was probably three hours off road at this point. And then he attaches a picture. So it looks like he's got his truck. He's driving up this road. There's a tree. So he has to stop. Canyon 200 feet down.

So trees, 100 foot above road. Okay, so you're just like in this little outcove area. It looks like, looks kind of. of cool. Yeah, mine shaft, cabin, trees. Okay. I mean, this gives us a good, yeah, description and a good idea of what it looks like where he is. Very interesting. Okay, anyways, you're going to be going through wells, which is closer to where this happened, probably about 30-ish mile south as the crow flies from there. After I post everything, I will look on Google Maps and see if I can find this cabin on there. I got up to the cabin and as far as abandoned houses and cabins in Nevada go,

this one is in pretty good shape. All of the glass and the windows were still intact, and there were remnants of currents behind the windows. By this point, there was something in the back of my mind telling me that I should be going. I went in the cabin. And that is where I started to get the feeling that something was off. Most cabins you find out in the middle of nowhere in Nevada are barren. Nothing really left, maybe a bit of broken furniture. This one was completely furnished. Time had taken its toll, but everything was still there. What was left of an old mattress and bedding was still there.

There were plates and other cookware throughout the house, along with tattered clothing and personal effects such as the chest, faded pictures and the like. What really creeped me the fuck out was the dinner table. It was set for four people, dinner plate, glasses, and silverware. This was the first cabin I had ever found that was in this condition. It was as if whoever resided here had just up and left everything behind.

I felt like I should not be in the cabin and went outside to see if I could find the mineshaft or anything else. Once I was out the door, I decided to chamber around on my HK91. The sound of me racking a round echoed through the chicanion and broke the silence. As little of a thing as it was, this calm my nerves very slightly. Directly behind the cabin was a well. It was still intent. It was still intends, and as I got closer, it sounded like there was noise coming from it, like a slight breeze rustling through it. When I got within about 30 feet of it, I started to smell something. It smelled absolutely putrid.

Definitely something that died in the well. The smell of decay was heavy in the air, with an acidic copper scent that tore my nostrils. I did not want to get any closer to the well and started walking towards the left. where I could see the opening to a mine shaft up on the hill. The closer I got to it, I could start feeling a breeze coming out of it. This is not really uncommon if you have explored mine shafts before,

as the breeze could be coming in from another opening of the mind. But the thing is, it was perfectly calm. As far as I could see, there were not even trees moving or any signs of wind. As I got closer, another thing that struck me, as odd, was the breeze coming out of the shaft was hot. Most of the time, it is cool, as most mine shafts maintain a constant temperature. The closer I got to the shaft,

the slower I moved towards it. Nothing since I crossed the fallen tree seemed right. The closer I got to the opening of the mine shaft, the more of a feeling of dread and being watched I got. I got within about 15 feet of the shaft when the smell hit me. It was the smell of death. decay in copper, but much stronger than the well. Right then, all of my spidey senses started going off. I had to get out of there. I started turning the left to book it out of there when I saw

a dark shadow moving in the opening of the mine shaft. Whatever it was, it appeared to be crouched down to fit in the mine shaft. Most mine shafts I have been in have eight to ten foot ceilings. At first, I thought it was a mountain line. Then I remember it how big the fucking shafts were. My mind raced trying to think what the fuck it was. It was too big to be a black bear, which are rare in Nevada. I nearly froze with panic, and it slowly kept coming towards the opening of the mine shaft. It was probably within 10 feet of the opening, and the light was starting to show whatever the hell it was, was covered from head to toe in grayish-brown fur. Then it screamed.

It was unlike anything I've ever heard in my life. My ears were ringing from it. I flipped into panic mode and did what any good redneck would do. I shot it. I pulled up my HK91, placed the front blade on what appeared to be its center mass, and ripped off five rounds as fast as I could accurately shoot. If you've ever shot big game with a large caliber rifle, you know the sound when you connect with something.

I had four solid thwunks in one round that went high. This made it scream even louder than it had in pain. At this time, I started hearing more, and separate screams coming from over in the well, and in the hills over the mine shaft. I started running down the hill as fast as I could. In the tree line above the road, approximately 75 to 125 yards, I could see fast movement. Rocks were tumbling down the hill, and there were several other screams. From the mine shafts, I could hear the wailing of whatever the fuck I had shot.

