Creepy /Paranormal Thread
- Thread starter Lord Guts
- Start date
My brother took this shot at the Stanley Hotel in Colorado (the real life Shining Hotel, that’s purported to be haunted/was the inspiration for Stephen King) when we were there…
Two things:
1) It’s broad daylight in that photo, but this was an evening tour and it was pitch black out
2) You can see the windows are boarded to the hotel there. They are NOT boarded today. But they were back in the 1970’s…
Lord Chevy
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Man allegedly found covered in blood after breaking into home of Chick-fil-A coworker to perform exorcism: 'She's possessed!' | Blaze Media
He demanded that police 'play track 3' to save the woman.
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666
Revelation
666
Revelation
666
Revelation
On the Russian ice road, you always help your fellow travelers
When people hear my wife’s Russian, they imagine a tall blonde girl with a funny accent who wears heels for every grocery run. Reality couldn’t be farther from the stereotype: Lana is dark haired, speaks better English than I do, and is completely obsessed with sneakers. She does meet ONE stereotype, though: she never gets cold, seeing how she lived in Russia until she was eighteen.
Not in Moscow, of course. Did you know that Moscow’s actually pretty warm? There are entire states in America where winters are far colder than anything Moscovites ever have to deal with. No, my wife comes from a tiny town far up Russian north, on the tundra. A dark, gloomy, and a *very* cold place inside the Arctic Circle, with extremely harsh winters and even harsher people. A place that meets the stereotypes.
I’ve met my in-laws all of two times including our wedding, both times as they traveled to the States. Frankly, I never had any intention of visiting my Lana’s hometown, until she got that fateful call nine days ago. My mother in law had had a stroke. While her condition was stable for the time being, the local doctor expected the worst could happen at any minute. Transporting her to a better hospital was out of question as she was in no state for the kind of a journey that you’ll see described below.
My wife made travel arrangements immediately. I had a valid Russian visa from a business trip to Moscow a few weeks prior so I decided to go with her. Now, getting to my wife’s hometown isn’t easy. You’re in for a flight to Moscow, then a connecting flight to Norilsk, one of the biggest cities in the Russian tundra. From there, it’s an hour long trip down the Yenisei river, by barge in summer and on cars over ice in the winter.
Urgently getting to Moscow wasn’t that hard. There, however, we faced additional difficulties. First of all, apparently I couldn’t actually fly to Norilsk with Lana as the city was closed to foreigners. Before we could even process that, we were told that Norilsk airport was closed for all aircraft due to poor weather conditions and the weather wasn’t expected to improve that week. I tried to console Lana as best as I could, but news of her mom getting worse drove her crazy. Soon, Lana suggested an “alternative”: it was possible to fly to a city a fair bit south of Norilsk which was safe from the storms. For a modest fee, a family friend living there was willing to take a day’s journey up the ice road to Lana’s hometown. Well, more like a night’s journey since according to him, it was better to travel at night by car’s lights than by what passed as daylight.
I told my wife she was insane. She, however, was adamant on her plan, saying she’s done *zimnik* (how Russians call their ice roads) many times with her dad and it was perfectly safe. She wouldn’t budge no matter how I pleaded and told me I was welcome to stay in Moscow. Obviously, that was not an option, and in the end I gave up.
We flew to our next destination, and the cold hit me as soon as I stepped out of the plane. It was a different kind of cold, invasive and ruthless, and it didn’t care about layers of sweaters and socks I had on. I shivered imagining how much colder it was going to get.
We met with the trucker who was to take us up North. He called himself Kolya, and my wife “Sveta”, the Russian version of her name. Me, he didn’t call at all, instead referring to me derisively as “*Mister Amerikashka*” whenever he spoke to my wife. Lana told me with a chuckle she didn’t tell Kolya I could understand Russian, although I don’t think he would’ve cared.
Kolya was supposed to be a few years younger than my wife but looked much older, his skin and posture worn down by the harsh conditions of his homeland. He laughed at our American shoes and coats and said he would pack extra jackets, woolen socks and *valenki* for us “just in case.” His brother helped load his truck, which looked like it had seen the fall of the Soviet Union, and then Kolya sat down to enjoy a shot of vodka. One for the road.
My wife saw me blanch at that.
“This isn’t New York, or even Moscow,” she said quietly. “People here are a bit behind in terms of DUI. Don’t worry, he won’t drink enough to get impaired, he’s seen that kill people on the road.”
Well.
Indeed, the first shot was the last and Kolya hopped into the truck. He offered my wife the shotgun seat which, as far as I understood Russian macho culture, was basically equivalent of throwing a glove in my face. Whatever. As long as he got us there.
The road was a dark stretch of ice and packed snow powdered by the fresh snow that had fallen that morning. Snowdrifts bordered both sides of the roads and leaked onto its surface a fair bit. Otherwise, it was the same barren flat surface for miles. In the first couple of hours, we saw a few cars going the opposite way to us. Then a car going in the same direction as us overtook us and disappeared in the darkness ahead at surprising speeds. It was a freaking tiny, rusted-through Subaru. I gave up on understanding Russians then and there.
