9 CREEPIEST True Scary Stories Found On The Internet | Best Classic LetsNotMeet Horror Stories

This is a compilation of some of the creepiest
classic true scary stories found on the internet I’ve only ever read one of these stories on
my channel about a year ago, but like I said, they are all classics so
if you’ve heard any of them, I will be leaving timestamps for each story in the description
and pinned comment just incase you want to skip past any. Now that that’s out of the way, I hope you
enjoy the video and let’s begin I have always had an inate fear of the night. Not so much the dark, but the night itself. As a child my imagination was overcome with
stories of creatures that come alive at night and the safety offered by a house and light. I never had anything to base this fear on
until a night when I decided to go with a buddy of mine to a baseball game and got stuck
at a light at 2 a.m. after dropping him off at home. Of course that night the game went into extra
innings and so I didn’t get a chance to drop my friend off back home until well after 1
a.m. Everything was fine on the way home until
I hit a light right before the street that led to my house. It was a “T” junction and I was turning left. The light is one of those that you think is
broken until it finally turns green right when you finally decide to just run it. Of course I pulled up right as the light turned
red. I would have just run the light, seeing as
no one was there and it was closing in on 2 a.m. on a school night, but earlier that
week I had heard the phrase “Character is what you do when no one is looking” and for
whatever reason, that was the night I decided to prove to myself that I was a man of character,
big mistake. I pulled to a stop at the light feeling good
about myself, bordering on self-righteous, when I happened to look out my window to my
left and noticed a lady sitting all alone on a bus bench. We made brief eye contact and I quickly looked
away. It was too late. I could see movement out of my peripheral
vision and knew she was coming my way. I looked out the window and noticed she was
carrying a bag. I quickly checked that my doors were locked
and all my windows were up. I then moved my right foot above the accelerator
just in case and braced myself for what was to come. I was hoping it would be just an awkward exchange
and was praying for a quick light change before she reached me, so I could just get out of
there, I knew there was a slim chance of that. She walked right up to my window, put down
her bag and began to tap on my window. I nervously looked up at her and she motioned
for me to put my window down. I had automatic windows so I just imagined
pushing too hard on the window button and that thing just coming all the way down, so
I took a deep breath and lightly flicked it with my finger. The window moved microscopically down, but
she did not seem to notice or care. She then leaned in and began to talk. She said, “My boyfriend beat me up, I have
a friend who lives down the street, can you give me a ride?” I should stop and give a brief physical description
of the bag lady. She was small and skinny and of indeterminate
age. She was either in her mid twenties and had
lived a hard 20+ years on the street, or she was a 60-something year old who had lived
a moderately hard life on the street. All that to say, just by looking at her, there
was no way to verify her story. She looked beat up by life, not just by a
boyfriend. But there was something about her delivery,
it was robotic and seemed practiced and like she was disconnected from the moment, that
made my skin crawl, and after a brief (about a second) debate on whether I should do it,
I told her that I had to get home and could not give her a ride. After my first refusal she leaned in closer
and said the same thing again, “My boyfriend beat me up, I have a friend who lives down
the street, can you give me a ride?” This time I felt more confident when I declined
to give her a ride and told her I had a curfew and had to get home. She leaned in a third time and began her statement
again, “My boyfriend beat me…” At this point, the light changed. I slowly lifted my foot off the brake and
started slowly rolling forward and began muttering an apology. She didn’t move. She just looked at the light then looked down
at me, leaned in closer and said five words that have haunted me ever since, “You made
the right decision”. Then she picked up her bag and walked back
towards the bench. I peeled out of the intersection and cried
and screamed all the way home. I have no idea what she planned to do, or
if there were people waiting to jump in my car from the bushes had I moved to let her
in, but that encounter has haunted me ever since and has confirmed in my mind, that nothing
good happens after dark. During my early twenties, I worked as a meter
reader in Iowa City, Iowa. A meter reader is the person who records how
much electricity, gas, or water you’ve used each month. If your meters are on the inside and you want
an accurate bill, a meter reader must enter your home whether you’re there to let them
in or not. (EDIT: Just to clarify, we only entered homes
if consent was given when the customer first signed up for service. Customers also provided us with keys, if necessary.) Entering a home when the owner isn’t present
is something that I never got used to. No matter how loudly I knocked, I never shook
the uneasy feeling that I wasn’t welcome. The inside of a home is the ultimate private
space. A home’s exterior is just the image of ourselves
that we project to the rest of the world. But the further you venture inside, the closer
you come to truly seeing what kind of person lives there. And if you want the raw, unfiltered truth…head
for the basement. I hate basements. I’ve seen walls that looked like giant, static-filled
TV screens, until I realized it was roaches scurrying across a white background. Cobwebs so thick and dusty that it looked
like the cotton candy machine exploded at the Spider County Fair. I’ve seen rats, snakes, feces, weapons, neglected
children, abused pets, homeless squatters, massive hoards, bizarre sexual items, a makeshift
meth lab, and even a coffin. There are rational explanations for all of
these things (well…maybe not the coffin), but there was one basement where what I found
was beyond the grasp of logic, and that’s what made it so terrifying. It was an old apartment house. From the outside, it looked like every other
house on the block. I entered the back door and found myself at
