I was 13 years old at the time, and in the 7th grade, so that puts us back in the year
2005. The spring season was coming to an end around this time, and in Washington, spring
and summer are the only times one gets to enjoy the sun. Throughout fall and winter
it's pretty much just heavy rain, day in and day out. Summers were notorious for thunderstorms
though; it wasn't uncommon to wake up drenched in sweat and go to bed drenched in rain. Weather
patterns in Washington state are the very definition of unpredictable.
On this particular summer day, it was Saturday, and my father and I decided to go fishing.
We usually go fishing twice a month, and we usually go to the same spot to do so - a massive
lake surrounded by dense forestry, located only a few miles away from an Indian reservation.
It was a beautiful lake and we loved being surrounded by all the trees and wildlife,
with no cities or major roads nearby. It made for nice, peaceful bonding experiences with
my father. He had just returned from his first 365-day deployment to Iraq, so I was eager
to finally spend a day with my old man again. The lake itself was surrounded by forest,
with the region to the west running out into the Pacific Ocean/Puget Sound, the region
to the north led to the Indian reservation, to the east was a small town primarily consisting
of Native Americans (many of them from the reservation had set up shops in this nearby
town), and to the south was the interstate that took you back to...well, civilization.
With the exception of the occasional fellow fisherman strolling by, the lake was always
desolate and eerily silent. After arriving to our usual fishing hole,
and unloading all of the poles, lures, and tackle boxes from the back of the Toyota pick
up, everything was business as
usual. The sun was out, it was about 1:00 pm, and my father kept sharing stories of
his experiences in Iraq while I continued to eagerly beg for more. We casted our lines,
exchanged words, chewed some sunflower seeds, spit out the shells, reeled in the lines,
and then moved on to a different story before recasting and repeating the whole process.
I loved it. It was a ritual, a ritual only he and I got to have together
Minutes turn to hours and before we know it,
it's about 5:30 in the evening. We decide to pack it in because nightfall in that part
of the state could arrive as early as 6-6:30, and we didn't want to be in the forest at
night time, primarily because of bears and wolves. Keep in mind however that it is still
currently bright out and the sun has only just began to make its descent beyond the
mountains. With more than enough daylight to pack up, my father starts reeling in all
of the casts and breaking down the poles. I packed up the tackle boxes and lures and
threw them into the pick up bed along with the coolers and snacks we had packed. The
poles were the only things left to be loaded up, and then we would be ready to leave. I
was about to tell my father that I was going to go take a piss real quick and before I
could even open my mouth, I caught a whiff of a smell that I can still remember clearly
to this day. It was rancid. That's the best way to describe
the stench - absolutely fucking rancid. I have never smelled anything so terrible in
my life. "Do you smell that?" I called out. "What?" replied my father. I figured it must've
just been something blowing through in the breeze. "Never mind." It smelled like a wet
dog rolled around in its own shit, got hit by a truck, lie dead under a hot sun for 2
weeks, and then burst into some kind of maggot-infested stench cloud...and that's just putting it
politely. The odor stung my eyes. "Dad, I'm gonna go pee real quick, I'll be
back." He nodded and off I went, into the shrubbery to our usual piss spot. Often times
we will just pee anywhere, but because we had seen a few fishermen walk by a couple
hours ago, I figured it'd be safer to just go piss in the trees. We usually pee behind
this massive fallen tree that's roughly 50 yards into the woods. It's leaned at a perfect
angle that provides total obscurity from the lake side. The forest itself is thick enough
to probably conceal me without the aid of the fallen tree, but somehow pissing behind
this tree just became habit during the many visits we have made to this fishing hole in
the past. As I'm taking care of business, the sky was suddenly enveloped
in clouds in a matter of seconds. It was bizarre. There was still daylight, but it was more
gray and toned down, as opposed to the sunlight you would get with a clear blue sky. It reminded
me of a winter day, when the sun's presence seems completely absent.
Then everything happened so fast. As I'm zipping up, I hear a tremendously loud
CRACK right behind me, I'd say about 30 yards away based on its reverb. As I'm in the middle
of turning around, my face is sprinkled with the light droplets that precede a heavy thunderstorm.
I scan the area where I heard the sound but see nothing. My immediate thought was that
it was an old tree branch splitting off, which is common to hear in these woods. CR-CRACK!
I hear it again, closer, but from a different direction. I would be a liar if I told you
my heart wasn't racing like a motherfucker at this point. I could easily have just ran
back to the fishing hole, but curiosity kept my feet glued. It was like knowing what made
that sound was a prerequisite to concluding our fishing trip. After about 2 minutes of
me standing there foolishly, and realizing that I'm getting drenched in the rain that
is beginning to pick up, I chalk the noise up to thunder and turn around to head back
to my father. Part of me was in denial though...it wasn't a BOOM sound like thunder, this was
a crack, like something big was being snapped in half.
