Up close and Personal with Great Salt Lake Demon

To this day, I haven’t told anyone this story. My loved ones all think that I had a decompression accident during a routine diving trip, but, heh, that couldn’t be any farther from the truth. I guess I should give you a little background before getting into the meat of the story.

I don’t dive anymore, but back when I was in Mormon Scouts, it was basically all I did. We even had an inside joke where they would call me “Holy Diver” in reference to the 1983 Dio song of the same name, it’s not like I was being bullied or anything, I quite liked the name and the song as well, since I still listen to it regularly to this day. Well, to get to the point, I had convinced our Scoutmaster that we should go camping near the shore of the Great Salt Lake, and even though he many times said no, saying it would be too dangerous, he eventually buckled, under the condition that I was not allowed to dive. Heh, at the time I had no idea what could be so dangerous about that lake, but now, I think I know better than anyone.

The bus ride to the campsite was uneventful, save for my best friend at the time throwing up. We all had a good laugh about it, but he seemed to be in genuine pain so we apologized for laughing and he had to be picked up by his mom’s boyfriend, since his mom didn’t have a driver’s license and his dad was at work in the tire factory. To this day, I still think about how he was the luckier one of the two of us, despite it not seeming like that was the case at the time.

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The night that changed my life

This is the story of how I started believing in the supernatural, cryptids in particular. Being a country boy from Tennessee growing up meant camping trips and four-wheeling with my father. One particular trip when I was probably around 9 or 10 we had gone on a four day trip in the blue ridge mountain area on some property that one of his friends owned.

I remember it was heavily forested, nearly untouched except for a small plot where he had built a log cabin. We met at his cabin and set out on four wheelers to an area with a small stream that ran through a small flat area. We decided to set up our tents next to it and start a fire. We had brought enough supplies to use such as hotdogs, marshmallows and such for s’mores.

The plan was to fish, but not for food since I’ve always cared for animals it was always catch and release just for fun. after having eaten and talked around the fire for a while we decided to go to bed since we had a big day of four wheeling and fishing the next day. My dad and I shared a large tent with mesh openings to let in airflow and moonlight.

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The monster of the Zambezi valley

This story happened to me about 14 maybe 15 year’s ago,ita burnt into my memory like a scar that won’t ever leave you

I live in Johannesburg south africa,though my hole family comes from Zimbabwe. Once in a while I make the trip uobto visit my uncle,aunt and cousin. We always go to a place called Mana pools, wild life walks around with no fences. Just the other day (this year 2018) a kudu (a type of dear) was killed by wild dogs in a restaurant in the game resurve. It’s a wild place. Any way back to my story.

My cousin and I are pretty ruggerd and not always scared of wild life around us while we in the Bush, the 1at night how ever was a complete diffrent story, the hole time we couldn’t sleep, and kept feeling as if something diffrent was around us,as if something else other than the normal lion or wild dog was in our camp, something was just not right with the world around us,but like we normally do,we just brushed it off as nothing as we didn’t believe in the paranormal.

Thought out our stay we kept fishing,game driveing and walking around looking for wild life around us,having my cousin’s two sons with us,it was good chance to teach them about towing knots and tracking game though the thick of the African Bush.

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A near encounter with a wendigo

This story happened on a camping trip on september 7th 2018, I woke up originally not planning on camping i honestly just wanted to kick back for the day but my 2 close friend’s (we’ll call them jack and chase) came over with camping gear as today looked quite nice to be out but i was slightly against it at first seeing as I’ve had a similar encounter a few years back but they pressed on so i decided too.

It took us a while to pack up but soon we we’re on our way to the nearby woods and that’s when it was slowly getting darker. By the time we got to the spot it was basically night so we rushed to set up tents and start up a fire before then.

Eventually we managed to get a decent fire going that we were proud of and for most of the night things were as per usual just quiet and chill until it started getting pitch black out. It started to rain hard afterwards so we were forced to go in a tent be and chase went in the small one and jack got the large one we were talking aloud Trying to kill time but around 3 am things went south.

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Skinwalker in the Pines

(Hey everyone, Spades here – It was really awesome to see one of my stories end up in a video, and I’m hoping to maybe even do that again if I can write that well! Thank you for all the support. )

(This story was told to me by JakobLmao on Reddit, and will be told from his point of view from here forth.)

I’ve had a draft of this story set up for a while before I gained the courage to share it. It made me question… everything. My faith, my eyes, my friends, and worst of all, my sanity. I’ve decided it’s time to let someone else know about this, maybe that will help me move on… at least, that’s what I hope. For my sake, and maybe even yours.

