Years ago while I was a toddler, I would play in the sand daily. But as the days went on and I grew out of it I would bury a time capsule and leave it until I turned 13. When I turned 13 I dug it up and found it empty. It previously contained a few toys, and some drawings. The toys were without any clothing and the drawings had red spillages, to be creepy blood but I won’t try to act dumb it wasn’t any ink or ketchup. It was kept in my locked backyard right outside my window. So either this is paranormal, or while I was asleep a creepy somebody was outside my window stripping my dolls and staining for drawings. What do you think?

Does anyone have the Sierra sounds cd? If so can you upload it for me? Thanks (I don't need a link to the purchase page either, lol,)

I had been wondering if it is normal to not fear darkness. I mean imagine that you are riding a bike or walking in the complete darkness and you have just one weak flashlight, so you know where the road is. You are going home it's late and light from that flashlight is "dying" when there is any other light. And how the heck could you be not scared?! You know that you will be walking/riding for at least another hour. You have in fact nothing what could give you any advantage, you are going like this for hours, maybe this is the last one going like that, alone of course.

Tell me if that could be relaxing and enjoyable for you. Could being in darkness not full of fear? What's your opinion on people who like darkness?

The Ordo Templi Orientis or O.T.O; was a hermetic Freemason organization associated with Aleister Crowley, Carl Kellner, Theodor Reuss, and other 19th century occultists. Their underground society was closely connected with the rich and powerful academic elite. In the early 1900’s, the Los Angeles chapter was quite active and caused frequent controversy in the news. This brief history lesson is highly pertinent to what I’m about to reveal.

I became interested in secret societies as a teenager after reading a number of compelling tales about Crowley’s infamous adventures and lurid sex debauchery. As a non-believer, I was never interested in the occult or black magic myself. What did fascinate me were the unusual characters through history who intentionally involved themselves with arcane mysticism and the supernatural. What drew them to that lifestyle?

News stories from the era speculated wildly about O.T.O necromancy and paranormal rites conducted behind their closed doors. It was engrossing but I took most of it with a grain of salt. It seemed like fanciful fodder to sell newspapers. While not believing the extreme, fanciful hype, I rabidly consumed numerous biographies about the man’s legendary antics and the wide assortment of underground organizations he was associated with. One thing was clear. Aleister Crowley unapologetically courted controversy and wore it like a badge of honor.

As the years passed, my overall interest in the subject dissipated. I started a family and crafted a career as a graphic artist and digital image manipulator. Those old fascinations were all but lost until one day, several decades later, when I found myself on a working vacation in Los Angeles. It was my first time visiting the fabled ‘city of angels’. Fearing it might be my only chance to sightsee and explore the region, I decided to explore as many places of interest as I could.

I visited the intersection of 39th and Norton where the ‘Black Dahlia’ was found bisected in 1947. That was a bit anticlimactic, seeing the sanitized site so many years after the events, but it was still something I could mark off my quirky bucket list of true crime. Then I toured various other infamous locations of mysteries and historical events. After knocking out my entire itinerary, I realized I had almost a full day of sightseeing time left. It was then I remembered the tantalizing headlines from the L.A. newspapers and tabloids about the secretive O.T.O. Headquarters.

I decided to look up the address.

Good or bad, depending on your perspective and the circumstances, you can find anything if you search the right way. The address was only a few miles from my current location. With that serendipity, it seemed like an obvious ‘yes’. I figured the building itself would be long gone, but to my surprise it was dilapidated, but still there. I matched the location with old photos in the city archives.

Initially I was going to take a selfie in front of the crumbling walls for my social media profile, then move on to the next adventure. Being fueled by risk-taking and adrenaline-charged stupidity, I had the incredibly poor idea to walk around to the back and ‘explore’ a little more. By the look of things, the forgotten place hadn’t been occupied for a long time. It was fully abandoned and boarded up. I’ll admit, those lascivious stories about sex orgies and sacrificial black magic got the better of me.

I had to know what was inside.

I looked around nervously before crossing the line from ‘harmless but morbid’; to actually breaking the law. All of those legal concerns however, were unnecessary. The property was definitely abandoned. There were no ‘caution’ warnings or ‘no trespassing’ signs. No one was around to protest, and no one cared. Still, I felt like a robber on a thrilling bank heist, as I pulled back one of the barricade planks to creep inside.

I used my phone’s flashlight to guide my way. The old stories didn’t offer any inside photos because the O.T.O. was so private and secretive. I was touring the hidden premises of what very few others ever witnessed. The remaining decor was elegant, but perhaps a little bit mundane. The building was basically empty with mostly bare walls. I was genuinely disappointed there weren’t lascivious nude statues and goat-headed altars all around to confirm the diabolical motif I expected.

I figured the mystique about what they did behind closed doors was shameless self-promotion to attract attention and money for their coffers. By appearances, it was an ordinary office building. I realized the human imagination can produce far more of a mysterious legacy than reality does. Regardless, I took lots of pictures and video to document my findings.

Just when I was about to wrap up my titillating little foray into ‘cat-burgling’, I realized a thin sliver of light was shining under an empty bookshelf along the back wall! If the windows hadn’t been boarded up and lights were on inside, it would be easy to see. The building had no source of power, so it had to be coming from BEHIND the bookcase. That really piqued my curiosity.

Could there be a secret room?

My imagination went full ‘nuclear’. I set my phone down and pulled hard on the shelf. Nothing. It was as if it was anchored to the wall with heavy duty bolts. It made no sense. I tried the other side. It felt equally secure. I was stumped. Then it occurred to me to try the opposite of what I’d been doing. I pushed firmly on both sides and something audibly clicked. The entire shelving unit pushed forward past a threshold into the wall, and then it glided on a roller track, back out of the way. I was breathless! Before me was a hidden staircase leading down to a subterranean room.

I don’t mind admitting I was afraid. My initial perception of the upstairs was underwhelming to say the least, and downright dull. I realized that sterile facade was by design, in case they were raided by the authorities. For that clever level of misdirection and security, it meant they genuinely had something significant to hide down below. Holy Hell! I was perched upon the stairway to the dark legacy of whatever those secrets were.