I took about 3 steps in the direction of the fishing hole when I heard the most bone-chilling
sound that I have ever heard to this day. It sounded like a cross between a man screaming
on top of his lungs, and...well, another man screaming on top of his lungs. I know that
might seem silly but that's really how I remember it. It sounded like two men screaming in unison,
with slightly different pitches in their voice. I didn't have time to think about where that
dreaded noise came from, my ass was in high gear. I remember shortly after that noise
from hell, I heard my father shout my name with obvious worry in his voice...I know he
heard the sound as well, and probably thought it was me screaming, or thought it was an
animal or something. As I'm sprinting to the direction of the truck
and making every effort to control my body's shaking (adrenaline is a bitch), while jumping
over branches and logs and maneuvering between foliage, I suddenly hear CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH
CRUNCH CRUNCH. Something is walking through the woods, very close to me. "DAD!!!!!" was
all I could manage to get out in between short breaths.
And holy shit, I see it. I see it. I fucking SEE it.
While sprinting forward, I see a dark mass in the far left of my field of vision growing.
Everything was a blur so I just assumed everything in the corner of my eyes was bushes, trees,
etc. And then I realized this isn't an immobile object that's growing, this is something that's
coming closer to me, getting bigger as the distance between us closes. Suddenly it hit
me that this approaching object was the source of the heavy footsteps, so I turn my
head to the left and what I saw accelerated me to speeds that I would think are humanly
impossible. Approaching me with tremendous speed was an
ape-like creature with massive swinging arms. Those I remember the most...the arms were
massive and long, almost lanky in the way they dangled, but very muscular. This creature
was bipedal as all hell...you know how when you go to the zoo, you see monkeys and gorillas
walking around with some assistance of their forearms? Kind of like...tromping around on
all fours, but occasionally using just two feet before leaning back onto all fours? Yea,
not this thing. This creature was full-on striding towards me with its legs, while its
arms were swinging lazily at its sides. My biggest fear was that all it had to do
was reach out to grab me because its arms seemed long enough to do that. This thing
was so fucking close to me and all I could focus on was going faster and faster and faster.
I recall the awful smell being present again. It was in full force, just the worst stench
anything on this planet could produce. I was too scared to care, but I definitely remember
the smell being heavy. The final details I can recall from my brief glimpse at this demon
of the woodlands was that it was easily about 7-8 feet tall and matted with thick brown
fur. Very long fur too. It's head was conical in shape. It seemed to narrow at the top,
but from head to toe, this thing was matted in very long brown hair. I remember seeing
bits of leaf and foliage stuck throughout the fur on its body too. I didn't dare try
and make out facial details, although sometimes I wish I had. I couldn't see much of the face
from my distance combined with my constant running, and at the time, I really didn't
want to know what the fuck this thing looked like. It's body gave me more than enough fear
for a lifetime. By this point, the rain is coming down heavy
"Please don't slip, please don't slip."
I must have screamed for my dad about a thousand times. I remember making a few
attempts to scream but nothing would come out because my throat was very raw and sore
from the screaming I was already doing. I also remember thinking "why does it feel like
he's (my dad) so far away?" The walk to the piss spot is a short one and yet I swear I
was running full speed for a good few minutes before I made it back. Fear does incredible
things to your sense of time and space. As I approach the clearing and can make out
the pick up truck, by some incredible grace of parental intuition, my dad pulls some very
genius shit. I'm not sure what prompted him to do this,
but as I'm approaching the fishing hole, I see him standing by the edge of the woodline,
looking for me through the foliage. His truck is already on and running, his driver side
door is open, and he's close to it, as if he knew that whatever was happening to me
was going to involve a much-needed quick escape. The truck was parked in a way where the driver
side was already facing the woodline I'm running out of, so I like to think we were dealt a
good hand on this day. At the very moment we made eye contact, my
dad turns around and hauls ass for the driver seat, but not before shouting "Jump in the
bed! GET IN THE BACK, HURRY!" I should note that this is only a two seater pick up, so
my options were to circle around the truck and get in the passenger door, or to jump
in the bed...it's obvious which option is far less time consuming.
All I can think about is how happy I'm gonna be to see the fucking interstate again.
This thing is still following me and is now out of the woods and running on the dirt.
