A Canadian man is visiting his parents in a remote area of Newfoundland. One night, late at night, he takes a walk around the lake. He encounters an unexplained anomaly, then he makes a creepy discovery.
The following account was recently forwarded to me:
"As with many things that terrify us and cause us to question ourselves or the reality around us, I tend to keep this close to the chest - quiet and buried, where I put the things I hope to forget.
A bit of background. I grew up in a large city in eastern Canada. The whole of my life at that point had been spent around noise and light, traffic and tides of people. It made the concept of quiet solitude very appealing, and I'd learned to seek these things out and appreciate them whenever I could. So when the opportunity arose to visit my parent's home, I took it. This is because they grew up in the far eastern part of Canada, in Newfoundland. Not even from the 'big' city there, but from a small town. One of those towns you can see all of by standing on the biggest street within it. A remote part of a remote island in a remote country seemed like gold to me, especially at that time in my life.
I was in my early twenties. I'd took off straight out of college, aimed at a career, intent on making my mark. But the city I was in wasn't particularly accepting of my skills or the language I spoke, so finding work was difficult and depressing. I gamed a lot more than I should have, I ate more. I drank more. Everyone thought it was a good idea for a change of pace. Healthy, even.
Of the trip, I will only describe our descent, for it is the most opportune use of the word I will ever know. If you've never been in a small plane, at night, flying above a sea of clouds during a full moon, then you are missing one of the few plane-based pleasures available to people in the era of manned flight. It's magical. The sky looked like wet, black tarmac in headlights - so many stars, there seemed to be more than the sky could hold. Hovering in the middle of them was this spotlight of a moon - almost too bright to look at. These things together lit the rolling clouds beneath the plane. It looked like pillow stuffing, spread out horizon to horizon, all cast in a silver-blue light. It felt like I could walk on it, like it was only a few feet below the fuselage. It moved and breathed and changed as we flew over it. It really is a perfect memory.
Then we dove down, through that perfection, into darkness.
We arrived at a small airport outside of their hometown. We could have driven from St. John's but elected not to - overnight driving in Newfoundland is perilous for people not accustomed to small 'roads' and wildlife that still remains mostly wild. If your car hits a moose at 60kph, the moose won't be what gets scraped off the road. We still had some driving to do though, their hometown was not where we would be staying, but at a been-in-the-family-for-years cabin about 30 minutes away. In the woods.
My lifestyle back on the mainland, fueled by disappointment and depression had given me two things I couldn't shake when I landed. A desire to be OUTSIDE, and a completely messed up internal clock. I was so used to playing Ultima Online until 4am every night, that 2am felt pretty early. So when my parents went to bed, I let them know I was going for a walk. They understood, and Newfoundland is not known for violent crimes in the woods, so there was no real concern. I took a flashlight and a walking stick, mostly to avoid turning an ankle and for swatting away any unwanted attention from local fauna. Not that a broomstick (literally) would do much against an aggressive animal, but if you've ever gone walking anywhere not fully tamed, it just feels good to have something solid in your hands.
So off I went.
Now, ever since our descent, I'd been concerned. This general sense of tension. I attributed it to a new place, no real creature comforts (except some books) and a lack of computer. Maybe it was just the absence of that amazing scene above the clouds. Whatever it was, that feeling ratcheted up several levels just a few minutes from the house. I shelved it. I figured I'd acclimate shortly, and this was a clearly defined walking path that I knew circled around the small lake next to the cabin, and would bring me right back there in a couple kilometers. Probably a 45-minute walk if I kept a good pace, an hour if I was a bit more casual. The whole way around, I would be able to see the cabin, so I wouldn't lose my orientation. All in all, I'm trying to say I had my bases covered. I even had light, as the moon I'd seen earlier was still overhead, poking out from the overcast sky regularly enough to see. The clouds were fast, as they can be so close to the sea.
So, I'm walking down the path. Woods to my right - thick, impenetrable pine - and to my left the small lake, lit like glossy black, frosted glass by the wind and the moon. Solo walks are great for thinking. So I let my mind wander. The path was well kept, and the stick and flashlight utterly unnecessary.
At some indeterminate point in the walk, I felt 'someone walk over my grave.' You know those slow chills, when you can feel the wave of goosebumps appear, flowing up your back, neck, forearms and everything goes tight. I realized I was staring at the lake, at the white noise of the reflected light, and not paying attention to the woods. I became irrationally certain that something terrible was in the woods. I flicked on my flashlight as I turned to look, and it was like sinking in a hot tub. The goosebumps vanished, and the woods seemed utterly unremarkable. Mollified, I continued walking.
