Monday, November 23, 2015

True Story

I’m a skeptic, and even though I’ve had my “experience” I’m still skeptical as to what was going on. My family and I moved into an old house in New England. New England is full of old houses, by the way. This particular one had been in the town since it had been settled. When we moved it, the place was a wreck, and as my parents would have it, they began to renovate the place, which is when things started happening. The day we moved, my sister and I went down to check out the basement, a low ceiling, dimly lit, dirt floor basement, separated into several sections.

As soon as we were at the bottom of the stairs, we were filled with a sense of uneasiness, we walked back into the next section and the uneasiness turned into dread. It was cold and lit dimmer than the first area, and then there was the totally pitch black back room, where the dread was unbearable. It was a sensation that to this day I can’t explain. But this is not enough to account for a ghost story.

My family was out of the house on one particular day. I was there and my father had left for lumber only moments before I laid down to take a nap. I’m not sure how long I slept, but I was awoken by a deafening banging. As though someone was pounding on the walls with a hammer. The force of each blow shook the house and shook me out of my bed. I got up and looked out the window to see if my dad had returned, my car was the only one in the driveway. The banging stopped after a couple of minutes and in a state of grogginess, I went back to sleep, dismissing the incident.

On another evening, I am alone in the house after dropping my girlfriend off at her house. I’m upstairs watching a movie in my parents room. The house is old, as I mentioned, and it makes a lot of very distinct noises. From downstairs, I hear the rusty doorknob leading to the barn turn. The sound is unmistakable, I heard it a thousand times when I would step out for a smoke. I froze and shut off the TV, listening hard for any other strange sounds. I crept back to the doorway to my room and from below, in the dining room, I heard the light switch flip on, it makes a loud popping sound when you switch it, again this is an unmistakable sound.

Saturday, November 21, 2015

Never Know Who to Trust

I'm fairly certain that my old landlord was organizing robberies of the tenants.

Last year I was living at this place, and one day as I'm in the shower I hear the door knocking. I figured it was just the UPS guy or something leaving a package (they usually knock when they do). I got out of the shower and I heard someone walking around the living room. I knew for a fact that my roommate wasn't home so I went to check it out. It was a guy from Orkin (the exterminator company).

I asked him what he was doing, and he said he was there because my roommate had made an appointment. I asked to see paperwork but all he had was a crumpled up post it note with my roommate's name and my unit number on it. I asked how he was able to get in and he said that the management had given him a key (which they are allowed to do if they get consent from the tenant).

This was fishy for a variety of reasons: 1) I had never seen anything more than the occasional spider at that place, which is hardly reason enough to call an exterminator, no matter how much of an arachnophobe you are. 2) If my roommate made an appointment, he would have told me that someone was coming by. Additionally, if he was expecting someone, he would do it on a day where he would actually be able to be there himself, so to make an appointment on a day where he wouldn't be present is extremely unusual for him. 3) I told him about what happened later that day and he said that he never called for an exterminator, and even if he did, he would tell me (reinforcing reason #2). 3) We confronted the management for giving out our key without our consent, and they were adamant about having gotten the permission. She claimed that a request for an exterminator was made over the phone by my roommate, but my roommate denied ever having done that.

Anyway, it sounds like it could have been a simple misunderstanding, but later on I would run into people around the complex, we would get into small chit chats, and more than a few times some of the other residents would mention that an exterminator that they never requested showed up at their apartments, or say that they came home to stuff having been stolen. Because of this, I firmly believe that someone in the management is/was organizing these break ins, but I can't prove it (I tried filing a police report but they did nothing). Thankfully, I had to move out for unrelated reasons.

Friday, November 20, 2015

Devil's Footprints

Here's an old mystery for you all. After you read it, leave a comment and share your thoughts. Can you explain the Devil's footprints?
--taken from Weird Encyclopedia

On the morning of February 9th, 1855, thousands of mysterious tracks were found in the new-fallen snow that had fallen upon the town of Devon, England. The tracks, which resembled those of shoed horses, covered over 100 miles and through five parishes. Rather than navigating a straight or even near-even course, the tracks were found to go up the sides of walls, into gardens, onto roofs, up and down the sides of fences, and other avenues which were impossible for any real creature to follow.

Given the impossibility of the trail, and the cloven-hoof aspects of the tracks (not to mention the fact that they were apparently from a creature which walked on two legs), most of the local citizens agreed the footprints could have been laid by only one being: old Satan himself.