Its footsteps are the only indicator of its presence while my visual focus is purely on
what's ahead. I remember quickly eyeballing the best point on the ground to jump from
to make it into the pick up bed smoothly. The shriek happened just as I made my leap
of faith, and I would even go as far as to say that it terrified me so much in a way
that it made my jump even stronger. I jumped like my life depended on it. And no sooner
than my body made contact with the bed of the truck, my dad fucking FLOORED it. I shifted
violently around as he gunned from 0 to 60 mph. I couldn't feel the vicious bruise my
arm had taken when I landed on one of the tackle boxes. I couldn't feel the sharp ringing
in my ear from the shriek of defeat the creature emitted. I couldn't feel the sting of the
two fishing hooks that burrowed just beneath the skin of my right calf. I didn't care about
anything. I only cared about going home. We've told family and friends of our encounter
but nobody ever seems to fully understand what we went through on that summer day. How
can they? It's a terror that must be felt to be understood. They didn't see what we
saw, but that's okay. I wouldn't wish such a sight on my own worst enemy.
So a little backstory, I grew up in the suburbs of Philly in Pennsylvania. Somewhat rural
and kind of normal suburbia. Sometimes, when I was a kid, I would go to summer camp up
in the Pocono Mountains. Lenape natives and the like populated them in the old days. So
this happened when I went to camp Watonka the summer that I was 15 or 16 years old.
The camp was doing manhunt, which all the younger kids loved. Its essentially hide
& seek mixed with tag done in the dark. Every kid was given a small flashlight and told
to stay in groups over at least 2. So being the fucks we were, me, a kid named Scott,
and a kid named Eric went up to where our bunk was.
Now Im going to try to draw a REALLY basic set up of the camp. Overall theres the
main camp that has most of the cabins. Its lower down than the lake (where we swam and
fished) and the older kids cabin. I should say now that it was an all boys camp. So me,
Scott, and Eric go up to our bunk, no one else is there. It was all supposed to stay
in the main camp, no one goes up to the lake area and no one crosses the bridge into the
woods. Not the trees, but on the opposite side there was a bridge across a gorge that
led into deep forestation. No one is really allowed in it past sunset, makes sense, its
dangerous and kids are idiots. So the three of us are chilling on the steps
up to the cabin. Then we see someone coming from the
woods area that rims the majority of the lake. This was weird because everyone, including
the counselors and kids, were supposed to be in main camp, but also had no pathways
into those woods. So theyre around 50 yards away from just kind of hobbling toward us.
Eric suggested that they could be hurt and we should help them, to which Scott said fuck
off. I said its probably a counselor trying
to scare us for not playing the nightly game. When he
was around 10 yards out we could see what he looked like. Moonlight and the dim-ish
cabin lights. He looked like hed been in a fight. Like his nose was off, his cheeks
must have been shattered, and his jaw was limp. He didnt really walk as much as stumbled
eloquently. Scott later described his appearance as caveman got fucked by a grey then dropped
from the mothership which fits well. So the three of us are making jokes about how
its a nice costume, how hes an ugly fuck, et cetera. When he was about 10 feet
away we realized a few things. It REEKED like blood, the fleshy iron tinge. It was just
in the air. We also heard the canteen bell. That means
everyone, and I mean everyone except us 3, is down in main camp. Insert noping. Scott,
Eric, and I run the fuck inside and lock the thin pine door. The thing walked up to the
steps wed been hanging out on. Just stood there. It easily could have broken the door
and gotten to us. But it stood there. Probably for about 10 minutes. Then it shrieked. Ive
since read other skin walker stories, and let me tell you that no matter how hard we
try, nothing matches that noise. When it stopped, it ran away. Like swiftly and extremely fast.
We stayed inside the cabin, too scared to leave.
About 3 minutes later, Im guessing (no clock), 4 of the head counselors (owner and
family) came through the area on quads, each with a rifle. When they saw we werent at
canteen they figured we were here, then they heard the shriek. Apparently they never crossed
the bridge and only did stuff at night; I was told this by the older counselors later.
They were testing the waters with us. Fucking scary man.
I never thought it would be the last time I saw my little sister.
It started out as such a typical Friday afternoon, the bell rung, and we had the whole weekend
to look forward to. We lived in a small town in Michigan. It was one of those towns where
everyone knew everyone, one of those towns where you basically felt safe anywhere you
went. We lived in a small split level house, my little sister and I shared a bedroom, and
my parents were directly across the hall from us. Our house backed onto a deep, vast forest,
and through the middle of the forest, was a river.
