“During hunting season in 1954, my husband and I decided to join my folks in Flagstaff, AZ for a weekend of hunting. We went out in the folks’ big station wagon and decided to hunt in one of my family’s favorite hunting spots called Tin Roof. Why it had that name, I never knew, but the hunting was always good.
“I’ve been a skeptic pretty much my whole life. I was always the first one to think of a ‘scientific explanation’ for everything. But I have my doubts.
It was a late night, in the heat of summer. My sister was helping me clean my bedroom because she was staying to visit for a while. We were sitting on the floor, chatting about this and such, when we were both cut short. From outside my window came a noise.
Now, I live right on the edge of the woods in East Tennessee, and I’ve become familiar with all the sounds. Coyotes, owls, locusts, deer, I’ve heard it all before. But this wasn’t like that. No, no this was much different. This was much worse.
Here’s another creepy tale from the same person who shared “Footsteps on the Stairs“…
“This next one happened last summer with my brother, his wife, my daughter, and I. It was around June or July, and it gets so hot and humid in this part of Georgia. We drove to the Crockford/Pigeon Mountain Wildlife Preserve here in Walker County to try and get in some swimming at what is called ‘The Blue Hole’ by locals. However, the swimming hole was too crowded, so we decided to go up the mountain and explore while waiting for people to leave.
The whole area is deep woods, broken only by dirt roads. People camp at the bottom near the swimming hole. The part we went to was a few miles away from everyone, and we left the pickup truck since the roads were too narrow for it.
The four of us were walking up this gravel road for a good half hour to 45 minutes and for some reason I can’t recall, my brother walked on ahead because he wanted to check something out. He was supposed to come right back, but he didn’t. After nearly an hour, my sister-in-law and I started to worry about him.