Shortly after the Subaru guy, it started snowing. Just a bit at first, then more and more. Kolya didn’t seem bothered and I tried to stay calm as well, which I managed mostly successfully until the wind joined in. Unlike the snow, it started hard from the get go.
Have you ever heard wind howling and become unsettled by the sound? Now imagine the same, but in the depths of a black night lit only by your car’s headlights. Except for your own vehicle, the world around is silent and devoid of life, frozen until the spring. Not that you can see much through the thick snow that is now the wind’s plaything, flurrying around the car, blanketing the windows.
Our pace slowed to a crawl as Kolya swore colorfully in Russian. “Maybe stop and wait it out?” I suggested nervously.
“We can’t.” Lana said without bothering to ask our driver. “If we stop there’s a good chance the car won’t start up again, and we are stuck here waiting for someone to pick us up. And it’s been… empty today.”
The realization we were at a very real risk of freezing to death hit me like a ton of bricks. I leaned back into my seat and closed my eyes, wordlessly praying for the best. The only response was the wind howling – and it sounded so strange. It would start low and quiet and then get louder and louder until a yowling crescendo, then cut off abruptly. Then start again. And the sound came from different directions, each starting at a different time, like a pack of wolves howling.
I opened my eyes to obvious tension in the car. Lana and Kolya were both hunched forward, peering intently through the glass for all the good it did them. Kolya glanced back at me.
“Don’t worry, be happy!” Kolya proclaimed with a horrible Russian accent. “It is all OK! Don’t worry, America!”
He was lying. I might have been useless on the ice road, but I was a criminal defense lawyer, and a good one at that. And Kolya was a bad liar. There was sweat beading on his face and neck, and his voice was forced. He was very much scared – and that made me scared, too.
Kolya murmured something to my wife, too quick and quiet for my distracted mind to decipher. She nodded.
“What was that?”
“There’s a village maybe half an hour up the road, if we keep this pace. We get there and settle down until the morning.”
“I see. Sorry about the delay.” In reality I was extremely happy to hear that. “Bad wind, huh?”
Lana grabbed my hand, quick and sudden as a snake. “Don’t. Mention. The Wind.”
Another sound came through the storm. A long, tinny wail that sent shivers down my spine. It took me a few moments to recognize the familiar sound of the wind whistling through walls and chimney. And then another moment to realize there were no fucking walls around for the wind to whistle.
I opened my mouth to comment, and my wife’s grip tightened on my arm. In that moment, I *knew* to keep it quiet.
We drove in tension-filled silence as a cacophony of sounds erupted through the storm. Wails and shrieks, howls and cries – no way no fucking wind was producing all of that.
The sounds grew closer, grew louder. I grabbed my wife’s hands as we both stared desperately ahead. Through the flurry, we barely made out something – a large, dark shape reflecting our lights, or maybe piercing the darkness with lights of its own…
Kolya swore and swerved to the side. We were passing another car stuck in the snow. Its blinkers flashed.
“Stop.” Lana said, sudden and harsh.
“What?” Kolya asked, in Russian. “You insane?”
“Stop.” My wife repeated. “On the ice road, you help. That’s the rule, remember?”
Kolya gave her a long, hard look that I didn’t like at all. “That’s the rule on the road.” He echoed, and hit the brakes, slowing the car without actually stopping. I opened the door and peered outside. The driver of the stuck vehicle was already running towards us. I recognized the car itself as the Subaru that passed us earlier.
“Thank God you people were…” the driver began. “Get in, idiot!” Kolya shouted, and the guy shut up and jumped in. He was just a kid, no older than twenty, with dark red hair and a patchy little beard. He looked cold and terrified.
“Thank god!” He repeated, in a hushed whisper. “I was sure they’d get me.”
“They?” I asked, confused. Kolya and Lana turned to look at the kid in unison, and their looks could kill.
“They, yeah, I mean the wind and snow,” the kid corrected quickly. I had a sudden abrupt feeling that it was too late for that… even as I still had no clue what was going on. We drove on, and the interplay of howls and shrieks outside the car became unbearable in the silence.
“What’s your name, dude?” I asked him in my best Russian. He blinked.
“Sergei. Sergei Molchanov. My parents are… anyway, it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have been driving, but I wanted to make it to my girlfriend’s birthday, and…”
“Both of you shut up.” My wife barked, and we did. Immediately I noticed the change in surrounding sounds – they were much louder now. The highest pitch shrieks rang in my ears. The low, insistent howling seemed to surround the car. And every now and then, something that sounded like an actual *roar* cut through the night.
The car picked up the pace. I looked at Kolya and realized he was absolutely *flooring* the gas pedal, poor visibility be damned. His truck was lurching along as fast as it could manage in the conditions, and yet the encroaching racket made it obvious we were nowhere near fast enough.
Then the car hit something. We were all jerked forward as the truck came to a staggering halt. I hit my temple hard on the back of my wife’s seat.
“What… was that?” I groaned.
“Must have hit a chunk of ice or something,” Lana's voice sounded strangely muffled. I remember focusing on her lips, and how pale and thin they looked. The dull resounding pain in my head exploded into something hot and overwhelming, and I collapsed into the backseat.