the top of a staircase. I ran my hand along the wall until it grazed
a light-switch. I flipped the switch, but no lights turned
on. I wasn’t carrying a flashlight. A typical route involved 5 or 6 hours of walking,
so I carried as little as possible. Oftentimes I used the light from my handheld’s
screen, but it only illuminated whatever was about a foot in front of it. So armed with the world’s worst lantern, I
made my way down into the darkness. Once at the bottom, I blindly shuffled across
the room, one baby-step at a time. With arms outstretched and head down, I eventually
reached the far side of the basement. I shined the dim light from my handheld along
the wall, and discovered two doors. Each door led into it’s own small room. I chose the door on the right, and found the
meters in the far corner. As I entered the reads, I began hearing noises
coming from the other room. Something was moving, and there was whimpering
that grew louder the longer I listened. I eventually realized it was a dog. It sounded weak and distressed. I tried to open the door, but it was locked. At this point, the dog was scratching the
other side of the door. I felt helpless. I reported it when I got back to the office,
but I couldn’t shake the thought of that dog. It stuck with me over the next month, until
it was time to return. So there I was, one month later, back within
that basement. At least this time I knew where the meters
were located. I shuffled back to the little room on the
right, while keeping my ears open for any sounds coming from the other room. This time I heard nothing. I read the meters and started making my way
back, but I couldn’t shake the memory of that dog. Was it still trapped inside that room? My curiosity got the best of me. I stood outside the door for a few moments,
listening. Still nothing. That’s when I made a huge mistake. I tried to open the door. I had no more than jiggled the doorknob when
I first heard it… Screams. Blood-curdling screams, unlike anything I’d
ever heard. Sounds that I didn’t think a human was capable
of producing. Short, piercing, high-pitched shrieks followed
abruptly by a low, drawn-out, guttural moan that ultimately morphed into something that
I can only describe as crying, but much louder. It was all over the place, like some sort
of psychotic, freeform jazz. I stumbled backwards, nearly losing my balance. I shouted something like, “Hello? Who’s in there?” There was no response, just screams. “Are you OK? Do you need help?” Still no response, just screams. There was no doubt that I yelled loud enough
for him to hear me. He didn’t want my help. He wanted me gone. I fumbled my way through the darkened room,
toward the exit. When I reached the top of the stairs, I just
stood there, listening. I was trying to wrap my mind around what I
was hearing. I waited for the screaming to stop, but it
never did. When I finally left, it was still as loud
and demented as when it began. I felt relieved, but that quickly vanished
when I realized I had to do it all over again next month. I reported what I’d heard, but nothing came
of it. As my return drew nearer, a sense of dread
grew inside of me. What kind of lunatic sits alone in total darkness
and silence? My mind created endless explanations for what
kind of hell laid beyond that door. By the time I returned, I’d built him up in
my mind so much that anyone other than the devil himself would have been a letdown. But there was no sign of him the next month,
or even the next several months. I’d nearly given up on solving the mystery,
when a stroke of luck pulled me back in. One night, I went to a concert with my friend
Lara. After the show, I gave her a ride home. She’d moved somewhat recently, so she had
to give me directions. I didn’t pay much attention to where she was
leading me, until she pointed to a house a ways up the street. I couldn’t believe it. She had moved into the house with the mysterious
room in the basement. “This sounds weird, but have you noticed anything
odd about the basement at this…”, I began to ask. But before I could finish my sentence, she
blurted out, “A crazy guy lives down there!” Finally, I had confirmation. She went on to tell me that even though her
apartment was in the attic, she often heard him yelling late at night. But that wasn’t all, she had actually met
him. One day, while walking to her car, she saw
him standing in the lawn. He stood perfectly still, with no expression
on his face. He was directly in her path, so she cautiously
made her way around him. She noticed he was staring at her, so she
offered a friendly, “Hi.” as she passed. He had no reaction, except for one unsettling
exception. He stuck out his tongue, then quickly sucked
it back into his mouth and resumed acting like a statue. Thoroughly creeped out, she got in her car
and drove away. Two or three months later, I finally met him
myself. I entered the back door, like I had so many
months before. This time something was different. There was a light on in the basement. I peered down the staircase. At the bottom, a ragged-looking dog was staring
back at me. It was the same dog I’d heard during my first
visit. Then I noticed something else. Behind the dog, I could see a pair of bare
feet. The ceiling blocked my view of the rest of
whoever was standing there, but it didn’t matter. I knew it was him. I should have left right then, but I didn’t. I know this probably doesn’t make sense, but
at this point my desire to finally get some answers outweighed my fear. I shakily called out, “Meter reader!”, and
started to make my descent. As I made my way down, more of him was revealed. He looked to be middle-aged. His head was shaved, and his eyes were wild. He was wearing pants, but no shirt. What I remember most was how lean and sinewy
his body looked. It had the look of a body that was never at
rest. I explained who I was and what I was doing
there. To my surprise, not only did he talk to me,
but he actually sounded somewhat normal. The volume and pitch of his voice was odd,
but he said the same sorts of things that people typically said to meter readers. I even started to doubt whether or not he
was the same man I’d heard screaming, but his behavior slowly removed all doubt. As I read the meters, he rapidly paced back
and forth. He was constantly wringing his hands together,
and spastically cocking his head from side to side. The longer he talked, the more agitated he
became. He began grimacing, and little verbal tics
started popping up in his speech. Every so often, he’d blurt out a loud “AWW!”