Whatever it was, I'd definitely connected, and it was hurting. Whatever it was up in the tree line, they were running from tree to tree on all fours, getting closer to me. As I ran towards the rock, I was shooting in the general vicinity of the movement on the top of the hill. By the time I got to the limestone rock, I'd expended the 20-round mag in the rifle. I ripped it out and put it in my spare magazine, chambered around, and started sprinting towards the fallen tree, approximately 200 yards away by now. I kept glancing back and whatever they were, they were staying in the trees. I could make out their masses and fur, but they would not stay in the open.

I got back to the fallen tree and ate shit trying to jump over it. I got up off my ass, fired between 12 to 15 rounds at the closest movement, which was approximately 50 yards away from now. I heard a few rounds connect and it started screaming louder. Between the screaming and gunshots, my ears were damned near death. I opened the door of my truck and I got the fuck in and started it up as fast as I could. Backing up to turn around, I damn near put my truck down in the canyon. As I started going forward, I leave on the road I came in on,

was when I finally got a look at one of them. It was crouched over with its front feet on the tree. It was covered from head to toe in grayish brown fur, with long, slender fingers with claws tipping over the fingers. The back of it was hunched, and the face was slender, most closely resembling that of a badger, both sunken in eyes. It was shaking its head back and forth, and it sounded like it was attempting to see it.

speak, but it was so garbled. And with the noise of my truck, I could not make out what the fuck it was. I averaged 50 to 60 miles per hour on a shitty dirt road that I had done 15 on the way in. I did not slow down or stop until I got back to the pavement. By now, I was so shaken, I had to stop and collect myself. I got back to town and was in a bit of shock. My dad had been a guide in the Ruby Mountains for about 20 years. He asked me how my trip went and where I went. He could tell that I was startled and asked where I'd been. I told him that I had been north of Ruby Valley. He got quiet and asked if I'd seen a cabin with a fallen tree over the road.

I told him yes. He looked to me in the eyes and told me that it's somewhere I should never go again, especially alone. We never spoke about it again after that. I have never been back there, part of the reason as I live in western Nevada now. But in the back of my mind, there's some. Something that is telling me I should go back. And one day, I do want to go back. This was back in 2001, before camera phones.

And I was too broke to afford a digital camera. I want to go back with a camera, preferably a GoPro on my helmet, and with several friends that are armed. Just something about there, even with the shit I experience, has drawn me back. One day, I will go, I guess. I guess I need closure on what happened that day. I'll probably be on for another 30 minutes or so if anyone has questions. After that, I can be reached by email.

Stand by. I will sketch it up. My drawings are shit, so it will be rough. And then the OP draws the creature he saw, and he says approximately 8 to 10 feet tall, and then skunk feet maybe or unk feet. And yeah, it looks like a hedgehog sort of thing, a very weird creature, almost like a dinosaur. But very interesting drawing. Yeah, I mean, I don't know what to even make of it. But, yeah, I'm glad he added that picture so we can get a better sense of what it looked like.

Definitely want to make it back out there with at least 45 people well-fucking armed. That is for damn sure. Still to this day, gives me goosebumps thinking about this shit. I tried researching it a bit a few years past, asking some old timers. And one of them told me a story about the rubies. I will be quick on it. During the 40s and 50s, the Army Air Corps operated out of the Wendover Bay. base. Every now and then, during shit weather, a B-25, B-17, or B-29 would smack the rubies

due to poor visibility. Some of the local ranchers got recruited to help the military go up to a crash site during the winter to recover the bodies. Rancher I was talking to told me that it took them about three days to get up to where this crash was on horseback and recover the bodies. He said when they got to the wreckage, all of the crew members were laid out side by side, next to each other in a clearing in the wreckage. Many of them had severed limbs, and it was apparent all died on impact. Somehow they ended up laid out next to each other.

