WEBVTT
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Some stories stay with people for years.
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Not because they have proof.
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Not because they understand what happened.
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But because even now, they still cannot explain what they saw.
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Welcome to Real Unexplained Stories.
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I'm Leon.
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This is where we explore strange encounters, unexplained events, and the stories that continue to haunt the people who live through them.
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And for our very first episode, we're starting with one of the most unsettling legends of them all.
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A name that carries fear, a subject surrounded by warning and accounts that have disturbed people for generations.
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This episode, we're talking about skin walkers.
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Story 1.
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The Roar in Holbrook.
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This story is from Daniel Mendoza.
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My name is Daniel Mendoza.
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I used to run long haul freight routes across the southwest, mostly New Mexico, Arizona, and sometimes Utah if I was lucky.
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This happened back in 2010, outside a little town called Holbrook, Arizona, just east of Flaxtaff, not far from the edge of the Navajo Nation.
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I never really told this story in full.
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And not because I think people won't believe me, but it's because part of me still hopes it wasn't real.
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It was late, maybe half past midnight.
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I'd made good time on my route and figured I'd stop early for once.
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I found a cheap motel off I forty with a diner next door and a gravel parking lot that looked like it hadn't been levelled since the nineties.
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The sign buzzed, the lights flickered.
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But I didn't care.
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I was used to sleeping in worse conditions.
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I parked my rig around the side, close to a channeling fence, and a line of low trees that bordered what looked like old reservation land.
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Nothing marked, no signs, just red dirt and cactuses.
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I checked in, got my key and went inside to drop off my gear.
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I remember everything being quiet, too quiet.
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No traffic on the road, no crickets, just wind.
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Not a breeze, but a dry dead wind that moved like it was watching.
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After a quick snack in my room, I went back to the truck to grab a clean shirt and my duffel bag.
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That's when I noticed it.
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The passenger door was open about an inch.
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I stopped cold.
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Now I'm not careless, especially not with my cap.
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I always locked up.
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It's second nature to us, but the door was open, and when I climbed in, it looked like something had been rummaging through my stuff.
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The glove box was hanging open, my backpack dumped out, my maps, log book, scattered across the floor, but nothing was missing.
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It didn't look like a robbery, it looked like something searching for something.
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That's when I heard it.
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A roar, but not like any animal I've heard.
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It came from behind me, maybe twenty feet back towards the tree line.
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Low gudrel, vibrating in my chest, like someone was dragging metal through sand and gravel and rage.
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I froze, turned slowly and saw something that still shows up in my dreams.
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It stepped out behind a cluster of junipers.
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At first I thought it was a tall man wearing a long coat, but then I saw the arms too long, thin, bend wrong.
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The legs were degraded, bent back like a dog's, with thick, matted fur tailing down into clawed feet.
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Its head it was a wolf's head, but stretched like someone had taken a coyote's skull and twisted it to fit something human underneath.
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And its eyes, they didn't reflect the light.
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They glowed like embers, deep orange, red, focused right on me.
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It didn't move.
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It just stared.
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Then it opened its mouth and screamed.
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It was like hearing a scream from inside your own bones.
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I turned and ran, full sprint back towards the motel.
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I didn't stop to look behind me.
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I didn't check the truck.
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I didn't lock the room door.
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I just slammed it shut, threw myself into the bathroom, locked the door too, and sat in the tub in the dark, breathing, listening, and then footsteps.
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Heavy, slow, deliberate.
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They circled the building, then stopped.
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And I swear to God, for a moment I heard something sniff the window, just one long inhale, then silence.
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I stayed in the tub for hours, didn't sleep, didn't move, eventually mooring broke, and I forced myself outside.
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Sunlight made the world feel wrong, too normal.
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The truck was untouched, my gear still tossed, but nothing stolen.
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But by the front tire and the red dirt, three deep claw marks spaced like fingers dragged parallel into the gravel.
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Like whatever it was had brushed up against the wheel on its way past.
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I told the motel clerk.
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He didn't laugh.
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He didn't question me.
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He just asked one thing.
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Did you park near the edge?
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I nodded.
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He shook his head.
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You shouldn't have done that.
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Things walk out there, things that aren't supposed to.
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I later learned that the area I'd parked near was an old boundary point, part of the path once used by medicine men.
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Now it's just sand and memory.
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But the stories they linger.
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Locals say if you hear footsteps at night and they stop suddenly, don't look out the window.
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Because it's not afraid of you.
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It's waiting for you to see it.
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I've never driven that route again, and to this day, if I hear a low growl outside my motel window, I turn off the lights, lock the door and wait until morning because I don't want to see it a second time.
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This is called The Voices at Wheatfield Lake.
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This next story was sent in by a woman named Arlene.
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She's Navajo, born and raised in Arizona, and after this she told me she never went camping again.
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It was summer of 2010.
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Arlene had been taking her two nieces aged 13 and 15 out for a weekend camping trip.
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They went to Wheatfield Lake, a remote spot about an hour east of Tuba City.
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No cell service, no towns, just red clay roads, low pine and stars.
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They got there just before dark.
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The girls helped gather firewood while Arlene set up the tent.
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They roasted hot dogs and sat by the fire as the sun went down.
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The moon was bright enough to reflect the lake like silver.
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Arlene remembers thinking it was the calmest she'd felt in months.
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That didn't last long though.
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It started with the silence, total silence.
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Not just quiet, but the kind that presses on your ears.
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No birds, no wind, no bugs, just silence.
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Arline looked up and said out loud, something's not right.
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The girls asked if it was a bear, but Arlene knew better.
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The air felt heavy, electric, like something was watching them.
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Then they heard it.
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Footsteps moving through the brush.
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Just outside the circle of light.
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Then there was more than one.
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At least five or six sets.
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They didn't run, they didn't charge.
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They just moved slowly, carefully, all around them.
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Then a voice came out of the dark.
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Aunt Arlene, it's me.
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I'm lost.
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Arline turned, but her younger niece was right next to her.
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The voice was mimicking her perfectly, but it didn't sound alive.
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It sounded hollow, like someone copying a voice without knowing how it should really feel.
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Arlene grabbed both the girls and told them to get in the tent.
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She reached into her backpack and pulled out a small pouch.
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Inside was white ash, cedar bark and corn pollen.
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Things her grandmother had given her, things for protection.
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She made a circle of ash around the tent.
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Then she whispered a prayer in Denis.
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She hadn't said those words since she was a little girl, but they came back so easy.
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Outside the tent the laughter started.
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Low raspy, male and female at once, like broken people trying to act human.
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Then came a second voice.
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Let us in.
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We're cold.
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Let us sit by the fire.
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Arlene held the girls so close, told them to cover their ears, not to speak, not to move.
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The wind stopped.
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The fire hissed.
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Then something touched the tent.
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Claws, thy fingers scraping slowly from top to bottom.
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The girls cried.
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Arlene stayed still, holding her breath, repeating the prayers, then silence.
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She doesn't remember falling asleep, but only waking up to pale morning light.
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When she stepped outside there were no footprints, no broken branches, no damage to the tent, but on the ground, just behind where they'd slept, six deep prints pressed into the dirt.
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They looked like hooves, but not normal, split, misshapen, but somehow wrong, and nearby a clump of what looked like fur, but when Arlene touched it, it felt like leather.
