“I am an avid fisherman. I live way out in Southern Illinois, in the middle of nothing surrounded by nowhere. Because of this, I am afforded the opportunity to fish whenever I want, which is normally every day after work, minus the bitterly cold winter months. I typically fish a strand of remote ponds on Ten Mile Creek.

One afternoon in May 2013, I was at one of my favorite spots. I’d been there about 20 minutes, give or take, when I started to feel unnaturally uneasy. I can’t really put into words the paranoid, gut-wrenching feeling that came over me. Now please keep in mind, I have been doing this type of thing my whole life. I’m often by myself, deep in the woods, and until then I never experienced this urgent need to flee.

I was reeling in my line when I began to hear leaves rustling. Problem was, there was no breeze, and it had been raining the whole day up until an hour before. I immediately assumed it was a deer or a raccoon rustling nearby. However, what I saw absolutely baffled me. I witnessed a single mass of leaves rolling around along the ground. It was just to the right of my position, no more than a hundred yards.

I watched in awe as the unnatural-looking mass began to make its way across the bank. This particular pond was inset, like a bowl in the ground. There was an inlet directly to the south, at the end of the pond, and that’s where I was, basically standing on the handle of a giant ladle. This mass was around 8 ft. x 8 ft. and moving southbound, just east of my location. I was frozen in fear and in absolute disbelief. The uneasy feeling quickly turned into full-blown panic.

I was trying to move, trying to get the hell out of there, but felt held in place by a feeling of utter sadness. It was by far the darkest, coldest, most empty feeling I’ve ever known. I then heard a horrible guttural noise. To this this day, the noise still causes me to wake up in cold sweats. I have nightmares. I tore my gaze away from the mass long enough to snatch an AR-15 from the ATV. Until that time, I had never, ever fired my weapon at something I could not identify. I said ‘God, forgive me’ and then fired 7 rounds at the mass. However, I don’t believe the shots I fired had any effect. The sound of the shots and my adrenaline did rally me enough to jump up and hurry home.

I haven’t been back to the spot, though I have looked down from atop the road a few times. Before that day, I couldn’t imagine anything that would keep me away from my favorite fishing hole, or terrify me that much. I’m still even sure was real. But I’ll never go back there again.”

See also: “Real Anglers Share Fishing Ghost Stories” or “Creepy Stories from the Woods“