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Weatherman & The Cuyahago Valley Buzzer (National Park)

This story was not told to me by a hiker like most of my others, but rather was witnessed by myself firsthand. This encounter occurred very close to my home woods of Ohio, way up North in Cuyahoga Valley National Park. Cuyahoga Valley is a smaller park, one of the few parks in the East Coast area (comparatively), and doesn’t get near as much love as it should. This being said, it’s somewhat of a private heaven for those of us who take the trip into the valley, escaping the more populous of parks.

To lay some basis for this tale, I will describe its characters. Due to the nature of the sites at the Valley, having two to three people per group can be optimal. I had ached for a return to the forest, as it had been a fair amount of time since my last excursion. So, after some convincing, I managed to call up an old friend of the area and convince him to take the hike with me. He wasn’t a camper at all; 90% of what he carried that weekend was gear borrowed from me.

I was excited to take him on the trip with me. For those less experienced in the world of the outdoors, a big tradition and rite of passage for any novice outdoorsman to earn a “trail name,” a unique nickname given by other, more experienced hikers, usually in reference to an event at a camp out or something like that. My trail name is Spades, due to some card game fun on one of my first long hikes. The reason I am explaining all of this is because I had decided to take it upon myself to find an appropriate trailname for my friend. I had assumed it would be something silly, like a friend of mine who’s name was Ramen-bomben, following his creation of an instant ramen – potato – spam creation.

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The People of the Forest

The natural world that lives around us is one that we all exist within, yet the amount of which some are connected to it are far beyond others. Some of us walk paths made of pavement; and some of us choose ones of dirt and debris. When man evolved away from his home in the forest, he unknowingly opened the domain to the world of the unknown, the impossible, and the terrifying.
These days, most of us no longer dwell within the forest. However, the same majority of us find a brief return to the wild, in the form of camping or perhaps a backpacking trip, and may even regularly do so. The modern outdoor recreation community is a vibrant, welcoming one, and is by far one of the more upbeat groups on the internet. But, for those of us who live or spend a larger amount of time in the world of the wild know the dark, hidden away parts of the woods that exist within the scary stories told by experienced hikers and seasoned campers around the campfires – not the ones that may make you giggle, or the ones that seem to be fabricated on the spot, but the ones that shake you so deep that you feel rattled to the core as you desperately try to sleep in your tent that night, terrified of any shadow or twig snap you may hear.
This story was told to me at a small, backwoods public campsite in Kentucky, by a tall, handsome man by the trail name of Blackhorn. Blackhorn shared a laugh with us nearly the entire time I was in his presence at the campsite. He had a prowess for the backpacker’s classic card game, B.S., and gave genuine kind-hearted advice on anything he could. This made his story all the more shocking.
When I, Blackhorn and the few other hikers at the site gathered around the fire as the shadows grew longer, the tradition of the scary stories commenced. I retrieved my notebook that I use to mark down any truly horrifying stories, and sat back, not expecting much. I, unbeknownst to myself at the time, was wrong.
As another woman finished up her story of being chased around the trail by some sleezy guy, Blackhorn stretched his legs and yawned. He soon chipped in with his story, laying a log on the fire that sent a splash of sparks into the pure black night.
“Ok, so, this one happened a couple years ago… and… I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been the same since. I was hiking a relatively easy trail, maybe a 2-3 day length. The whole trail ran along the steep upper banks of a wide river, with the trails cut into the side of the incline and the campsites either cut the same or on a rare flat area. It was day three of my hike, the last leg for me. I hiked much faster than many of my group counterparts on the trail, and had spent one day day-hiking and relaxing at a particularly beautiful area in the park. One group of about three had camped with me and left earlier than I, meaning I would probably pass them again on the last bit of trail. They were nice, real nice people, and…” Blackhorn trailed off here, and his demeanor of a bright, fun-loving joker began to shatter. All of us noticed, but didn’t want to stop him. “Ach. Sorry, I just…” He continued, obviously a little upset. “When I started trekking again the next afternoon, I had a great day. I’ve been on plenty of trips, and I’m pretty good at navigation and pacing… I’d never gotten stuck out at night. It didn’t make any damn sense that I did that day, either, because everything was going to easy. On way bigger trails, I could knock out 20 or more miles a day, so the last 4 miles in six hours was a literal cakewalk. It’s like the trail just keep going and going, way longer than it should have. It wasn’t like I took a wrong trail either. It seemed like it just kept looping, the same landmarks kept passing by. It got dark fast. I had started panicking, I guess, because I found my self walking very, very fast. I started noticing this one tree that was on a small section overlooking the river,
and every time I passed it, a thought maybe I heard a small, faint splash. When I had passed it, and walked for a while, I heard a huge splash – like someone had driven a car right into the river. For some reason, this just made me snap. I ran, pack bouncing around, until I reached the tree again. But this time… Oh, god…” He choked up. We all knew that this story really meant something to Blackhorn. “…There were… packs. On the shore, the were all messed up and… the beach… scuffed… I recognized the bags. They were from… the people, the group I stayed with before.” He seemed like he was about to explode, and the memories tormented him. We reassured Blackhorn, told him he didn’t have to go on if he didn’t want, but he insisted he get it out. When he recooperated, he started talking again, quickly as if he wanted to get it over with. “I looked over into the river. That was my worst mistake. The thing was… roundish. It had long, protruding… things. It almost looked like one of things from Halo, yknow…” He laughed to himself in a sad, upset way. “And it had all of them just kinda attached to them. The things on its back were dragging these three…shapes in the water. I knew what they were… and it just took off up the river. I don’t know if I could have helped them, or if they were already dead. I don’t like to think about it. I just started walking again, crying a little. For some dumb reason… about half an hour later if slow walking, maybe only a mile, I reached the trail end. It was pitch black. I didn’t have a car there, and was shaking way too hard to try and set up a tent, not to mention exhausted. I just kind of balled up with my sleeping bag on a bench and blacked out.” He stopped there. I had a desire to know more, but Blackhorn didn’t seem interested in finishing. He said thanks to us for sitting with him, and said he’d head back to his tent.
When I awoke the next morning around five AM, I had found Blackhorn’s tent gone, nearly packed up and his campsite vacant. It seemed he packed it real early that day. I didn’t run into Blackhorn on the rest of the trail and haven’t since, but campers ahead of me said they had, and he seemed shaken and out of it.
The rest of my hike out was uneventful, without too many more stories. The trail was very nice, and I enjoyed myself for most of the hike – but you can bet your boots I sure as hell kept away from any water the rest of my trek.