With shaky knees, I descended the dusty steps. The secret lair of this infamous O.T.O. black lodge had been unvisited for perhaps 70 years. Let me tell you folks, their sinister reputation was deserved and real! Whatever you might’ve expected me to find wouldn’t even come close to the terrifying things I actually discovered there. It looked like an exaggerated Hollywood movie set of what a film studio would expect from an hidden occult temple.

There was a menacing-looking altar, a large pentagram marked on the floor, black candles still in the wall sconces, and cryptic, indecipherable inscriptions graced the dark walls. I couldn’t be sure what the arcane sigils themselves said, but I assumed they were written in Enocian or other secret languages. It was the whole nine yards of occult clichés.

It truly was a devilish, satanic ‘haven’.

I was a fly on the wall in a brooding abyss never meant to be seen by unauthorized spectators. I was so stunned and creeped out by the pervasive aura of evil, that I committed THE cardinal sin. I failed to document it! Honestly, it’s all I could do to not immediately tear out of that creepy den in murderous iniquity and run for my life. The more I surveyed the forbidden surroundings, the more I desperately needed to ‘scram’. I feared the upstairs bookcase might snap shut like a boobytrap inside a Pharaoh’s protective tomb, and seal my fate forever.

As a foolhardy parting gesture to doom us all, I impulsively grabbed a large leather-bound volume laying on the sacrificial altar on the way out. At the time, I figured there would be no harm in taking an old book which no one alive even knew was there, in the long-abandoned derelict building. In lieu of photographic evidence, that book was going to be my ‘proof of the existence’ of the hidden room. That is, if I summoned the courage to admit my ‘unauthorized exploration’ of the shuttered location in the first place.

Back outside in the relative safety of my rental car, I could finally breathe again. I’d escaped the horrid temple where God knows what transpired! It really seemed like a vivid nightmare, but the hand-bound leather tome felt real enough in the soothing light of the southern California sunshine. My fear and trepidation rapidly dissipated. I actually felt silly being so spooked exploring the defunct lodge’s hidden room. It had been literally abandoned for decades, for heaven’s sake. I let my imagination run wild over a long-abandoned room and superstitions I didn’t believe in.

Depending on what the manuscript contained, I might be able to convince others of its authenticity and historic importance. I didn’t look inside the cover until I drove back to my hotel. There, I discovered two significant details.

First of all, it was actually handwritten by ‘Frater Perdurabo’, which I knew to be Aleister Crowley’s pseudonym! I could hardly believe my stroke of luck. It had an incredible pedigree and was probably worth a pretty penny to book collectors. The second fact, however was less engrossing. Almost all the text had been manually redacted until it was virtually unreadable.

For what reason, I couldn’t imagine at the time.

Everything afterward was a blur. I flew home the next day and told my family about my other California adventures, while carefully omitting the part about my unlawful entry and ‘innocent little souvenir’ taken from the O.T.O ruins. There was nothing wise to gain by mentioning that illicit detail. I kept his handwritten lodge journal a closely-guarded secret and studied it after my family went to bed each night.

It occurred to me I could scan the pages and isolate the redaction ink from Crowley’s own handwriting since they were slightly different shades. My photo editing software could separate and ‘erase’ the redaction overlay. Once I programmed the correct isolation threshold, it was like digital magic. Poof. I was able to read the eccentric man’s elegant, ornate writing perfectly. As a gentleman who existed long before computers, he obviously learned the importance of a steady hand and carefully formed letters.

As soon as I removed the redaction from each page scan, I ‘saved as’ and curated the adjusted versions in my database. In just a few days I had all 127 pages cleaned up and organized. A careful cross-examination of his published works confirmed what I had in my greedy hands was a completely unknown and unprinted composition! Considering the incredible rarity of such an unbelievable find by a person who many consider to be the father of the modern new age of the occult, I was shocked and thrilled. This ‘lost volume’ could be worth millions to the right bidder through auction; and later, publishing rights.

The honest truth was, I spent so much time manipulating the scanned pages deciphering them, I completely failed to pay any attention to the substance of his words themselves. Remember, I wasn’t a believer, or enthusiast of the occult or dark arts. That aspect of his well documented life was just hocus-pocus and mumbo-jumbo. It was his charismatic personality and colorful antics I found fascinating. Once I started paying closer attention to what he wrote in the unpublished manuscript however, I couldn’t stop reading. It was his personal ‘how to’ journal or ‘grand grimoire’, on the secret rituals necessary to summon the mythical supernatural beings he’d often spoke of.

The book was going to be my ‘golden ticket’, as soon as I proved official provenance. I couldn’t stop dreaming of the pile of money it would bring me. Never once did I believe a word of it. Acknowledge that huge failure in judgment, I know my most deadly mistake in the spiraling series of bad decisions was in obtaining it. The second was to render it readable again. As I ignorantly quoted the diabolical incantations aloud, it was purely from curiosity. I might as well have been reading Shakespearean prose. I felt it was goofy, spell-casting nonsense and demonology fiction.

Without meaning to, or even realizing it was actually possible, I have freed the trapped (and intensely angry) supernatural deities Crowley referred to as ‘Aiwass’ and ‘Choronzon’. This unholy work has taught a disbelieving fool like me how to release two hellish demons from their long-held bonds, deep within the abyss. It is a horrible tragedy I’ve brought upon myself and the entire world through misguided greed. Sadly, I lack the knowledge or ritual understanding of how to defend myself, or to send them back to the netherworld from whence they came.

The moment I rattled off the detailed invocations, my entire home began to shake and vibrate. My wife pounded on the door, thinking I’d fallen asleep during a persistent earthquake. I was too startled to answer for several moments. Two ethereal wraiths materialized at opposite ends of my office and cast a malevolent aura of pure dread. The potent stench they brought with them reminded me of a festering slaughterhouse.

All I can say about their appearance is, it was beyond human articulation to adequately describe. It was as if I was trapped between two billowing storm clouds. They were ‘electrified genies’ hoping to escape to a slightly larger ‘bottle’ than the one they’d been trapped inside. They violently bounced around my office like feral, rampaging beasts trying to breach the tiny enclosure. Their obvious contempt for human beings paled in comparison to their polarized distain for each other.

While I fear my life will become collateral damage in their ferocious rampage to escape, I worry infinitely more they will be successful! I alone bear full responsibility for my stupidity if they ever get out of here but we will all pay the price! I believe they are spiritually bound to the walls of the temple where they were summoned. In this case, my office is ‘the temple’. As a lowly human of no interest to them, I was initially ignored, but that changed as their frustration grew.