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They packed up without eating and drove straight back to Tuba City.
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But the weirdest part hadn't happened yet.
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That night Arlene woke up to a burning pain in her shoulder, and when she looked in the mirror, three long scratches ran from her collarbone to her back, but there was no rip in her shirt, no blood, no scab, just the marks.
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She went to a medicine man the next day, and he said nothing at first, then asked her to sit down.
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He lit sage and prayed over her shoulder, then used a small obsidian blade to gently cut the skin.
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What he pulled out was a thin shard of bone.
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Old, burned.
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An animal?
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He said it was a warning, a marker.
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A skinwalker had touched her, but the protection had held.
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If it hadn't, she might not have woken up at all.
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Arlene still carries that pouch with her everywhere.
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She sleeps with it under a pillow, and she never goes camping again.
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She told her nieces never to speak of it, because once a skinwalker knows your name, it doesn't need to find you again.
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It already knows where you dream.
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This story comes from Caleb, a guy who grew up in the hills outside Vernal, Utah.
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If this area sounds familiar, it should.
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The Utah Basin has long been connected with skinwalker lure, citing stories and things that don't show up on any map.
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This is what Caleb says happened to him on a cold night in October 2009.
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It was late.
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Caleb had just finished a long shift working at a supply store in town.
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He was nineteen, lived with his mum in a house just off three pine road, a quiet road.
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No street lights, no neighbours for miles, just dirt tracks, low cotton woods and the kind of silence that rings in your ears.
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It was just past eleven PM.
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He climbed into his old pickup, flipped on the heater, and started the drive home.
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The drive usually took twenty minutes.
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He liked the road, he said it felt peaceful, but that night something felt off.
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The air was colder than usual.
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The trees looked darker, the radio was fuzzy, cutting in and out, like something was interfering with it.
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Then it started to give way to silence, and that's when he saw something.
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A figure standing in the middle of the road.
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At first he thought it was a deer, so he slowed down, leaned forward, squinted through the glass, but this was no deer.
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It was standing upright, thin, pale, almost naked, just a tall human shaped figure, with its back to him, not moving.
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He dropped the truck into neutral and coasted forward slowly.
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The thing's arms were long and hanging at its side.
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Its legs were too thin, like sticks covered in skin.
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Its spine stuck out unnaturally, high and bony, like it was built wrong.
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He was maybe twenty feet away from it.
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It tilted its head.
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Not turning, just tilting.
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Slowly left, then further left, like it was listening.
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Then it turned.
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Its face was stretched, almost like human, but the eyes were too wide, too dark, no whites, just black circles that didn't reflect any light.
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The mouth was open, no lips, just yellow, uneven teeth, and then it moved.
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It didn't walk.
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It jerked forward like something glitching, covering half the distance in a single lurch.
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Caleb panicked, floored the pedal.
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The engine roared.
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He sped forward, swerving slightly to miss it, and then it looked in the mirror.
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It was following, not walking, running on all fours.
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It moved like a spider, arms splayed, limbs bending at wrong angles, and it was fast.
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Caleb said it didn't seem like it was chasing to catch him.
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It was pacing him, mocking him, keeping up with the truck just out of reach.
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He hit fifty, then sixty, then seventy, dust flying, trees whipping past, every part of him screaming, and still it stayed with him.
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When he finally hit the driveway, he didn't stop.
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He jumped out, slammed the door behind him, and then ran inside.
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His mum was sitting on the couch, with a blanket over her knees.
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Before he could say a word, she looked at him and said You saw it, didn't you?
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Caleb froze.
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She stood up slowly, walked to the window.
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That thing's been around here since I was little, she said.
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It shows up to remind us.
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You don't go down that road after dark.
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He asked her what was it?
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She didn't answer.
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She told him never to speak about it out loud again.
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Then she sprinklas across the doorway, said a short prayer, and went to bed.
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That night Caleb didn't sleep.
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He sat in his room with the lamp on, staring it at the window.
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Then just after three AM, a knock.
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Not on the front door, on his second story bedroom window.
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He didn't move, he didn't breathe.
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He just listened, and after a few seconds it knocked again, this time slower, more deliberate.
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The next morning he went outside.
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There was no footprints on the ground, no broken branches, but the window screen was bent outward from the top, and something had scratched deep gouges into the wood beneath the sill.
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A week later his friend Tyler went back down Three Pine Road during the day and said he wanted to see what the fuss was about.
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He came back pale, said he found a half dead deer lying just off the road, body still warm, eyes wide open, not a mark on it.
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Just one thing wrong.
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Its legs had been bent backwards at the knee, like they'd been forced into the shape of humans.
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Caleb doesn't drive at night anymore, doesn't listen to static on the radio, and to this day he refuses to say the name of what he saw.
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Because in Navajo belief once you speak its name aloud, you're inviting it back in.
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If you're ever in Utah and you're driving down a road with no signs, no lights and nothing on the radio, and you see something in the distance that looks almost human, don't stop, don't slow down, and don't ever look back.
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It walked on two legs.
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This one comes from a guy named Mason, sent in from northern New Mexico.
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Him and his cousin Joe were out on a weekend hunting trip.
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Just the two of them, deep in the backcountry.
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No cell service, no other people for miles, just forest.
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They hunted these woods for years, but something about this trip felt different from the start.
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This is what Mason told me.
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It was October 2021.
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Cold mornings, clear skies, perfect conditions for deer.
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They hiked in about six miles from their truck, set up a small tent camp between two ridgelines overlooking a wide pine valley.
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They saw elk tracks, heard coyotes that night.
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It felt good, like old times.
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But the second night things started to feel a bit off.
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It started with the woods going silent.
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They were sitting by the fire eating jerky when Joe stopped.
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Mid sentence and looked up.
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Not a single sound.
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No bugs, no owls, no wind.
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Mason says it felt like the air itself was holding its breath.
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That kind of silence doesn't happen in the wild unless something's really wrong.
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They stayed up for a while, rifles close, but nothing happened.
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No howls, no movement, just dead quiet.
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Eventually they turned in, but neither of them really slept that night.
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Around two AM, Mason heard something outside the tent.
00:16:44.080 --> 00:16:51.840
Not scurrying, not small, footsteps crouching slowly through the brush, measured deliberately, and it wasn't four legs.
00:16:52.000 --> 00:16:53.679
He sat up and held his breath.
00:16:53.840 --> 00:16:58.799
The steps were pacing back and forth, about twenty feet from their tent.
00:16:58.960 --> 00:17:01.519
Big steps, heavy, then they stopped.
00:17:01.679 --> 00:17:03.039
He nudged Joe awake.
00:17:03.279 --> 00:17:04.640
Joe they listened.
00:17:04.799 --> 00:17:07.440
Then a sound that made his skin crawl.
00:17:07.759 --> 00:17:09.680
Joe, come out here, bring your light.
00:17:09.920 --> 00:17:13.200
Mason grabbed his rifle, because that was Joe's voice.
00:17:13.359 --> 00:17:14.000
Exactly.
00:17:14.160 --> 00:17:17.200
But Joe was right next to him, wide eyed and frozen still.
00:17:17.359 --> 00:17:18.960
Joe whispered, Did you hear that?
