Anybody that has been on the Navajo reservation has either probably heard of some creepy things or have experienced pretty creepy things. Namely skinwalkers. I have only seen one. Here is my story.

I come from a small town in northern Arizona that’s sandwiched between the Paiute reservation to the north and the U.S.’s largest Navajo reservation to the south. My high school being so small (a 1A high school that has, on average, 80 students enrolled every year.) always had to travel south about 5-10 hours one way to play another high school in any sport. This means that we traveled A LOT on the Navajo rez. And we also usually stayed at hotels when we would head out to play and come home in the morning but this trip was a little bit different. I remember the basketball coach saying that the school didn’t have enough money to put up the teams in a hotel that trip so we were going to be on the road for a total of about 12 hours.

I was the only male senior to play basketball that season. We had just got done playing our game and headed home on our bus “Big Blue.” We were headed out and it wasn’t long, about 2 hours of driving, before we had entered the rez. By this time, everyone was asleep with it being about 2 in the morning. When we had crossed the rez’s border I noticed the bus driver had sped up and was now going about 85 mph. I thought this was a little weird because he never exceeded the speed limit, at least not in my high school career. For some reason, I couldn’t fall asleep like the rest of my teammates, and I just sat at the back of the bus staring out across the desolate desert landscape that was lit up by the full moon.

As I looked out, I could see a figure running towards the bus at an angle of pursuit…and keeping up with the bus at 85 mph. As the figure got closer I saw that it was a humanoid form. As a matter of fact it looked exactly like a human, only that the face was painted half black and half white with glowing eyes. Glowing eyes like a rabbit’s eyes reflecting light from a spotlight. I immediately thought, “Holy crap! It’s a skinwalker!!” The skinwalker ran up to the edge of the road and just kept up pace with the bus hurdling sage brush and rocks while staring at me. After I made eye contact with the thing, I COULD NOT look away.

It was as if something was holding my head and eyes in place. The skinwalker just smiled at me this inhuman smile that went ear-to-ear, showing crooked, yellow, pointed teeth. I felt like I was going to throw up and I was panicking through the whole ordeal. The skinwalker started to crumple down on to all fours, still keeping up with the bus. I could see his bones crack and reform, hair started appearing all over the skinwalker’s body and in about 3 seconds was now a coyote and it ran off back into the desert out of view. As soon as it was gone, I ran to the onboard bathroom and puked a mixture of food and blood.

I didn’t want to tell anyone for fear they would think I was crazy. I confided in my Navajo friend. She told me that I needed to see the chief, who also happened to be a friend of mine, and get a blessing. I saw him the next school day in the parking lot. He just came up to me and mumbled something in Navajo while waving a feathered scepter-like thing, turned around, got in his truck and drove away. To this day, I haven’t seen another skinwalker. It might be due to the fact I moved away from that town and rez, and, if I do have to go south, I go around…WAY around.



My Father owns a small delivery service that operates out of Farmington NM. We mostly deliver small packages out to the middle of nowhere that are too much of a hassle for the larger delivery companies to bother with. My Dad is the only employee and we have a few pickup trucks and a trailer.

One day we get a delivery out to Window rock AZ, on the Navajo reservation about 2 hours from Farmington. My Dad gets the call for the job while he is chilling with his Navajo friend, Travis and his girlfriend. Travis mentions how he’s got family in Window rock that he hasn’t seen in ages and suggests they go with him.

I was about 6 or 7 at the time and it was the summertime so Dad decides we’ll go down together, he can do his delivery really quick, then while Travis sees his family we can go check out the Window rock (big rock face with a large hole in it that goes to the other side, pretty cool.)

We had to convoy in separate trucks since my Dad’s was loaded down with freight. We decided to bring along some talkie talkies so we could communicate with one another.

We spend our time in Window rock, everything is generally uneventful and we start heading home along the old highway with my Dad and I in front, and Travis and his girlfriend in their truck behind us.

I honestly don’t remember most of the Window rock trip but this next part I can never forget.

We’re somewhere on the highway between Window rock and Gallop NM. It had just rained earlier in the day and the road was kind of slick so we were taking it pretty slow. On the left of the highway there is nothing but sandstone cliffs and on the right there is a huge field separated from the road by a small barbed wire fence.

We crest the top of this hill and down at the bottom of the hill we see what appears to be a very large dog, sitting back on its haunches in the middle of the road, facing the cliffs.

My Dad calls over the radio “Hey Trav, do you see that big ass dog?” Travis starts yelling back over the radio “That is not a dog! Speed up right now and hit it!” He sounds almost hysterical. He just keeps screaming “Hit it! Jj you have to hit it! Please! PLEASE! Hit that fucking thing right now!”

So my Dad starts to speed up and as we get a bit closer I can begin to see it a little more clearly. It’s covered in this brown, wiry, matted hair that appears to have dried blood all over it. It’s still facing the cliffs but the moment our headlights hit it, it turns and looks at us and it has a…face

I don’t know how else to describe it other than a mix between a bear’s and a humans’ face. It looks twisted and distorted and almost in pain. As we get closer to this thing we start to realize it’s actually fucking huge. Though it was still sitting on its’ haunches it is about shoulder height with the hood of the truck.

We get literally inches from hitting it when it lets out this scream that sounds like someone screaming as their lungs were filling with water and it leaps backwards, towards the field, landing just on our side of the barbed wire fence. Then with another leap it was gone from sight.

Travis is comes over the radio again, “Holy shit! Keep driving! We have to get out of here! We have to go faster!” he kept repeating that last part. We have to get out of here and we have to go faster.

Pretty soon we a speeding like crazy and just as we start to come near the outskirts of Gallup we get pulled over. Travis pulls his truck over with us. Naturally this makes the cop, a Navajo man himself, very on edge and he immediately asks why Travis felt the need to pull over as well. Travis says “We just saw a skinwalker a few miles back and it’s been following us!” The officer immediately turns white, stammers something about a verbal warning gets in his car and takes off. We do the same.

We didn’t see anything else that night but when we got home Travis refused to let us leave without taking some kind of Navajo totem thing that was supposed to keep it away.

So ya I guess that’s my skinwalker story. Sorry for the length but thank you for reading. If any of you guys have had any experiences I’d love to hear them.

Edit: Huge thanks to /u/Because_Skyrim for a near perfect representation of exactly what I saw that night http://imgur.com/ymxQknv



When I was about 11 or 12, we lived in a small house made of mud and stone. A lot like our house now. It was two of my brothers and I in the house. Everyone else had gone to the Jamez Feast and left us to tend the sheep. We were getting ready for bed when we heard the dogs going crazy outside. Thinking it was nothing more than coyotes howling in the distance, we told them to be quite. We began to drift off into sleep, and the dogs would not shut up. Somehow, I was able to go to sleep for a few hours. Then I woke up very late in the night. It was very quiet and still in the house, save for my brothers snoring and breathing. I realized I needed to use the outhouse and woke up my brother to take me there. He teased me about being scared, which I certainly was.

We went out with our flashlight to the outhouse. The dogs began with their crazed barking out in the sagebrush, going from one place to the next. My brother went first and I waited outside for him. While waiting, I tried to follow the dogs with my flashlight. Suddenly there was a very loud whine from one of the dogs. Then everything went quiet again. It was really too quiet for that time of year. Not even the sheep were making noise. Suddenly I heard a few of the dogs going completely mad by the truck. When I looked over, there was this man.

He was unbelievably tall, leaning one arm on the cab roof of the truck. He was looking at the dogs for a little, and then suddenly kicking one of them. They all scattered in different directions. The thing looked up at me and I saw its face. It had a pure white face (like a full moon), two burning red eyes, and a slight smile that was pure black. I could not move or make a sound. It began to walk toward me with long strides, until if finally towered over me. All I began to see was a dark red. Like the colour of the blood when you cut the throat of a sheep.

I kept getting deeper and deeper into its eyes. I could faintly hear my brother coming out of the outhouse. With this, the thing looked up at him. Reality came rushing back to me. I noticed that my brother was too distracted with his buckle to realize what was going on. I also noticed this things long hands hovering just inches from my head. Its skin was black ash, and he smelled like a bloated dead animal in summer. I was still unable to move or speak, the skinwalker began to move toward my brother. Finally noticing this figure, my brother became paralyzed as I was. Closer and closer it drew, reaching an arm out toward my brother’s head. Something finally snapped in me, I became unbearably angry.