“He’s passed out!” Sergei called out. I wanted to correct him, but my voice wouldn’t obey me. My lids seemed to weigh a ton each – I could barely open my eyes enough to see the trio of Russians huddled together, the car’s flickering light illuminating their pale faces.
“What now?” Sergei asked nervously.
“Well, let’s see,” I don’t think I would’ve been able to understand complex Russian in that state, if it wasn’t my Lana speaking, her voice so familiar down to every inflection. “Why don’t you go out and check what we hit and if we can clear it out somehow?”
“What?!”
“We helped you, didn’t we?” In the car’s light, Lana’s green eyes seemed very blue. “So why don’t you help us back. After all, on the ice road you help each other. That’s the rule.”
Kolya grumbled in agreement. Then he reached over and pulled out a rifle, and aimed it at the boy.
Sergei whimpered. “You know they’re out there!”
“Well,” Lana’s voice was impeccably calm. Cold. “I guess you’d better not speak about them out loud, then. Better not even think about them, really. ”
My eyes closed against my will. I heard a door swing open, and a rush of cold air. Finally, I passed out for real, and in my unconsciousness I dreamed of horrified screaming and a single terrible roar that filled the night.
I came to during the day, on a couch of some local family that agreed to house us for a bit of cash. My wife fussed over me. Once she was sure I was conscious and lucid, she rushed me into the car saying we could do the rest of the drive by day, and an actual doctor could look at me in her hometown.
I settled in the backseat of the car. Vague memories haunted me.
“Where’s the kid? Sergei?”
“What kid, darling?” Lana asked, in sincere surprise.
“There was no kid, we traveled alone,” Kolya added, in Russian. And I wondered how he knew what I was asking about, or that I’d understand his answer. But aloud, I could only say: “This young redheaded guy…”
“Sweetie, I’m getting really worried. You must’ve hit your head harder than I thought. We gotta get you checked out as soon as we get back to the States. Maybe even a good checkup in Moscow…”
I didn’t really know what to say after that.
We made it the rest of the way uneventfully. Unfortunately, my mother in law had slipped into unconsciousness before we even set out for our drive, and she passed away several hours after our arrival. Lana didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye. She is absolutely devastated right now, so I’m trying my best to focus on comforting her. We’re staying here until the funeral, and I can’t stay I’m looking forward to the ride back.
My father in law graciously gifted me a proper Russian winter coat, so I went ahead and packed my American camel coat that proved terribly insufficient for the weather. As I was folding it, I noticed a few curly red hairs stuck to the light beige fabric.
And I felt so cold.
When people hear my wife’s Russian, they imagine a tall blonde girl with a funny accent who wears heels for every grocery run. Reality couldn’t be farther from the stereotype: Lana is dark haired, speaks better English than I do, and is completely obsessed with sneakers. She does meet ONE stereotype, though: she never gets cold, seeing how she lived in Russia until she was eighteen.
Not in Moscow, of course. Did you know that Moscow’s actually pretty warm? There are entire states in America where winters are far colder than anything Moscovites ever have to deal with. No, my wife comes from a tiny town far up Russian north, on the tundra. A dark, gloomy, and a *very* cold place inside the Arctic Circle, with extremely harsh winters and even harsher people. A place that meets the stereotypes.
I’ve met my in-laws all of two times including our wedding, both times as they traveled to the States. Frankly, I never had any intention of visiting my Lana’s hometown, until she got that fateful call nine days ago. My mother in law had had a stroke. While her condition was stable for the time being, the local doctor expected the worst could happen at any minute. Transporting her to a better hospital was out of question as she was in no state for the kind of a journey that you’ll see described below.
My wife made travel arrangements immediately. I had a valid Russian visa from a business trip to Moscow a few weeks prior so I decided to go with her. Now, getting to my wife’s hometown isn’t easy. You’re in for a flight to Moscow, then a connecting flight to Norilsk, one of the biggest cities in the Russian tundra. From there, it’s an hour long trip down the Yenisei river, by barge in summer and on cars over ice in the winter.
Urgently getting to Moscow wasn’t that hard. There, however, we faced additional difficulties. First of all, apparently I couldn’t actually fly to Norilsk with Lana as the city was closed to foreigners. Before we could even process that, we were told that Norilsk airport was closed for all aircraft due to poor weather conditions and the weather wasn’t expected to improve that week. I tried to console Lana as best as I could, but news of her mom getting worse drove her crazy. Soon, Lana suggested an “alternative”: it was possible to fly to a city a fair bit south of Norilsk which was safe from the storms. For a modest fee, a family friend living there was willing to take a day’s journey up the ice road to Lana’s hometown. Well, more like a night’s journey since according to him, it was better to travel at night by car’s lights than by what passed as daylight.
I told my wife she was insane. She, however, was adamant on her plan, saying she’s done *zimnik* (how Russians call their ice roads) many times with her dad and it was perfectly safe. She wouldn’t budge no matter how I pleaded and told me I was welcome to stay in Moscow. Obviously, that was not an option, and in the end I gave up.
We flew to our next destination, and the cold hit me as soon as I stepped out of the plane. It was a different kind of cold, invasive and ruthless, and it didn’t care about layers of sweaters and socks I had on. I shivered imagining how much colder it was going to get.