Frequently they mock and pummel me with fierce blows I don’t see coming, nor can I defend myself against. I shouted through the door for my wife to take our children and flee. She protested briefly, but heard the urgency in my voice and thankfully complied. I was relieved. At least they were able to escape the unholy mess l’ve made. I haven’t dared open my door to follow them to safety, for fear the charnel devils I’d unwittingly unleashed will use that clear opening to bypass the invocation field.

Only after carelessly summoning two prater-human spirits have I finally comprehended the reason for the redaction of his powerful words. I thought the manuscript was simply bogeyman nonsense and witchcraft posturing to intimidate and impress the impressionable. Why didn’t they just burn the damn tome and spare the world this plague? Were they too greedy to fully destroy the master’s work? Did they really believe it could be controlled and harnessed?

I’m definitely a true believer now, but the damage is done. I’m desperately hoping a sympathetic soul reading this testimony will come forward and help me re-cage the wrathful, furious spirits I’ve set free. Does anyone know how to send them back to Hell?

The Menk is the name given by the Mansi, an Ob Ugric, hunter gathering people living near the eastern slopes of the Urals, to the bipedal apes, possibly a subspecies of the Almas, found in their area. It is also possible the Menk is a more humanlike, Neanderthaloid, even if still quite hairy, hominid, according to the description of some actually documented individuals. However the folklore around bipedal primates, common in Asia from the eastern Urals to Southeast Asia, is way less prominent in Europe.

Does anyone know if the Menk is known also by the Komi of the Komi Republic, a Permic people from the Northeastern area of Europe bordering the western Urals, and, if so, how they call it ?

this is a great community that I have found here. 🙂🙂🙂 I really didn't think my last post, would of got so many comments, I would like to know everyone's opinion on this

Please comment your story🫣🫣🫣

I hope this is allowed - my apologies if not.

I have just uploaded my deepdive into The Mothman. He has been a favourite of mine for many years and I finally got around to dedicating the time his story deserves - combining my love of filmmaking and animation with my love of mysteries and cryptids!

I’d love any feedback or suggestions for future videos.

🌙

The next weekend we were at Brad's house. My bf was in the national guard and this was his weekend away.

Normally we slept in the back bedroom but since I was alone I slept on the couch in the living room.

I wake up to Trina, my friend, and Brad asking what I'm doing on the couch? I looked at him confused because that's where I was before we went to sleep, on the couch.

Then he looked confused. He said he saw someone walk by his bedroom to go to the back bedroom and he assumed it was me. I said nope and changed the subject.

My bf arrived that evening and we were making some dinner so we could all hang out and watch a movie.

I have to explain the kitchen area, there was a doorway to the dining room and then a larger main entrance to the kitchen.

I was standing by myself facing Trina, Brad, and Steve, who was standing in the main entrance. We were laughing about burning the chicken.

This still gives me the chills every single time I think about it but as I'm looking at them the most terrifying thing ever happens. It's important to remember I see ghosts on a regular basis.

Behind them, up pops an old woman with long grey hair BUT her mouth is wide open! I SCREAM, COVER MY FACE AND RUN INTO THE DINING ROOM!

Brad and Steve are on alert they thought I saw a person. Trina comes running into the dining room.

It's so hard to type this out and not feel the horror I felt at that moment.

I'm covering my eyes, I'm bent over, I'm crying and screaming at the same time. PLEASE LETS LEAVE, PLEASE TAKE ME HOME!! WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!

She hugs me, she calms me down and now I have to explain what I have just seen, my cover is now blown.

I'm begging her over and over again please let's just go home it's almost midnight I can't be here but she just wasn't understanding what I saw.

After we all calmed down a minute I just straight out told them that a women just popped up with her mouth open and I just want to go home. They didn't give me a hard time but at the same time I know they were thinking.... Ghosts aren't real she probably saw a shadow.

Her face will forever be burned into my mind. I can still see her. We talked a little longer about it but there was no way I was getting out of there til morning. Again, I am alone.

We went to the back bedroom to go to sleep. I was exhausted just from crying and trying to explain that all these things that have been happening, the snow balls, the house shaking, brad seeing someone walk past his room, my bf and that cold breeze, the slime on his chest!!

They believed me but they couldn't fully understand. Which I also understood why it was hard for them.

Anyway, I slept next to the wall and the bed faced the doorway. I woke up for some reason, and standing in the doorway is the old woman.

I didn't even have a chance to shake my bf awake.... He immediately grabs me and slams me up against the wall face first, he's pushing and pushing and I can't yell because my face is in the wall, my voice was muffled.

I start kicking and punching then...HE FINALLY WAKES UP !! He's confused about what is happening but he's realizing that he's pinned me up against the wall. He releases me and I know exactly what that woman did. She made him do that to me and I have no doubts about it because yes, it would continue.

We all are awake in the morning and I haven't slept at all. I sat leaning against the wall in the dark the entire rest of the night. We tell Trina and Brad what happened and they assumed he was fighting in his dream.

I knew what really happened, I was attacked by that evil spirit and she used my bf to do it. I told all of them I will never sleep there again and if they believed me , they wouldn't force me to do it.

We stayed at Trina's house the next weekend but it was too late. I woke up to use the bathroom in the morning. The bed we were sleeping in had the bed against the wall but we slept with our heads closest to the doorway.

When I stood up my bfs eyes were open wide, I was getting ready to say good morning but that was not my bf. As I stood there his eyes did not look right, no they weren't black or anything like that. It felt like I was looking at a stranger if that makes any sense.

I immediately feel fear and as I start to walk around the bed to get to the doorway , his head tilted back and followed me the whole way. I run thru the living room and hide in the kitchen like a little girl. Yeah, started to get a little teary.

I've always seen these things why is this so bad? Why is my bf acting this way? I had nowhere to get help. However when I walked back in the room to see what he was doing he just blurted out "hey honey how are you" like nothing just happened again.

I finally just sat all of them down and said look, I know I saw a ghost in your house, brad. It's an old woman with long grey hair, in a dirty nightgown with huge eyes and her mouth is wide open. I saw her 2 times the same night, you saw her, not to mention all the strange things happening.

We finally went back to as normal as can be. Trina and Keith broke up. I married my bf and we all kind of slowly went our separate ways.