This was at nearly 10,000 feet elevation too. Very, very interesting story. I thought this was very interesting, and I tried to look around on Google Earth, around Ruby Valley, and it's just such a big valley that I couldn't even, I don't even know where I would start to look for this area. But, I mean, you guys feel free to look around for this.

I mean, look similar to the drawing. If you go back to the beginning of the story, you can see the drawing that he made. It would be hard to look for the original place on Google Earth. But I looked around for, you know, 10 minutes, couldn't find anything. But very interesting area, very isolated and very interesting. On to the next one. Okay, guys, this happened to me last night and I haven't been able to sleep since. I was hesitant to post about it on X because I've been looking for some sort of explanation or something.

Trying to see what it was I saw outside now that it's light out. But I cannot and it's scaring the shit out of me. I usually just frequent B, M.U and Litt, so excuse me if this is something you guys have some explanation for already. Please just tell me there's a realistic explanation for this and that what happened is common. I'm fucking terrified. get home from work. It's almost midnight. When the door opens, the home security thing does a high-pitched beep-beep, beep-beep chime. In my kitchen, eating in a late dinner before going to bed.

Here a door open and then the home thing go, beep, beep, beep, but it definitely sounds like it came from outside. I'm sitting right by the back door, so I go check the front door. The front door has a screen door, a wood door that leads to a small entry room, then a six, second door inside that leads up the stairs into the house. These are loud-ass old doors. Did not hear screen door open, did not hear main door close, did not hear second door open. The door is still double locked. No other doors are opened. Nobody is standing outside. Okay, maybe it was the neighbor's door. Maybe they have the same system. Hear it again. Sounds like it's coming from outside the front of the house. Look out the window.

Looks like a deer is crawling on the yard With its belly to the ground Stands up on its back legs Makes the door opening slash a beeping sound With its head raised up in the air It is not a deer It looks like a guy with deer legs Too dark to see what the fuck is going on

I'm home What the fuck I'm home Sounds like a dog barking I'm home while trying to vomit Starts galloping away across the street Beep beep beep beep start shaking.

It's raining out at the time. The thing opens his mouth and holds his head up. The thing starts digging furiously at the grass across the street, with its front arm slash legs slash things. Put's head near the hole, like it's looking inside. Keeps walking down the street. Beep, beep, beep, I'm home.

Puts head back to drink rain. Digs at ground. Keeps doing this down the block before galloping away, down division away from the city. I do not live in a rural. area. The deer population typically stays down towards Melrose Park off of Thatcher by the river. I live just outside of Chicago, literally a block west of the city limits. I have never seen anything like this or heard of anything like this. I am fucking shitting myself right now. I was going

to pose this story on B, but I avoid B like the plague unless I'm bored. It's summertime and I just get memed on left and right. And it seems more paranormal than anything else. I've been Googling for similar stories and trying to find some sort of typical scientific explanation for this sort of thing, but I can't even find any sort of similar story. My instinct is crazy homeless guy, but its legs bent back like a deer's. It was not built like a human being, and it was definitely not wearing clothes and looked like it had a full body of fur. I don't use drugs. I was not tired. I was 100% lucid, and I'm fucking horrified. Please say there's a common explanation for shit like this. This is a long one, so feel free to skip if you prefer short and sweet.

Also, none of the names I'm going to use here are real, but the people are. When I was still working on my master's, I landed a job working part-time out of paper. It was a small-time outlet, and I mainly applied because I enjoyed writing, and it was a pretty easy part-time work, not because I was serious about becoming a journalist. However, the boss man went ahead and saddled me with a big feature article covering the poorest neighborhood in the city. I was very green, but my boss told me my writing style would suit their subject matter. So I'm scheduled to meet up with this guy, Reverend Downey. His job is to explain a bit of the neighborhood's history to me,

as well as to introduce me to a few interesting locals. So one morning I meet up with him at his office, in the neighborhood church. Reverend Downey turns out to be hilarious. He tells me all about the neighborhood, mixing in bits of history with funny anecdotes, all great stuff from my article. As he talks, I'm taking notes when I hear a crowd gathering outside. He tells me it's the weekly food pantry setting up inside the church. Also mentions the needle ladies showing up.