in the middle of a sentence. He was trying to suppress these sounds, but
he was losing the battle. I started to make my way to the exit. He followed. His verbal outbursts grew louder and more
frequent. I was petrified. When I reached the stairs, I drew our conversation
to an end and said goodbye. As I turned to head up the staircase, he could
no longer hold it in. Screams. The very same unforgettable screams that I’d
heard coming from the locked room. I ran up the stairs as fast as my legs would
carry me, flung the door open, and rushed back into the daylight. A month or two later, I had a couple friends
(including Lara) over to my place. I was excited to tell her about my encounter. But as I was relaying what happened, I could
tell that something else was on her mind. When I finished telling my story, she told
me about something she’d seen a couple weeks earlier. One day, she noticed lights flashing outside
her window. She looked outside just in time to see police
officers placing the man from the basement in the backseat of a squad car. She later found out from another tenant that
he had attacked someone with a knife. That was the last we ever saw of him. I don’t know what became of the man in the
basement. I like to think that he got the help he needed,
but maybe that’s just because I’d rather not think about the alternative. This is something that happened to me about
two years ago, but thinking about it still gives me chills… I used to live in a small town in rural Missouri
with my Mother and Step Father. Our house was a few miles outside of town
and along an old state highway. We were pretty isolated out there, other than
the occasional passing car or farm equipment. One day i came home from a morning shift at
work. I was pretty tired, so I immediately came
in the front door and sprawled out on the couch. My Mother and Step Father were preparing to
go into town to visit a family friend, So I just started a movie and quickly drifted
off to sleep. I remember waking up to the sound of my parents
leaving. After that, I slept rather soundly. I must have been asleep for a couple of hours
before I was woken up to the sound of the front door opening and closing. I laid silently, hoping to fall back asleep. I assumed it was just my parents returning
from their visit. After a moment of silence, I heard an unfamiliar
voice say, “Where is everybody?”. My eyes shot open and i looked up to see a
man standing over me. I had never seen this man before. He was tall and muscular. He was wearing a white t-shirt with cut off
sleeves. He was also covered head to toe in blood. I jumped to my feet instantly. I had never been so scared in my life. Trying to rationalize, I asked, “Are you looking
for my parents?”. He stared at me for a moment and asked who
I was. I replied by asking “Who are YOU, and what
the fuck are you doing in my house?”. He stared at me blankly. I thought I was going to be murdered. He kept talking incoherently and asking where
everyone was. at this point, I had no idea who he was referring to. After about five minutes of nearly crippling
fear, i realized that the blood that was all over his clothes and face was his own. I glanced out the living room window toward
the highway. And then I started to understand. In the drainage ditch in front of my house
was a red pickup truck. I told the man to come with me and we went
outside. soon after we got near the truck another vehicle
pulled up. Apparently the man had been drunk driving
and had driven his truck into the ditch. He was drunk and had a concussion from the
wreck. He was so messed up that he had thought other
people were in the truck with him before the wreck when in fact, he had been alone. He had stumbled into the nearest house looking
for help. The driver that had just pulled up, drove
the man to the hospital and as far as i know he was okay. Though i understand the situation now, i will
never forget this. It was fucking terrifying. A week or so before my 10th birthday, I walked
to the corner store with a $5 bill and picked up a jar of Ragu for my mom. On my way home, a man I’d never seen before
fell in step with me and began talking. “Hi!” he said, cheerfully. “My name is Dr. Ramsey. I’m a pediatrician. Do you know what a pediatrician is?” I walked along silently, not replying and
fervently hoping he would take that as a sign he should leave me alone. Subtleties were not his strong suit, though,
because he kept right on chattering. “Are your parents looking for a pediatrician
for you? Of course, you’re almost a big girl now, you’ll
be needing another kind of doctor soon, won’t you? That’s okay though. They can still bring you to me until then. What’s your name? You have beautiful hair. I was just on my way to get some suckers for
the candy jar in my office. Do you like suckers?” Thankfully, we were nearing my house, so I
ran forward, up the back steps and into through the kitchen door. I didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning
of a very long, very scary ordeal. It didn’t take long after that for “Dr. Ramsey”
to begin showing up. At first, it seemed benign enough…at least
to a kid. He would drive by nearly every day, smiling
and waving. I told my mom, who said maybe it was on his
way home from work. But then, the phone calls began. My dad called me into the living room, and
sat me down. He asked about the day Dr. Ramsey followed
me home, and if I talked to him. He said I wasn’t in trouble, but that I needed
to tell him the truth. I told him know, and he asked if I was sure…could
I be forgetting something? I told him know again, and he frowned, then
asked “Then how does he know your name?” I didn’t know. It turns out, that was not all he knew. He knew my sister’s name as well. Pretty soon, neither my sister or I were allowed
to answer the phone. He called several times a day; at first, neither
of us knew what he was saying. Then, one night, one of my brothers told us
that he was telling my parents that he was going to hurt me (and later, my sister). Things got complicated after that. My dad had called the police, but as this
was before there were any stalking laws, there was not a lot they could do. They told my parents to call back if he “tried
anything”. My dad then called a friend of his from back
in the day, who happened to be a cop. For the next month, my dad’s friend escorted
me to and from school. Suddenly, life as I knew it came screeching
to a halt. I couldn’t walk to school alone, I couldn’t
play outside, I couldn’t walk to SuperAmerica (sort of like a 7-11 for those who don’t know). When access to me was completely denied, things
escalated. It was around this time he began threatening
my sister as well. Then one afternoon my sister, two of my brothers,
my mom and I were in the kitchen. One of my brothers saw a glimpse of someone
in the garage; they’d seen him too. Dr. Ramsey came bolting out of the garage,
my brothers chasing after him. They ran all the way to Cherokee Park, where
he lost them in the trees. My parents called the police again, but nothing
came of it. The only information they had was a description
and a name that was almost certainly fake. A couple weeks later, we woke to find our
dog hanging from the side porch. She was a gorgeous saddle-back German shepherd,
born the same day I was. We were all devastated. The cops said there was no evidence it was