The footprints were reportedly seen by hundreds of persons, and were mentioned in both theTimes of London and the Illustrated London News. Citizens debated in the papers’ pages about what could have caused them – despite the spread of religion, this was, after all, the 19th century, and there were those who sought more rational explanations for the tracks than simply blaming them upon a creature like Old Scratch.

Various animals were trotted out (pun intended) as the possible cause. A Reverend Musgrave theorized that it could have been a pair of kangaroos, which had escaped a private menagerie in a nearby town; the naturalist Sir Richard Owen suggested that it could have been a certain species of badger, which tends to leave behind tracks suggesting a bipedal creature. Other suggested beasts were certain types of cats, otters, foxes, cranes, and mice. These, however, do not explain how any terrestrial animal could have (for example) traversed 4-inch-high drainpipes or walked vertically up walls, nor how the trail could abruptly stop at either end.

Naturally, there are more romantically-minded individuals who suggest that the footprints were caused by some supernatural type of being – if not the Devil himself, then perhaps an animal spirit, or even Spring-Heeled Jack, the mysterious English figure whose gravity-defying adventures were nearly synonymous with this account. Some have suggested the presence of extraterrestrial beings, who might have the technology to leave such imprints.

And, of course, there are those who seek more prosaic explanations: that the footprints were created by perfectly normal animals, and the acounts of the trails’ length and meanderings were exaggerated in the telling; that it was some sort of ‘mass hallucination’ (whatever that means); or even, possibly, that it was a stunt to increase newspaper circulation on a terribly boring, snowbound day.

Friday, November 13, 2015

What's in the Tent?

This story takes place in August of 2013, in the mountains of Southern Oregon. I am a USAF Security Forces Airman (military policeman). My girlfriend was at work, and as a blisteringly hot day began to turn into thunderstorms, my buddy Nick (another military cop) and I decided to go explore some back roads and get out of the heat in town.

Southern Oregon is criss-crossed with logging roads, some actively used, and many totally forgotten and grown over. Nick and I spent many of our days off starting on roads that we knew, finding roads we didn't know, driving for hours into the mountains, eventually navigating back to paved roads. On this particular day, with storm clouds building over the mountains, we set off on a road we had never been on, and began the drive into the mountains.

After driving for around an hour, we hadn't seen nor heard any signs of other people in the woods. We rounded a bend in the thick fir woods, and emerged in a meadow that was totally surrounded by thick aspen groves. The meadow was perfectly flat, and eerily still. We both noticed the strange stillness almost immediately; no birds, hardly any insect noise, no squirrels, and certainly no other people. On the far side of the meadow, right at the edge of the tree-line, there was a picnic table. The table was very odd, however. It was painted a bright orange, and was much larger than a typical picnic table in a park. Remarking on this, Nick drove through the meadow to get a closer look.

I remember being apprehensive as we approached. The whole scenario was exceptionally strange; the overall silence of the aspen grove was unsettling. Also, it was nearly impossible to see far into the trees as aspens grow extremely close together. When we parked by the table, I hopped out of the passenger seat of the truck to check it out. I'm not very tall, only about 5'5", regardless, the table was ridiculously oversized and practically unusable. The seats were nearly at chest level, meaning I would have to climb up to even sit on them.

As I was looking at the table, Nick called me over to the truck, and I noticed he was looking back into the aspens. At first, I couldn't see what he was looking at, but then I noticed a splash of color that was completely out of place in the thick trees. A small one man tent was set back in the trees, about 50 feet from the strange table.

I had an initial feeling of dread, and felt certain that there was someone in the tent, and if we could see the tent, they could see us. There were no campgrounds in this area; no people, no main roads for miles. Surely someone camping so remotely would be, at the very least, a strange person. However, as we observed the tent, we didn't see any movement or hear any sounds coming from it. Nick suggested I call out; I didn't want to, but I did. "Hey! Anyone in there?", I yelled.

No reply. Feeling completely on edge, Nick and I thought about driving away and leaving this strange area. But we began to fear the worst; what if there was a body in the tent? What if somebody had gotten kidnapped? Foolish, I know, but we thought it, all the same.