00:17:19.200 --> 00:17:20.000
Mason nodded.
00:17:20.160 --> 00:17:20.880
Then it repeated.
00:17:21.119 --> 00:17:22.799
Joe, come on man, it's me.
00:17:22.960 --> 00:17:24.640
Only this time it was closer.
00:17:24.799 --> 00:17:28.000
They didn't move, they didn't speak, they just held their breath.
00:17:28.160 --> 00:17:30.799
And after about thirty seconds it laughed.
00:17:31.039 --> 00:17:32.319
Not human laughter.
00:17:32.559 --> 00:17:33.279
Not real.
00:17:33.440 --> 00:17:37.759
It sounded like something that had heard people laugh and was trying to copy it.
00:17:37.839 --> 00:17:42.400
Then it took off fast, loud crashing through the brush, and gone within seconds.
00:17:42.640 --> 00:17:46.079
Mason says they waited until dawn before unzipping the tent.
00:17:46.240 --> 00:17:47.920
When they did, there was nothing.
00:17:48.240 --> 00:17:49.839
No prints, no blood.
00:17:50.079 --> 00:17:56.400
But every tree around the tent had scratch marks on it, about shoulder height, and on one tree was a handprint.
00:17:56.559 --> 00:17:59.440
Not a paw, not a hoof, an actual handprint.
00:17:59.680 --> 00:18:05.200
Four fingers, no thumb, long and thin, like something had dipped it in mud and splattered it on the bark.
00:18:05.279 --> 00:18:06.480
They broke camp fast.
00:18:06.640 --> 00:18:15.759
On the high couch they didn't say a word, but both of them kept hearing something behind them in the brush, following, pacing, never close but never gone.
00:18:15.920 --> 00:18:19.119
When they reached the truck, Mason turned around one last time.
00:18:19.359 --> 00:18:24.079
Way back up in the ridge between two trees, he saw something tall, still watching.
00:18:24.240 --> 00:18:26.960
He didn't tell Joe, he didn't say a word until a week later.
00:18:27.119 --> 00:18:31.599
Joe admitted he'd seen it too, standing there, and he was too afraid to speak about it.
00:18:31.759 --> 00:18:44.559
Neither of them have been back since, but sometimes Mason still dreams about it, waking up in the tent, hearing it walking, calling out in Joe's voice, and knowing in the dream that if he answers it, he won't wake up again.
00:18:48.319 --> 00:18:55.359
This next story comes from a man named Jack, a quiet guy with a strange past and a ranch no one wanted to talk about.
00:18:55.519 --> 00:19:05.279
A few years back he inherited his grandfather's land in northern Arizona and what he found buried beneath that barn floor changed the way he saw his family forever.
00:19:05.440 --> 00:19:08.559
Jack moved in during the winter of 2019.
00:19:08.880 --> 00:19:13.920
He didn't have much just to pick up, some tools, a cotton set up in the front room.
00:19:14.160 --> 00:19:16.480
The place was rough, dust everywhere.
00:19:16.640 --> 00:19:19.519
The power was spotty, but he liked being alone.
00:19:19.680 --> 00:19:22.240
He figured he'd start by fixing up the barn.
00:19:22.400 --> 00:19:26.000
Get some chickens, maybe some goats, just like his grandfather had.
00:19:26.160 --> 00:19:27.519
But locals they warned him.
00:19:27.680 --> 00:19:31.039
When he went into town for supplies, people give him strange looks.
00:19:31.200 --> 00:19:36.720
One old guy at the feed store asked where he was staying when Jack told him the man went quiet.
00:19:36.960 --> 00:19:38.640
You're cane to Hank Matthews?
00:19:38.799 --> 00:19:39.519
Jack nodded.
00:19:39.680 --> 00:19:41.519
Don't leave that barn alone, son.
00:19:41.680 --> 00:19:42.799
That ground's not right.
00:19:43.039 --> 00:19:44.079
Jack laughed it off.
00:19:44.240 --> 00:19:46.240
But looking back, that was the first warning.
00:19:46.480 --> 00:19:47.680
The barn was falling apart.
00:19:47.839 --> 00:19:53.359
Loose beams, rusted nails, slats warped from years of sun and storms.
00:19:53.519 --> 00:19:58.079
He started by cleaning debris, then decided to replace some of the old floorboards.
00:19:58.240 --> 00:19:59.519
That's when he noticed it.
00:19:59.680 --> 00:20:04.480
There was a strange smell coming from the far corner, like rot, but dry.
00:20:04.640 --> 00:20:06.880
Not fresh decay, something older.
00:20:07.039 --> 00:20:09.759
He picked up the boards, and beneath them dirt.
00:20:10.000 --> 00:20:12.000
But not just dirt, bones.
00:20:12.240 --> 00:20:16.799
Small bones at first, animals probably, but they were arranged.
00:20:17.039 --> 00:20:22.960
Circles, spirals, some tied with string, and others fused with wax or hair.
00:20:23.039 --> 00:20:26.799
Some of the bones had been carved like they'd been used for something.
00:20:26.960 --> 00:20:27.759
He felt sick.
00:20:27.920 --> 00:20:34.160
He covered it back up for the night, planning to burn the stuff the next day, but that night he started hearing strange things.
00:20:34.319 --> 00:20:36.960
At first it was the wind, or so he thought.
00:20:37.119 --> 00:20:40.720
But around one thirty AM in the morning it changed.
00:20:40.960 --> 00:20:45.200
He was lying on the cot, half asleep when he heard footsteps on the porch.
00:20:45.440 --> 00:20:48.960
Slow, deliberate, then a tap on the front window.
00:20:49.119 --> 00:20:49.759
He froze.
00:20:49.920 --> 00:20:50.640
He didn't look.
00:20:50.799 --> 00:20:51.920
He just held his breath.
00:20:52.079 --> 00:20:53.599
Another tap, then nothing.
00:20:53.759 --> 00:20:55.440
He stayed like that until sunrise.
00:20:55.519 --> 00:21:03.759
When he checked the porch in the morning, there were no footprints, but the porch dust had been brushed, like someone had dragged a brush across it and wiped them away.
00:21:03.920 --> 00:21:05.440
He tried to stay focused.
00:21:05.680 --> 00:21:07.440
Told himself it was just a local animal.
00:21:07.599 --> 00:21:08.640
Raccoon maybe.
00:21:08.720 --> 00:21:10.720
But every night that week it got worse.
00:21:10.960 --> 00:21:15.279
One night lying in bed, he heard his name whispered from the back room.
00:21:15.599 --> 00:21:16.000
Jack.
00:21:16.480 --> 00:21:17.759
It sounded like his mother.
00:21:17.839 --> 00:21:19.759
But she died in twenty sixteen.
00:21:19.920 --> 00:21:22.880
He didn't move, he didn't speak, he just listened.
00:21:23.039 --> 00:21:24.000
And then it laughed.
00:21:24.240 --> 00:21:30.559
Same brokey raspy chuckle he'd heard once as a kid during a thunderstorm when he got lost in the woods.
00:21:30.720 --> 00:21:32.079
He slept in his truck that night.