him, and ruled it accidental, but none of us believed that. His phone calls became more informative in
the meantime. He would talk about who was home, and who
wasn’t. If my brother would say my dad was home, he
would tell him who was really in the house. He also would talk about the house itself…about
the window in the kitchen he could easily open with a knife from the outside even when
it was locked, and about the french doors that connected the living room to the side
porch and how the lock could be finagled from the outside if you jiggled it just right. That night, my dad put in some carpenter nails
at the bottom of the french doors until he could get a new lock ordered. My parents had to go to a company event for
my dad’s work. My older brothers were at Saints West roller
skating rink. My sister was on the phone with her best friend. My little brother was on the floor asleep. I was watching Devo on the Midnight Special
with Wolfman Jack. It was late. Suddenly, the top of the french doors swung
inward, and in the few miliseconds before the nails in the bottom caused them to snap
back, I could see his silhouette. My sister whipped the phone at the television,
and we ran up the stairs. About halfway up, we realized our little brother
was still asleep on the living room floor. As quietly as we could, we slipped back down
the stairs to get him. We all went into our bedroom and didn’t turn
on the light; this way we could see outside. We watched out the window for a while, and
when we didn’t find him, we crept down the hall to our brothers’ room to look. We looked down and could see someone standing
at the backdoor. He knocked, loudly. “What do you want?” my sister asked out the window. He stepped back and said “Is this the Mercy
residence? I have a pizza for delivery. Can you come to the door?” She scoffed at him, declaring she was not
stupid, she could see he didn’t have a pizza, and she was calling the cops. He left. A short while later, my brothers returned
home. We told them what happened and they walked
around the yard, watching for him. They came back in, and things settled down. By now we’d pretty much given up calling the
cops because it never helped, so we just went back in, each of us (except my youngest brother,
still asleep) carrying a knife from the kitchen “just in case”. Eventually, one of my brothers went into the
kitchen to get a bowl of cereal as a snack. You know that sensation you get when you can
just feel someone watching you? Yeah, he had that in spades. He kept looking around the kitchen, through
the doorway into the dining room, at the windows. He didn’t see anything, but he could still
feel eyes on him, so he went closer to the door to try to see better. The kitchen lights were reflecting on the
windows of the door (it had 3 rows of 3 windows), so he still couldn’t see. He stepped closer, then closer again, until
he was right up to the door, then cupped his hands on either side of his head so he could
see. There on the other side of the window pane
was Dr. Ramsey, smiling back at him. He turned to yell for my older brothers, and
when he looked back again, he was gone. They went out again to look for him, but didn’t
see him. The next night we were at the table playing
crazy 8’s, and my brother was restless. My sister asked him what’s wrong, and he said
he always felt like any minute now there would be a ‘boom boom boom!’ on a door or window. Almost immediately after he finished his sentence,
“BOOM BOOM BOOM!” on the window right behind him. In the chaos, the two eldest ran out, but
he was already gone. A couple of weeks later, I was at school and
we were outside on the playground during recess. I was swinging upside down when I saw that
now-familiar blue Ford Galaxy cruising by, moving slowly. There he was, smiling and waving. He called my name, and I ran to the teacher
and told her. The school had been told all about him, and
she took me inside right away and called my mom. That same day my mom had gotten a call from
the school office asking her to verify that my dad was picking me up, as he’d called to
say he was on his way. He wasn’t. Not long after that, I woke up one night,
thirsty. I went down to the kitchen for a drink and
there, sitting alone in the dark, was my dad. On the table, a gun. He was tired of the the police waiting until
Dr. Ramsey “tried something”, he was tired of his children being terrorized, he was tired
of being afraid every time he left for work that something would happen to us while he
was gone. I sat with him for a time, watching, before
he sent me back to bed. These events, and many more, took place over
a period of around 18 months. Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. He had vanished from our lives; the phone
calls, the drive-by with the creepy waves, everything. For a long time, during and after the Dr.
Ramsey days, I would have a recurring nightmare in which I would wake up to find him standing
over me as I slept. It took a long time before I felt like a kid
again. I found out years later that when he was calling,
Dr. Ramsey would tell my parents that he was going to rape and kill me, and later my sister…and
that there was nothing they could do about it. I don’t know what happened to him when he
disappeared. I don’t know if he was in a car wreck, locked
in prison, in a coma…but sometimes I wonder if the wait ended for my dad when he was sitting
in the darkened kitchen one night. I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to. UPDATE: I am working on bringing this story
to a book format, a memoir of sorts. I am doing it partly because writing about
it has proven to be cathartic for me, and partly because I want to help others see that
this is survivable. I have started a gofundme for it because in
order to write it completely, I need to be able to house my daughter and I while I’m
in progress, and also because I’d like to be able to get my hands on the most information/records
possible so that it is as full and accurate a book as it can be. I spent time over the winter in Minnesota,
‘interviewing’ family so I could fill in the gaps of my own memory…I even (finally) asked
my dad if he knew what happened to Dr. Ramsey in the end. About a year ago in my final semester in college
I worked at a department store in the mall. I didn’t have a car yet so I asked for day
shifts because it was a 2 hour bus ride back home. So basically if I had a closing shift, I’d
get done at 11 but not get home until 1 am. But sometimes I’d be given closing shifts
much to my annoyance since I had a 6 45 am class & my mothers worry because who wants
their kid on public transport that late? (Sometimes she could come & get me but it’d
be too much of a hassle to get my younger sisters out that late & such so I never asked
her) My managers being the jerks that they were
gave me a week of closing shifts, knowing my situation. I was pissed but whatever. One night I had just finished my shift, got
on the bus (I sat in the back)& was minding my business when my iPod died. I was annoyed but I just kept my earbuds in
& occupied myself by playing a crossword on my phone. About 2 seats behind me I hear these guys
speaking Spanish. Now, my stepmother is PuertoRican so while
I uunderstand a fair bit of Spanish, I don’t speak it. So i hear them talking but I don’t pay attention