After some debate, we decided to have Nick turn the truck around to drive away from the camp; should we need to leave in a hurry, he would be waiting behind the wheel. With my heart pounding, I started walking through the trees towards the tent. I was totally keyed up with my senses on full alert. When I reached the "campsite", several things struck me as odd. Backpacks were scattered all over. No fire had been built, no wood collected. The tent... The tent was literally full of backpacks, and women's clothing. Full of dread, I turned to leave and tell Nick what I had seen. As I left, I heard Nick start yelling.

"Let's go! Let's get the fuck out of here!" Not knowing why he was yelling, I ran back to the truck. When I broke out of the trees, I saw a beat up old Ford Taurus on the road, blocking us from leaving the meadow. I immediately leapt into the passenger seat, and Nick floored the gas pedal. The car was occupied by two men; a third person was laying against the window in the back. As we drove across the meadow, the driver attempted to block us from the road, but Nick drove around them and accelerated the way we had come from. I looked back and saw the car attempting to turn around on the narrow road. Nick drove like a mad man, and though I was honestly terrified that they would catch up, we hit the the highway without seeing the car again. I still do not know if the person in the back was male or female.

I called the State Police, and they promised to send a Trooper out to check out the scene. However, I received a call the next day from a Trooper stating that the campsite, the back packs, and the women's clothing was all gone, though he could tell people had been in the area. The strange table was still by the thick aspen grove. I have not returned to the area, and do not intend to.

Monday, November 9, 2015

Violence Seems to Follow Me

For a while in my life I lived out of my car. I was 16. My parents marriage was a decomposing thing for as long as I can remember, rotting from the inside. Violence was a norm in my house, and we all faced it in our own way. Dad was the hand of "justice" and would smack my mom and myself around at whatever real or imagined provocation that for some unknown reason flipped his switch that day. Mom would beat me as a sort of release valve, keeping her from simply dying, I think. A few times CPS was involved, when things got so far out of hand that our neighbors had no choice but to act. All of this lead to me being 16, in my car, and living in a Wal-Mart parking lot.

The town in which I grew up is small, but anymore in America, a town only needs a few thousand people to warrant a Wal-Mart to come in and become some sort of physical embodiment of lower-class turmoil. When I was 16 I was working full-time and going to school. After work I would drive to the library and do my homework and mess around on the computers until closing time, and then I would get in my old Mazda MX6 and drive to the Wal-Mart. There I would park in the side lot because it had the lowest level of lighting which helped me sleep.

I would sleep with the keys in the ignition. It was a small town, and there was little crime, but I was a sixteen year old girl, in my car, sleeping in a parking lot. Chances were not something I could afford to take. In the winter I would crawl into my sleeping bad, wearing my coat and shoes to sleep. One evening as I began to crawl into my sleeping bag a rusted passenger van pulled up the parking spot directly next to mine. In the yellow sodium lights I could make out a figure in the drivers seat, but couldn't see much detail. I slithered out of my sleeping bag, not waiting to see what this person was planning, turned my car on and drove off.

That night and the next several, I parked in the library parking lot to sleep. The problem was that the library lot was occasionally patrolled by the police, and one evening, just a few days after my strange encounter at Wal-Mart, I awoke to the flashing lights of a police car. I bullshitted an excuse about running away for the night, because my parents wouldn't let me go to a party. He made me promise to go home, and he followed me as I drove off, so I had to drive back to my house. I got out of my car, walked to my front door and opened it. It was late and my parents were asleep. I remember standing just inside the front door, eyes closed, willing my parents to not wake up. After a moment, the cop drove off, and I was back in my car headed to Wal-Mart. There are few others places in my small town where a car parked all night wouldn't arouse suspicions.

Winter had been especially bad that year, and snow fell thick and often. In my little side lot parking space, my car quickly was covered in snow. Not long after parking, and sliding into my sleeping bag, snow had collected on my car windows, screening out the sodium parking lights and my view.

I remember waking up because I was cold. The sleeping bad I used was a shittty $25 number from Wal-mart for kids to use in the living room, and not a serious winter bag. Though I was wearing my coat, and shoes, I was still cold. It took me a moment upon opening my eyes to realize that the inside of my car was too bright. The light from the parking lot lights was streaming in through my driver side window. Someone had brushed the snow off.