Then it happened again. Exact same feeling. Once again, I realized I was absentmindedly staring at the lake, wondering if my house was going to go IDOC in UO (I remember that specifically). At this point, I notice the cabin almost directly across from me beyond the lake. I am about as far as I'm going to get from the house during my walk, and all I want to be is back there with one of my books. As this thought crosses my mind, I notice that a small part of the reflection on the lake is missing. It's just gone, like someone went over it with a sharpie. So I look at that spot. Focus on it.
Of all the bad decisions in my life, that's the one I would wish to take back the most.
Even while my Homo Sapien brain is trying to assign some reason for this absence of reflection (half-sunk boat, thicket of reeds, weird stone outcropping), my lizard brain is telling me to back off as fast as I can. The spot is getting bigger. It is something, man-shaped, walking out of the water toward me (very clearly walking) - backlit by the moon. I'm frozen. I can't move. It's getting close to shore when I realize I still have a flashlight, one of the big ones people in cabins like to keep around. I drop my stick, fumble with the flashlight - not breaking eye contact with this thing. I find the switch (which was right where it should be, under my thumb, but hey, panic), and shine it at this man-shape.
Of course, there's nothing there at all. Just water and moonlit reflections all the way back to the cabin. I swear I stood there for 5 minutes, motionless except for my eyes which were grid-searching the entire lake. Finally, I decide I'm imagining things. Despite every inch of me still screaming to run. I decide I will head back the way I came at double speed. I flick the light switch off to get my night sight back.
The 'thing' is exactly where it would be if it hadn't stopped approaching, right where I had been pointing my light. Close enough now to start obscuring part of the cabin. Literally visible in the dark, but not in the light. I froze for some amount of time. Probably only a few seconds, but felt like a lot longer. It got closer.
Lake water moves noisily, but regularly. You watch reflection on it, and it's just noise. There are no regular waves or anything. It's just a constant 'shimmer'. The edges of this thing were like that. It was hard to notice at first, because just the lake was behind my view of it. But as it eclipsed the cabin, and some of the ground, I very clearly saw its edges move just like the lake. Some people have said scribbles, some have said static. I feel like these are synonymous descriptions of what I saw.
At about ten feet, I realized there wasn't going to be any kind of stopping. It wasn't going to stop and say something. I dropped the flashlight (heard it break) and sprinted back to the cabin. I fell once, skinning my shin pretty roughly, but made it back to the cabin in about 10 minutes (wasn't in great shape). I get back to the house. My head is pounding, ears roaring, I'm nauseous. I stumble in, and collapse into the downstairs bedroom (2-floor cabin, parents upstairs). They are un-disturbed by my noisiness, and I collapse into bed.
Then I notice my one window is framing the lake like a painting. Everything just outside the window is pitch black (moon on the other side of the house). I decide I can't deal with that, so I go back out to the main room and close all the doors and windows I can see and "sleep" on the sofa. At some point hours later, crashing from the adrenaline and the run, I fall asleep.
Next morning, my parents wake me up coming downstairs. They ask me why I'm sleeping on the couch, fully clothed and why my jeans are ripped. I'm too self-conscious at this point to say anything close to the truth, so I just say I fell, lost the flashlight and had to come back and just fell asleep on the couch on accident. They buy it. I didn't sleep well (or much) at all, so I decide to go to (actual) bed and get some (actual) sleep.
I walk over, open the door to my room, and lying perfectly aligned on the bed is the broken flashlight (covered in dirt) and the broomstick. Side by side, like matchsticks. Window. Locked." N
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Have you had a sighting of a winged humanoid or huge bat-like creature in the Chicago, Illinois metro area / Lake Michigan region? The entity has also been referred to as the 'Chicago Mothman', 'Chicago Owlman' & 'O'Hare Mothman.' - Chicago / Lake Michigan Winged Humanoid Regional Interactive Map - Please feel free to contact me at lonstrickler@phantomsandmonsters.com - your anonymity is guaranteed. Our investigative group is conducting a serious examination of his phenomenon. We are merely seeking the truth and wish to determine what eyewitnesses have been encountering. Your cooperation is truly appreciated.
Thanks. Lon Strickler
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