because it’s rude to eavesdrop & all until they say “that black girl up there” then my
ears perk up. I keep my earbuds in so that they think I
can’t hear them & I continue listening. What they’re saying is horrific. To paraphrase, they knew my stop (second to
last one before the bus gets back to the terminal & while my stop is at the front of my neighborhood,
it’s got no street lights & at this time of night, empty.) & to put it simply were planning on “snatching
that piece of ass up” I was about 20 mins away from home so I knew
I had to act quickly. Since I knew they could see me (they were
2 seats behind me but like across if that makes sense) i pretended to play on my phone,
oblivious while I was actually texting my mom. “Mom, can you please meet me at the bus stop”
5 minutes go by, no answer. We’re getting closer to my stop so I decide
to call her cell. No answer. I call the house phone & she finally answers. Its about 1230 am so she was asleep. I try to talk as cheerily & calmy as I can. This was our convo. “Hey mom, did you get my text?” “Uh no…what’s up?” “Oh I sent you a picture of these jeans I’m
gonna order online when I get home. I REALLY need your opinion so I REALLY need
you to look since the sale ends at 1 am.” She gets the hint that I need her to look
at her cell so I say goodbye & hope for the best. We get to my stop & I see my mom’s car. I snatch my shit up & hightail it off the
bus. Don’t even look behind me to see if they’re
following me. I jump in the car & tell my mom to just GO. I look in the rear view & I see the guys staring
at the car. The next morning I called my job & told them
I quit. No more public transport for me. Thanks to my stepmom for teaching me Spanish. Thanks to mom for getting the hint. I hope I never see those weird Spanish speaking
guys again.. A few years back my girlfriend and I, having
hiked several other parts of the Appalachian trail, decided we wanted to give the southern
portion of Virginia’s trail a shot. It is about 166 miles long and runs through
George Washington and Jefferson National Forests from Roanoke County to Pearisburg in Giles
County. This is definetly one of the more remote and
less traveled parts of the trail. Which is exactly what we were looking for. We gathered our gear and made our way to the
start of the Virginia Creeper Trail to begin our journey. We had planned our journey to end at Damascus
and figured that by the time we got there we would be more than ready to get home to
our own beds. It was early October and the changing of the
leaves and colors were amazing. The air was crisp and cool. Perfect hiking weather with beautiful scenery. The majority of the trip was pretty uneventful. Just your typical hike. But, our last couple of nights is where things
got weird.. On this portion of the trail, you are supposed
to camp on the trail or a designated shelter. We didn’t really want to run into other people
and didn’t want anyone coming up on us in the middle of the night. We decided to ignore those suggestions and
find our own little spot off the trail. A little searching around and we found a spot
a little ways off the trail in the middle of a small clearing. It was perfect. We set up camp, cooked some food, talked for
a while then snuggled up and went to sleep for the night. Somewhere around 2 am I was awoke by my girlfriend
shaking me awake telling me “Get your gun! Someone is outside walking around our tent!”. She informed me that she woke up to what sounded
like someone right outside the tent running a knife or something along the side while
circling us. When hiking I carry a 1911 and a Judge with
me. You never know exactly who or what you might
run into when on such a long hike in a remote location. I got the Judge out of my pack and then we
sat silently listening for any sounds. A few minutes of nothing but the breeze blowing
through the trees and then I heard it.. SNAP CRUNCH SNAP….someone…or something
walking in the woods behind our tent. I got the flashlight and silently made my
way out of the tent. Our fire had went out so it was nearly pitch
black. Illuminated by only the dim glow of the October
moon. I told my girlfriend to stay put while I checked
it out. I didn’t flick the flashlight on right away
so as to not give away that I was out of the tent and have it become a shining beacon of
my location. Instead, I waited to hear more noises. After a few minutes SNAP CRUNCH CRACK…it
sounded like it was bipedal based on the way the steps were paced. I turned on the flash light and flooded the
area with light. I thought I saw someone move behind a tree. I yelled out and told them to go away and
that I was armed. I kept the light on the area with my gun drawn
and slowly approached towards the area where I thought I saw the figure. Then, from my right I hear what sounds like
someone running away through the woods. I spin and face my light that way, and then
from the original spot hear who or whatever was there take off into the woods. There’s no way I am giving chase, so I return
to the campsite. I tell my girlfriend about what happened and
I end up sitting guard outside the tent, in the darkness until daybreak. In the morning, I looked around a bit for
signs of who or whatever it was and I discovered a bootprint in some soft moist dirt not far
from our tent. It wasn’t mine and it wasn’t my girls. This freaked me out as it confirmed that someone,
perhaps more than one, was skulking around our tent in the dark. I kept it to myself because I didn’t want
to freak my girl out anymore than she already was. At this point we were pretty deep in and still
had 2 days left. That day we walked a little faster than normal
and covered as much ground as possible. When it came time to setup camp, I found a
spot near a cliff where we could place the tent in a small overhang and prevent anyone
from coming up behind us. The whole day up to this point I had a feeling
we were being followed. I had no confirmation of this as I hadn’t
seen or heard anyone else, but it was just a gut feeling. We set up camp and made some food, then retreated
to the tent. I gave my girl the 1911 and I kept the judge
right next to me and I assured her that IF I slept at all…it would be with one eye
open. After a while, she drifted off to sleep and
I stayed awake listening to the sounds of the woods at night. I was awake for a few hours, just waiting
to see if anything was going to happen. At some point I guess my exhaustion caught
up with me and I drifted off. I awoke sometime later to what sounded like
someone going through our stuff outside the tent. I grabbed my gun and woke my girlfriend shushing
her to be quite. From the faint glow of the fire I could see
someones silhouette against the tent. There was really someone out there. I yelled out to them something along the lines
of “WE ARE ARMED, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” they dropped what they were doing and bolted. I came out of the tent, gun drawn and ready
to shoot someone. Our stuff was strewn all about. They had rummaged through quite a bit of our
stuff. I walked to the edge of the woods in the direction
whoever was out there had fled. There was a creek nearby and i walked to the
edge, where there was a small trail running along side it. Down the creek I could see a light, it looked
like a lantern the way it flickered. Then I saw 3 more emerge from the other side