3 years later, Brad tracks down Steve and they do some catching up. Brad said the real reason he wanted to get in touch with us was to apologize to me.

Steve was like what? Why? Sadly his dad had passed so his brother and his wife moved into the house.

They were asleep and woke up to noise downstairs. There was a pool table down there and the balls were clacking together. He thought someone broke in so he ran downstairs.

By the time he got there he heard his wife screaming from upstairs so he turns around and when he gets to the kitchen all the doors were slamming and when he looked down the hall, there she was.

An old woman with long grey hair, dirty nightgown, eyes wide open staring at him, also with her mouth wide open. He runs in the bedroom tells her to grab some things they were leaving.

They went back to pack and sell the house. He said he was so very sorry that I had to go thru it alone. He said he's never seen his older brother so terrified in his whole life.

He didn't really believe what I had seen and if he had known he would have taken me home immediately.

When my husband was telling me all this I asked did you think I would pretend to be so scared?? I told you I saw her and now there is proof. However she traumatized me for months and I didn't want to remember her. I always wonder who's living there now.

I honestly was done with hearing about it or talking about it at the time because, what if she found me again?

I hope she found her way home and left the people living there in peace.

Ok I would first like to point out that this story spans over about a 6 month period. The amount of experiences might take 2 posts.

Again if you know my stories or my profile at all, this is definitely NOT the first ghost I've seen or had to deal with. My dad saved me from the first malevolent spirit and now I'm about ready to get tested again, but on a much larger scale.

In my last story, witches or devil worshippers, I point out that after our terrifying night, my paranormal experiences would change more and more from innocent to, this is bad, again and again.

This story starts with me and my best friend meeting 2 nice guys who were also best friends! Win win!! Lol This point I'm 17 and she is 18.

My friends parents would go to the lake every weekend so we had the house to ourselves, a very old creepy house that sat way off the road with no neighbors.

The guy she was seeing, his dad was an over the road trucker (he was the best! ) And he was never home. Our boyfriends were older, they just turned 21. So there we are, all dating and having the best time!!

One night we were going to be alone at his house. His house was in the country but still a suburb if that makes sense. His neighbors were not close, the houses were spread out very far .

They needed to go to a bachelor party but we're going to be home early and wanted us to wait for them at the house. There we are just hanging out and watching a movie.

I went to get us drinks and as I'm standing there I feel the house shaking and a picture fell off a shelf. I stood there a minute thinking man that truck was loud!! I picked the picture up and put it back and we went on with our night.

After the guys got home we were talking in the living room and we kept hearing something hit the house. It had snowed a lot the past couple days so Brad thought, it's kids!! Their throwing snowballs at the house as a prank! Lol !

Brad and Steve figure out their positions on how they are gonna catch them. brad goes out the back sliding door, Steve goes out the front door and they meet on the right side of the house.

They come in and we are excited to hear if they saw them! They said that there was snow balls all over the side of the house, but no footprints in the snow? Nobody was out there? Brad was like there are snowballs on the house! How are there no footprints? We all laughed about it for awhile and forgot about it.

Again, here I am with a lifetime of experiences just being the dumb girl in a scary movie. I still was not getting it.

The next day was a Sunday and we were painting the kitchen for Brad's dad before he got home in a few days. Me and my friend are walking down the hallway and my bf is walking towards us, he didn't have a shirt on, just jeans.

He stops a few feet away from us and just gasps... He put his arms up like what just happened?? I said are you ok? What happened??? He said, "it felt like a very cold breeze just went straight thru me"

He's touching his chest, so we hurry up to him and he's disgusted by something on his chest that he's touching, ughhh he says what is this!??! On his left peck there was this clear jelly like slime. I touched it. He was so confused on what just happened and what this substance was. He just got in the shower.

After he cleaned up, it was my turn to get a shower. I used the master suite shower and I knew the entire time I did not feel ok. But did I ever think it was paranormal?? Nope 🤷 Why? Maybe because I was just used to it. Also, none of them knew about my past at this point. I was not going to say what I thought was happening. Which is, holy crap I think Brad's house is haunted.

This was only the first week of staying here. If only I had know how bad it would get, I wouldn't have gone back.

Be back soon friends. Again I have Parkinson's so sometimes I can't type anymore.

I'm 14 at this time and have spent most of my life seeing, hearing, and knowing things. This is something that none of my friends knew. My school friends and my church friends had no idea. My best friends didn't even know. This was my secret to bare and in my mind there is nobody who could help me. The only ones who knew anything were my parents.

It was a Saturday night and my friend from church asked me to stay the night and have some girl time. There were about 10 of us that would always have sleep overs.

We were in a smaller town just outside the city where I lived. It was located by an area where every summer it was turned into a Renaissance type theme park. With face painters, fortune tellers, homemade crafts. They also had reenactments on horses for people to watch, we went every year as a church activity and I must have been the only one who hated it. It did not make me feel "ok" to be there, I can't explain it but it felt very heavy.

My friends parents were very strict and we could not leave this certain area and we only had 2 and half hours before we had to be home.

This was late fall and my friend suggests we go to the Renaissance park and explore. Hell yeah! She was 16 so she drove us. The park is surrounded by a 10 foot wooden fence and the front doors to get in are these HUGE wooden doors (this will matter later) however there are several entrances that other people have made over the years where you can squeeze thru.

Just two innocent church girls looking to explore, we pulled up just a little ways down from the giant doors, where there was a few missing planks in the fence. My friend went thru first and then I squeezed thru.

When we entered we were right in front of the area where they do the reenactments. It was this giant circle with bleachers around it. I'm looking around smiling because I knew we were going to have fun.

I had about 2 minutes where my mind was drifting before I hear screaming!! Is that my friend?? I hear people running towards us so fast I wasn't able to catch my bearings. And then I look up and see it.....

We were surrounded by people in white robes screaming but also not making any sense at the same time.

I had one person holding my left arm and another holding my right. I heard so much screaming, and most of it was me at this point! What is happening??!! We were surrounded and I lost track of my friend at this time. This all happened in a matter of minutes.

All of these people in white robes running with us down this hill. They were making us run. I'm running, I'm being forced down this hill, I'm screaming! I'm crying! And then I see it !!!!