I broke from the trance and lunged at the skinwalker. Raising my arms like a wild animal and barring my teeth at it. A growl came out that I never knew I could make. I became more and angrier at the thing that was trying to hurt us. It kept that smile at first, but the angrier I got the more the smile faded. Finally, with everything I had, I began to make this primal roar at it. It fell backwards and ran away into the night. Looking back at me, its eyes were dim and dull, its smile now long since gone. The next morning the family returned home from the feast. After relaying the story to my parents, they quickly hired a medicine man.



It was 1995, I had just graduated High School, an old friend who I haven’t talked to in 7 years now and I were hanging out and I said, “Let’s go to New Orleans.” And we did. We had $140 between us and back then that was more than enough. We made it New Orleans, almost died from culture shock, and turned around and headed to Magnolia, MS to get some sleep. We stayed at Magnolia Inn, it was a shit hole, but it was nice and cool. It was May or June, in south MS; cool was the only adjective that mattered. We stayed up that night playing poker, drinking Gordon’s vodka, and talking about who knows what. Probably girls, college, and college girls. At some point I said, “Ever been to Texas?” “Nope.” “Pack your bag and let’s roll.” We had a road atlas; Marshall, TX was right across the border from Shreveport.

We arrived in Shreveport, made a phone call to another friend, who we were actually supposed to be staying with. Both of our mothers had called looking for us. The only person that knew where we were was the buddy on the phone. It was no big deal; we would be home in a day or two.

I’m being short on details because if I don’t this will turn into a novel length story about chasing armadillos and being chased by the boogeyman.

Before we left that rest area in Shreveport where we made the call we saw an armadillo. Let me tell you something about armadillos, those bastards will hiss, jump, and turn into Tasmanian Devils if you corner them. They also carry leprosy. We were 18; we chased that armadillo around for an hour. Now let me tell you about Shreveport. I don’t know how it is now but in the summer of 1995 it looked and smelled like a place where oil and metal went to die. It was dirty. It was a shit hole. We crossed a bridge and saw people fishing a 100 yards from where a drainage pipe from a factory was spewing forth waste upriver from the fisherman. The locals reminded me of the locals in Adamsville, bald headed women and cross eyed men. A lot of bald headed, cross eyed kids. I’m sorry but it was a Rob Zombie movie come to life. I felt like I was going to be raped because I had a full head of hair and could see straight. The best part of Shreveport was an armadillo that might possibly have leprosy. Marshall, TX was 40 miles away. We rolled on.

Marshall was a decent little town. Home of the Fire Ant Festival. We stopped at a little bar-b-q joint and had a coke, a smile, and some pulled pork. It was getting late, and the sun was setting, we looked at the map and decided to back track a bit and head up rural route 43, through Karnack, and past Caddo Lake. We would eventually run into Hwy 59, head to Texarkana and then head back home. When we left the bar-b-q joint and headed towards 43 it was dusk. Hwy 43 wasn’t well lit, it was almost as dark as Natchez Trace Parkway (I’ve got a good story about using a pair of pantyhose as a fan belt for an old diesel Mercedes. Do not EVER get stuck on the Trace after dark. Ever.) My friend was driving and we were doing about 45 mph, any faster would have been reckless even for a couple 18 year old dumbasses.

This road was kind of like Christmasville Rd. (The locals reading this will know what I mean. The non-locals just have to use your imagination) It was dark, winding, full of hills that ended in curves; there were beady and glowing eyes on both sides of the road. You could hear the crickets and the bullfrogs over the sound of the wind rushing by that old Sentra. It was peaceful and creepy at the same time. The humidity was a real thing, tangible. The air was thick. It smelled like pastures, hay, and swamp. We drove for what seemed like hours, it was after midnight, and I saw a sign that informed me that Bivins was the next town of any size. I was hypnotized by the yellow lines on the road; we hadn’t seen another car in at least an hour, sleepy. I rolled the window down and lit a cigarette. There was music coming from the radio, the tape player, it was either Tupac or Bob Seger. I smoked my cigarette, absent mindedly flicking ashes out of the window. I took one last puff and flicked the Camel Short off into the woods. Then I saw it.

I never looked to my right; I didn’t even kinda peek to the right. Maybe I did a little when I flicked the cigarette away. I don’t know. What I do know is that in my periphery there was something running alongside the car. It was just behind my window, behind where the edge of the door ends and before where the back window begins. I looked over at the speedometer, 40 mph. I looked at my friend, he was looking straight ahead, I looked straight ahead. I could still see it. I could see one huge arm, matted hair, reddish brown, sticky looking, primal. I eased my right hand over and rolled up my window. My friend was still looking straight ahead, his jaw was clenched, and he put both hands on the wheel, he sped up.

No words were said. I looked straight ahead and still out of my periphery I could see that arm moving, muscles and tendons visibly rippling beneath that matted hair. As the car gained a little speed the thing running alongside us lost pace, slightly, I then saw the hand on the end of that nightmarish arm. The hand was clenched into fist the size of a cantaloupe, a big cantaloupe. It was covered in the same hair but slightly darker around the fingers, like it was stained with something. Suddenly the hand unclenched and then I saw the claws, black as this damned after midnight Texas night. Those claws were at least two inches long, sharp, like an animals. This wasn’t a hand so much as it was the killing paw and claws of some beast whose only purpose was to kill and eat.

I looked back at my friend; I looked at the speedometer, 50 mph. I looked straight ahead, it was still there. I lit another cigarette, didn’t roll the window down, and simply said, “Shit.” The music had stopped. I finally broke the silence and said, “Hey, do you…” and before I could finish my buddy said, “I see it, I’ve been seeing it. I can’t even see you but I can see whatever the hell that shit is.” “How much do you see?” “More than I want to.” “Speed up, John, just speed up. It can’t keep up forever.” I looked over, 55 mph, whatever was chasing us, silently, was starting to lag behind. I finally looked to my right, just a bit, imagine the scary part of the movie where you put your hands in front of your face but still peek through. In 37 years I have two regrets, one is picking up that first cigarette and the other is me looking to my right that night. This beast was huge, its chest was above the top of the car, and all I could see was that matted reddish brown hair. Then it bent forward as it ran, I saw the face of this thing, all reality stopped. We were no longer driving down some country road in Texas. We were now trying to escape from the depths of a monster inhabited hell.

This things face is beyond my powers to describe. It was evil. The eyes were black and the pupils were red. It flashed its teeth at me in a snarl, yellow and huge. Saliva dripped from its mouth. It opened its eyes wide and it looked hungry and pissed off. Then it opened its mouth, the skin pulled back until all you could see were black gums and yellow teeth. Immediately I could feel the car accelerate. “Fucking hell, John, just go!” I prayed. I cussed. I lit a cigarette. Then like sunshine breaking through the clouds the road straightened out. “Don’t you slow down.”

We drove through Bivins, and we drove to Texarkana. Then we drove home. We never said a word. It was years later, 11 to be exact, before we ever even talked about it again and we didn’t talk about it much. He said he’d never told anyone and I hadn’t either. I told the story a few years back for the first time while I was parked out on a gravel road, doing the things you do when you’re parked out on a gravel road with a good looking woman. I told it a year or so ago to a couple of kids who wanted to hear a scary story while they sat around a camp fire. They didn’t sleep for a day or two but they asked me a dozen more times to tell them the story. I never told anyone until now that I saw its face.

I’ve been scared for my life exactly two times. Once was on that road and once was looking at a grizzly bear in front of me with a terminal velocity inducing drop to the side of me. Call it what you will, call it bullshit if you want, but look me in the eyes and let me tell you this story and you’ll know. Never doubt that there are things in this world that defy explanation and logic. The boogeyman is real. Some 16 or 17 years after this happened I ran across a story and a movie called The Legend of Boggy Creek. Fauke, Arkansas (Where the aforementioned story and movie takes place) isn’t that far from Bivins, TX, as the crow flies. Invite me over, buy me a beer, sit on the porch with me and I’ll tell you the story, over a pack of Marlboros and a few of those beers.



This all happened about 5 years ago. One night, a few of my friends decided after a night of hanging out that we’d go on an adventure at about 3am. We took a ride about 50 miles to this old Spanish ruin (in New Mexico), that was once the seat of the Inquisition. I can’t for the life of me remember what the place is called.

So we jump the front gate to the place and start exploring. One of my friends brought a flute with him and he started playing it and about 30 seconds into his (mediocre) playing, something started screaming really really loud on the tops of the long-destroyed walls of the place. It was going from wall to wall really quick, screaming the most blood-curdling scream you’ve ever imagined. We noped the fuck out of there (one of my friends pissed his pants) and drove for a few hours to Bandelier National Monument where we planned to camp out at for the rest of the weekend.