In a panic, I began to squirm my way out of the sleeping bag, which is like a contortionists trick in the tight confined of my car. As I struggled free, I noticed outside my window the same van that had parked too close to me last time. Again, it was parked right next to my car, invading my space. I could see footprints in the snow leading from the van to my car. I didn't see the driver or anyone else in the van, which had me wondering if they were around my car. Only my driver-side window had been brushed off. I couldn't see out of any other window. I was finally free from my sleeping bag, when a person began to wipe the snow off my passenger side window. I saw a white, long-fingered, bare hand pushing away the snow. I turned the key, still in the ignition, and my car started on the first try.

The problem was that my windshield and back window were still covered in snow. I turned the wipers on, but the weight of the snow was too much. There was an electric whine, as the wipers moved maybe a quarter of an inch and then stopped. The hand that had been wiping off the snow on my passenger window began to tap its fingernails against the glass. The snow had only been wiped from the bottom half of the window and I couldn't see anything above the man's chest. I hit the wipers again, and got no where.

The tapping fingers turned to a hammer fist. Pounding, pounding, pounding against the window.

I put the car in reverse, trying to remember the immediate layout of the parking lot, trying to see in my mind's eye where the cart corral and the cement light stands were in relation to my blindly careening Mazda.

Once free of the immediate vicinity of the, could you call it attacker, I rolled my driver's side window down and leaned my head out. I put the car in drive, and drove away from the side lot, the van and the strange man. Near the entrance to the Wal-Mart, I put the car in park, left it running, got out and cleaned off the windshield and back window in about ten seconds. I got back in the car, checking my rear-view, waiting to see the van's headlights come around the corner of the building, and drove off.

Violence seems to follow me.

Sunday, November 8, 2015

Stick Indians

I'm a pretty avid backpacker in the PNW. Sometimes I'll hike for days on end without seeing another person. I think it's exhilarating being completely alone, there's really no feeling like it. You get used to it, but personally I can never help but be on edge. The environment is completely serene and friendly, but there's a constant feeling in the back of your mind, it's hard to put your finger on. Most of the time you'll be chugging along, comfortable in your mind, but when you stop for rest, or to fill up on water, you can't help but look over your shoulder.

Nothing bothers me much out in the woods. I've run into brown bears, had elk trample through camps late at night and much more. But one night was different. I was on a deep backwoods hike, in the late fall off-season. was pretty cold, but the snow hadn't quite started falling yet. I like that. In fact, I usually plan my trips this way. The forest ranger I talked to when I was organizing the trip said I was the only hiker she knew of who'd be up there at the time. I was using dispersed camping sites so far off the beaten path they don't have fire pits. That night was 5 or 6 miles from the trail Into the area. I set up camp at a site about a hundred yards from a a stream, close enough that a faint babbling was audible. I'd lit a fire, cooked dinner, read for a while and was settling down to sleep. I lay listening for a while to the sounds of the woods and the creek. Just as I was nodding off, I think I hear voices. Nothing distinct, no clear words, but clearly a group of people was having a good time, laughing, maybe telling stories around a campfire.

A feeling of dread came over me. I thought: "I shouldn't leave the tent." Fear like I've never felt engulfed me. All the hairs on my arms, legs, and on the back of my neck stood on end. I lay there for a while in panic, the voices carrying on laughing indistinctly. After a while they receded into the background noise. I still didn't leave the tent, I was too afraid.

The next morning after a very short night's sleep, I searched the surrounding area, and the path to the site. The few shoe prints I found were faded and worn around the edges, too old and too few to be from the size of group I'd heard.

I tried to shrug it off as nerves, maybe nervousness got the best of me, but I couldn't shake a certain tension. I made good time to my next site, the last of the trip, looking around a little more than usual. Still nobody to be seen.

That site had no stream. Dry camping isn't a blast, but it's doable if you pack enough water for cooking and drinking for the night. It was a lot quieter, just the chirps of bugs and the wind rustling the trees. I cooked my dinner, and stayed up a good while after dark sitting on a log, looking at the stars and listening to the sounds of the forest, trying to hear the voices from the night before, but there was nothing. I turned in for the night, stretching every act out. I lay there, restless for what felt like hours. Finally, calm comes over me. And the it's back. Nothing threatening or particularly scary, just the sounds of a group of 15-20 having a good time, barely audible above the background noise. This time I'm calm, and there's what seems like an internal dialogue in the back of my mind: 'Why not join them? Sounds like they're having fun.' "I'd really rather stay here." This is entirely unconscious, and goes on for a while. I'd never experienced anything like this. I was worried that I'd lost it. After a time, the noises faded away into the white noise, and I felt that I was alone.