Needle ladies, I ask. It's a group of women who set up a needle exchange on the church grounds. Drug addicts show up, tell them how many needles they use daily, and the women give them fresh needles for a week and take their used ones. The Reverend excuses himself to go check off. on things. Meanwhile, I get up to stretch my legs. Step out of the office where a crowd of women and children bustle around. Picking up canned items spread out over a few different tables.

I'm watching the dead-eyed druggies waiting in line when I feel a tug on my shirt. Turn around. There's a little black boy looking up at me. A giant smile on his face. They got a nothing man buried outside, he says. At first I think he says muffin. man. Excuse me, I ask? A nothing man, he repeats. I can see everything from my window. They made it inside. Then they took him outside and buried him. He points behind me and says, Right there. I turn around to see Reverend Downey walking back inside. He says in his big, warm voice, come on out. I want you to meet someone very special. I turn around to say goodbye

to the little kid, but he's gone. I am introduced to Grandma Kane, who is raising a four grandchildren by herself. The children all have AIDS, Reverend Downey tells me. Grandma Kane and the four children live in a tiny room in a run-down apartment building down the street. And I walked back there with them to do a mini interview. The apartment building is absolute shit. Elevators don't work. Parts of the ceiling are missing. Holes in the wall exposing the wiring beneath. There's also no AC, and it's the height of the summer. So we're boiling as I'm interviewing, frail Grandma Kane next to an open window. They don't all have AIDS, she says the children.

Just three do and one don't. Apparently their mother was an age junkie who spent most of her life in and out of jail. She basically slept herself out for drug money nonstop. So all the kids have different fathers. Mom eventually went away to prison for good and the kids went to grandma. What about the fourth child? The one who doesn't have AIDS. The oldest, Grandma Kane tells me.

Martha. She claims that Martha was not born with AIDS and that she's been tested, a very rare thing in that neighborhood. She also claims that Martha was R-worded when she was very young. Didn't get AIDS then either, luckily, but the event traumatized her. Overnight, it was like a flip switch in the poor girl's head. Martha started spending all our time running around the neighborhood with drug dealers and criminals. She's very young and has already had two, I can't say the word, I mean, don't blame it on me. It's just to get around the guidelines, but, A, you can see it on screen. I asked Grandma Kane if she knows who R-worded Martha. She refuses to tell me. I'm kind of surprised.

She's been so forthcoming until this point. I assume that she's afraid of someone. Was it one of the drug dealers? No, she says. So then it was one of the neighborhood boys, I say, or a man, maybe? No, it wasn't one of them. She seems to be getting more and more nervous, as I ask her about it.

Then she says something that leaves me puzzled. Everyone knows about criminals and drug dealers, but nobody knows the truth about the ghetto. I ask her, what is the truth about the ghetto? She seems exacerbated, and finally says, it's just there's worse things out here than drug dealers.

I press her. What things? She looks me dead in the eye and makes a motion like she, she's zipping her lips closed. My curiosity is piqued at this point. So I tell her we can do things off the record. I always wanted to say that, if that's what she wants.

So I turn off my recorder. But she's fidgeting now, staring out the window. Before she seemed nervous. Now, she's scared. I say, is someone threatening you to keep quiet? She shakes her head. I ask, who are you afraid of? And she snaps at me.

It's not a who boy. Instantly, her body relaxes and her eyes seems to glaze over. She turns and looks out the window. At first I think she's just ignoring me. But then I noticed her chest isn't moving. She's not breathing. I'll cut you to the chase. She died right fucking there.

With the grandkids screaming and crying and crowding around her, I call 911. Nobody shows up for an hour, and I call again. This time I tell them I'm a reporter, and a woman is dead. The dispatcher says the police will be right over, and they are. Two squad cars, no ambulance. And it hits me. Nobody's even coming to remove Grandma Kane's corpse.

After a short chat with the police, where I explained what happened, they tell me to leave the premises and assure me that the body will be dealt with. Then they put the kids in the back of the car, and I asked where they'll be taken. One of the officers says, probably the prison. They got a child care facility there. He was not joking either. By this point, it's almost dark, and I need to go home. I make the walk back to my car, and I'm passing the church courtyard where I hear a familiar voice.