We got to bandelier at probably like 6 or 7am and set up our camp. After a few hours just talking about what the hell happened at the ruins, I went to talked a piss behind a probably only like 300 feet from our camp. This is where everything starts getting a little fuzzy. I remember seeing 2 dust devils coming my way and when I turned around again, 2 of my friends were there and they were motioning me to follow them. I couldn’t help but to follow them, like I was being pulled behind them in shackles.

I followed them for what seemed like 10 or 15 minutes and then I snapped out of it. These weren’t my friends they had bright red hair, with my friends faces and cat eyes. Both of these friends were brunette. I stopped walking and they looked at me with probably the most terrifying gaze I’ve ever seen. Monsters in movies are nothing compared to this. I turned around and ran as fast as I could back the way I came from.

After like 5 minutes of a full sprint, I got back to that rock that I pissed at and found our camp. Everyone was there, still sitting around talking and didn’t even notice that I was gone. I told them what happened with the look-alike skinwalkers and we packed up everything and left probably within like 10 minutes and got the hell back to Albuquerque.



I was adopted into the Navajo family when I was no more than 3 months old from Phoenix Arizona and lived in Arizona on the Navajo Rez my whole life. Growing up and learning the language although I’m not even 1/2 or full, My family dealt with these things called “Skinwalkers.” Or “Skinwearers.”

My Mother:

(Born in the 1950’s) When she was small (6), she said she use to play with her little cousin (5) on the road while her mother herded sheep with her brother and her father left on the wagon to get water a few miles down. Her cousins mother lived near her family so they had company for the most part. Neighbors lived 3 miles west and 4 miles to the south, I-40 (Interstate 40) about 26 miles to the south also. Dirt roads, the rural area they lived in was covered in forest so there were lots of tall pines, cedar and oak trees everywhere. Great place in Arizona, not to far from the New Mexico Boarder and not to far from Window Rock (The Headquarters of Navajoland).

Playing by the abandoned dirt road, just the two of them…far far away from the house and the main dirt road, past the large number of trees. Having the most awesomeness time by themselves playing with their dolls.

She smelled something like rotting meat and heard a crunch of sticks and leaves behind her, she looked back towards the large pine-tree that leaned. Under it sat a woman with waist long dark hair peppered with a little gray here and there, watching them as they played. Wearing a load of sterling-silver and turquoise jewelry. Body painted with black grease that stunk and wore a Coyote pelt to cover herself.

My mother said she couldn’t move and just stared at it just as it stared back at her…and by no means was this woman pretty in the least. She was demonic looking with what could be described as blood-lust as her eyes trailed back and forth between my mom and her little cousin. Her little cousin wasn’t even aware of it yet because she was a ways up playing in the mound of sand.

Heart-pumping, ears ringing, my mom said she was so scared, her breath felt stolen and the smell was so bad she was getting dizzy, yet she couldn’t move. Finally she started muttering to her cousin in Navajo (Children could speak Navajo long before they learned English because it was their first language.)

“Vivian…Vivian, there’s something under the tree…Viv…VIVIAN! THERE’S SOMETHING UNDER THE TREE…RUN!” Vivian looked up and saw the lady.

Screaming in terror, Vivian burst into tears as the lady watched them, smiling. Raising a finger and beckoning them to come over, my mom grabbed Vivian and ran down toward the main road, just in time for my Grandpa who was coming back from getting water with the horse-drawn wagon. “Dad, there’s something sitting under the tree over there!” More like “Haa’eeshii’ kue’eh siidah! Tree baaniih’dii!- something is sitting under the tree!” and her father got angry yelling at them,

“Why are you playing way the heck out here! Get in! It’s probably just your imagination!” and looked over “dlooshi iit’eh!” He saw it as the lady had gotten closer looking at them, “That’s a skinwalker, come on!” and got back to the house. He went back with her older brothers but never found it.

There was only one person with hair that long and that was his cousin had no kids and lived 7 miles west of them.

My mom said she couldn’t ever forget seeing that, it was a traumatic experience just knowing what could have happened to them if she got to them first.

Nothing good at all.

History Lesson:

“Once Upon A Time…” Navajo Skinwalkers were used for good, How they were used? They were blessed by the ‘Holy Ones’ to help the Navajo people. The blessed ones hunted with it, They spied on the enemies and different tribes, Helped defeat their enemies in battle, They used their Abilities to keep out the Spanish from venturing onto Navajo Land and that is why there are no Missions near Navajo Land to this day and only towards Santa Fe, Parts of New Mexico, Tucson and so on but never on Navajo Land. It is also said when the Hopi’s decided to move from their original tribe of the Pueblos, they crossed the center of Navajoland and were targeted by Skinwalkers, many died near Cornfields Arizona. And to this day, Hopi’s decided to live on top Mesa’s to keep away from the ground, bad blood between Two tribes until recently. But the ‘Blessed Ones’ became corrupted by envy and greed…they are now used for one’s gain and purpose. To cause fear, death, and suffering for the sake of money, gluttony, jealousy and fun. There’s nothing good to becoming one and there’s nothing good in seeking one out.


We can be as honest as we are ignorant. If we are, when asked what is beyond the horizon of the known, we must say that we do not know. ― Robert G. Ingersoll

“O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on.” ― William Shakespeare, Othello

“It’s poor judgment’, said Grandpa ‘to call anything by a name. We don’t know what a hobgoblin or a vampire or a troll is. Could be lots of things. You can’t heave them into categories with labels and say they’ll act one way or another. That’d be silly. They’re people. People who do things. Yes, that’s the way to put it. People who do things.” ― Ray Bradbury, The October Country.



I was visiting my grandparents out in Shiprock, New Mexico during last October to see family and to go to the Northern Navajo Nation Fair that week. Many Navajo people, including my own family, are very reluctant to speak about Skinwalkers because it is believed to attract their attention. However, I grew up away from the Navajo Nation and was very naive about the subject. When it came to Skinwalkers, I was an absolute skeptic. My mom used to tell a story of how back in the 80’s when she lived with her siblings and my grandparents (still in Shiprock, but the southern outskirts) about how she and my aunt saw a Skinwalker just outside their driveway under a street light. She described it as a black dog with dirty fur, a twisted noodle-like front leg, and these unnatural eyes with a soft burnt orange glow. Me being my own closed minded self doubted every word, but I never said my doubts aloud.

But these doubts totally changed last year when I went to my grandparents’ house. Me and my family had just finished going to the carnival at the Navajo Nation Fair and called it night. The house was close enough where we could walk home in just 10 minutes, so we did. When we got there it was about 9 at night where we stayed up until about 2 catching up about family affairs and the local news. It was during that time that I just decidedly opened my mouth and blurt out the question, “Hey are Skinwalkers real?” “Guys?”, I asked. “You shouldn’t be speaking about that!” my grandma said with almost a disturbed yell in her voice. So she and my grandfather both decide to go to bed. After being scolded by my mom, one of my aunts chimes in with a very cautious tone and says, “They’re real alright, had a few start screaming outside of my trailer in Farmington just a few night ago. Your cousin had nightmares the whole night and woke up crying that morning.”

Not wanting to push the discomfort any further, we all decided to go to bed. Now the trailer/home is pretty old and it was a really nice night, so we slept with the windows open with screens to prevent bugs coming in. Everyone had drifted off to sleep except me, because my mind was still going a million miles a minute about Skinwalkers and wondered if I ever encounter one while here on the reservation. As a kid I was told it was taboo to think about Skinwalkers because it can still call their attention. That’s when the shit totally hit the fan.

Just as I was settling and finally getting relaxed for sleep, I started to hear something moving outside. I get up from the couch and start wandering over to the kitchen window. In the trailer, all of the rooms have the lights out so the only visible light that can be seen is from the porch light out front. I was thankful for this because I told myself if it really was a Skinwalker outside then hopefully it wouldn’t notice me seeing it. So I muster up the courage and take a quick scan of outside. From the porch light all I can see is the dusty ground and the vehicles that my family drove along with some old metal trashcans that stood beside the road. Looking for about a good 5 seconds, I wasn’t able to see anything so I was getting ready to turn around and walk back to bed thinking it was just a stray cat or something.

Only have taken two steps, I hear what sound like a distorted scream coming from outside, definitely close by. Fear rising, I look outside again and there I see it! A coyote-like figure was staring at my direction from behind the cars, just outside of the reach of the porch light. Only it looked, awfully wrong, and gave off an evil vibe just from seeing it. It was grey with very disheveled hair and a horrific orange-red soft glow came from its eyes. I noped the hell out and ran back to the bedroom. It was at this moment I had begun to also notice an awful stench in the air that smelled like rotting meat. I started trying to wake up my mom who was like, “oh my God, its almost 3am, what do you want?” I immediately began in a shaken voice, “there’s something scary outside!” Then she said (now annoyed because I woke her up), “Ugh it’s probably just a stray animal or something, it’s the rez, animals wander all the time at night.” She obviously wasn’t getting the drift of what I was saying so I screamed, “THERE’S SOME BLAIR WITCH PROJECT SHIT GOING ON OUTSIDE, MA!!!”