of the woods. I told my girlfriend to start packing up whatever
she could and that we were leaving, now. We packed up everything of value. Left the tent and a few other items and headed
back onto the trail, in the middle of the night. I kept hearing people talking off in the woods
and hearing branches snap for quite some ways. I kept looking behind us every few seconds
to make sure nobody was coming up on us. It was completely nerve wracking. If something happened, we were still a long
ways from anywhere and quite literally on our own, since we hadn’t seen another hiker
the entire time we had been out there. I really felt we were in serious danger. We had been walking for quite some time when
I heard something in the woods behind us. As we rounded a corner I turned around and
saw someone step out onto the trail and just stand there watching us. It was just as the sun was coming up and barely
any light, I couldn’t make out any features..just the silhouette. I stopped and looked at them for a sec and
asked them who they were and what they wanted, they just stood there silently, watching us
and then turned and walked back into the woods. We picked up the pace and kept going, looking
back every so often. We didn’t see them again. But my gut told me they were still there for
quite a ways. We eventually reached the end of the trail
and got to where we had parked my girlfriends car, extremely exhausted. We made it out of the Virginia woods without
becoming a meal for a clan of cannibalistic inbred hillbillies, which is what I pictured
happening in my head the whole time. I have no idea who they were, or what they
wanted. Maybe it was someone just messing with us? Maybe it really was a clan of deformed hillbillies
who were hunting us. I will never know, because I will not be returning
to find out. Around two years ago, I finally moved into
a brand new house in a brand new building estate in Australia. I was one of the first to have a finished
build in the area and was elated to finally gain independence. The first few weeks went by as normal and
during that time, I’d often take walks alone with the dog in the afternoons and roam the
surrounding estate area. All the roads around us had been partially
completed and all the other properties were marked out, but no other houses were built
excluding one that was directly opposite mine. The house looked finished, but there was no
driveway laid yet and from what I could gather, noone lived there. To the left of my house roughly a few hundred
meters away was a field with a huge hill in it. I later found out that the whole area was
council property, not only was noone allowed to build up there but the whole hill was basically
a no go zone. For whatever reason, the council just didn’t
want people on it so the whole area was surrounded by a huge chain link fence. The only other noticeable feature in the area
was a small abandoned farm house with a shed a few kilometres down the road. I knew nothing about it and often went walking
there with the dog as it gave me something mild to explore amongst the vast nothingness
I was living around. The entire place was dilapidated and completely
inhabitable, but it was still interesting none the less. About a month or two after moving in, I awoke
one morning to the sound of a violin. It sounded extremely distant and quite haunting,
I actually enjoyed it and assumed that the neighbours opposite me has finally moved in. Excited that I finally had some people to
talk to, I peeked out the curtain and saw the house opposite mine was still as vacant
as it ever was. I got dressed but by the time I managed to
look outside, the violin has stopped. This happened roughly every second day for
the next week, the violin would wake me up and then just disappear after about 45 seconds. I’d ignored it to the point where my curiosity
simply got the better of me and the next morning when I heard the violin playing again I immediately
jumped out of bed, threw on my dressing gown and shot out the front door. I scoured the early morning surrounding and
there, up on the hill, was a figure playing a violin. It was barely light, but the person looked
very tall from the distance I was at and as they were playing, was doing what could only
be described as a waltz-type walk, spinning slowly around in a circle as they played. I took my eyes off the person and walked over
to pick up the morning paper and in the 10 seconds that took me, I heard the violin stop. When I looked up, I noticed the figure was
no longer playing or dancing, but was now standing still and most likely looking in
my direction. It was so dark i couldn’t make out and more
and we both just stood there for half a minute not moving before the creeps got the better
of me and I went back inside. After that morning, things started happening. On my walks I began to notice footprints on
the surrounding properties that weren’t made by me and that I’d never seen before, which
I just assumed were from people walking up from the other housing areas down the road. I never awoke to the violin, but I swore I
could hear someone walking on the street next to my bedroom window in the early mornings,
however I never saw anything. Other really general things as well, like
random tools such as spades and rakes laying around the area which I guessed were left
there by construction crews, none of which I ever saw. I’d started getting calls at work that would
immediately hang up on me and I also stopped walking up to the abandon farm house, as the
experience with the violin player had me a little shaken. One night as I was heading to bed, I turned
off the television in the living room and again, could hear the faint sound of a violin
playing, however it sounded more muffled and rehearsed. I froze and a cold chill flowed through me
instantaneously. Considering that it was about midnight and
not the usual time I’d hear it playing, I went to the front window and peeked out to
see that there was a light in the house opposite mine. It was clearly a candle as I could see the
dim light flicker in the empty window and the music sounded like it was coming from
an old record player, but in the ten minutes I watched, I never saw any movement inside
the house. I moved away from the window sufficiently
freaked out and after another five minutes, I heard the music abruptly stop. I peeked out again to notice the light was
now out. I never saw anyone. I began to become unsettled in the house and
would often invite friends over to hang out until late, but of course nothing would ever
happen when someone else was with me. I never bothered to tell any of my friends
as without evidence, I figured they’d just give me shit about it and I’d just become
more agitated. But nothing compared to what happened next. In my living area, the desk sits right next
to a small window which looks out to the fence surrounding my property. The steel fence is literally an arms length
from the house and about six feet tall so I always figured that, unlike most of the
other windows, I’d never need to cover this one with a sheet or blanket because noone
could ever see in. I usually had headphones on when I played
and I always had the lights off, for no other reason than I preferred to play games in the
dark. One night when I was gaming, I got up and
walked into the dark kitchen and got a beer out of the fridge. It was dead silent excluding the faint sound