00:21:32.160 --> 00:21:54.160
The next morning he went back into the barn and started ripping out more of the floor, angry, panicked, and there it was, in the middle, buried under layers of dirt, a large stone slab black, cold to the touch, etched with lines that didn't make sense, like symbols half worn away by time, and took beneath the slab a photograph.
00:21:54.319 --> 00:21:56.079
It was old curled at the corners.
00:21:56.240 --> 00:21:59.839
In black and white, maybe the forties or fifties, it showed his own.
00:22:00.240 --> 00:22:04.079
Grandfather standing in front of a barn, but next to him was something else.
00:22:04.240 --> 00:22:12.160
A tall figure blurred at the edge, its head turned towards the camera, face stretched pale, eyes wide open.
00:22:12.319 --> 00:22:14.480
No one else in town ever mentioned that photo.
00:22:14.720 --> 00:22:20.000
Jack never showed it to anyone, but he kept it, tucked it in a locker box far away from the ranch.
00:22:20.160 --> 00:22:31.039
He sold the land a year later, and sometimes when he dreams, he sees the barn door creaking open and something crawling out from the dirt below, wearing his grandfather's boots.
00:22:31.359 --> 00:22:39.440
Stories like these are not easy to forget, whether they come from folklore, fear, or something people generally can't explain.
00:22:39.599 --> 00:22:43.359
They leave a mark on those who've experienced them and on those who hear them.
00:22:43.519 --> 00:22:45.920
This has been the Real Unexplained Stories.
00:22:46.079 --> 00:22:47.039
I'm Leon.
00:22:47.200 --> 00:22:49.680
Thank you for listening to our very first episode.
00:22:49.839 --> 00:22:57.839
If you'd like to hear more strange encounters and eerie mysteries and unexplained stories, be sure to follow the podcast wherever you're listening.
00:22:58.000 --> 00:22:59.359
Until next time.
00:00:00.000 --> 00:00:02.720
Some stories stay with people for years.
00:00:02.959 --> 00:00:04.639
Not because they have proof.
00:00:04.879 --> 00:00:07.120
Not because they understand what happened.
00:00:07.360 --> 00:00:11.199
But because even now, they still cannot explain what they saw.
00:00:11.439 --> 00:00:14.080
Welcome to Real Unexplained Stories.
00:00:14.240 --> 00:00:15.119
I'm Leon.
00:00:15.279 --> 00:00:22.800
This is where we explore strange encounters, unexplained events, and the stories that continue to haunt the people who live through them.
00:00:22.960 --> 00:00:28.879
And for our very first episode, we're starting with one of the most unsettling legends of them all.
00:00:29.039 --> 00:00:35.840
A name that carries fear, a subject surrounded by warning and accounts that have disturbed people for generations.
00:00:36.159 --> 00:00:39.439
This episode, we're talking about skin walkers.
00:00:42.479 --> 00:00:43.520
Story 1.
00:00:43.679 --> 00:00:45.359
The Roar in Holbrook.
00:00:45.679 --> 00:00:48.079
This story is from Daniel Mendoza.
00:00:48.240 --> 00:00:49.920
My name is Daniel Mendoza.
00:00:50.000 --> 00:00:58.560
I used to run long haul freight routes across the southwest, mostly New Mexico, Arizona, and sometimes Utah if I was lucky.
00:00:58.719 --> 00:01:08.879
This happened back in 2010, outside a little town called Holbrook, Arizona, just east of Flaxtaff, not far from the edge of the Navajo Nation.
00:01:09.040 --> 00:01:11.599
I never really told this story in full.
00:01:11.760 --> 00:01:17.519
And not because I think people won't believe me, but it's because part of me still hopes it wasn't real.
00:01:17.680 --> 00:01:20.000
It was late, maybe half past midnight.
00:01:20.079 --> 00:01:24.400
I'd made good time on my route and figured I'd stop early for once.
00:01:24.560 --> 00:01:33.920
I found a cheap motel off I forty with a diner next door and a gravel parking lot that looked like it hadn't been levelled since the nineties.
00:01:34.239 --> 00:01:36.640
The sign buzzed, the lights flickered.
00:01:36.799 --> 00:01:37.599
But I didn't care.
00:01:37.760 --> 00:01:40.400
I was used to sleeping in worse conditions.
00:01:40.560 --> 00:01:49.680
I parked my rig around the side, close to a channeling fence, and a line of low trees that bordered what looked like old reservation land.
00:01:49.840 --> 00:01:53.519
Nothing marked, no signs, just red dirt and cactuses.
00:01:53.840 --> 00:01:57.680
I checked in, got my key and went inside to drop off my gear.
00:01:57.760 --> 00:02:00.879
I remember everything being quiet, too quiet.
00:02:01.200 --> 00:02:04.799
No traffic on the road, no crickets, just wind.
00:02:05.040 --> 00:02:10.159
Not a breeze, but a dry dead wind that moved like it was watching.
00:02:10.319 --> 00:02:15.919
After a quick snack in my room, I went back to the truck to grab a clean shirt and my duffel bag.
00:02:16.000 --> 00:02:17.199
That's when I noticed it.
00:02:17.360 --> 00:02:20.479
The passenger door was open about an inch.
00:02:20.719 --> 00:02:21.840
I stopped cold.
00:02:22.000 --> 00:02:25.120
Now I'm not careless, especially not with my cap.
00:02:25.439 --> 00:02:26.960
I always locked up.
00:02:27.120 --> 00:02:34.879
It's second nature to us, but the door was open, and when I climbed in, it looked like something had been rummaging through my stuff.
00:02:35.039 --> 00:02:42.639
The glove box was hanging open, my backpack dumped out, my maps, log book, scattered across the floor, but nothing was missing.
00:02:42.879 --> 00:02:46.639
It didn't look like a robbery, it looked like something searching for something.
00:02:46.800 --> 00:02:47.840
That's when I heard it.
00:02:48.000 --> 00:02:50.639
A roar, but not like any animal I've heard.
00:02:50.800 --> 00:02:55.120
It came from behind me, maybe twenty feet back towards the tree line.
00:02:55.280 --> 00:03:03.199
Low gudrel, vibrating in my chest, like someone was dragging metal through sand and gravel and rage.
00:03:03.360 --> 00:03:10.400
I froze, turned slowly and saw something that still shows up in my dreams.
00:03:10.560 --> 00:03:14.000
It stepped out behind a cluster of junipers.
00:03:14.159 --> 00:03:21.680
At first I thought it was a tall man wearing a long coat, but then I saw the arms too long, thin, bend wrong.
00:03:21.759 --> 00:03:30.159
The legs were degraded, bent back like a dog's, with thick, matted fur tailing down into clawed feet.
00:03:30.319 --> 00:03:40.000
Its head it was a wolf's head, but stretched like someone had taken a coyote's skull and twisted it to fit something human underneath.
00:03:40.159 --> 00:03:42.800
And its eyes, they didn't reflect the light.
00:03:42.960 --> 00:03:48.560
They glowed like embers, deep orange, red, focused right on me.
00:03:48.719 --> 00:03:49.599
It didn't move.
00:03:49.840 --> 00:03:50.800
It just stared.
00:03:50.960 --> 00:03:53.439
Then it opened its mouth and screamed.
00:03:53.599 --> 00:03:57.280
It was like hearing a scream from inside your own bones.