We met with the trucker who was to take us up North. He called himself Kolya, and my wife “Sveta”, the Russian version of her name. Me, he didn’t call at all, instead referring to me derisively as “*Mister Amerikashka*” whenever he spoke to my wife. Lana told me with a chuckle she didn’t tell Kolya I could understand Russian, although I don’t think he would’ve cared.
Kolya was supposed to be a few years younger than my wife but looked much older, his skin and posture worn down by the harsh conditions of his homeland. He laughed at our American shoes and coats and said he would pack extra jackets, woolen socks and *valenki* for us “just in case.” His brother helped load his truck, which looked like it had seen the fall of the Soviet Union, and then Kolya sat down to enjoy a shot of vodka. One for the road.
My wife saw me blanch at that.
“This isn’t New York, or even Moscow,” she said quietly. “People here are a bit behind in terms of DUI. Don’t worry, he won’t drink enough to get impaired, he’s seen that kill people on the road.”
Well.
Indeed, the first shot was the last and Kolya hopped into the truck. He offered my wife the shotgun seat which, as far as I understood Russian macho culture, was basically equivalent of throwing a glove in my face. Whatever. As long as he got us there.
The road was a dark stretch of ice and packed snow powdered by the fresh snow that had fallen that morning. Snowdrifts bordered both sides of the roads and leaked onto its surface a fair bit. Otherwise, it was the same barren flat surface for miles. In the first couple of hours, we saw a few cars going the opposite way to us. Then a car going in the same direction as us overtook us and disappeared in the darkness ahead at surprising speeds. It was a freaking tiny, rusted-through Subaru. I gave up on understanding Russians then and there.
Shortly after the Subaru guy, it started snowing. Just a bit at first, then more and more. Kolya didn’t seem bothered and I tried to stay calm as well, which I managed mostly successfully until the wind joined in. Unlike the snow, it started hard from the get go.
Have you ever heard wind howling and become unsettled by the sound? Now imagine the same, but in the depths of a black night lit only by your car’s headlights. Except for your own vehicle, the world around is silent and devoid of life, frozen until the spring. Not that you can see much through the thick snow that is now the wind’s plaything, flurrying around the car, blanketing the windows.
Our pace slowed to a crawl as Kolya swore colorfully in Russian. “Maybe stop and wait it out?” I suggested nervously.
“We can’t.” Lana said without bothering to ask our driver. “If we stop there’s a good chance the car won’t start up again, and we are stuck here waiting for someone to pick us up. And it’s been… empty today.”
The realization we were at a very real risk of freezing to death hit me like a ton of bricks. I leaned back into my seat and closed my eyes, wordlessly praying for the best. The only response was the wind howling – and it sounded so strange. It would start low and quiet and then get louder and louder until a yowling crescendo, then cut off abruptly. Then start again. And the sound came from different directions, each starting at a different time, like a pack of wolves howling.
I opened my eyes to obvious tension in the car. Lana and Kolya were both hunched forward, peering intently through the glass for all the good it did them. Kolya glanced back at me.
“Don’t worry, be happy!” Kolya proclaimed with a horrible Russian accent. “It is all OK! Don’t worry, America!”
He was lying. I might have been useless on the ice road, but I was a criminal defense lawyer, and a good one at that. And Kolya was a bad liar. There was sweat beading on his face and neck, and his voice was forced. He was very much scared – and that made me scared, too.
Kolya murmured something to my wife, too quick and quiet for my distracted mind to decipher. She nodded.
“What was that?”
“There’s a village maybe half an hour up the road, if we keep this pace. We get there and settle down until the morning.”
“I see. Sorry about the delay.” In reality I was extremely happy to hear that. “Bad wind, huh?”
Lana grabbed my hand, quick and sudden as a snake. “Don’t. Mention. The Wind.”
Another sound came through the storm. A long, tinny wail that sent shivers down my spine. It took me a few moments to recognize the familiar sound of the wind whistling through walls and chimney. And then another moment to realize there were no fucking walls around for the wind to whistle.
I opened my mouth to comment, and my wife’s grip tightened on my arm. In that moment, I *knew* to keep it quiet.
We drove in tension-filled silence as a cacophony of sounds erupted through the storm. Wails and shrieks, howls and cries – no way no fucking wind was producing all of that.
The sounds grew closer, grew louder. I grabbed my wife’s hands as we both stared desperately ahead. Through the flurry, we barely made out something – a large, dark shape reflecting our lights, or maybe piercing the darkness with lights of its own…
Kolya swore and swerved to the side. We were passing another car stuck in the snow. Its blinkers flashed.
“Stop.” Lana said, sudden and harsh.
“What?” Kolya asked, in Russian. “You insane?”
“Stop.” My wife repeated. “On the ice road, you help. That’s the rule, remember?”
Kolya gave her a long, hard look that I didn’t like at all. “That’s the rule on the road.” He echoed, and hit the brakes, slowing the car without actually stopping. I opened the door and peered outside. The driver of the stuck vehicle was already running towards us. I recognized the car itself as the Subaru that passed us earlier.