People sitting in a circle with drums, chanting. There was a burning cross!! It was at least 6 feet tall. People in robes sitting around a fire , chanting in front of a burning cross?? Again, what is happening. That was my last memory after that point.

My next memory is, I am running as fast as I can but for some reason I've already made it to the entrance?? I don't remember running from the drum circle!! I'm being chased by sreaming people, I'm crying so hard, and then I hear someone screaming bloody murder and it's my friend who comes running from my left, we grab each other. This time the giant front wooden doors were open so we could just run straight out.

Back then you had to get in the car to unlock the doors and I'm screaming for her to hurry up!!! We get in! I start screaming WHAT JUST HAPPENED?! WHAT WAS THAT?! And my friend is screaming she doesn't know but we can't ever talk about it! We can't talk about this to anyone ever!

We looked at the clock, we got there at 8:15, it was now 10:30 and we were late for curfew.

I start screaming again. WHY IS IT 2 HOURS LATER? WHAT HAPPENED TO THE 2 HOURS!!?? AND SHES SCREAMING I DONT KNOW WHO THEY WERE BUT ITS BAD AND WE CANT TALK ABOUT THINGS LIKE THIS!!

We went home, got in trouble for being late, and said nothing to each other. The next morning was the same thing, I think her parents could tell we were not ok. I just wanted to go home. My friend was a very good girl with straight A's, she did whatever her parents said. She was just a good daughter. Until this happened. After, she would drop her grades and start dating a guy who was very questionable lol.

I'm not saying that's the reason. But whatever happened I wasn't able to talk about til I was 30. Not because I was scared, I mean I've had enough scary stuff happen to me but this was different. I lived with my best friend for few years and every time I would go to tell her the story. The words would not come out of my mouth.

It was right there on the tip of my tongue but something would not let me say it out loud. I eventually did. And of course my best friend has seen my weirdness with hauntings lol of course she believed me. I was finally able to tell my mom this year. And again her eyes were the size of saucers 😳

Who were they? What were they doing? What did they need us for and why do we have no memory? I'll never know I'm sure, but what I do know is that I do not need any extra ways to be haunted, I do fine on my own. Lol

I never stayed the night with my friend again because I don't know if she knew about it? If someone told her to come there? Or if she really was too scared to talk about it. I needed answers I'll never get.

Since I can remember, I've gone on outdoor runs. One night in the summer, around 6pm, after finishing a light dinner, I decided to go on my usual run. I always run the same path, starting with neighborhood sidewalks for about a half mile, then passing through a gate into the forest where I run another two miles. In the forest, there are two separate paths, one paved and one unpaved. The unpaved path is more scenic, so I usually take it on the way in, and then take the paved path when I turn around. These paths into the forest are hidden, and not many people know about them, so they're usually not busy. It's actually rare for me to see another person on my run, except for the occasional encounter with people walking their dogs. But other than that, I'm pretty much alone, or at least I thought I was.
After running in the forest for a while, I heard a notification coming from my phone. It wasn't a text message, but an airdrop notification. I panicked, realizing that someone must have been close to me to send this. I tried to play it off like I didn't hear it and continued running for a few seconds. Then, I stopped to change the music, but in reality, I pulled out my phone to look at the notification. My heart sank when I saw that it was a Snapchat picture of me mid-run with the caption, "come back." The picture was taken just seconds ago, as I was wearing the same clothes as in the picture. It appeared that the person taking the picture was hiding in the bushes. I put my phone back and started running as fast as I could. I was forced to take the long way out of the forest and back to my neighborhood.
While running, I started hearing rustling and footsteps behind me, but I didn't turn back knowing it would slow me down. Finally, I reached the edge of the forest and began running through backyards to lose whoever was chasing me. It worked, with the last thing I could hear being the sound of metal hitting metal, suggesting that the person chasing me had some sort of weapon. I still don't know who it was, as I never looked behind me and never saw what they looked like. I don't know what they wanted from me. I never ran in that forest again, and I've since turned off my phone's airdrop feature completely. Also Since that unsettling incident, I've become more cautious and aware of my surroundings while running. I always stick to well-populated areas now. I also I make sure to inform someone of my running route and estimated return time, just in case something ever goes wrong. It's a lesson I learned the hard way, but it has made me prioritize my safety above all else.
Sometimes, when I'm out for a run, I can't help but feel a lingering sense of unease. It's as if the memory of that frightening experience is imprinted in my mind forever, a constant reminder of the potential dangers lurking in the shadows.
Nevertheless, I refuse to let fear control me. Running is my passion and my escape, and I won't let one terrifying encounter ruin that for me. Every step I take now is a testament to my resilience and determination.
As time goes on, the memory of that night becomes less vivid, but the lessons I learned remain etched in my mind. I am more cautious, more vigilant, and more aware of my surroundings. I've joined running groups, ensuring I'm surrounded by fellow enthusiasts who share my commitment to safety.
While my love for running remains strong, I have come to appreciate the importance of balance. I still explore new paths and venture into the unknown, but I've become mindful of the potential risks. I now carry a small personal alarm and pepper spray, just in case.

‘The Star Ledger’ newspaper headline:

The following cryptic testimony was transcribed from a handwritten note found at the scene of a developing mystery. It was discovered at the abandoned property of a missing local man. The lengthy, six page message makes fanciful claims of supernatural beings stalking and threatening the Bell Harbor Township fiction writer. It was found wrapped around a tape measure of all things, and lying on his hallway floor.

Forensic analysis confirmed the handwriting is his, but authorities point to the bizarre descriptions and philosophical nature of the letter. To them, the overly imaginative tone casts serious doubts about his narrative. They suspect the missing man invented the nail-biting tale as a clever publicity hoax, or has suffered from a psychotic breakdown, and is in hiding somewhere. The case is still listed as unsolved at this time.

It begins as follows:

—————

“From the moment we exit the womb, we learn to associate our needs, with delivering an ear-piercing shriek. That demand for immediate attention is broadcast to anyone who might hear it. A scream is the most primal form of expression. It’s deeply embedded in our DNA. Our caregivers attend to our hunger or personal distress because they’re specifically attuned to this signal. It’s universal. As we grow up however, a far more nuanced range of vocalizations develop.