The next day I packed as quickly as I could and got out of Dodge. During the day I was more at ease, like I had always been in the past. I was relieved when I got to the car and started back home.

I told the story a few times, and every time I felt a little of that dread from the first night. I really had no reason to feel strongly about what had happened. I just heard strange noises in the forest, nothing extraordinary, but I felt it.

On one occasion, I told the story my teacher who's native. He got quiet for a minute, then said I had run into stick indians. He said that it was good that I didn't leave the tent. Stick indians are evil and dangerous being that prey on children and women. The look on his face was sober. He told me not to go back to that place again. These spirits are extremely aggressive and attack and kill at the slightest provocation, including even saying their Salish name, which he refused to do.

Saturday, November 7, 2015

A few tales of misadventure

I haven't been as outdoorsy since I've been married, but my father is like the trailer park version of Survivorman and I've picked up a lot of his knowledge of how to make it being feral. He lived out in the desert with next to no money in a tent for 8 months straight and we used to regularly spend weeks out there.

I've also veered off trail and come across strange things all over the place. Sometimes dangerous, other times just straight up creepy.

Denim Guy
I've posted about this one before. When coming down a steep trail on my way back to my car I heard a rustle in the trees not far from me. There was some guy clad in thick denim that had his arms raised in a really creepy attack sort of position. As I turned to look at him his whole body pivoted perfectly toward me. I don't know exactly what he was doing but it was definitely with malevolent intent. I reacted way too quick for him though and jumped like a mountain goat down some boulders and put some insane distance between us in a short amount of time. Called the rangers about it when I got back down, but don't know if they found him.

Mischievous Elves?
I don't really know... Just... Weird as fuck. Once again I went off trail and started aimlessly wandering in the general direction of a peak in the Uintas. From up a steep slope and from behind some very thick treeline I started getting pelted with green pinecones. Those shits hurt. They were flying at me from quite a distance, and I tried to angrily chase down the source but the terrain was was too difficult to negotiate quickly. I didn't see one shape or even the hint of movement through the trees at all. It's like the pinecones were coming from absolutely nowhere and arcing perfectly through thick trees and nailing me almost unerringly. Not a one hit a single tree or branch and that would have been impossible for me to do. Worst part? I could hear faint, high-pitched, creepy laughter.

Desert Stalkers
Me and a buddy were doing some back country hiking in the Great Basin in an area where all sorts of weird shit was prone to happening. There was some restricted military base in the general area, lots of military testing and maneuvers, and lots of crazy ass weirdos that came through that area. We crested a tall hill and were looking out over a valley when we saw two other guys on a hill across from us. I took a look at them through my binocs and they looked pretty normal. One had a rifle, but that didn't concern me because LOTS of people would skeet shoot and such up in that region. I decided to give them a holler and wave just to let them know we were in the area just in case they were shooting. Well, they noticed us and the guy with the rifle raise it and pointed it in our direction. I tried to dismiss it as him using his scope to be able to see us as we were pretty far away. We resume hiking and next thing I know I hear shots landing on the hill we're on. Not terribly close, but fuckin' A. We hoof it down that hill and up another one and I break out the binocs again. Well, those two guys had now made it across to the hill we were on before and were skulking around the brush. Fuck that. I decided we needed to get back to camp, but that we couldn't make a beeline because it would take us across the valley and we would be spotted in a second. I saw that there was an old, dry washout that was the perfect depth to conceal us. We snuck our way down into it and it was literally like being in a trench surrounded by sheer dirt walls. We followed it around and out to safety, but it was pretty harrowing being in there because you couldn't see too much above and so we had no clue where those guys were.