00:03:57.439 --> 00:04:01.199
I turned and ran, full sprint back towards the motel.
00:04:01.360 --> 00:04:02.879
I didn't stop to look behind me.
00:04:03.039 --> 00:04:04.080
I didn't check the truck.
00:04:04.159 --> 00:04:05.599
I didn't lock the room door.
00:04:05.840 --> 00:04:15.599
I just slammed it shut, threw myself into the bathroom, locked the door too, and sat in the tub in the dark, breathing, listening, and then footsteps.
00:04:16.000 --> 00:04:18.959
Heavy, slow, deliberate.
00:04:19.199 --> 00:04:21.920
They circled the building, then stopped.
00:04:22.160 --> 00:04:29.839
And I swear to God, for a moment I heard something sniff the window, just one long inhale, then silence.
00:04:30.000 --> 00:04:37.360
I stayed in the tub for hours, didn't sleep, didn't move, eventually mooring broke, and I forced myself outside.
00:04:37.519 --> 00:04:40.160
Sunlight made the world feel wrong, too normal.
00:04:40.319 --> 00:04:44.319
The truck was untouched, my gear still tossed, but nothing stolen.
00:04:44.560 --> 00:04:52.879
But by the front tire and the red dirt, three deep claw marks spaced like fingers dragged parallel into the gravel.
00:04:53.040 --> 00:04:57.120
Like whatever it was had brushed up against the wheel on its way past.
00:04:57.279 --> 00:04:58.879
I told the motel clerk.
00:04:59.120 --> 00:05:00.240
He didn't laugh.
00:05:00.560 --> 00:05:01.600
He didn't question me.
00:05:01.839 --> 00:05:02.959
He just asked one thing.
00:05:03.199 --> 00:05:04.720
Did you park near the edge?
00:05:04.959 --> 00:05:05.680
I nodded.
00:05:06.000 --> 00:05:07.199
He shook his head.
00:05:07.439 --> 00:05:08.560
You shouldn't have done that.
00:05:08.720 --> 00:05:11.920
Things walk out there, things that aren't supposed to.
00:05:12.160 --> 00:05:19.680
I later learned that the area I'd parked near was an old boundary point, part of the path once used by medicine men.
00:05:19.839 --> 00:05:21.680
Now it's just sand and memory.
00:05:21.839 --> 00:05:23.759
But the stories they linger.
00:05:23.920 --> 00:05:28.959
Locals say if you hear footsteps at night and they stop suddenly, don't look out the window.
00:05:29.120 --> 00:05:30.639
Because it's not afraid of you.
00:05:30.800 --> 00:05:32.480
It's waiting for you to see it.
00:05:32.560 --> 00:05:44.959
I've never driven that route again, and to this day, if I hear a low growl outside my motel window, I turn off the lights, lock the door and wait until morning because I don't want to see it a second time.
00:05:48.319 --> 00:05:51.279
This is called The Voices at Wheatfield Lake.
00:05:51.519 --> 00:05:54.560
This next story was sent in by a woman named Arlene.
00:05:54.639 --> 00:06:00.560
She's Navajo, born and raised in Arizona, and after this she told me she never went camping again.
00:06:00.720 --> 00:06:02.560
It was summer of 2010.
00:06:02.800 --> 00:06:09.120
Arlene had been taking her two nieces aged 13 and 15 out for a weekend camping trip.
00:06:09.199 --> 00:06:15.279
They went to Wheatfield Lake, a remote spot about an hour east of Tuba City.
00:06:15.439 --> 00:06:21.279
No cell service, no towns, just red clay roads, low pine and stars.
00:06:21.439 --> 00:06:23.519
They got there just before dark.
00:06:23.680 --> 00:06:27.680
The girls helped gather firewood while Arlene set up the tent.
00:06:27.759 --> 00:06:31.600
They roasted hot dogs and sat by the fire as the sun went down.
00:06:31.839 --> 00:06:36.319
The moon was bright enough to reflect the lake like silver.
00:06:36.639 --> 00:06:41.519
Arlene remembers thinking it was the calmest she'd felt in months.
00:06:41.759 --> 00:06:43.120
That didn't last long though.
00:06:43.279 --> 00:06:47.040
It started with the silence, total silence.
00:06:47.600 --> 00:06:51.120
Not just quiet, but the kind that presses on your ears.
00:06:51.360 --> 00:06:55.120
No birds, no wind, no bugs, just silence.
00:06:55.360 --> 00:06:59.040
Arline looked up and said out loud, something's not right.
00:06:59.279 --> 00:07:02.879
The girls asked if it was a bear, but Arlene knew better.
00:07:03.040 --> 00:07:07.360
The air felt heavy, electric, like something was watching them.
00:07:07.519 --> 00:07:08.639
Then they heard it.
00:07:08.879 --> 00:07:11.519
Footsteps moving through the brush.
00:07:11.759 --> 00:07:14.079
Just outside the circle of light.
00:07:14.319 --> 00:07:16.160
Then there was more than one.
00:07:16.480 --> 00:07:18.319
At least five or six sets.
00:07:18.560 --> 00:07:20.720
They didn't run, they didn't charge.
00:07:20.879 --> 00:07:25.040
They just moved slowly, carefully, all around them.
00:07:25.199 --> 00:07:26.720
Then a voice came out of the dark.
00:07:27.040 --> 00:07:28.800
Aunt Arlene, it's me.
00:07:28.879 --> 00:07:29.759
I'm lost.
00:07:30.079 --> 00:07:33.439
Arline turned, but her younger niece was right next to her.
00:07:33.600 --> 00:07:37.040
The voice was mimicking her perfectly, but it didn't sound alive.
00:07:37.199 --> 00:07:42.160
It sounded hollow, like someone copying a voice without knowing how it should really feel.
00:07:42.399 --> 00:07:46.079
Arlene grabbed both the girls and told them to get in the tent.
00:07:46.160 --> 00:07:50.079
She reached into her backpack and pulled out a small pouch.
00:07:50.240 --> 00:07:54.639
Inside was white ash, cedar bark and corn pollen.
00:07:54.879 --> 00:07:58.240
Things her grandmother had given her, things for protection.
00:07:58.399 --> 00:08:00.959
She made a circle of ash around the tent.
00:08:01.120 --> 00:08:03.439
Then she whispered a prayer in Denis.
00:08:03.680 --> 00:08:08.560
She hadn't said those words since she was a little girl, but they came back so easy.
00:08:08.720 --> 00:08:10.879
Outside the tent the laughter started.
00:08:11.120 --> 00:08:17.040
Low raspy, male and female at once, like broken people trying to act human.
00:08:17.199 --> 00:08:18.639
Then came a second voice.
00:08:18.959 --> 00:08:19.680
Let us in.
00:08:19.839 --> 00:08:20.639
We're cold.
00:08:20.800 --> 00:08:22.079
Let us sit by the fire.
00:08:22.319 --> 00:08:28.480
Arlene held the girls so close, told them to cover their ears, not to speak, not to move.
00:08:28.879 --> 00:08:29.839
The wind stopped.
00:08:30.399 --> 00:08:31.519
The fire hissed.
00:08:31.759 --> 00:08:33.519
Then something touched the tent.