“Thank God you people were…” the driver began. “Get in, idiot!” Kolya shouted, and the guy shut up and jumped in. He was just a kid, no older than twenty, with dark red hair and a patchy little beard. He looked cold and terrified.
“Thank god!” He repeated, in a hushed whisper. “I was sure they’d get me.”
“They?” I asked, confused. Kolya and Lana turned to look at the kid in unison, and their looks could kill.
“They, yeah, I mean the wind and snow,” the kid corrected quickly. I had a sudden abrupt feeling that it was too late for that… even as I still had no clue what was going on. We drove on, and the interplay of howls and shrieks outside the car became unbearable in the silence.
“What’s your name, dude?” I asked him in my best Russian. He blinked.
“Sergei. Sergei Molchanov. My parents are… anyway, it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have been driving, but I wanted to make it to my girlfriend’s birthday, and…”
“Both of you shut up.” My wife barked, and we did. Immediately I noticed the change in surrounding sounds – they were much louder now. The highest pitch shrieks rang in my ears. The low, insistent howling seemed to surround the car. And every now and then, something that sounded like an actual *roar* cut through the night.
The car picked up the pace. I looked at Kolya and realized he was absolutely *flooring* the gas pedal, poor visibility be damned. His truck was lurching along as fast as it could manage in the conditions, and yet the encroaching racket made it obvious we were nowhere near fast enough.
Then the car hit something. We were all jerked forward as the truck came to a staggering halt. I hit my temple hard on the back of my wife’s seat.
“What… was that?” I groaned.
“Must have hit a chunk of ice or something,” Lana's voice sounded strangely muffled. I remember focusing on her lips, and how pale and thin they looked. The dull resounding pain in my head exploded into something hot and overwhelming, and I collapsed into the backseat.
“He’s passed out!” Sergei called out. I wanted to correct him, but my voice wouldn’t obey me. My lids seemed to weigh a ton each – I could barely open my eyes enough to see the trio of Russians huddled together, the car’s flickering light illuminating their pale faces.
“What now?” Sergei asked nervously.
“Well, let’s see,” I don’t think I would’ve been able to understand complex Russian in that state, if it wasn’t my Lana speaking, her voice so familiar down to every inflection. “Why don’t you go out and check what we hit and if we can clear it out somehow?”
“What?!”
“We helped you, didn’t we?” In the car’s light, Lana’s green eyes seemed very blue. “So why don’t you help us back. After all, on the ice road you help each other. That’s the rule.”
Kolya grumbled in agreement. Then he reached over and pulled out a rifle, and aimed it at the boy.
Sergei whimpered. “You know they’re out there!”
“Well,” Lana’s voice was impeccably calm. Cold. “I guess you’d better not speak about them out loud, then. Better not even think about them, really. ”
My eyes closed against my will. I heard a door swing open, and a rush of cold air. Finally, I passed out for real, and in my unconsciousness I dreamed of horrified screaming and a single terrible roar that filled the night.
I came to during the day, on a couch of some local family that agreed to house us for a bit of cash. My wife fussed over me. Once she was sure I was conscious and lucid, she rushed me into the car saying we could do the rest of the drive by day, and an actual doctor could look at me in her hometown.
I settled in the backseat of the car. Vague memories haunted me.
“Where’s the kid? Sergei?”
“What kid, darling?” Lana asked, in sincere surprise.
“There was no kid, we traveled alone,” Kolya added, in Russian. And I wondered how he knew what I was asking about, or that I’d understand his answer. But aloud, I could only say: “This young redheaded guy…”
“Sweetie, I’m getting really worried. You must’ve hit your head harder than I thought. We gotta get you checked out as soon as we get back to the States. Maybe even a good checkup in Moscow…”
I didn’t really know what to say after that.
We made it the rest of the way uneventfully. Unfortunately, my mother in law had slipped into unconsciousness before we even set out for our drive, and she passed away several hours after our arrival. Lana didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye. She is absolutely devastated right now, so I’m trying my best to focus on comforting her. We’re staying here until the funeral, and I can’t stay I’m looking forward to the ride back.
My father in law graciously gifted me a proper Russian winter coat, so I went ahead and packed my American camel coat that proved terribly insufficient for the weather. As I was folding it, I noticed a few curly red hairs stuck to the light beige fabric.
And I felt so cold.
666
Revelation
The Last Message
I never really believed in paranormal things or anything like that. I’m the kind of person who would be the last to believe in such things. But what happened that night changed everything.
It was around 10 PM. I was comfortably settled on the couch, watching a series on Netflix. The soft light from the screen illuminated the room, while the silence of the house was broken only by the characters' voices. My phone was beside me when it suddenly vibrated. Instinctively, I picked it up and saw a message from an unknown number, a number that definitely wasn’t in my contacts.
Curiosity took over. When I opened the conversation, a wave of dread washed over me: "You are being watched." I tried to convince myself it was just my friends playing a prank, but the idea quickly faded when another message arrived: "Look out the window."
I thought about ignoring it. It was just some random number, and the idea of looking outside felt absurdly risky. But a strange sensation, like a voice inside urging me to act, led me to rise. The night was dark, and I could see nothing beyond the shadows of my own bushes. Another message: "Now you don’t see."