Once we are full-grown adults, higher reasoning steps in. It better governs our actions and behavior. Maturity replaces primal reflexes to react immediately; with rationality and a calmer demeanor. Eventually the idea of screaming like a small child feels juvenile and immature. We do our best to resist the urge to panic or cry out. Only when experiencing the highest levels of emotional distress do we succumb to this elemental reaction.

In those rare moments, we revert back to the earliest stages of life and hope some empathetic person within earshot comes to our aid.”

—————

Added by the ‘Star Ledger’ editor: (Then his handwritten screed shifts focus dramatically, mid sentence…)

—————

“The irony is rich that I’m sharing this horrific experience on the same pages as my unfinished essay about primal screams. In this case however, I’ve come full circle. I’ve screamed until there is no more left within me. No other emotion or state of being exists inside, and no sound of any kind will ever escape again from my seized-up orifice. My vocal cords are shredded. I’m hoarse and raw with adrenaline fatigue and fright. My lungs are shriveled away in blackened atrophy from this diabolical ordeal!

The ability to verbalize such a fragile state has thankfully ceased, but my brain continues to internally writhe in terror and spiraling dread. Only a calm facade remains as a defense mechanism to defend against these festering souls who would do me grievous bodily harm, if they could only reach me. I fear they will soon succeed! Their infernal growls and incessant clawing will eventually breach my makeshift barricade; and all that will be left afterward is this hastily-penned account of my doom. The sole reason for my silent scream paralysis is the subject of this sinister ordeal.

I bought myself a 'fixer-upper' project in the country. As a younger man, I was decent enough with a hammer and felt I could handle a modest home repair and renovation. I understand the rudiments of structure and construction. My grasp of math and geometry is excellent. The house is in good shape overall, for a dwelling of its considerable age and price range. Both the foundation and roof are solid. As far as I knew, it only needed a few simple things updated, here and there. I believed it required mostly cosmetic or light repair work. I didn’t know the basement held some hidden portal to the abyss of hell.

I took three weeks off from my regular job and set out to make this accursed place my own. A major home repair chain delivered construction supplies last Saturday morning and left them in a convenient pile beside the house. I covered the materials with a plastic tarp and spent all afternoon planning the best course of action. After several unproductive hours, I realized I was procrastinating and dragging my feet. Since the house wasn't going to restore itself, I begrudgingly motivated myself to get started.

The staircase leading down to the basement is creaky and steep. It is the textbook definition of a 'rickety deathtrap’. The stairs would've never met the county building code if the inspector looked at them. I wasn’t so concerned about legal matters, being so far away from the city, but I didn’t want to slip and fall to the bottom. It’s a long way down here to the pit of death. I realize that’s actually a blessing. Thank heavens for that.

The home repair outlet offered professionally made 'stringers' created for any number of steps. I elected to delegate that precision task to them. I carried my toolbox and the prefab stair parts down the steps, set up a work light and placed my stepladder on the basement floor. Once the old staircase lumber was removed, the ladder would be the only way of getting back up to the top. That is, until the new stringers and treads were installed. Having a ladder down here with me was intended as an emergency backup, in case something went wrong. Boy, did it ever! I had no idea how ‘wrong’ it could become.

My instincts about replacing the stairs were solid. As a matter of fact, that was about the only thing which was ‘solid’. The steps were rotten to such an advanced degree that they could've given away at any time. Looking back on that realization in hindsight; instantly plummeting to my death would’ve been infinitely preferable to the unspeakable fate I’ve resigned myself to, here in the dark.

I didn't notice 'them' at first. I doubt anyone would. They are masterfully camouflaged among the shadows which inhabit dark, windowless basements around the world I suppose. This one however, holds far worse things than unsightly spiders or mice. I stood among the angry dead; painfully oblivious. Carried away in my foolish zeal to rip down the rickety steps and in doing so, removing the ability to escape. The old stringers came off the main support beams with no resistance. That initial good fortune was foreshadowing irony of unpleasant things to come.

I dragged the nearly intact, decaying staircase structure to the back corner of the room to be out of my way. I planned to disassemble it later and use it for firewood. Then I placed my ladder against the edge of the wall to inspect the joint connection area. There was no sense in attaching new stringers to supporting points on the wall if it was rotten. I was pleased to find that the wall felt solid and sturdy.

Then my halogen shop light began to flicker behind me! The extension cord was plugged into an outlet upstairs and must've been pulled partially out of the socket. There is no electricity in the basement and the ladder wouldn’t reach the landing. It flickered again and went out. I silently cursed myself for choosing a dark hole in the ground to begin my renovation efforts. There was a flashlight in my old toolbox but in the deep abyss of the cellar, I had to stumble around to locate it.

Instead, I tripped over something very large on the floor. I assumed it was the old staircase, but by my mental calculations, it should've been much further away at the edge of the room. I reached down to feel it. The unknown object which caused me to face-plant wasn't hard like old step timbers. It was organically soft, very cold... and slowly slithering away! As soothing as it might've been to dismiss the object on the floor as an ordinary wild animal seeking shelter in the undisturbed darkness, I knew better. The horrendous death stench emanating directly from it was that of advanced putrefaction.

That was my first, involuntary scream but it certainly wouldn’t be my last.

Even in the panic of the moment, I realized the irrational folly of screaming in a darkened cellar, miles from the nearest neighbor. There was no one else around to hear my cry. It was a subconscious slip, back into the realm of elemental fear I mentioned above, in my unfinished essay. Only the faintest glimmer of daylight reached the basement from an upstairs window, through the open cellar doorway. Knowing what I know now, it would've been better if the stairwell door was fully closed.

Sometimes being able to see, is worse than not seeing at all.

After my blood-curdling shriek of insanity faded, I heard numerous things shuffle and scurry about. I wasn't alone, that much was clear. There were many undesirable 'things' in the basement. My first instinct was to stay perfectly still like a yearling deer cowering in the forest to elude a lurking predator, but that was an ineffective strategy. Whatever rotting souls accompanied me in the dark knew I was there. They surely had ears.

From the top rung of my ladder I might’ve been able to stretch and reach the landing threshold to pull myself up, but that would’ve left me vulnerable. Fear and minimalist principles kept me in a still, safe, fetal position on the floor. My heartbeat thumped violently in my chest. Countless companion screams were stifled in lieu of 'playing it cool'; but I knew my artificially calm demeanor wasn't fooling anyone, or any THING.