00:08:34.080 --> 00:08:39.200
Claws, thy fingers scraping slowly from top to bottom.
00:08:39.519 --> 00:08:40.320
The girls cried.
00:08:40.559 --> 00:08:46.159
Arlene stayed still, holding her breath, repeating the prayers, then silence.
00:08:46.480 --> 00:08:50.960
She doesn't remember falling asleep, but only waking up to pale morning light.
00:08:51.200 --> 00:09:03.120
When she stepped outside there were no footprints, no broken branches, no damage to the tent, but on the ground, just behind where they'd slept, six deep prints pressed into the dirt.
00:09:03.279 --> 00:09:14.799
They looked like hooves, but not normal, split, misshapen, but somehow wrong, and nearby a clump of what looked like fur, but when Arlene touched it, it felt like leather.
00:09:14.960 --> 00:09:19.440
They packed up without eating and drove straight back to Tuba City.
00:09:19.519 --> 00:09:21.919
But the weirdest part hadn't happened yet.
00:09:22.080 --> 00:09:36.879
That night Arlene woke up to a burning pain in her shoulder, and when she looked in the mirror, three long scratches ran from her collarbone to her back, but there was no rip in her shirt, no blood, no scab, just the marks.
00:09:37.039 --> 00:09:42.720
She went to a medicine man the next day, and he said nothing at first, then asked her to sit down.
00:09:42.879 --> 00:09:50.000
He lit sage and prayed over her shoulder, then used a small obsidian blade to gently cut the skin.
00:09:50.159 --> 00:09:53.200
What he pulled out was a thin shard of bone.
00:09:53.440 --> 00:09:54.480
Old, burned.
00:09:54.639 --> 00:09:55.200
An animal?
00:09:55.360 --> 00:09:57.360
He said it was a warning, a marker.
00:09:57.519 --> 00:10:01.279
A skinwalker had touched her, but the protection had held.
00:10:01.440 --> 00:10:03.840
If it hadn't, she might not have woken up at all.
00:10:04.080 --> 00:10:06.799
Arlene still carries that pouch with her everywhere.
00:10:06.879 --> 00:10:10.799
She sleeps with it under a pillow, and she never goes camping again.
00:10:10.879 --> 00:10:17.200
She told her nieces never to speak of it, because once a skinwalker knows your name, it doesn't need to find you again.
00:10:17.360 --> 00:10:19.360
It already knows where you dream.
00:10:23.039 --> 00:10:29.039
This story comes from Caleb, a guy who grew up in the hills outside Vernal, Utah.
00:10:29.200 --> 00:10:31.679
If this area sounds familiar, it should.
00:10:31.919 --> 00:10:40.320
The Utah Basin has long been connected with skinwalker lure, citing stories and things that don't show up on any map.
00:10:40.480 --> 00:10:45.360
This is what Caleb says happened to him on a cold night in October 2009.
00:10:45.759 --> 00:10:46.559
It was late.
00:10:46.799 --> 00:10:50.879
Caleb had just finished a long shift working at a supply store in town.
00:10:51.039 --> 00:10:56.960
He was nineteen, lived with his mum in a house just off three pine road, a quiet road.
00:10:57.279 --> 00:11:06.320
No street lights, no neighbours for miles, just dirt tracks, low cotton woods and the kind of silence that rings in your ears.
00:11:06.480 --> 00:11:08.159
It was just past eleven PM.
00:11:08.320 --> 00:11:13.440
He climbed into his old pickup, flipped on the heater, and started the drive home.
00:11:13.600 --> 00:11:15.759
The drive usually took twenty minutes.
00:11:15.919 --> 00:11:20.559
He liked the road, he said it felt peaceful, but that night something felt off.
00:11:20.879 --> 00:11:22.720
The air was colder than usual.
00:11:22.960 --> 00:11:29.039
The trees looked darker, the radio was fuzzy, cutting in and out, like something was interfering with it.
00:11:29.200 --> 00:11:33.120
Then it started to give way to silence, and that's when he saw something.
00:11:33.360 --> 00:11:35.759
A figure standing in the middle of the road.
00:11:35.919 --> 00:11:42.480
At first he thought it was a deer, so he slowed down, leaned forward, squinted through the glass, but this was no deer.
00:11:42.639 --> 00:11:52.080
It was standing upright, thin, pale, almost naked, just a tall human shaped figure, with its back to him, not moving.
00:11:52.240 --> 00:11:56.399
He dropped the truck into neutral and coasted forward slowly.
00:11:56.639 --> 00:12:00.399
The thing's arms were long and hanging at its side.
00:12:00.559 --> 00:12:04.320
Its legs were too thin, like sticks covered in skin.
00:12:04.559 --> 00:12:09.679
Its spine stuck out unnaturally, high and bony, like it was built wrong.
00:12:09.919 --> 00:12:12.159
He was maybe twenty feet away from it.
00:12:12.240 --> 00:12:13.360
It tilted its head.
00:12:13.600 --> 00:12:15.440
Not turning, just tilting.
00:12:15.679 --> 00:12:19.840
Slowly left, then further left, like it was listening.
00:12:20.000 --> 00:12:20.960
Then it turned.
00:12:21.200 --> 00:12:31.919
Its face was stretched, almost like human, but the eyes were too wide, too dark, no whites, just black circles that didn't reflect any light.
00:12:32.080 --> 00:12:37.440
The mouth was open, no lips, just yellow, uneven teeth, and then it moved.
00:12:37.679 --> 00:12:38.559
It didn't walk.
00:12:38.799 --> 00:12:44.159
It jerked forward like something glitching, covering half the distance in a single lurch.
00:12:44.320 --> 00:12:46.720
Caleb panicked, floored the pedal.
00:12:46.879 --> 00:12:48.080
The engine roared.
00:12:48.240 --> 00:12:52.960
He sped forward, swerving slightly to miss it, and then it looked in the mirror.
00:12:53.120 --> 00:12:57.120
It was following, not walking, running on all fours.
00:12:57.279 --> 00:13:03.840
It moved like a spider, arms splayed, limbs bending at wrong angles, and it was fast.
00:13:04.080 --> 00:13:07.440
Caleb said it didn't seem like it was chasing to catch him.
00:13:07.600 --> 00:13:12.080
It was pacing him, mocking him, keeping up with the truck just out of reach.
00:13:12.240 --> 00:13:21.519
He hit fifty, then sixty, then seventy, dust flying, trees whipping past, every part of him screaming, and still it stayed with him.
00:13:21.679 --> 00:13:24.720
When he finally hit the driveway, he didn't stop.
00:13:24.960 --> 00:13:28.720
He jumped out, slammed the door behind him, and then ran inside.
00:13:28.799 --> 00:13:32.080
His mum was sitting on the couch, with a blanket over her knees.
00:13:32.240 --> 00:13:36.559
Before he could say a word, she looked at him and said You saw it, didn't you?
00:13:36.799 --> 00:13:37.840
Caleb froze.
00:13:38.000 --> 00:13:40.559
She stood up slowly, walked to the window.
00:13:40.799 --> 00:13:44.159
That thing's been around here since I was little, she said.
00:13:44.320 --> 00:13:45.840
It shows up to remind us.
00:13:46.000 --> 00:13:48.000
You don't go down that road after dark.