Anxiety settled in my chest. I replied, almost pleading: "What do you want from me?" A quick response came: "Leave me alone."
The tension escalated, as if the atmosphere around me were thickening. Then the next message made me freeze: "Come to the back door." My heart raced. Reluctantly, I walked to the back, the feeling of being watched growing with each step. I sent a message: "I’m here." The silence was deafening.
With a courage I didn’t know I had, I opened the door. My backyard was well-lit, but darkness seemed to swallow everything around me. The air felt heavy, and there was a sweet, almost nauseating smell that made me uneasy. "Now you see," the message echoed in my mind.
I looked into the darkness. At first, nothing. But then, something caught my eye in the bushes. I put on my glasses, trying to see better. What I saw made my blood run cold: a humanoid figure, distorted and shadowy, was there, watching me. Its eyes were not eyes at all, but deep voids that seemed to absorb the light. I felt a shiver run down my spine, and before I could react, the figure sprinted toward me.
I slammed the door shut and locked it immediately, my heart pounding wildly. The thing banged on the door with a tremendous force, a sound echoing as if it were testing the house's resistance. Silence. I called the police while making sure all the windows were secure. I peeked through the peephole, but saw nothing. The darkness now felt denser, as if it were alive.
The police arrived, but found nothing. Relief mixed with confusion made no sense. After they left, I couldn’t sleep. What was that thing? What did it want? The messages continued to echo in my mind, like a constant whisper reminding me that I wasn’t alone.
The next day, I received another message, this one without warning: "You thought you were free?" The moment of peace I longed for never came. Days dragged on, and the messages kept coming. Sometimes they were just unsettling words: "I am close" or "You cannot escape." But other times, they were distorted images, as if someone were trying to show me the very essence of terror.
I knew I couldn’t go on like this. I needed to find out what was happening. I started researching stories of hauntings, abductions, and strange sightings. I discovered accounts of people who had encountered similar figures—beings that seemed to feed off fear, hiding in the shadows, always watching. And always waiting.
One night, as I was getting ready for bed, my phone vibrated again. It was a message: "You still don’t understand." The air felt heavier, and the temperature dropped abruptly. A sense of despair overwhelmed me. I went to the window and looked outside. The darkness seemed to pulse, as if it were alive.
And then I saw it. The figure, now closer, clearer. It was no longer just a shadow. It was a grotesque creature, with scaly skin and eyes that looked like two deep holes, empty and full of malice. The creature smiled, and I realized that the true terror was just beginning.
In the back of my mind, a voice whispered: "You should never have looked."
I came to Reddit to seek help and advice on what to do. I can't sleep, with that feeling of being watched. That sinister smile is still in my head. If anyone has encountered that thing and managed to survive, please help me.
I never really believed in paranormal things or anything like that. I’m the kind of person who would be the last to believe in such things. But what happened that night changed everything.
It was around 10 PM. I was comfortably settled on the couch, watching a series on Netflix. The soft light from the screen illuminated the room, while the silence of the house was broken only by the characters' voices. My phone was beside me when it suddenly vibrated. Instinctively, I picked it up and saw a message from an unknown number, a number that definitely wasn’t in my contacts.
Curiosity took over. When I opened the conversation, a wave of dread washed over me: "You are being watched." I tried to convince myself it was just my friends playing a prank, but the idea quickly faded when another message arrived: "Look out the window."
I thought about ignoring it. It was just some random number, and the idea of looking outside felt absurdly risky. But a strange sensation, like a voice inside urging me to act, led me to rise. The night was dark, and I could see nothing beyond the shadows of my own bushes. Another message: "Now you don’t see."
Anxiety settled in my chest. I replied, almost pleading: "What do you want from me?" A quick response came: "Leave me alone."
The tension escalated, as if the atmosphere around me were thickening. Then the next message made me freeze: "Come to the back door." My heart raced. Reluctantly, I walked to the back, the feeling of being watched growing with each step. I sent a message: "I’m here." The silence was deafening.
With a courage I didn’t know I had, I opened the door. My backyard was well-lit, but darkness seemed to swallow everything around me. The air felt heavy, and there was a sweet, almost nauseating smell that made me uneasy. "Now you see," the message echoed in my mind.
I looked into the darkness. At first, nothing. But then, something caught my eye in the bushes. I put on my glasses, trying to see better. What I saw made my blood run cold: a humanoid figure, distorted and shadowy, was there, watching me. Its eyes were not eyes at all, but deep voids that seemed to absorb the light. I felt a shiver run down my spine, and before I could react, the figure sprinted toward me.
I slammed the door shut and locked it immediately, my heart pounding wildly. The thing banged on the door with a tremendous force, a sound echoing as if it were testing the house's resistance. Silence. I called the police while making sure all the windows were secure. I peeked through the peephole, but saw nothing. The darkness now felt denser, as if it were alive.
The police arrived, but found nothing. Relief mixed with confusion made no sense. After they left, I couldn’t sleep. What was that thing? What did it want? The messages continued to echo in my mind, like a constant whisper reminding me that I wasn’t alone.