That got her attention.

“What?! What the hell are you talking about??” she asked. Then we heard it, the thing outside started making more of its dreadful like screams and started what sounded like thrashing outside on the ground. “Hear that?! That’s what I’m talking about!” So both her and I got back up looked outside the window and the coyote-thing was making its way to the door. It walked with an odd limp and dragged its back right leg as if it has handicapped. We could hear it start to scratch against the door and make this odd muffled moaning sound. My mom went and got my dad and they both started shouted in Navajo all sorts of words telling the thing to go away and saying it’s not welcome here.

Well all this commotion was enough to get the rest of the trailer up as they came out into the hallway. The only thing my mom did was turn to them and said “Skinwalker” while proceeding to point to the door (noises STILL happening). Apparently they already knew exactly what to do as my grandfather got out a handgun from a drawer and a bag of ashes. He coated a few bullets and loaded them into the gun and went straight to the door. Yelling out more Navajo that was too fast for me to comprehend he swung open the door and fired twice. Nothing. The thing managed to escape before my grandpa could put a bullet in it. “That’s the fastest one I’ve ever seen”, said my grandpa. Next thing you know my aunts and my parents are freaking out about what just happened saying stuff like, “What if it comes back tomorrow?” and “It saw us, does that mean we’re targets now?”. Afterwards my grandparents calmed everyone down (myself included) saying we’ll be fine and we all went to bed.

Morning comes and my grandparents call one of their neighbors and explain to them what happened. Apparently one of them was a medicine man who used to partake in Yei Bi Chei’s (Navajo ceremonies used for healing and curing sickness) and came over to bless each family member and the grounds outside.

Today, I’m very convinced that what I saw was a Skinwalker. I still plan on going back for visits to the family and the Northern Navajo Nation Fair (fun stuff!). I just adamantly hope that I never have such an awful experience like that again.



I decided to join my bestie Karen for a three day stay at her grandmother’s place on the Rez. Her Grandmother lives near a Place called Tuba City, Arizona. In the middle of nowhere but surrounded by rural homes.

We go to college together and I was kinda interested to know about Navajo tradition. The first day we stayed, it was pretty chill…nothing out of the ordinary but then her Grandma (Not that old, around 67) said that a stray dog came out of nowhere and wouldn’t leave. To me…it did act kinda strange and ugly looking. (Black, shaggy coat, looked like a mix between a German Shepard and a Lab)

That night, we were watching a movie in the living-room (had big windows that looked out into the front where the cars are parked, nothing fancy) with the curtains wide open, Grandma was in the kitchen cooking dinner and we were watching a movie. Next to the window is a medium bookshelf and where DVD’s are kept.

Karen went to put back a DVD we had just watched, but she freaked out because that stray black dog was staring at us through the window standing on-top of the wood-box outside. Not something normal dogs do from my point of view or hers. (Usually my dog which is a house Dog, scratches the door to be let in…Rez Dogs aren’t house Dogs and Dogs inside houses are frowned upon in Navajo Tradition; Meant to protect the house and owner.) The other dogs seemed to stay away from it. Karen opened the door and yelled at it to get it off the box. It ran off behind the shed.

We went to to Tuba City to get some groceries, came back to the house. The dog was nowhere to be seen, nothing unusual. Grandma went to visit some people so it was just Karen and I. About 5 o’clock we heard someone trying to open the door, both of us looked out since there had been no car heard and no dogs barking. Looking out the living-room window to the door and there was the DOG trying to open the door with its paws. Two paws wrapped around the brass door knob, standing on its hind-legs.

I though that was…weird but wasn’t really freaked out, Karen was. She opened the door and chased it off. Grandma came back later and Karen told her, Grandma didn’t like what she heard. Got ready to sleep, we slept in the spare bedroom since it had two beds. One window with curtains opened a little. We turned off the light, but there was a sound coming from on top of the roof.

Pitter-patter foot steps and scratching sounds and panting. It then sounded like it jumped off onto the large plastic water barrel they had. At first we heard what sounded like barking, but as it grew louder, the other dogs seemed to be barking at something also. But all of a sudden, something was running around the house barking and it was no DOG…NOPE….it wasn’t.

This barking sounded human, a deep male voice barking like it knew that ‘we’ knew it wasn’t a dog.

“Wuuuuff…wuff…wuff…Ruffff….Rrrrrrruuufff……….Arffffff….Arff Arff.” Just exactly like that, adding the W’s, R’s and A’s. Then panting again by the window and we started freaking out.

Karen decided to (in my opinion was stupid) open the curtains to look out, there was the stray dog on its hind legs looking into our bedroom but this time, it stunk and what I thought were two black holes in the neck, another pair of eyes twinkled (think of those ugly glossy spider eyes starring at you) and the paws were deformed looking hands with over-grown somewhat thick and sharp fingernails.

Again…both screaming and shutting the curtains closed, Grandma came running through the door and seeing it. First thing she did was grab ashes from the fireplace, load three shells into the shotgun from under her bed, bless herself in Navajo and went outside to shoot it. Yelling in Navajo about how the ‘thing’ wasn’t welcomed there and to get the hell outta there, for it go to linger somewhere else.

Them both being traditional, the next day they called a Medicine Man to come-over and put cedar in. He prayed over everyone with cedar smoke and an eagle feather, blessed the place…made us eat bitter herbs called ‘Eagles Gull’ or something and gave me an arrowhead. Apparently I needed to carry one for protection and a little pouch called Corn-pollen. Seems to work pretty well.

The Medicine Man said that dog was a Skinwalker (Which in Navajo is a long word but I call them Yoshi’s), the body of the stray dog (Which was killed by the Skinwalker) made an illusion so we wouldn’t know it wasn’t a real dog. He also said that Yoshi’s tend to harm people by using some sort of human bone straw to spit at someone (think…spitballs only deadlier) and get human bones into them. Doctors can’t detect it, but the Medicine Man that day pulled a piece of human skull out of Grandmas right shoulder, pretty big…about 2 inches long and 1 cm thick…it was real because we watched him pull it out of her…that was intense.



Every summer my family and I go up to camp in Dedham/Ellsworth Maine, it’s about a 3 hour drive from my house. The camp itself is about an hour from the nearest town. I’ve been going to this camp my entire life (my family owns it), and have never had an incident like this happen before.

I was watching TV in the middle of the night, both of my brothers and my parents had gone to bed. I heard a noise coming from the kitchen, and realized that the dogs needed to go outside to do their business. So, I took my brother’s 2 pitbulls and my affenpinscher (tiny dog) outside after turning on the porch light. I walked around to the front yard and I let the dogs off leash. It’s so incredibly dark in the woods in Maine that the porch light really only illuminated the porch and nothing else, so I tried to keep an eye on them.

I was momentarily distracted when I saw a loon (wild bird) on the lake. When I looked back, I saw that the pit bulls were both looking at something in the woods. I couldn’t see what it was, but I assumed they’d seen a squirrel or a raccoon. It was then that I realized I didn’t see Alfie anywhere. She’s an awfully small dog, and she’s completely black. I called for her a few times, and heard some soft whimpering right where the dogs had been looking earlier. I took a couple steps in that direction and called for her again, worried that she may have gotten her paw stuck between the rocks or gotten stuck in a snake hole. Suddenly, I felt something moving behind me. I whipped around and looked down, and… it was Alfie. She’d been staying close to me the whole time, I just hadn’t seen her.

So naturally, I was thinking… if Alfie is here, wtf is in the woods? I took another step forward, and the pitbulls began to growl. They were slowly advancing and were now on either side of me, looking right into the blackness of the woods. I quickly picked up Alfie and began to back up, very slowly. I’m not sure what I thought was there, but there are lots of animals in Maine and I figured the dogs knew better than I did, since I couldn’t see anything. Right as I turned around, I heard the most absolutely bone-chilling thing I’ve ever heard in my life.

Coming from the direction of the woods, I heard something/someone call Alfie’s name. It sounded almost as if it was trying to mimic me, but it was just all wrong. The voice sounded really distorted, and it almost seemed to wail.

I freaked the fuck out and ran inside with the dogs. I have no idea what was out there in the woods. My camp is essentially a log cabin overlooking a lake, and our nearest neighbor (who is also family) lives at least a half-mile in the opposite direction of where the thing was.