You want to see where they put it? I turn around, and it's a little black kid from earlier. Big, goofy smile on his face. After the shit I just went through, his silly grin kind of catches me off guard, and I find myself laughing a little. They put something on top of the nothing man's grave, he tells me. You can see it poking out like a belly button. He points towards the churchyard. Don't ask me why, but I walk over and begin to inspect the churchyard.

I know he's probably just telling stories, but I guess partially I'm on autopilot, processing the events of the afternoon. Then after a minute, I find a round patch of dirt that looks like it's been recently dug up. And in the center is something that kind of sparkles in the low moonlight. I reach towards it. Then I pull my hand back. Squeezed into a little groove in the dirt, right in the center of the freshly dug dirt, is a human eye staring up at me. I almost gag and step back.

Then I hear another familiar voice. Did you find something? It's Reverend Downey. He's leaning in the doorway of the church, almost completely hidden by the shadows. For a moment, I'm at a loss of words. Then I point down at my feet. Have you seen this?

But he doesn't respond. He just says, I kept an eye on your car for you. Before I can respond, he says, You gotta keep an eye on things around here, he said. or they disappear. He's not smiling now, and there's no warmth in his voice like before

during our interview. Things go missing around here all the time, he tells me. Cars, people, and the cops don't even bother investigating. I get myself collected and ask, is someone buried here? Reverend Downey steps out of the shadows and says,

I heard about Grandma Kane. There's an audience, expression on his face. It finally dawns on me that I'm being threatened. If I weren't a reverend, I might bet you they never find what killed her, he says. And I'd win that bet. Who the hell is buried here, Reverend? I ask. It's not who, he says. It's a what. I begin to feel nauseous then and dizzy. And you're going to find out just what that is if you don't step back. He reaches from my hand, from that goddamn grave. He grabs my hand and yanks me back, away from the ring of recently dug dirt, and from the eye in the ground, and I instantly feel better.

I noticed then that the reverend is sweating heavily. His hand is on his chest, his fingers searching for his crucifix. He tells me to go home now, and I hear a strange sound. An odd humming that seems to be coming from underneath the ground. I don't even think twice. I scrambled to my car, fire the ignition, and peel out away from the church and out of the night. neighborhood. As I'm driving, I pass Grandma Kane's apartment building, glancing up at her small window. I can still see her dead body sitting up in his chair. I'm not sure if it was my

imagination, or the shadows, or the fear, but it looked like it was missing an eye. Needless to say, these events shook me. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do about the article. In the end, I wound up taking the easy route and writing a feature piece like I was asked to do, focusing on the emotional struggles of living in the ghetto, ignoring all of the truly disturbing things I'd seen. I spoke to a local poet and some recovering addicts to build my peace, but I steered clear of the church and of Reverend Downey. At some point, though, I couldn't help bringing up something to the poet I was interviewing. He was a very knowledgeable historian of the neighborhood, and I asked him if he had ever seen or heard of something called the nothing man.

His reaction left me wondering. There was a flash of recognition in his eyes, but he insisted, I only know it by name. He knew it was an old urban folklore, popular in the neighborhood long before you had been born, and that was now largely forgotten. It's something you might have heard kids talking about during the Depression, a spooky story to scare each other.

beyond that, I have no earthly idea. And then the OPE included two photos. I don't know what relevance these photos have. I mean, this one photo is creepy, disturbing. The eye and eyelashes around it, I don't know. Very interesting drawing, I assume. And then another kind of abstract painting with Church of God, and maybe this was in the neighborhood.

But a very, very interesting story, very unique story compared to a lot of other 4chan stories we've read. I mean, this feels very, very authentic and real. I mean, you don't have to believe it, but that was very interesting and very good. And I hope you enjoyed today's video. This was the last story in today's video. And if you did enjoy the video, please like the video and subscribe to the channel. It helps more than you know.

And join our Patreon for just $5 a month. You get early access to every single video, uncensored content in the weekly Snook show. So I'd like to see you there. And check out some other content on the channel. And with that being said, this is Snook. And I'll see you next time. Bye.