The next day, I received another message, this one without warning: "You thought you were free?" The moment of peace I longed for never came. Days dragged on, and the messages kept coming. Sometimes they were just unsettling words: "I am close" or "You cannot escape." But other times, they were distorted images, as if someone were trying to show me the very essence of terror.
I knew I couldn’t go on like this. I needed to find out what was happening. I started researching stories of hauntings, abductions, and strange sightings. I discovered accounts of people who had encountered similar figures—beings that seemed to feed off fear, hiding in the shadows, always watching. And always waiting.
One night, as I was getting ready for bed, my phone vibrated again. It was a message: "You still don’t understand." The air felt heavier, and the temperature dropped abruptly. A sense of despair overwhelmed me. I went to the window and looked outside. The darkness seemed to pulse, as if it were alive.
And then I saw it. The figure, now closer, clearer. It was no longer just a shadow. It was a grotesque creature, with scaly skin and eyes that looked like two deep holes, empty and full of malice. The creature smiled, and I realized that the true terror was just beginning.
In the back of my mind, a voice whispered: "You should never have looked."
I came to Reddit to seek help and advice on what to do. I can't sleep, with that feeling of being watched. That sinister smile is still in my head. If anyone has encountered that thing and managed to survive, please help me.
666
Revelation
A hiker decided to go on a hike by himself. Something he was not very used to. The whole day was normal. Trees and bushes engulfed his surroundings. He enjoyed being outdoors in the mountains. Nothing seemed strange to him, that was until he was making his way back to his car. He figured an eight hour hike was good enough. The sky was already getting dark and he needed to get back, fast. What was odd was how much he didn’t recognize the trail back. He began to panic.
Night had already taken over and all he had was a flashlight and no clue on how to get back. He knew it was already too late and too dangerous to keep going through the perilous forest. He began to worry that he would have no shelter for the night when almost luckily enough, he stumbled across a broken-down cabin. It was dark, and seemed like no one had visited it in years, but he knew it was the only place where he could rest until daylight, especially since his flashlight was running out of battery. He knocked on the door a few times but no one answered, so he let himself in where strangely enough, a perfect bed fitted for one person awaited him in the center. He knew that if the owner came back he could explain himself, he was sure that the owner wouldn’t mind, or was even probably dead. So he went ahead and got himself comfortable in bed. As he tried to sleep, he couldn’t ignore the collection of paintings around the room; portraits of strange looking people all peering at him, each wearing a smile that sent chills up his spine. Not too long after his exhaustion from the hike got the best of him and he was able to ignore the faces.
The next morning he got up early and was shocked to see that there were no paintings around the room, but windows…
Night had already taken over and all he had was a flashlight and no clue on how to get back. He knew it was already too late and too dangerous to keep going through the perilous forest. He began to worry that he would have no shelter for the night when almost luckily enough, he stumbled across a broken-down cabin. It was dark, and seemed like no one had visited it in years, but he knew it was the only place where he could rest until daylight, especially since his flashlight was running out of battery. He knocked on the door a few times but no one answered, so he let himself in where strangely enough, a perfect bed fitted for one person awaited him in the center. He knew that if the owner came back he could explain himself, he was sure that the owner wouldn’t mind, or was even probably dead. So he went ahead and got himself comfortable in bed. As he tried to sleep, he couldn’t ignore the collection of paintings around the room; portraits of strange looking people all peering at him, each wearing a smile that sent chills up his spine. Not too long after his exhaustion from the hike got the best of him and he was able to ignore the faces.
The next morning he got up early and was shocked to see that there were no paintings around the room, but windows…
666
Revelation
O Corpo Seco (or "The Dried Body")
This creature was once described as having a "shriveled body with an ugly face full of pustules" and has been sighted in several cities in southeast Brazil.
A few years ago, the Corpo Seco (which roughly translates to dried body in English) was seen on top of a wall in a cemetery in Mogi Guaçu, São Paulo. "I always thought this was just an old story linked to cemeteries, but no, I saw with my own two eyes that the Corpo Seco exists, and I don't want to go near that cemetery again," retiree Maria Aparecida Soares Branco told her local paper.
There are many different versions of the origins of Corpo Seco (also known as Unhudo or Big Nails), but it is consensus that he was once human, and was a very cruel man when he was alive, with some stories calming that he even beat his own mother. When he died, the ground rejected his buried body, and his corpse kept returning to the surface. After having his eternal rest denied, he turned into the Corpo Seco.
The Corpo Seco is thought to have the power to dry out and kill trees, but also to suck the blood of humans on deserted roads in the dead of the night.
This creature was once described as having a "shriveled body with an ugly face full of pustules" and has been sighted in several cities in southeast Brazil.
A few years ago, the Corpo Seco (which roughly translates to dried body in English) was seen on top of a wall in a cemetery in Mogi Guaçu, São Paulo. "I always thought this was just an old story linked to cemeteries, but no, I saw with my own two eyes that the Corpo Seco exists, and I don't want to go near that cemetery again," retiree Maria Aparecida Soares Branco told her local paper.
There are many different versions of the origins of Corpo Seco (also known as Unhudo or Big Nails), but it is consensus that he was once human, and was a very cruel man when he was alive, with some stories calming that he even beat his own mother. When he died, the ground rejected his buried body, and his corpse kept returning to the surface. After having his eternal rest denied, he turned into the Corpo Seco.