coming out of my headphones. As I closed the fridge and turned around to
face the desk, I saw directly out the window two very, very faint lights. I didn’t even catch on and immediately started
walking back to the desk fixated on the small glowing balls and it wasn’t until I had my
nose almost pressed against the glass that I realised the two lights weren’t lights at
all. They were eyes. A set of eyes, sitting just above the fence
line staring wide open at me. They didn’t blink. They didn’t move. My entire body locked up, all I could do was
simply stare back as my brain was still comprehending that there was an actual person looking at
me in the scariest way I could possibly ever imagine. I don’t know what happened, either my head
kicked into gear or my muscles loosened but my body automatically collapsed and I fell
to the floor, scurrying to hide against the wall away from the window. I could hear my heart beating through the
carpet like a drum as I tried to lay as flat as possible and as my mind was still processing
the sheer severity of the situation, a violin started playing. That fucking violin and the haunting tune
it always emitted started up, except this time it was directly outside my window and
much louder than I’d ever heard it before. The lights were still off and I wanted to
get up to turn off the PC screen so I couldn’t be seen, but my whole body just wasn’t ready
to cooperate. Not only was the sound of the instrument extraordinarily
loud, but it sounded like it was been played with frustration, notes been missed frequently
and the strings screeching. The pace of it was getting faster and faster
and by this time, my dog Jeb out in the backyard had picked up on the situation and registering
an unfamiliar sound, gave one solitary, deep bark. The violin instantly stopped and the house
was finally dead silent excluding my headphones which I could hear quietly working away. I was still frozen to the carpet and it wasn’t
until Jeb gave a second menacing bark that I heard the figure outside the window start
to walk away in the direction of my yard. Once that first footstep hit the ground, I
instantly thought of the welfare of my best mate and finally, my head connected with my
extremities and my entire body kicked into overdrive. I left from the ground and slid across the
laminated floor to the backdoor where Jeb was standing, staring into the backyard. I ducked to keep low and quietly unlocked
and slid open the door. Usually doing so would notify Jeb that he
was allowed inside but when the door opened up, he didn’t move an inch and was completely
fixated on the pitch black backyard. Everything told me not to go outside but there
was no chance I was letting anything happen to my dog and I moved out onto the alfresco,
moved behind Jeb, put my hand under his collar and attempted to back him toward the house. Jeb is a pure labrador and weighs like a sack
of sand so when he doesn’t want to move, it takes a sheer force to pull him in the direction
you want him to go and right now, Jeb wasn’t going anywhere. I yanked at his scruff and as I did, he emitted
a bark like I’d never heard before, a deep, bellowing “fuck you right off” sound that
elevated my nerves to an all time high. We both just stood there, waiting for some
form of reply and I couldn’t remember how long we both just froze there, but eventually
i heard footsteps from around the side of the house begin to walk away. But not a simple walk, almost like whoever
was doing it was slowly dancing in a circle, the footsteps keeping to a beat as they drifted
away from the house into the distance. Once I couldn’t hear anything, Jeb licked
his lips, gave me a look and wandered back inside. I followed, locked the door behind me and
spent the night reverting to my child-like self; hiding under my bed covers with my dog. I didn’t sleep a wink. That was the last time I ever saw or heard
the violin player. The following morning when the sun finally
came up, I called into work sick and called the police. They scoured the lot next to mine and found
footprints in the dirt, however there were so many there that it was impossible to tell
who’s were who’s. The only description I could give to the officer
was his height, he would have had to be over 6ft to stare over that fence at me but they
explained that he could have been standing on something, or on his toes. They also told me that they’ve never received
a report of anyone playing a violin in the area or anyone been in the fenced off hill
either. I essentially looked like an insane person,
but the officers were very nice about the whole thing and offered to patrol the area
for the next few nights which helped put my mind at ease. Nothing else has happened since then. Over the next year or two, people finally
started moving in and I tell them all the story about the figure I saw, some of which
still use to keep their children in line which I found funny. One guy nicknamed the council lot ‘Violin
Hill’ and the name has stuck around our street since then. I even spent a period of time scoring the
depths of the Internet for that violin tune I kept hearing, but could never find it. There were a few classical pieces that seemed
reminiscent, but I’ve since thought that whatever tune was played must have been self composed,
which creeps me out even more. I’m still in the house, I still tell people
the story and I haven’t changed my routine one bit which has really helped me to block
out the fear of the experience. I game with the blinds closed now. I began babysitting at 13 to earn extra money
to spend on horribly embarrassing things like Fall Out Boy CDs. I would almost always work for my dad’s clients
(lawyer) and get referred by word of mouth. I was babysitting for this one family who
had a little girl, 9, and a little boy, 7. The parents seemed okay, if a tad crotchety,
giving me a full schedule to follow and “jokingly” threatening to beat any boy who might mysteriously
show up after they left. It felt cruel for them to accuse me of even
knowing a boy given I basically looked like an overgrown baby with frizzy hair at that
age. Almost immediately after the parents leave,
the little girl sings in a creepy high-pitched voice, “We’re all al-o-o-o-one now!” Righty-o. Cue The Shining soundtrack. “I know!” the little boy chimed in, “Let’s
play rape!” Looking back now, I know the kid probably
just heard the term on TV, knew the word was shocking, and said it just for a reaction. I totally bought into it at the time, sputtering
wide-eyed and changing the subject quickly. These kids were hell for the next hour. I wouldn’t let them watch South Park on the
TV because their parents did NOT seem like the type to allow their precious 7 and 9 year
old to watch a show like that. As soon as I said no, the little girl said
casually, “Oh, that’s fine, we’ll just go play Playstation in the Family Room. Feel free to watch it out here.” Lolnope, I knew exactly where that was headed. I said they could watch ANY other TV show
in the living room while I made them dinner. The parents had left instructions to make
them sandwiches. I could handle that. Before I had even got out the bread, I hear
a massive crash. It seems like the little girl has broken a
glass. Tutting and pissed, but ultimately with no
way to punish her, I cleaned it up while these two incredibly weird kids watched with wide