The Bloodbath
Back to creepy. This was out by a campground of several natural springs. A friend and I (same buddy from before) decided to strike out and go explore some very dilapidated and ancient-looking farm structures we'd seen earlier in the day. We decided to go at night because fuck being sane, right? It was a small cluster of buildings far off next to some woods. We hiked through the brush to get there, but there was also a really torn up, weed-choked dirt road that led to it. The buildings were completely decrepit and looked like they were going to collapse if we breathed too hard. We went to the biggest barn-like building and immediately began to smell death. As we got to the interior we noticed some REALLY unnerving things. First, despite the fact that these buildings no longer had any functional purpose, it was clear that people still went out there. There were fresh footprints that did not belong to us. Second, there seemed to be blood spattered all over the fucking place. Third, there were pieces of wood that had been sharpened into crude, short stakes that were absolutely drenched in blood. Fourth... There were scattered clumps of what looked - to me at least - to be human hair. Lastly, it looked like someone had used the blood-stained stakes to try and scrawl something on a couple walls and on a load-bearing post in the center of the building. I couldn't make it out, probably better that way. So yeah, we decide to GTFO immediately. We decide to leave via a slightly different route because we were ultra paranoid that someone was watching and would follow us back to camp. As we made our way back we hit a truly putrid wall of that death stench again. We found the source. It was the rear half of a calf. Just the rear half. The front half was absolutely no where in sight. The worst thing about it though is that this animal was cut clean in half. It did not look like an animal attack at all. No other wounds, just perfectly snipped in half. We made it back to camp and left the next fucking morning.

Dead Seagull Ritual?
Another odd one. Hard to really put it into words. I went out to the Great Salt Lake one day and an area of the "beach" had these long lines of dozens and dozens of desiccated seagull bodies, all very neatly arranged in rows. There were like 3 or 4 arrangements like this. However, the really fucked up thing about it is that alongside these rows of death were all of these metal rods coming out of the ground at a slight angle. Fuck it, I can't explain it, so here comes a shitty drawing. I can't really think of a context where this sort of fucking thing makes sense.

Thursday, November 5, 2015

Walking on Water

My dad said he used to go work on a boat, fishing for whatever he could catch. And by boat I mean, a 20 food boat would take a crew of around 8 people off to the middle of nowhere, in a lake, and drop them off on a very small, one person boat ( kind of like a canoe size), and the small boat would be anchored in place. But he would get dropped off around 9 at night, and they would pick them up around 3 in the morning.

He said he did this for a month and actually enjoyed the loneliness out there. He would say that it would be pitch black some nights, and some nights, the sky was beautifully lit with stars.

One night, it was pitch dark and kind of foggy. As he was just fishing as usual, when he could hear a strange noise behind him. It sounded like something trying to sneak up on him, on the water. He turns around, and the fog gets thicker, and can barely see a hint of light. He tries to see what it is, and he said it looked like a humanoid figure walking on water, towards my dad. By this time he is freaking out. He only has with him some food and water, a fishing rod with extra bait, and a mtitool. He said he stared at the humanoid object, for the next few minutes, as it walked towards him. When he first saw it, it was about 100 yards away. After a few minutes, it was around 35 feet away, and he could tell it was a person walking towards him. He is freaking out, since he is in the middle of a lake, and there appears to be a person walking on water, towards my dad. He reals in the fishing pole and gets ready to use it as a weapon. The humanoid figure has a lamp with him and is holding it to the front, while walking towards my dad. As it gets near my dad, it Speaks. It says my dad's name. My dad stays frozen, as this figure is around 20 feet away from my dad.

My dad asks who the figure is, and the man asks if he wants to go home. My dad then realizes it sounded like his friend. And as the person walks up to my dad, he can clearly see it is one of the persons that works with him. The man tells my father that the big boat broke down and that they are walking back to shore. And that he can just jump off the boat, they are but 2 feet deep of water. My dad laughs and jumps off the boat, and in to the water. Leaves the boat there and decided to head back to the pick up zone.

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

A Well Dressed Ghost or Crazy Goes for a Hike -- You Decide

This happened about two years ago on October 27th, I do a lot of hiking and I wanted to share with you all what is without a doubt one of the strangest things that I have experienced while hiking.

while on the way back from the summit of mt San Jacinto in California ( a fairly popular trail ). Just as day was changing over to dusk about 4 miles and 2000 vertical feet (a good 2-3 hour hike) from the tram we spotted a woman dressed in all black flapper attire with the exception of a white scarf. this woman was in dress shoes and carrying a very nice beaded purse. she was walking very intently and at a hurried pace up the mountain. If your familiar with the hike its at the top of the Wellman divide.