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The Ranch, Part 2

This takes place the morning after me and my friend, Nathan, experienced the little girl laughing when we were retrieving some chairs at a ranch, in Uvalde, Texas. It’s been a while since this happened, so I don’t remember if I took my dad’s video camera at this time, and if true, I won’t know because I have nothing to play back the tapes. I do remember four moments that occurred during a walk I took; two of them should’ve been immediate red flags in hindsight now that I’m aware of other types of creatures.

It was around 0900 or 1000 when I had awoken to everybody getting up and ready for breakfast, but there was a problem, nobody had decided to bring food for the morning after we arrived. Out of about seventeen people; eleven, including the adults, went into town to get things for breakfast and dinner; leaving the rest of at the campsite. The eldest of us was a friend we called Sasquatch. He was left in charge until our advisor returned but he decided to go back to sleep. The reason I mention him will come into effect later in the story.

Once I was fully awake, I didn’t want to waste time just waiting for everyone to come back. I decided to go for a walk, alone, because the sun was out and everything would be illuminated and easy to see, or so I thought. I don’t remember telling anyone I was going for a walk or just walking off to begin. Just a short distance from the camp was a thick section of wooded area.

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That Wasn’t My Brother’s Voice

This occurred when I was 15 and camping with my brother and his oldest son (my nephew). My brother is drawn to nature and prefers to be out in it as often as he can. My nephew on the other hand, not so much.

I love nature and also feel a close connection with it. The story starts with me and my nephew out gathering some good firewood and kindling. It was nearing dusk so the light was fading and the forest was slowly becoming cloaked in shadows. The sounds of the forest were nearly deafening. The cries of the cicada’s, the chirping of crickets, the loud hoots of a great-horned owl.

My nephew and I heard my brother calling us back to camp, we had gathered a lot of kindling and firewood and began to head in the direction of his voice. As we got closer I noticed that the voice sounded ‘off’. Like it was him, but at the same time it wasn’t him. In addition I noticed that our surroundings were unfamiliar. Something wasn’t right, and my gut told us we needed to get out of that area NOW! I dropped my firewood and placed my hand on my nephews shoulder who was still going forward. The following conversation is paraphrased as I cannot remember it word for word.

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Highcliffs Wendigo

I used to go camping. Almost all the time, really. Whenever my parents would suggest it, I remembered I would always get so excited. Needless to say, after this experience, I am not so keen on taking a trip into the wilderness.

To clarify, I was almost thirteen by the time of this story. I am currently a couple of months away from 21. The only reason I am sharing this story, is due to the fact one of my closest friends suggested we take a trip there over the weekend. Needless to say, I adamantly said no. Now , before I get too off track, let’s get to this.

As I said before, I was thirteen when I went on this camping trip over the summer. It wasn’t your normal one, it was actually a large gathering of families that traveled up to Highcliff. It was a trip for the rehab my mother was attending. Specifically for the patients who were near the end of their recovery. Truthfully, despite what I experienced I was so proud of her, and I was happy that the trip on her part was magical.

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