00:13:48.240 --> 00:13:49.759
He asked her what was it?
00:13:49.919 --> 00:13:50.879
She didn't answer.
00:13:51.039 --> 00:13:53.759
She told him never to speak about it out loud again.
00:13:53.919 --> 00:13:58.559
Then she sprinklas across the doorway, said a short prayer, and went to bed.
00:13:58.720 --> 00:14:00.320
That night Caleb didn't sleep.
00:14:00.480 --> 00:14:03.919
He sat in his room with the lamp on, staring it at the window.
00:14:04.080 --> 00:14:06.399
Then just after three AM, a knock.
00:14:06.559 --> 00:14:09.840
Not on the front door, on his second story bedroom window.
00:14:10.000 --> 00:14:11.840
He didn't move, he didn't breathe.
00:14:12.000 --> 00:14:17.279
He just listened, and after a few seconds it knocked again, this time slower, more deliberate.
00:14:17.440 --> 00:14:19.200
The next morning he went outside.
00:14:19.360 --> 00:14:29.440
There was no footprints on the ground, no broken branches, but the window screen was bent outward from the top, and something had scratched deep gouges into the wood beneath the sill.
00:14:29.600 --> 00:14:36.639
A week later his friend Tyler went back down Three Pine Road during the day and said he wanted to see what the fuss was about.
00:14:36.799 --> 00:14:44.879
He came back pale, said he found a half dead deer lying just off the road, body still warm, eyes wide open, not a mark on it.
00:14:45.120 --> 00:14:46.320
Just one thing wrong.
00:14:46.559 --> 00:14:52.799
Its legs had been bent backwards at the knee, like they'd been forced into the shape of humans.
00:14:53.039 --> 00:15:00.639
Caleb doesn't drive at night anymore, doesn't listen to static on the radio, and to this day he refuses to say the name of what he saw.
00:15:00.799 --> 00:15:06.639
Because in Navajo belief once you speak its name aloud, you're inviting it back in.
00:15:06.799 --> 00:15:20.320
If you're ever in Utah and you're driving down a road with no signs, no lights and nothing on the radio, and you see something in the distance that looks almost human, don't stop, don't slow down, and don't ever look back.
00:15:24.080 --> 00:15:26.000
It walked on two legs.
00:15:26.159 --> 00:15:30.240
This one comes from a guy named Mason, sent in from northern New Mexico.
00:15:30.399 --> 00:15:33.600
Him and his cousin Joe were out on a weekend hunting trip.
00:15:33.759 --> 00:15:36.320
Just the two of them, deep in the backcountry.
00:15:36.480 --> 00:15:40.559
No cell service, no other people for miles, just forest.
00:15:40.720 --> 00:15:45.679
They hunted these woods for years, but something about this trip felt different from the start.
00:15:45.840 --> 00:15:47.200
This is what Mason told me.
00:15:47.360 --> 00:15:49.600
It was October 2021.
00:15:49.840 --> 00:15:53.759
Cold mornings, clear skies, perfect conditions for deer.
00:15:53.919 --> 00:16:02.000
They hiked in about six miles from their truck, set up a small tent camp between two ridgelines overlooking a wide pine valley.
00:16:02.080 --> 00:16:05.039
They saw elk tracks, heard coyotes that night.
00:16:05.200 --> 00:16:07.039
It felt good, like old times.
00:16:07.200 --> 00:16:09.919
But the second night things started to feel a bit off.
00:16:10.080 --> 00:16:12.240
It started with the woods going silent.
00:16:12.399 --> 00:16:16.240
They were sitting by the fire eating jerky when Joe stopped.
00:16:16.559 --> 00:16:18.320
Mid sentence and looked up.
00:16:18.559 --> 00:16:19.759
Not a single sound.
00:16:20.000 --> 00:16:22.480
No bugs, no owls, no wind.
00:16:22.720 --> 00:16:25.919
Mason says it felt like the air itself was holding its breath.
00:16:26.080 --> 00:16:29.679
That kind of silence doesn't happen in the wild unless something's really wrong.
00:16:29.840 --> 00:16:33.360
They stayed up for a while, rifles close, but nothing happened.
00:16:33.600 --> 00:16:36.399
No howls, no movement, just dead quiet.
00:16:36.559 --> 00:16:40.000
Eventually they turned in, but neither of them really slept that night.
00:16:40.159 --> 00:16:43.919
Around two AM, Mason heard something outside the tent.
00:16:44.080 --> 00:16:51.840
Not scurrying, not small, footsteps crouching slowly through the brush, measured deliberately, and it wasn't four legs.
00:16:52.000 --> 00:16:53.679
He sat up and held his breath.
00:16:53.840 --> 00:16:58.799
The steps were pacing back and forth, about twenty feet from their tent.
00:16:58.960 --> 00:17:01.519
Big steps, heavy, then they stopped.
00:17:01.679 --> 00:17:03.039
He nudged Joe awake.
00:17:03.279 --> 00:17:04.640
Joe they listened.
00:17:04.799 --> 00:17:07.440
Then a sound that made his skin crawl.
00:17:07.759 --> 00:17:09.680
Joe, come out here, bring your light.
00:17:09.920 --> 00:17:13.200
Mason grabbed his rifle, because that was Joe's voice.
00:17:13.359 --> 00:17:14.000
Exactly.
00:17:14.160 --> 00:17:17.200
But Joe was right next to him, wide eyed and frozen still.
00:17:17.359 --> 00:17:18.960
Joe whispered, Did you hear that?
00:17:19.200 --> 00:17:20.000
Mason nodded.
00:17:20.160 --> 00:17:20.880
Then it repeated.
00:17:21.119 --> 00:17:22.799
Joe, come on man, it's me.
00:17:22.960 --> 00:17:24.640
Only this time it was closer.
00:17:24.799 --> 00:17:28.000
They didn't move, they didn't speak, they just held their breath.
00:17:28.160 --> 00:17:30.799
And after about thirty seconds it laughed.
00:17:31.039 --> 00:17:32.319
Not human laughter.
00:17:32.559 --> 00:17:33.279
Not real.
00:17:33.440 --> 00:17:37.759
It sounded like something that had heard people laugh and was trying to copy it.
00:17:37.839 --> 00:17:42.400
Then it took off fast, loud crashing through the brush, and gone within seconds.
00:17:42.640 --> 00:17:46.079
Mason says they waited until dawn before unzipping the tent.
00:17:46.240 --> 00:17:47.920
When they did, there was nothing.
00:17:48.240 --> 00:17:49.839
No prints, no blood.
00:17:50.079 --> 00:17:56.400
But every tree around the tent had scratch marks on it, about shoulder height, and on one tree was a handprint.
00:17:56.559 --> 00:17:59.440
Not a paw, not a hoof, an actual handprint.
00:17:59.680 --> 00:18:05.200
Four fingers, no thumb, long and thin, like something had dipped it in mud and splattered it on the bark.
00:18:05.279 --> 00:18:06.480
They broke camp fast.
00:18:06.640 --> 00:18:15.759
On the high couch they didn't say a word, but both of them kept hearing something behind them in the brush, following, pacing, never close but never gone.
00:18:15.920 --> 00:18:19.119
When they reached the truck, Mason turned around one last time.