Normally I am completely stoic and don’t care for superstition or anything like that. I look on backwoods stories like these with a sort of bemusement, and have told and been told plenty over the years.

Tonight was different.

I’m a grown ass man, but moments ago I just started sobbing uncontrollably and got so nauseous I threw up my dinner. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but after reading about some of these encounters, it was like something clicked, and I started remembering.

First a little background. I was a weird little kid, incredibly full of energy and supposedly really smart. I loved spending all day outside, roaming the foothills and getting lost, then finding my way home. I was totally fearless, and it really pissed my parents off because of course they would get worried sick about me if I didn’t come home on time, or even until after dark.

I loved exploring. Finding the hidden places and searching for interesting bugs and animals. My parents were convinced I was going to grow up to be a scientist of some type. Yet, I had a sort of lack of respect for authority, and my constant failure to return on time resulted in some pretty serious groundings.

My solution was to stop going out in the daytime, and to start sneaking out at night. My nocturnal adventures began when I was about 12 years old. My range quickly increased from the neighborhood, to the nearby golf-course, to the deep woods outside of town. I would sneak out around 12am, and try to be back by 4am or 5am, just before my dad woke up. I would use my morning shower to clean up, then stumble off to school like a zombie. Needless to say, my grades suffered, and discipline measures became ever stricter.

Still, nobody could stop me from sneaking out and having my adventures in the night. This went on for years, and I never felt afraid, even when the cops were called on me occasionally, or someone shot off a gun, or when a huge buck stared me down after I stumbled upon a bunch of bedded down dear. I even heard a cougar scream once, close by. That got my heart pounding, but I never felt true terror. A sort of startled alertness maybe, but the total dark wilderness never held no power over me. I felt powerful and vital, like I was doing something that nobody else does, and conquering something that was unassailable for others.

Until one night.

Tears are coming to my eyes now, and a chill is running up my back as I type this. I never remembered fully what the event was that made me suddenly, utterly stop my exploration and totally shut myself inside, but reading these stories has seemed to open the door to something truly awful.

I’m going to try and explain what I saw and felt and heard now, and you can draw your own conclusions.

It was a very normal early summer night. Cool, no breeze, clear sky with the stars and moon out shining so brightly that after getting used to dark, you could make out shapes and shadows fairly well. A perfect night for an adventure. I snuck out with my usual routine, and quickly jogged out of the neighborhood and past the golf course. I had somewhere in mind where I wanted to go, and my plan was the head down a dry creek bed deeper into a small valley that I hadn’t been before. Everything was going just fine, and it was exhilarating to be going somewhere new and breaking a new trail. I didn’t get very far into the woods that night, though.

Total silence was what made me stop. I remember it very clearly. Usually it was quite noisy with crickets and other insects, so loud that it was almost annoying at times. But I encountered an area of complete dead silence, with only the sound of the breeze flowing through the pine trees. It was so odd and so sudden that I just stood stock still, waiting, how I usually did, for some clue as to what was going on to present itself. Instead, an awful sensation flooded my body. A sort of welling dread that made the fine hairs on my arms and legs stand up, and on the back of my neck too. It was electric, and tortuous, sheer, utter terror.

Then the scream happened. So close I thought it was coming from above me. The worst sound I’ve ever heard in my entire life. It wasn’t a cougar, I know what those sound like. It was a long, peeling, horrendous wail full of mind-bending hate. In that moment I was sure I was about to die, that I had made a terrible mistake and now I was going to pay the price.

Something was moving in the dark shadows of the sparse pine trees, right in front of me. Not moving like any animal. Not a deer or even a bear, both of which I had encountered before. A lurching motion of 4 limbs with a shadow the size of a man. It was coming towards me. I was paralyzed, I couldn’t move. Every nightmare a child has ever had about a monster chasing them, while they couldn’t run away, was coming true.

After that scream everything was quiet, it wasn’t making any noise as the moved towards me. No crackling of dry pine needles, no breathing, nothing. I couldn’t move. Tears are streaming down my face now, the terror I put away is coming back. I think I tried to run. I remember fleeing faster than I had ever moved in my entire life. Total silence, just the pounding of my feet and the scrabbling of my hands in the pine needles and dirt and roots.

I fell. I remember panting, face in the dirt, knowing I was about to die. I remember the silence coming over me, and a terrible chill. I remember the feeling of my bladder loosening and heat flooding down my legs. I don’t remember what came after that.

When I came to, it was early morning. The sun was just beginning to rise. My only thought was the somehow make it home before my dad woke up, and I ran flat out the many miles back home. My dogs snarled at me, snapping at my heels as I jumped our back fence. It was so confusing, because we were the best of friends since I was only enough to play with them. I had larger worries though, because my dad was up. I managed to climb in through the window to my bedroom and change.

I went to school that day, but they sent me home with a fever.

I never explored at night again, and I was never the same. My dogs never acted the same around me again either. I went from an almost too-social, active young man, to a complete and total social recluse almost overnight. I barely spoke for a very long time, and I almost failed to graduate high school. It was like nothing could ever matter to me, ever again. I don’t know what happened, but I know something happened.

I’m sorry, it was very hard to write this with any coherency, because recalling this completely is making me nearly break down again. Till tonight, I hadn’t cried in almost a decade, and that was when I buried those dogs I mentioned, when they had to be put down from old age and infirmity. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I feel like it was important to share this.




This is a true story, so it may be a little dull.

I grew up in a town on the Gulf of Mexico. Our neighborhood was next to a huuuuge field; on the other side of the field, the Gulf itself. Not extremely relevant, just for setting.

My childhood home was laid out where my bedroom and my parents’ bedroom were on opposite sides of the living room, which is where the front door was.

I normally stayed up late, much later than my parents. They didn’t mind much, as I didn’t get into much trouble just playing video games all night.

I had fallen asleep playing Super Mario RPG on SNES, mid battle and all, when I woke up to my dad calling me into the living room.

So, I got up, walked out of my room. Every light in the house was off. I called out, “Dad?” He called me again from the living room. I don’t recall the exact verbiage used, but he called me by name, and was calling me to him.

The living room was completely empty, with not a single light on. I stood there, my eyes peering around the room, which was dimly lit from a nearby street light seeping through the blinds.


Again, he calls out to me. This time, though, his voice came from beyond the front door…in retrospect, of course something was wrong. But, as a young boy being called to in the middle of the night by their father’s voice, the first thing I thought was that he obviously needed my help for some reason.

I approached the front door slowly. Very slowly. Partially out of confusion, partially out of grogginess. As I approached, my dad called to me again. Then again. And again. Each call beckoned in a friendly, but urgent tone.

I was within reach of the door knob. I stood there. At this point, I felt something was a little off. Maybe I was sleepwalking, or caught in some vapor of sleep or something.

I paused for a few seconds to really drink in my surroundings. Feel my environment. This gave me time to truly take in the details. I was perceptive. I was awake, there was no mistaking it.




Then I heard him once more. Stern this time, like he was when I was in trouble.

“Wodniw. Get out here. Now.”

Oh shit, it’s serious. I think to myself. I reach for the door.

“Wodniw! What are you doing!?”

It was my mother, right behind me. Her voice in contrast to everything I was feeling in that moment fucking terrified me. It was the most startled I had been in my life. But that record wouldn’t last long.

“Dad’s outside, calling me; I think he needs me,” was my reply to her inquiry.

“Dad’s in the bedroom asleep…were you dreaming it?”

This phrase is one of my most vivid memories. Just thinking about it has me covered in chills. Record shattered, this was by far the most terrifying single moment in my life.

No. I know for a fact I wasn’t dreaming. I don’t sleepwalk. I remember waking up. I remember it very clearly (because I had fallen asleep during a battle in Super Mario RPG, and when I woke back up, Mallow was the only person left standing in my party). And then, right after that was when I had first heard…something….luring me outside.

Maybe that’s what woke me up in the first place.

The active fear didn’t last long, surprisingly. I had no idea what could’ve been out there. The thought of what it could have been depressed me. I had no response to the bombshell my mother had just dropped on me. I was emotionally exhausted by fear. You know that sickly, exhausted feeling you get when you receive absolutely terrible news? I simply muttered ‘goodnight’ to her, shuffled back to my room, and laid there on the floor until I passed out from emotional exhaustion.

I have never encountered anything like this since then. This seems like the place to share this story, without instantly being told that I was just sleepwalking (given that I have not one other single instance of known sleepwalking).