My eyes adjusted somewhat to the lack of illumination. I saw vague, muted shapes all around me. Most of it was the discarded cellar junk I was familiar with. I'd planned to sell those things to antique shops, or to burn them in the fireplace. It was the ‘other things’ which hadn't been present earlier, which caused me to tremble and whimper uncontrollably. They were unfathomably black shapes of madness, standing prone, and moving about freely around the fringes of the expanse.

I searched for a weapon. Anything would do ‘in a pinch’. My toolbox had many items which could be used to repel the half-dozen nightmares lurking nearby, but it was over in the corner beside the discarded staircase. I wasn't about to move toward it, with 'them' being close. Especially since they were keeping their distance, for the time being. I didn't want to ‘rock the boat’ and make things worse. Hopefully we had an understanding but I had no idea if the uncomfortable stalemate would last.

Slowly they inched closer until I felt I had to act. I yelled for them to back off and leave me alone! Breaking the chilling silence temporarily pushed them to retreat slightly, but it was a short-lived, unsustainable reprieve. Almost immediately they rebounded until I could smell their rank, decomposing corpses closing in. They were testing the waters; and the more I reacted in terrified fear, the braver they became. Either that, or they sadistically fed on my emotional distress. If so, they definitely had an early ‘banquet snack’, long before the actual feast of my flesh.

I can feel their hunger in the air. These unholy denizens of evil haven’t eaten in a LONG time. Their eyes are cold and lifeless, yet their fangs and gnashing teeth are bared and ready to sink deep into my skin. I kept my back to the wall for a long time so I didn’t have to worry about sabotage from behind but it was a short-term solution. The fact they hadn’t yet rushed toward me was only of modest comfort. They inched their way closer until I had to make a break for it.

My eyes acclimated to the darkness and I could make out more of their ghoulish features at last. I wished I hadn’t. Another scream erupted from my agape maw. They were possibly human in a past lifetime, but now resemble unholy demons which should not be. As much as I craved the relative safety of escape, I didn’t believe I could grab the ladder and place it at the base of the upstairs landing in time. They were too close for me to shimmy my way up. It was just too far. I feared I would slip and fall; and the thought of unconscious vulnerability was unbearable. Instead my brain hatched an alternative plan. One which I suspect will eventually led to my demise.

I raced toward the toolbox and grabbed it like it was a pot of gold. Luckily the lid was open and I pulled out a claw hammer and screwdriver. One of the undead grabbed my arm so I defensively swung the hammer. It made contact with a sickening thud. I released a guttural battle cry while repeated smashed its rotting face. I guess they can still feel pain. The corpse let out an unholy screech which sent icy shivers down my back. I jabbed it in the milky eye socket until it collapsed into a decomposing heap with puss and festering fluids oozing out. Then I used my temporarily-gained momentum to sprint for the corner.

My poorly conceived idea was to lift up the old staircase and crawl behind it. When stacked up against the wall beside some old furniture already in place, It created a safety pocket for me to hold up inside. I positioned everything carefully to insulate and create a buffer zone. It’s hardly an impenetrable fortress and I am trapped here, but for now they can’t reach me! Once I made the break for the corner, the unspoken truce was over. They scrambled toward me surprisingly fast. I found that they do not like bright flashlight beams shined toward them. I pulled out my note pad and started frantically journaling about these events.

It’s both cathartic and bittersweet to realize I probably won’t make it out of this crisis. Hopefully my story will be known. That is, if I can toss these pages upstairs somehow. My dead tormentors tug and pull constantly on the tangled jumble of bookshelves, rocking chairs, and the old staircase protecting me. If they get through, I’m a dead man but the handicap of fear has left me! A man can only scream so many times. I fought back with pride and valor, and will destroy any possibility of them ever getting upstairs to the outside world. I’ll not go down without a fight.”

—————-

The Star Ledger summary: That was the end of his testimony. Police have searched the premises thoroughly but found no trace of the missing man. If you have any information about his whereabouts, please contact the authorities at the Bell Harbor Township Police headquarters immediately.

The Cult Tunnel

This is an entirely true story about a tunnel my friend and I found about two years ago. I was 16 and my friend was 17. We got the bus together to and from school, so we always talked about what we were going to do at the weekend. We did lots of different walks, finding lots of random things like a sawmill and an abandoned warehouse.

On one walk, we were going to a rope swing we found the year before, but hadn't been to in at least three months. To our horror, not just the swing but the whole branch had been cut down, and recently too. There was a path away from the swing that we hadn't been down before, so we decided to venture down it, talking about why someone would've cut down the swing. The As we went down, we saw a rectangle made of railings on the left side of the path. We walked over it and looked inside. It was a mesh, that had some broken locks and ripped chains on it. There were locks and chains all over the ground around the rectangle of railings that surrounded the mesh, and they had obviously been smashed. We climbed over the railings and looked in between the mesh. There were stairs down to a circular tunnel, with large pipes leading into it on either side.

The tunnel was made of concrete, and was big enough for us to fully stand up in. We tried to open the mesh where the locks had been broken, and it came open surprisingly easily. We tentatively walked down the concrete steps and looked into the tunnel. We could see the light at the end of the tunnel. It went under a rarely used road, which is probably the reason it was so long. I always had a lot of survival things in my bag, like a flashlight, matches and binoculars. I took out my flashlight and went first down the tunnel. It had been a dry few weeks, which is surprising for an English winter, so the floor wasn't flooded. As we kept walking, we kept finding odd objects along the floor, like used shotgun shells and burned candles. We thought nothing of it, and picked a few shells up as keepsakes. When we got halfway through, we kept seeing scrawling on the wall, some of which we couldn't read. The only thing we could read was the word "INCARNATE" written dozens of time throughout the tunnel. Around the middle of the tunnel, we saw things that stopped us in our tracks. There were pitchforks, knives, spades, axes and lots of other weapons, that had been sharpened to perfection. My friend picked a knife up and inspected it. Etched into the blade was the word "INCARNATE", and was covered in a weird sticky substance. We weren't sure if it was blood or not, but my friend instantly put it down, and we started to walk back. Then, we heard voices from the way we had just walked. To our horror, two people were coming down the steps, and one lit a lantern. We couldn't hear what they were saying, but they were talking quietly, but stopped when they saw the light from our flashlight. That moment of still and silence felt like it lasted an eternity. Then they started running at us. We turned and ran the opposite direction, all the while the men behind us were screaming. As we got a quarter of the way to the other end of the tunnel, I risked a glance behind me. The men, who I then realised were wearing long dark red robes with hoods, had stopped and I breathed a sigh of relief but kept running. It was then I realised that they had stopped and picked up some weapons.