00:18:19.359 --> 00:18:24.079
Way back up in the ridge between two trees, he saw something tall, still watching.
00:18:24.240 --> 00:18:26.960
He didn't tell Joe, he didn't say a word until a week later.
00:18:27.119 --> 00:18:31.599
Joe admitted he'd seen it too, standing there, and he was too afraid to speak about it.
00:18:31.759 --> 00:18:44.559
Neither of them have been back since, but sometimes Mason still dreams about it, waking up in the tent, hearing it walking, calling out in Joe's voice, and knowing in the dream that if he answers it, he won't wake up again.
00:18:48.319 --> 00:18:55.359
This next story comes from a man named Jack, a quiet guy with a strange past and a ranch no one wanted to talk about.
00:18:55.519 --> 00:19:05.279
A few years back he inherited his grandfather's land in northern Arizona and what he found buried beneath that barn floor changed the way he saw his family forever.
00:19:05.440 --> 00:19:08.559
Jack moved in during the winter of 2019.
00:19:08.880 --> 00:19:13.920
He didn't have much just to pick up, some tools, a cotton set up in the front room.
00:19:14.160 --> 00:19:16.480
The place was rough, dust everywhere.
00:19:16.640 --> 00:19:19.519
The power was spotty, but he liked being alone.
00:19:19.680 --> 00:19:22.240
He figured he'd start by fixing up the barn.
00:19:22.400 --> 00:19:26.000
Get some chickens, maybe some goats, just like his grandfather had.
00:19:26.160 --> 00:19:27.519
But locals they warned him.
00:19:27.680 --> 00:19:31.039
When he went into town for supplies, people give him strange looks.
00:19:31.200 --> 00:19:36.720
One old guy at the feed store asked where he was staying when Jack told him the man went quiet.
00:19:36.960 --> 00:19:38.640
You're cane to Hank Matthews?
00:19:38.799 --> 00:19:39.519
Jack nodded.
00:19:39.680 --> 00:19:41.519
Don't leave that barn alone, son.
00:19:41.680 --> 00:19:42.799
That ground's not right.
00:19:43.039 --> 00:19:44.079
Jack laughed it off.
00:19:44.240 --> 00:19:46.240
But looking back, that was the first warning.
00:19:46.480 --> 00:19:47.680
The barn was falling apart.
00:19:47.839 --> 00:19:53.359
Loose beams, rusted nails, slats warped from years of sun and storms.
00:19:53.519 --> 00:19:58.079
He started by cleaning debris, then decided to replace some of the old floorboards.
00:19:58.240 --> 00:19:59.519
That's when he noticed it.
00:19:59.680 --> 00:20:04.480
There was a strange smell coming from the far corner, like rot, but dry.
00:20:04.640 --> 00:20:06.880
Not fresh decay, something older.
00:20:07.039 --> 00:20:09.759
He picked up the boards, and beneath them dirt.
00:20:10.000 --> 00:20:12.000
But not just dirt, bones.
00:20:12.240 --> 00:20:16.799
Small bones at first, animals probably, but they were arranged.
00:20:17.039 --> 00:20:22.960
Circles, spirals, some tied with string, and others fused with wax or hair.
00:20:23.039 --> 00:20:26.799
Some of the bones had been carved like they'd been used for something.
00:20:26.960 --> 00:20:27.759
He felt sick.
00:20:27.920 --> 00:20:34.160
He covered it back up for the night, planning to burn the stuff the next day, but that night he started hearing strange things.
00:20:34.319 --> 00:20:36.960
At first it was the wind, or so he thought.
00:20:37.119 --> 00:20:40.720
But around one thirty AM in the morning it changed.
00:20:40.960 --> 00:20:45.200
He was lying on the cot, half asleep when he heard footsteps on the porch.
00:20:45.440 --> 00:20:48.960
Slow, deliberate, then a tap on the front window.
00:20:49.119 --> 00:20:49.759
He froze.
00:20:49.920 --> 00:20:50.640
He didn't look.
00:20:50.799 --> 00:20:51.920
He just held his breath.
00:20:52.079 --> 00:20:53.599
Another tap, then nothing.
00:20:53.759 --> 00:20:55.440
He stayed like that until sunrise.
00:20:55.519 --> 00:21:03.759
When he checked the porch in the morning, there were no footprints, but the porch dust had been brushed, like someone had dragged a brush across it and wiped them away.
00:21:03.920 --> 00:21:05.440
He tried to stay focused.
00:21:05.680 --> 00:21:07.440
Told himself it was just a local animal.
00:21:07.599 --> 00:21:08.640
Raccoon maybe.
00:21:08.720 --> 00:21:10.720
But every night that week it got worse.
00:21:10.960 --> 00:21:15.279
One night lying in bed, he heard his name whispered from the back room.
00:21:15.599 --> 00:21:16.000
Jack.
00:21:16.480 --> 00:21:17.759
It sounded like his mother.
00:21:17.839 --> 00:21:19.759
But she died in twenty sixteen.
00:21:19.920 --> 00:21:22.880
He didn't move, he didn't speak, he just listened.
00:21:23.039 --> 00:21:24.000
And then it laughed.
00:21:24.240 --> 00:21:30.559
Same brokey raspy chuckle he'd heard once as a kid during a thunderstorm when he got lost in the woods.
00:21:30.720 --> 00:21:32.079
He slept in his truck that night.
00:21:32.160 --> 00:21:54.160
The next morning he went back into the barn and started ripping out more of the floor, angry, panicked, and there it was, in the middle, buried under layers of dirt, a large stone slab black, cold to the touch, etched with lines that didn't make sense, like symbols half worn away by time, and took beneath the slab a photograph.
00:21:54.319 --> 00:21:56.079
It was old curled at the corners.
00:21:56.240 --> 00:21:59.839
In black and white, maybe the forties or fifties, it showed his own.
00:22:00.240 --> 00:22:04.079
Grandfather standing in front of a barn, but next to him was something else.
00:22:04.240 --> 00:22:12.160
A tall figure blurred at the edge, its head turned towards the camera, face stretched pale, eyes wide open.
00:22:12.319 --> 00:22:14.480
No one else in town ever mentioned that photo.
00:22:14.720 --> 00:22:20.000
Jack never showed it to anyone, but he kept it, tucked it in a locker box far away from the ranch.
00:22:20.160 --> 00:22:31.039
He sold the land a year later, and sometimes when he dreams, he sees the barn door creaking open and something crawling out from the dirt below, wearing his grandfather's boots.
00:22:31.359 --> 00:22:39.440
Stories like these are not easy to forget, whether they come from folklore, fear, or something people generally can't explain.
00:22:39.599 --> 00:22:43.359
They leave a mark on those who've experienced them and on those who hear them.
00:22:43.519 --> 00:22:45.920
This has been the Real Unexplained Stories.
00:22:46.079 --> 00:22:47.039
I'm Leon.
00:22:47.200 --> 00:22:49.680
Thank you for listening to our very first episode.
00:22:49.839 --> 00:22:57.839
If you'd like to hear more strange encounters and eerie mysteries and unexplained stories, be sure to follow the podcast wherever you're listening.
00:22:58.000 --> 00:22:59.359
Until next time.