The woods always provided a sort of natural playground for the local kids, building tree
forts, playing hide & go seek, and swimming the more shallow parts of the river. My little
sister and I felt especially lucky, the woods were essentially my backyard, and we really
felt like they were ours. Our parents were fine with us playing in the woods, they just
had one rule: Dont cross to the other side of the river. The woods on our side of the
river were quite well traveled by all the locals, by age seven you knew them like the
back of your hand. The other side of the river, however, was much less traveled.
It was our towns myth, kind of our own scary claim to fame. The Mikmaq tribe had
largely settled the area around our town, so there were a lot of stories based on Native
American culture. Everyones favorite story was about the wendigo. A wendigo is a Native
American legend, supposedly a half man half beast type creature. The rumor is that during
a harsh Michigan winter, a member of the Mikmaq tribe and his hunting partner got caught during
a blizzard. The tribe members partner died, and with no food, the tribe member was forced
to eat him. Native Americans believe that wendigos are born when a member of their tribe
is forced to resort to cannibalism due to harsh conditions, such as weather, or a famine.
And so, legend was born, and people began to believe that a wendigo hunted for more
flesh in our woods. Everyone from here has a story, that they would be having a campfire
in the woods, and all of a sudden a deep resonating roar would sound out through the forest. The
belief around here was that the wendigo would not hunt for you, so long as you stayed on
our side of the river, the rest of the woods beyond the river belonged to him.
As per usual Friday ritual, my friends and I filled our backpacks with our swim trunks,
snacks, soda, and other trinkets to spend the rest of the day playing in the woods.
As we were leaving, my little sister came running out of the house. I was thirteen,
and she was nine. She was begging me to come spend the day in the woods with my friends
and I. Normally, I would say no, but it was such a beautiful day, and she really was not
much of a hassle to have along, so I said yes. There were 4 of us, including my little
sister and I. It was three in the afternoon, at the beginning of June, so we knew we would
have daylight for quite a while. Off we went into the woods, taking the same trail that
we took every time. The trail led us straight to the river, where we would set up a little
camp, and spend the rest of the day playing, and swimming.
A few hours rolled by, and we were pretty tired. There was not much left to do, so I
suggested that we pack up, and head home. Now, thirteen can be quiet a rebellious age,
the age where you start to disobey your parents, maybe act out in school here and there, try
a cigarette, you know, pretty typical teenage behavior. Lets cross to the other side
of the river! one of my friends exclaimed. In my head, I knew this was a terrible idea.
Growing up here, you barely have any rules to follow. Not going to the other side of
the river was an explicit one, however. Yea! Ive always wanted to do that! my other
friend said in agreement. In my head I knew this was a bad idea, but I also did not want
to seem like a chicken in front of my friends. Well.. Okay.. I said cautiously. My
little sister looked at me, her big blue eyes were full of fear. I reassured her, telling
her that nothing bad would happen. And so, we began to walk to the point in the
river where it was shallow enough to walk across. We arrived, and I will be honest,
the other side of the river looked like an entirely different world. It was darker; it
honestly just had this entire unfriendly vibe to it. I brushed it off that it was all in
my head. It was about 7:30 PM, and the sun was beginning to set in the sky, though we
still had plenty of daylight. We walked across the river, it was about ankle deep at this
point, and the water was frigid here, a lot colder than it was where we were swimming.
I put my foot down on the other side of the river. For the first time in my entire life,
I had done what so many people who grew up here feared to do. Just standing there felt
uneasy, it really felt like we did not belong there, but at the same time there was that
feeling of adrenaline pumping through my body, and it carried me as we began walking deeper
into the woods. My little sister was attached to my hip, I felt bad, she truly had no interest
in being here, but also wanted to appear brave in front of my friends. As we got deeper into
the woods, the feeling of dread increased. The weird part is, it was not what I could
hear. Its what I could not hear. There was not a sound. Not a cricket, not a bird,
not even the river. It was silent, deadly silent. The trees seemed so much thicker in
this part of the woods, not as much sunlight came through, so it was definitely darker,
not just my imagination. Crack we heard in the distance. Everyone gasped.
I can not reiterate enough that it was SILENT, there was not a single noise coming from anywhere,
but then to hear that distinct crack, it made my heart skip a beat. Probably just a deer,
theres tons of them in the woods. One of my friends stated. At this point, I wanted
to turn back, but for some reason we just kept going. The stories were echoing through
my head, about the wendigo, about how foolish people over the years had dared to cross over
to this side of the river, and how they were never seen again. As we continued to explore
the uncharted part of the woods, another crack this time came from behind us. That one really
startled everyone. We had all decided that it was time to head back; it was really starting
to get dark. There was just one problem, this side of the woods was unfamiliar to us, and
we were lost. My little sister began to cry upon realizing this, and while I was doing
my best to settle her down, she was really scared, and I have to admit that I was too.