Nearly without words i asked her if she was lost, to which she replied "I'm on the trail arent I" her face looked grey and her lips were sort of blue(it was pretty cold outside ). so as quickly as she had passed us she was gone. My friend and myself looked at each other like "now we have seen everything." after conversations with other hikers on the way down that had also seen her i was kiddingly remarking that i was sure we had seen some sort of ghost looking for a lost love much like the mysterious lady in black story folklore. it was a truly bizarre experience.

about an hour later we were resting at round valley and we saw her again. Thankfully my buddy had the wherewithal to grab his phone and snap a few photos.

keep in mind this is literally in the middle of the forest at 9000 ft elevation. a good 2 hours hike from anything and the temps were around 35 degrees..the fact that is so close to Halloween was not lost on me either. At any rate I make no claims of the supernatural ( but I’m not ruling it out) but i thought everyone might enjoy the story and the pictures of this truly strange encounter. we shot a short video ( you can hear my friends wife get annoyed at our amusement ) i hope you all enjoy.

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

Ghost on the Mountain

Some friends and I would take my truck up in the mountains during the winter time and tow someone on a tube across the snow. We'd drop the tailgate in my old long bed Ford and a few guys would sit in the back with one of those bazillion candlelight spotlights. 

When I was driving it'd be fun to make really wide turns in the dark so the person on the tube didn't have the luxury of headlights or taillights to somewhat illuminate their trail. The person in the bed of the truck with the spotlight would be funny and shine the light clear off to the side so it was pitch black if you were on the tube. 

One particular winter night a snowstorm was rolling in so we headed up to the usual spot and it was DARK that night. A friend was on the tube, I was driving watching my mirrors as I'd swing him wide enough he had little light to see anything. The guy with the spotlight shined the light clear to the side of the truck and as I checked my mirror and I made eye contact with a guy dressed in jeans, a red plaid shirt, and a blaze orange ball cap. As we made eye contact I lost all control of my body for probably only 5 seconds, but it felt like an eternity. 

I stopped the truck and turned it around and asked the guys if they saw him. They all said no, so I flipped the truck around and turned on the high beams and they shined the spotlight all over. I got out and looked for footprints in the fresh snow and saw nothing.

That night we went back home and I told my dad about the weird experience and he didn't think anything of it. A week later on the news the police reported finding a body in the area close to where we were and asked for any tips. My old man convinced me to call the police and tell them we were up in the area and saw that guy. 

I called and the police said they'd send an investigator over. He came over to the house, I recalled the same experience saying it happened 7 days earlier. As soon as I said that, the investigator asked me "you are sure on your date?" Which I was positive, and he showed me a picture of the body they found wearing the same red plaid shirt and blaze orange ball cap. He informed me the body had been on the mountain for at least 1 month so I must have just seen something. Turns out it was a man who suffered from some mental handicaps and committed suicide on the mountain, 1 month prior to when I saw him.

Because of Her Skin

Monday, November 2, 2015

View post on

Noise in the Night

I spent 3 months in North Western Utah in 1999 doing graduate field work. I was alone for almost all of it. I read Lord of the Rings, played guitar, laid in the dirt staring up at the stars... very fun.

Anyhow, one night as I was sleeping, I heard a strange noise (see Edit below) around 3AM that jolted me awake instantly. I was in a tent and about 30 feet away from me, I heard a grunt that lasted about 4 seconds. Maybe it was a throat clearing? It was an animal noise.

Most alarmingly though, it had a definitely aggressive tone to it. It sounded like a challenge. There were no bears in the area - but mountain lions were possible, although quite rare. (I didn't hear any of the insane mating calls for the 3 months).

I sat bolt upright and grabbed my flashlight (I had no weapons with me other than a small knife and that was somewhere with the cook gear). I waited, quiet as a mouse for about 30 seconds listening for any noise. It was dead quiet. I could've heard anything. But - not a single sound.

As quietly as I could (but it sounded like when you're opening a bag of chips when you're trying not to make a sound), I positioned myself at the tent zipper then suddenly yanked it open and shined the flashlight. Nothing.

Then I bolted for the truck about 50 yards away. I made it and looked around with the flashlight. Nothing.

It was out there watching me - unless it ran away when I ran to the truck. I had the window cracked a bit and watched and listened for about an hour. Nothing.

I laid down in the back and tried to sleep but it was quite chilly and I was wearing only a pair of underwear and my huge scratchy wool sweater that was luckily in the backseat.

The next morning I looked for tracks but saw nothing. And for the next 6 or so weeks I slept in the back of the truck.

Edit: here is a similar noise that I heard. Listen to 0:05 to 0:09 (or more accurately from 0:40 to 0:45) of this video. I did NOT hear the super obvious cougar snarls at 0:10 to 0:13.