eyes. Dumping the broken glass in the trash, I went
back to making the sandwiches. I’m a vegetarian, so while the kids had chicken,
I’d made a simple salad one for myself. Just as I was finishing, the little boy screamed
out in what (even from my hyper-vigilant state as an accountable teenage babysitter) sounded
like a pantomime of pain. Nonetheless, I ran over to the couch in the
living room to check on him. “My ankle!” he howled, dramatically flopping
back into the couch. While I tried to figure out how he had “hurt”
his ankle, the little girl slipped out of the room. Peripherally, I was aware of this, but didn’t
really pay it any mind, focused on this little boy pretending to be in pain. He kept saying “I went to stand but it hurt
too much, I don’t know,” over and over until his eyes suddenly flicked to just behind me,
where I could see the little girl standing with a perturbing smile on her face. He was miraculously healed. Yeah. Praise the Lord. At this point, I was just thinking these kids
were really weird, craved attention a little too much and probably needed more parental
involvement. Whatever, I was 13, and that $60 was only
four hours away. I set out the sandwiches for the two to eat
at the dining table, went to get us soda, and returned. After pouring soda for the both of them, I
realized they hadn’t even taken a bite of their sandwiches yet. I asked them what they were waiting for. They smiled, “For you to take a bite of yours.” I am so glad I had a gut feeling to open the
top part of bread of my sandwich. Because when I did, I saw glass. Broken glass. Broken glass that I’d put in the trash. I stared in horror at the two little kids
staring at me with menacing twin grins. I lost it, shouting, “Are you serious?! At the very least, you could’ve really injured
my mouth! What’s wrong with you two?!” Instead of crying, or apologizing, or pretending
to be ashamed or confused, these two little fuckers began laughing. Not like kids. It was too low, it wasn’t that silly, free
laugh kids laugh. It was low, and threatening. I’ll never forget that noise. My immediate reaction was “these kids are
too young to be laughing like that.” I called my older sister (17) at the time,
cried about what had happened, and she came and took over for me. We left the house with chills after the parents
arrived. I never babysat for those two again. What I can’t get past is the level of premeditation
that went into sprinkling that broken glass in my sandwich, and the totally remorseless
way they responded to my getting upset. They were unlike any two kids I’ve ever met
before. About five years ago I lived downtown in a
major city in the US. I’ve always been a night person, so I would
often find myself bored after my roommate, who was decidedly not a night person, went
to sleep. To pass the time, I used to go for long walks
and spend the time thinking. I spent four years like that, walking alone
at night, and never once had a reason to feel afraid. I always used to joke with my roommate that
even the drug dealers in the city were polite. But all of that changed in just a few minutes
of one evening. It was a Wednesday, somewhere between one
and two in the morning, and I was walking near a police patrolled park quite a ways
from my apartment. It was a quiet night, even for a week night,
with very little traffic and almost no one on foot. The park, as it was most nights, was completely
empty. I turned down a short side street in order
to loop back to my apartment when I first noticed him. At the far end of the street, on my side,
was the silhouette of a man, dancing. It was a strange dance, similar to a waltz,
but he finished each “box” with an odd forward stride. I guess you could say he was dance-walking,
headed straight for me. Deciding he was probably drunk, I stepped
as close as I could to the road to give him the majority of the sidewalk to pass me by. The closer he got, the more I realized how
gracefully he was moving. He was very tall and lanky, and wearing an
old suit. He danced closer still, until I could make
out his face. His eyes were open wide and wild, head tilted
back slightly, looking off at the sky. His mouth was formed in a painfully wide cartoon
of a smile. Between the eyes and the smile, I decided
to cross the street before he danced any closer. I took my eyes off of him to cross the empty
street. As I reached the other side, I glanced back…
and then stopped dead in my tracks. He had stopped dancing and was standing with
one foot in the street, perfectly parallel to me. He was facing me but still looking skyward. Smile still wide on his lips. I was completely and utterly unnerved by this. I started walking again, but kept my eyes
on the man. He didn’t move. Once I had put about half a block between
us, I turned away from him for a moment to watch the sidewalk in front of me. The street and sidewalk ahead of me were completely
empty. Still unnerved, I looked back to where he
had been standing to find him gone. For the briefest of moments I felt relieved,
until I noticed him. He had crossed the street, and was now slightly
crouched down. I couldn’t tell for sure due to the distance
and the shadows, but I was certain he was facing me. I had looked away from him for no more than
10 seconds, so it was clear that he had moved fast. I was so shocked that I stood there for some
time, staring at him. And then he started moving toward me again. He took giant, exaggerated tip toed steps,
as if he were a cartoon character sneaking up on someone. Except he was moving very, very quickly. I’d like to say at this point I ran away or
pulled out my pepper spray or my cellphone or anything at all, but I didn’t. I just stood there, completely frozen as the
smiling man crept toward me. And then he stopped again, about a car length
away from me. Still smiling his smile, still looking to
the sky. When I finally found my voice, I blurted out
the first thing that came to mind. What I meant to ask was, “What the fuck do
you want?!” in an angry, commanding tone. What came out was a whimper, “What the fuu…?” Regardless of whether or not humans can smell
fear, they can certainly hear it. I heard it in my own voice, and that only
made me more afraid. But he didn’t react to it at all. He just stood there, smiling. And then, after what felt like forever, he
turned around, very slowly, and started dance-walking away. Just like that. Not wanting to turn my back to him again,
I just watched him go, until he was far enough away to almost be out of sight. And then I realized something. He wasn’t moving away anymore, nor was he
dancing. I watched in horror as the distant shape of
him grew larger and larger. He was coming back my way. And this time he was running. I ran too. I ran until I was off of the side road and
back onto a better lit road with sparse traffic. Looking behind me then, he was nowhere to
be found. The rest of the way home, I kept glancing
over my shoulder, always expecting to see his stupid smile, but he was never there. I lived in that city for six months after
that night, and I never went out for another walk. There was something about his face that always
haunted me. He didn’t look drunk, he didn’t look high. He looked completely and utterly insane. And that’s a very, very scary thing to see.

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