This turned out longer than I expected, and I feel very mixed at having immortalized these words, essentially. Part of me feels good to share it to a receptive audience, but the other part of me feels like I’m just stirring some shit…

Again, this is 100% factual, I didn’t enhance any details. I’ve told this story for 20 years now the exact same way. It’s one of the clearest memories I have from my childhood. I of course don’t know if it was a skinwalker/goatman, shapeshifter. I have no idea wtf it was. All I know, is that it was something, and it almost fucking tricked me.



My family moved to rural Pennsylvania when I was 4. I was immediately entranced with living in the country, with several acres of woods behind us, and the house seemed huge to me at the time. However, as a kid I was always sensitive to spirits/energy and there were definitely some creepy things going on in the house, so my parents noticed that I stayed with our dog, Bambi, a LOT. He was a small sheepdog, and my adventure buddy when we went walking in the woods. In case you’re questioning my parents, they trusted me (as young as age 7) to walk around alone as long as I was with my dog, as he was very very protective of me, and my dad would give me his cellphone to carry with me in case I needed any help.

Up until I was about 15, I spent a lot of time alone by choice. After school I’d be home by 3:20 in grade school. I’d eat lunch and immediately take Bambi out to the woods and we’d explore the surrounding forests and fields and meadows and ponds together. He was always right by my side, and he seemed really attuned to spiritual stuff to, ex. if I felt something was in the house he’d bark at it or whine or I’d watch him follow it around. Usually he’d pick up on the presence of something at the same time that I would.

Anyway, from my backyard, to the left, there is a small strip of trees, and in the fall and winter when the branches are bare you can see the field next door, which is about 300 yards from my house itself. There is a big plane shed up there and a kind of runway, where my neighbor would fly his biplanes off of.

What’s kinda important to the story is that I have no neighbors for a mile in every direction. It was pretty rare to see any kind of people on the surrounding properties unless it was my neighbor haying the fields in the summer. But one day, in early fall, I had been tromping through the woods with Bambi for several hours. I let him run off leash most of the time but he would only run ahead about 20 feet, and keep turning around to check that I was still there. If I lost sight of him he’d retrace his steps and find me again. That day I got caught up in whittling something so Bambi ran off a little bit and I suddenly realized I was alone. Suddenly, there was a lot of crashing deeper in the woods, and I heard Bambi’s alarm bark and a lot of yelping and then some screeching. Raccoons and gophers make really fucking scary distress sounds so I figured that was it, so I called Bambi and he popped out of some brush, covered in pickers, and since I was spooked I ran right back home with him.

Right as I got to the back door I stopped to catch my breath, and Bambi and I were just standing there, when I spotted someone standing on the very edge of the runway (it ran along the higher end of the field and then there was a steep drop off the edge of the hill at the very end of it). They didn’t appear to be wearing anything distinctive, but even in the dusk I could see that they appeared completely black or everything about them was very shadowy and dark. This is the part that gives me shivers now: They were standing facing off the runway, and then I saw them hunch over, then slowly raise their head and yell, “BAAAAAAAM-BYYYYYYYYY” in the same high voice I would use to call him. They had the same vocal inflection as me too, but it sounded like they were trying REALLY hard to sound like me. Next to me Bambi tucked his tail under, lowered his head, and growled softly. They called again, but this time it sounded like they were losing their voice, as if they had been calling for a while.

In my 8 year old logic I assumed that someone was trying to steal my dog, but why would they stand in the middle of the field and be obvious about it? When I told my parents about it that night, they just dismissed my story. The next day I went to my cousin’s house 2 miles up the road, and my uncle told me about an animal he saw the night before that he was trying to identify. He said it looked like an emaciated cow sprinting across the bridge over the creek, which is about 300 yards from the runway.

And also since then, anyone who’s been at my house has always been uneasy around the creek and the plane shed/runway, whether or not they’re interested at all in the paranormal. I know that a lot of death happens in nature, but I’ve also found several goats ripped up in the field (the nearest house with any amount of goats or farm animals is nearly 4 miles away), and a LOT of unexplained things have happened up there.



My family and I spent close to a decade on the Navajo reservation of Northern Arizona. Perhaps that is where my love of the paranormal began. There is some kind of tangible ‘magic’ amongst a group of people connected to the earth in a way I feel the majority of white folk have forgotten. Spending my formative years amongst the Navajo, Hopi and Apache- I found a respect for the older ways, for the importance of legend in our everyday lives and why having a clan and tribe meant something I as a white child could appreciate but never truly understand. The story I tell you is not out of a desire to get a reaction, but to share a beautiful experience and perhaps provoke a respect for what we so casually label as ‘monsters’.

I grew up in an incredibly abusive home. My mother was a wreck, my guardian(grandmother) worked for the tribal school system and when she was actually home, which was rare, she was either berating us or beating us to the point of blisters, bruises and welts. Life within our home was rough. As a result we seven children didn’t spend much time at home. The others got into trouble, provoking gangs, experimenting with drugs or throwing themselves into sports to get away as much as possible. I didn’t do any of these things, I made friends with every child I met, their families welcomed me in. I wandered from home to home until dark. Some of the elderly people of the tiny town seemed to take me in, telling me stories and teaching me the language which was still somewhat common in those days . Some parents snuck me in to council meetings, and though I was very young (4 years old ) I distinctly remember the council members smiling as they told the parents they couldn’t have me there for fear of angering others and the older children taking me down to a Creek nearby to play.

My time on the reservation is still a fond memory for me. I was taken care of and loved there, I was different and they could easily have alienated me for it. They did the opposite. All of us were poor, the town was dilapidated and had few of the comforts Americans usually enjoy. And yet it had everything I wanted as a young child. Adventure in the wilderness I explored often, good people, excellent friends and stories that set my imagination running. For many years I thought I had never seen or experienced a skinwalker. Now I realize I have, only it didn’t frighten me as it did my brothers. It watched me.

My brothers spoke of being threatened by peers with skinwalkers just waiting for a reason to chase us off their land. One of my brothers came home late one night to find a coyote on its hind legs staring into our kitchen, it’s paw on the doorknob. He was crying when he told the story, shaking with fear. I’d seen plenty of coyotes, but I’d never been scared of them. I didn’t understand why it was cause for concern. I was far more frightened of the packs of stray dogs that ran around the town, they’d attack if you ran and sometimes they’d follow you all the way home growling. To this day I can’t see a blue heeler without wanting to run.

I do remember attending a fair coming through the town on a school field trip. My teacher who I loved made me hold her hand for some reason she wouldn’t explain, I remember her talking to the aid about getting the children onto the bus before we were seen. A man painted grey and black came to the bus and started looking into the windows. My kindergarten teacher shoved me down under the seat, holding my head so that I couldn’t get up or peek. I still remember the other kids laughing, my teacher looking at me and there was no humor in her face as she yelled at the man to leave, she looked frightened.

Throughout all these experiences I still spent more time outside unsupervised than a child my age ever should have and during that time I noticed a gnarly looking eagle everywhere I went. It was dark brown and large, with a wickedly curved beak and claws. To a child it was almost daunting, but I began talking to it. Every time I saw it soaring overhead or sitting atop a street post or in a tree, I would pour out my little soul to this poor animal. I told it everything, my fears, what was happening at home, my school lessons, new Navajo words I’d learned and things I found funny. Once or twice I could have sworn I heard laughing in my head, echoing as if it came from somewhere far off. It cocked its head at me a few times, making me feel like maybe it understood. I still see it occasionally and I smile and wave everytime I do. I believe maybe I am seeing a skinwalker, but it wasn’t the bloodthirsty monster people described.



I’ve been waiting a relatively long while to post this just because I’m still freaked out by the fact that this actually happened.

Rewind two weeks– it’s the 4th of July. A few of my friends want to actually do something instead of just lounge in front of our computers like we do every day. There were five of us: Me, Neal, Elijah, JD, and Neal’s sister, Katie. Neal had the idea to go to his grandparents’ house, as they owned a farmhouse. We live in Texas, so having that much space, especially with other houses being half a mile out, it was the perfect place to pop fireworks without getting into much trouble. The drive from where we lived to their house was about a 40 mile drive. Unfortunately, the only car we had at our hands was a two door, so trying to fit five of us into one car was hectic, to say the least.

The drive was actually tolerable. Three of my friends in the back found a comfortable, yet funny position to ‘sit’ in the car. The music Katie was playing was helping a lot and definitely passed the time. We all bought some fireworks half way there, and my friends jumped back into their designated position for another 20 miles. As we got there, Neal forgot to mention that his grandparents were out of town for the week, which made the experience ahead of us even better. All of us got out of the car, except for Katie, who suggested that she get us all food and sodas for the night. She kept the fireworks in the back because she didn’t want us popping any while she was gone. She drove off, and all of us were left without fireworks, so we did the next best thing, and went to the pool in the back.