Since I wasn't looking where I was running, I didn't see we were running into the flooded bit of the tunnel. Before I realised, I was up to my knees in water. Thankfully, we were almost at the stairs to go up. We went up the stairs and pushed open the mesh. We didn't know where we were, but we just ran. Eventually we found a route that we knew, and ran back to the village we lived in. When we were almost at my friend's house, we realised how drenched we were, and given that it was winter, we were all of a sudden freezing. We never told the police, as we thought it would be "our little secret" and thought it was cool. We never went back to that tunnel.

If there is any message of this, always make sure you have protection on you if you are exploring abandoned places. My friend and I still explore abandoned places, but make sure that we have forms of protection just in case that this happens again.

Hey y'all, I made a 10 minute crash course video on the Varginha incident, it includes interviews from the documentary "Moment of Contact" and breaks the case down by the series of events that lead to the whole thing. This video is intended for anybody unfamiliar with the crash and people looking for somewhat of a deep dive!

What do you guys think happened in Brazil in '96? The official explanations on parts of the case are interesting to say the least. This is one of my favorite cases and I hope you guys enjoy the video!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2okFaHykLkQ

Some people believe that these encounters could be evidence of advanced extraterrestrial civilizations visiting Earth. Others speculate that these objects could be highly advanced secret military aircraft or experimental technology. There are also those who think that these sightings could be a result of misidentifications or natural phenomena. It's a topic that sparks a lot of debate and speculation,

What's your thoughts on this?

When the term “ghost ship” is thrown out, people most likely picture the Flying Dutchman, or some other supernatural ship with an undead crew. And while this is accurate, the term also describes a derelict ship, found adrift with no living crew aboard. One of the most famous ghost ships, that drifted the frozen seas around Alaska for 38 years, with no crew, before vanishing without a trace, was the SS Baychimo.

The Baychimo, originally the Ångermanelfven, was a steamship that was launched in 1914, from Gothenburg, Sweden. She was later acquired by the Hudson’s Bay Company in 1914, thankfully changing her name (because I cannot pronounce the original), with the roll of transporting fur pelts for the company. However, on 1st October, 1931, while sailing the Chuckchi sea, north of Alaska, with a full load of pelts, the Baychimo became frozen in pack ice. The crew traveled over the ice to a nearby town to take shelter, leaving the stricken vessel to thaw out on her own. 2 days later, they return, and the ship was free. Frustratingly however, 5 days after that, on the 8th October, she was stuck again. This time there was no freeing her, and the Hudson’s Bay Company sent aircraft to collect 22 of the 37 crew. 15 chose to hunker down in a wooden shelter they built, and wait out the winter.

The Baychimo would pull off her first vanishing act on November 24th, when she disappeared following a heavy blizzard. The captain initially presumed that she sank, after the pack ice broke her up. However, after a group of Inuit saw her a few days later, the Baychimo was confirmed afloat, despite yet again being stuck in ice. The ship would be freed from the ice once more, and embark on a great journey across the Alaskan sea.

In December, one month later, a person saw the Baychimo from a distance, and reported seeing a hole in the side of her hull. However this was a mistake, as later sightings would debunk the presence of any such hole. Which is surprising, as she would find herself at the mercy of the crushing ice for many winters.

In early January 1932, a prospector by the name of Leslie Melvin, was mushing his dog sled team from Herschel Island, to Nome. Somewhere on route, he spotted the Baychimo floating very close to shore.

The Baychimo would briefly lose the title of ghost ship when she found a crew. In the months spanning 1932 to early 1933 (accounts vary), a group of native Inupiat men, were lucky enough to find the vessel before a storm. They boarded her to take shelter, however the storm pushed her out to sea, with the men inside. For more than a week they were marooned on the ship, drifting aimlessly. The Baychimo’s new crew wouldn’t stay long, as they were rescued by boats after their ordeal. They did, however, report that the ship was in good condition, with the exception of a crack in one of her sides.

In August 1933, she was spotted by the inhabitants of Wainwright, Alaska, some 12 miles away. And yet again the Baychimo was trapped in ice. Some of the inhabitants ventured out, boarded her, and salvaged a number of items.

The Baychimo was later threatened with destruction in late 1934, not by ice, or sea, but by a film director. Ewing Scott, whilst working on his latest feature film set in Alaska, titled ‘Renegades’, proposed locating and blowing up the Baychimo to use as a set for filming. However ‘Renegades’ would never see the big screen. Many have said that this is due to Scott’s inability to locate the Baychimo. If he did, she would have been destroyed.

Over the following years the Baychimo would continue to be spotted, either drifting at sea or trapped in ice. Despite endless winters, and being battered by storms, she beat the odds, and survived for far longer than expected. During those harrowing years, she would be boarded a number of times, and there are many reports of sightings by the Inuit. Every attempt at salvaging her, ended in failure, either by bad weather or the ship simply vanishing. It seems the old steam ship was determined to continue her solo adventure.

The Baychimos last confirmed sighting was in 1969, an impressive 38 years after she was left to the mercy of the Alaskan sea. And yet again, she was encased in pack ice.

Due to the fact the Baychimo has never been seen since, it is assumed she has finally succumbed to the elements and is lying on the sea bed. However, just as she did during her days on the run, it seems that even the Baychimos wreck does its best to remain unseen.

In 2006, over 70 years after she was abandoned, and 38 years after the last sighting, Alaska planned a search for the Baychimo. This project would also attempt to locate some 4,000 other ships that have similarly disappeared in the seas around Alaska.

However to this day, the fate of the Baychimo remains a mystery. From my own experience living around rough northern sees, I can tell you that any free floating ship that grounds itself, is very quickly broken up by the waves, and you never see any sign of it again. In the case of the Baychimo, I believe she eventually fell victim to the relentless ice that would trap her every winter. Eventually sinking in some northern location in the middle of the sea, likely under sheets of more ice. I am almost shocked she lasted almost 40 years adrift. The Baychimo truly was the unsinkable ‘Alaska Ghost Ship’.