The minimal light that was previously coming down from between the thick trees was now
beginning to fade as the sun began to set. The darkness was becoming even darker, and
we had not even thought to bring flashlights. The thought of wendigo ran through my head
time and time again, each time sending a sickening chill down my spine. We tried everything we
could to find our way back to the shallow spot of the river, but it was to no avail,
we could not even find the river to begin with. Crack we heard again from behind us.
Then a low rumble, a rumble that resonated through the trees. Whoosh a gust of wind hit
us from the side, knocking me back, and knocking my little sister over. The rumble got louder,
growing into more of a roar. Its a bear! screamed one of my friends. Whoosh another
gust of wind hit us, this time from behind. Crack; whoosh this time it hit us in the front,
knocking all of us over. RUN. I bellowed, and we all ran, leaving our backpacks behind.
I had my little sisters hand in mine, essentially dragging her through the dirt and leaves on
the ground of the forest. I could definitely hear something running.. Fast footsteps. They
would be behind us, then beside us, then gone. ITS THE RIVER! screamed one of my
friends. We all stopped as we approached the rivers edge. It was too dark to tell if
it was shallow or deep at this point. The roar returned, this time coming from behind
us, and it was close. We have to jump in. I said. NO! my two friends & my little
sister screamed simultaneously. Fast footsteps approached, a low growl, and multiple cracks
as the predator approached us. NOW!!! I screamed, and in we jumped. The last thing
I heard before my head sunk under the water was a roar. Inhuman, and nothing like an animal
could produce. I knew what had just chased us, and I know how good of a hunter it is.
The water was pitch black, and it was deep. We were all strong swimmers, and managed to
find our way to the other side of the river, our side of the river. Even in the dark, we
were able to navigate this side of the river, and find our way back to the trail that led
to my house. The whole walk back all I could think about how was if wendigo wanted us dead,
we would be dead. Every legend about it speaks about how it is the best hunter, and how once
it tracks you, you are dead. We arrived back at my house to some very angry parents, scolding
us. We all explained how we had just lost track of time, having too much fun playing
in the woods. They bought all of our explanations, no way were we going to mention the fact that
we went exactly where we had been told not to go our entire lives.
I prepared myself for bed, and went to lie down in my bed. It was hot this time of year,
so my window was open. It was letting in a gentle breeze that felt quite nice, so I decided
to just leave it open. As I lie there, I hear the sound of the quick footsteps again, accompanied
by the low rumbling. My palms began to sweat, my heart dropped into my stomach. Had wendigo
tracked us back to our house? As slowly as possible, I turned the lever and closed my
window, doing my best not to make a sound. My little sister was asleep on the bed parallel
to mine, and I did not want her to hear any of this. I shut the window, and flipped the
latch to lock it. My parents were asleep, my little sister was
asleep, I was the only one awake for this. I lay under my covers, noticing every little
sound my old house made. And then I heard it; the kitchen door was opening. It makes
a distinct screak when it opens. I began to shake. Wendigo had come. I could hear it moving
about our basement, knocking a glass over, opening cupboards. The sound of fast footsteps
below me. The fast footsteps became louder as wendigo made its way up our staircase,
and to my bedroom door. The knob turned, and wendigo was inside my bedroom. I shook violently,
my hands clammy, my stomach sick. I hid under my covers as I listened to the low rumble
grow louder and louder with each footstep it took in my room. And then whoosh, the same
sound it had made as it hunted us in the woods. The rumbling had stopped, and the fast footsteps
The sun shined brightly into my room the next morning, and I hopped out of bed. I went downstairs
to find my parents sitting in the kitchen, my dad reading the newspaper and drinking
coffee, my mom frying bacon for breakfast. Morning champ, you must have slept well
after your big day yesterday. My dad said. He was right, it was 11 AM, and I rarely sleep
past 9:30. The same for your sister. My mom said. Why dont you go wake her
up, champ? my dad said. I immediately ran upstairs to our room, and to this day, it
is still the most horrific sight that I have ever laid eyes upon. My little sisters
bed was empty. MOM. DAD. COME QUICK I cried out. They both ran upstairs. Oh
my god! Where is she? my mom said, she was already beginning to cry. We looked everywhere;
she was not in the house. My parents looked outside, and within an hour, a search party
had formed. They searched the woods top to bottom, but she was nowhere to be found. My
parents believed that she had wandered off to the woods in the morning, fell in the river,
and drowned. But I knew why they could not find her. I
knew why they would never find her. They were looking in the wrong side of the
Hey guys and ladies, thanks for watching. Be good to animals, even people. cya