Something that already put me off was that the ranch sat considerably close to a forest. Neal even went the extra step to tell me that there’s the occasional wolf that can be a hassle to deal with. Of course, I got nervous because I had nothing to defend myself with if one jumped over the fence. He handed me his pocket knife, saying that there’s a shotgun in the living room if ‘something goes down’. He mentioned that he was going to set up a game of Risk for all of us to play while Katie was out, as the drive to the closest market was well over a couple of miles out. So, Elijah and I sat poolside, telling stories to each other about stupid stuff that happened while we were in college.

During our talk, I was staring out in the forest line, paranoid about the aforementioned wolves that Neal teased me about. I saw something move. I couldn’t tell, since the porch light behind me was making it harder to see any details, but the way it moved made my heart jumped. Elijah could see my body language changed as I leaned in to see what was there. He started to ask me what I saw, and I replied with a wolf on the treeline. He looked towards where I pointed, and he calmed down.

“That’s just Katie, dude! I think she was just trying to scare us.” He started calling her name, waving his arm and laughing, saying how she scared the hell out of me.

Neal came out of the house, wondering what Elijah was screaming about. Then, he saw his sister standing in the field. He started to laugh when Elijah told him what happened and how I was on the edge of my seat. JD came out of the house next, and Neal told him to help Katie with the bags, and grab the fireworks. Katie, who was out in the field, started to wave back, but the wave definitely seemed out of place. It wasn’t so much waving, but a sudden jerk, like if you were trying to pop your elbow. Elijah yelled for Katie to come back so we can start the party, but JD came back with a terrified look on his face.

“Katie’s not back yet. I just called her; she’s still on the road towards Walmart.”

Their laughing stopped, and Elijah’s face faded, and his arm fell onto his lap with a thud. Everyone looked at the still jerking figure in the field. Then, she screamed. The scream was so loud, it sounded like it may as well have been a couple of feet in front of us. All of us scrambled, running back into the house, slamming the door behind us. Neal shouted for all of us to lock the doors, and to grab the shotgun in the living room. I ran to grab his shotgun, as it was the closest thing to us, while the other two ran to each of the doors leading outside. Quickly, I grabbed the shotgun, and stuffed a couple of shells into my pocket, running back to the kitchen, where we came in from, and handed the gun to Neal. I pulled out the shells, and set them on the counter, and he loaded one in.

JD came back nearly covered in sweat, freaking out, and shouting, “What the fuck was that?!”

Just as scared as he was, I look at both of them, Elijah quickly joining us again, “You don’t think… it was a skinwalker?” I read the stories. I’ve seen them all over 4chan, and in creepypastas.

JD tried reassuring us, “No, it can’t be. That was Katie. I’m sure she’s just trying to scare us”.

“Cut the bullshit, JD,” Neal barked at him, “That scream wasn’t human. You already called her, and you told us that she was still going out”.

He turned back to the door, pushing the blinds slightly to find that ‘Katie’ was closer to us. It stood at the gates of the pool, illuminated by the light and revealing to us something that didn’t look much like Katie at all. The hair was a mess, and the clothes looked tattered. Her skin was bruised. The one thing that caught our eye the most was her face. The head was tilted, like it struggled to support the wight. The eyes were blank with emotion, and the jaw was agape. It raised an arm, jerking it like it did before in a mock wave. The jerking, however, started to get more violent, and the entire body started to shake uncontrollably. Neal quickly closed the curtains, and backed off. He ordered us to sit back behind the counter. He set himself in the gap leading into the kitchen, gun aimed at the door.

It was silent for what felt like an hour. The three of us continued to look at Neal, who was completely focused on the door. A massive, grotesque smell entered our noses, and all of us reacted appropriately. The horrid stench was like if you left groceries to ferment in a box in the summer heat with a couple of carcasses as garnish. It was definitely hard to breathe, tasting the smell in the back of your throat, even with your nose pinched. It was so bad, JD actually ended up throwing up. Then, without any warning, the smell was gone. The hot air that was the smell went away, and was easier to breath. I was afraid to let go of my nose, but was rewarded with a breath of fresh air. Everyone took a couple of breaths to rid their lungs of the pungent smell that lingered beforehand. Neal asked us if we were okay, and we all replied, JD being an exception, since he’d just puked.

We heard what sounded like a whine. It sounded like a mix between a dog, and a child about to cry. It wasn’t coming from the porch door, but from the front where we came in from the car. All of us stood up, Neal moving forward while we stayed back. We knelt down by the stairs, still hearing this whining. It didn’t hit me until we positioned ourselves, but it sounded like something was trying to talk for the first time. Like… an animal.

In a raspy, but still high pitched voice, I could make out a very small portion of what it was trying to say, “… zzzzhhhee fffffahhuhrrk…. hhhhaaaaaaAAT”

It kept repeating this, until it started to sound more enunciated. More… human, “W-Whaat. ThTHe. ffUCK. Was. That.”

It sounded like JD. Same accent, same speech pattern. Same voice.

JD started to shiver, his breath was getting shallow. He shouted back in a scared voice I’d never heard come from his mouth until now, “GET OUT. LEAVE US ALONE. GET THE FUCK OUT!!”

“Leeeave uss alooOooOOne. GeT OOOUT” The last words that were heard were in the same scream we heard when we saw it initially. It started to pound on the door. Not like it was trying to force itself in, but like an impatient knock. It started to scream in the same pitch we heard when we initially saw it “GET OUT. GET OUT. GET OUT”. It terrified all of us. The inhuman screams, the ‘polite’ pounding on the door. I started crying. I thought this was it.

Neal wasn’t scared like us. He was right pissed. He stood up, storming towards the door, screaming. He swung open the door, pointing his shotgun at whatever was on the other side, pulling the trigger, filling all of our ears with the sound of the shotgun blast, and ringing to follow. Neal stood at the door, huffing, his body language was wanting to rip this thing apart. I stood up, looking past his arm, seeing nothing but a shell on the ground. I looked up past his shoulders, seeing nothing but the driveway and the road leading back to where we came from.

He turned around, the adrenaline fading away, and a shaky voice coming from his mouth, “We’re not staying here. JD, call Katie, and tell her to get ready to go back home when she comes back.”

The rest of the time, all of us were in the kitchen. The shotgun sat on the counter with several shells near the butt of the gun. None of us wanted to say anything, none of us wanted to look at each other. It was nothing but silence, until Katie called us. Neal quickly wrote a note, leaving it on the gun as we left. All of us hopped into the car, silent. Katie noticed our behaviour, and constantly egged us to tell her what happened. She pouted, and put music on her radio to cheer us up. The only thing I could hear was that blood curdling scream, telling us to get out.



I was told this story once. My Dad isn’t a bull shitter or a liar, so I know the story is true.

So, this was the VERY early 80’s, and my Sister, who lived in Toronto came down to visit our Parents for a weekend. She was staying at a friends house, who loaned her a car so she could come out. After her visit, she left a little after 9 pm. She got maybe 7-8 miles away when the car broke down.

Thankfully, she broke down in front of a friend of the families house. They let her in to call Dad, and Dad came to get her. The family said she could leave the car in their driveway for the night, and my Sister decided to just stay at my parents for the night.

It was now a little after 10 pm and pitch black (Late november), while my Sister and Dad are driving back to the house and they pass through a heavily wooded area.

Out of nowhere they hear this INCREDIBLY FUCKING LOUD inhuman SCREAM that was heard over the engine, them talking and the radio. Dad SLAMMED on the brakes and they both started freaking out, when suddenly a 6 foot tall Coyote walking on TWO LEGS with a black/white striped tail appeared on the side of the road and proceeded to walk in front of the car.

As soon as it passed, that same scream played again only this time 10x louder. Dad SLAMMED on the accelerator and they got the fuck out of there.

It was never seen again.



In July 2004, near gallup,nm, I had my first and only encounter with a skinwalker. Before this I use to say “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Well, I’m a believer now. What I saw was not full human nor full animal. I was moving and had just completed the cleaning and was with my 10 year old son.

We had called it a night and were headed to our new place. As we walked out the front door, I saw a figure move from behind my neighbor’s car to a nearby tree that stood between our apartments. It didn’t have red glowing eyes, snarling teeth, or a rotten smell. It did move quickly, but not quick enough to avoid the light from a nearby light post and the porch lights.

It didn’t look at me or come toward me…. It moved as if trying to avoid being seen. I was within 15 feet of it, but I did not look back to fully inspect it. What I saw was a wolf-like animal that sort of resembled the beast in “Beauty and the Beast” just not cartoonish.

It had brown fur that completely covered it, it wasn’t a pelt, it was a very large wolf. It didn’t have any human traits except that It walked on its hind legs. It cowered behind the tree as we got into our vehicle.

When we got in, I asked my son, “did you see that??!” Thankfully, he hadn’t. My brother-in-law insists that it wasn’t a skinwalker because I would have never seen it. To this day, I can picture what it looked like, know they exist, and pray I never encounter one again.



The one that stands out the most comes from a close friend. Take it for what it’s worth, this didn’t happen to me but a very close friend of mine. I’ve heard a lot about coyotes and skinwalkers, and had a weird experience or two with coyotes (creepiest was waking up to my sleeping bag being surrounded in paw prints without ever hearing them during the night) but never anything paranormal so to speak. Patrick’s story, however, kept me from going back to a favorite backcountry secret stash.

He was leaving the area one morning, had been camping there a couple days and said there was a coyote that always seemed to be close by, like in his peripheral vision but never overt. He loaded up his truck and started to drive down the wash out to the fire road. At the end of the wash, he could see the coyote following him. When he pulled onto the road, it was running next to him. Now he was freaked out, so he sped up. He said he was going 35 or so, and it was running along beside him. Definitely not possible. When he looked back, the coyote was running on two legs and was wearing what Patrick said looked like buckskin pants. An instant later, it was a person wearing a coyote fur keeping pace with his truck. When he looked again… It was gone.

We never went back to the grove after that. Too freaky.



I was spending a month with my cousins at my grandma’s house. It was August and my cousin’s ages ranged from ten to fifteen, and I was the oldest (being fifteen). I was staying with a ten, thirteen, and fourteen year old. we stayed up telling scary stories often, but one night a few weeks in, we decided to make a campfire out back. My grandma’s house is in a rural suburb, the neighbors aren’t too far when you’re driving down the road to her house, but in the backyard, it’s thick forest with man made paths through it.

Each house is on a hill so only part of the basement was actually underground. That isn’t important until later though. So, we’re towards the east side of her yard, in a smallish patch of open land. You couldn’t see the neighboring yards from there, and there was probably three quarters a mile to each side of us that belonged to my grandma.

It was maybe eleven at night, and we were playing truth or dare after telling scary stories, and my fourteen year old cousin dared me and the thirteen year old to go walkthrough the paths for ten minutes or so. I said yes right away, as I wasn’t easily scared and rather level headed, but my younger cousin was a bit more hesitant. We didn’t bring a flashlight because it wasn’t pitch dark yet, and we could see enough to not die.

We were walking through the paths for about five minutes and could barely see the fire through the trees when we decided to turn. In the middle of the path, was a large dog-like creature, hunched over with its front hands an inch from the ground.

What I remember most was how its eyes were so fucking bright white, and it was humanoid-dog shaped with a human like head but a dog like body but human hands and feet. It looked right at us and I know I was paralyzed with fear as it dashed away the opposite way from us, towards a creek that ran through the yard. Eventually my cousin and I screamed bloody effin murder and the other cousins and my grandma ran to us. I don’t remember much here because I was really disoriented and i couldn’t think properly, but I did wake up in bed, so I assume that I was brought up to the house.

All the kids slept in the basement, in a big room with sliding glass doors to the outside, as the room was on the side that wasn’t underground. my bed was pressed against a big glass window, and I could see my cousins playing outside down below. the house is in Michigan so it gets slightly chilly even in the end of August, and there was a slight breeze so I put on a jacket and ran to join them outside, skipping breakfast, not wanting to miss out on anything fun.

When I got down I could tell they weren’t playing but rather running to get my grandma. Her dogs–both of them–were dead, ripped up. That night we went to bed early. I woke up at maybe two in the morning because I felt something hit my head. My cousins were all sitting on the double bed opposite me on the other side of the room. There was one bunk bed and two double beds, the double beds for me and my fourteen year old cousin.

They were being quiet and staring at me. The thirteen year old nodded his head toward the window. I froze. They all looked afraid. I turned my head slightly to the side and I saw a really messed up looking face pressed to the window with gaping eyes looking down at me. I screamed so fucking loud, and it bolted. My grandma called the police after I told her what happened and they found nothing. I went home after that and I have never been there during the night again.



About a month ago I hiked to a place called Dismal Creek in Transylvania county NC. Known as the land of waterfalls, the county is just running wild with creeks and tributaries. Very beautiful, but it’s always had a mysterious feel. I’ve always felt curious while visiting in the area.

Dismal creek was different though. A man by the name of Jim Bob Tinsley wrote a book called Land of Waterfalls about southwestern NC and described Dismal Creek as “the most foreboding place in the southern Appalachians.” Keep in mind that I only learned this after my visit, and had I known of Tinsley’s apprehension I likely would have never visited.

The hike itself is ridiculously demanding. Grades of over 50% make up the majority of the hike and that’s not an exaggeration. There are four waterfalls on the way up to the creek. The first two feel very sublime. Safe, but there’s something channeling through. About the time you hit the third falls, called Grotto, the feeling of dread starts to become very prominent, but a sense of beckoning drew me onward. A very difficult feeling to describe.

I got to a split in the path and because the area is so unforgiving my map was inconclusive. I could hear the falls down the mountainside, but felt I needed to go up and over via the right path. I left a carin for myself to determine the way back and headed up to the rugged jumble of earth that was the ridge line.

I had just started the intense scramble when I got the sense that I was being watched. I turned to look behind me and thought I saw someone disappear into the rhododendron and mountain laurel surrounding the trail. I only saw the back of what appeared to be a cloak. There was no sound. It didn’t make sense. The leaf litter gives away even the smallest insects. I should have heard something. I attributed this to a combo of dehydration and sheer exhaustion. I’ve seen shadow people in the woods before due to that so I really didn’t put much stock into it. I couldn’t shake that feeling of dread though.

I continued the climb, step after grueling step, and after cresting over the ridge I was in Dismal Holler. I found myself looking down a nearly 70 degree angle with a rope anchored to a tree. I semi rappelled down to a second rope and finally to the bottom. Then came a wet rock scramble to the base of the falls.

The falls were breathtaking. A 200 ft gentle cascade with a 40 ft sheer drop at the top. Incredible. I sat down to chew on some mountain mint and when I glanced at the top of the falls I nearly fell off the log and into the creek. There was a woman up there. She was pretty far away but appeared to be old and wearing a cloak of some sort. Grey, tightly curled hair. That’s all I could see from my vantage. She was facing me for a few seconds before turning and walking off out of view.

I immediately got up and started scrambling up the mossy, soaked rock cascade toward the top of the falls. I got there after a very treacherous scramble only to find nothing. Hands on my knees and taking labored breaths I heard a voice from the bottom of the falls. Hey! It said in a strange, spectral voice. It sounded hollow. I turned to look and there she was, disappearing into the rhododendron once again.

I was in total and absolute disbelief. I felt sick to my stomach. I carefully picked my way down to the base again and started the trail out. I just felt I shouldn’t be there. Like I seen something I shouldn’t have. I’m a long time bushman and I’m not afraid to say that I’m tough as fucking nails, but I wanted to run outta that holler crying.

I finally made it to the top using the ropes for help. As soon as I crested the ridge my nose started bleeding. Only a few drops. I kept moving and was essentially running down the mountainside. I got to the bottom and followed the path indicated by the carin. I kept running and came around a blind curve. I nearly ran into her at full speed.

In trying to stop I took a hard tumble and when I opened my eyes she was standing over me. She looked very Scottish. The curly hair and fair skin. She didn’t look particularly gruesome or hag like. She was very old, but it was obvious that in her youth she had been beautiful. Her eyes though… The eyes were very alive and full of vitality. Very youthful, and the irises were so light blue they were almost white.

Though her form appeared benign I had the distinct feeling that she did not mean me well and that she didn’t want me there. I wanted to crawl away from where I had fallen but I was backed up against a rock. I edged along it until I regained my feet and backed away from her. Her expressionless gaze never left me.

I ran until I was well off of that mountain. When I stopped running I was on a more well established trail. When I had come in the area felt fine, but now I could feel the dread still. All was silent as I hiked out. Not a single animal sound.

I was almost out when suddenly a bobcat appeared on the trail ahead of me, seemingly from nowhere. I stopped and looked at it as it looked at me. It had her eyes. I knew they were her eyes. I told her I wouldn’t be back and told her that her mountain was beautiful. Then I left as she disappeared into the rhododendron thicket.



Thank you to the contributors on reddit. Stories are featured on many different articles, links below each story.