The Corpo Seco is thought to have the power to dry out and kill trees, but also to suck the blood of humans on deserted roads in the dead of the night.
666
Revelation
"Blessed are the evil, for they shall inherit the water."
The ocean rocked in gentle undulations. The grandiose floating mansions bobbled along on the water, their opulence a stark contrast to the bleak horizon of endless water. A balmy mist hung heavily in the air, adorned with the soft hum of technology that whirred over the water.
Mara, a real human and the youngest heir to the Azura lineage, peered into the pool that shimmered like liquid sapphire compared to the bleak ocean all around thems. This was her world, a paradise sheltered from the real horrors lurking in the waves out there. Mara pet her giant tardigrade that floated around her pool.
Her family had taught her from infancy that the deep sea out there was full malevolent spirits, an abyss intent on swallowing her whole. As an Azura, her blood was thicker than water, and that meant she must not venture out there into the endless ocean.
She was, also, raised to believe in her inherent superiority—she was precious gem among drowning stones. Yet, something inside her churned like a growing tempest, begging her to break free of her gilded existence.
Their pool contained what her parents called their “tardigrade pets.” Before the flooding, she had thrilled over the scientific marvel that these giant creatures represented. But now, when the sun shone through the water, illuminating their gelatinous forms, the creatures felt disturbingly familiar. They bloated and floundered, their slick bodies wriggling helplessly in the water.
“Look! They love the light!” her father chortled over breakfast, pointing to the pod of tardigrades sunning on the lawn chairs around the pool. Father's laughter echoed through the walls which were adorned with iridescent sculptures of ancient sea creatures. “You’ll learn to connect with them, Mara. They’re ours to nurture and adore.”
Mara had hoped to learn to ride them like her great-aunt Zara had done. Fathers fork dropping, brought Mara back to the time when the world collapsed. They might have lost something more than land; what if freedom had perished amid the rising tides? This is all Mara could think of as her father took his OJ. The thought sank deep into her, the desire for escape from this pampered life inside their ocean pod.
But the lure of upcoming games distracted her, particularly Vile Acceleration, a brutal contest of survival her family hosted every month. In it, they placed bets on the Tardigrades ability to withstand torture. Her eyes lit up inside from the thrill of the games.
“Ready for tonight?” her older brother, Kaden, asked, donning his best attire. “You’re going to need to swim harder than ever. Uncle Torin is said to be ready to drown anyone that tries to ride him.” His eyes glinted with mischief, pitting twisted excitement. Uncle Torin was their best giant tardigrade pet.
As evening fell, darkness swallowed the mansion but thousands of beautiful candles and torches lit up the whole perimeter of the pool. Guests mingled about still excited from having taken their ocean buggies over for the celebration. Several Azura from the highest social hierarchy arrived, some boasting costumes that mimicked the humans that had once roamed free -- that is before they had been transformed into tardigrades.
A group of Azura marveled at the fat tardigrade wretches tumbling about in the shallow end of pool. "Some of those humans sure are grotesque once they are covered in tardigrade skins, arent' they," one of the Azura said wrinkling their nose at the poor specimens floundering, beached in the shallow end of the pool.
"It's better for them," one of the Azura answered.
The game commenced, churning with a turbulence of dozens of tardigrades readying to fight off anyone that tried to ride them. Mara held her breath as she watched Kaden’s team rack up points. . Each successful diver into the depths of the pool brought shrieks of joy every time an Azura mounted a tardigrade.
Something snapped inside of Mara and with a euphoric scream she demanded her turn in the pool, a sense of freedom unfurled in her - Why did the game feel like a theft of life rather than a celebration? Why did she feel trapped?
Her heart raced as she studied the human-tardigrades as she walked into the pool, recognizing glimmers of familiarity—vague reflections of her own self started to emerge.
"You know you aren't really an Azura, dont' you," one of the human-tardigrades asked her. Perhaps, she pondered, the real horror lay in what it was saying to her.
Another tardigrade swam up beside her, "ya you are really a human and one of these days the Azura will let you know."
Mara had always felt different inside, not like the other Azura. "How do you know I'm not really one of them," Mara asked inquisitively as she swam with them.
She swam to the pool's edge, her reflection catching her eye along the wall—complete with her bright eyes. There was something wrong with her; a flicker of something bright flicked in her eyes. Awareness shot through her. She stumbled back, unable to align her conviction with her reality.
"We know," said one of the human-tardigrade, "because your eyes sparkle like ours."
Mara knew it too. She thought of how their Azura's eyes all seemed so dark and devoid of light compared to hers. Mara looked up into the warm, shiny eyes of the human-tardigrade standing around her. Their eyes locked together and Mara promised with her eyes she would save them.
“Something’s wrong,” she gasped to the audience watching her, her voice swallowed by their silence. “They’re not pets. They’re—”
“Enough Mara! Go ride one!! ” Kaden’s eyes burned with anger. The crowd fell silent, the laughter evaporating, replaced by sharp tension. “Thank god, we didn't bet on her winning," several of them laughed, "she always was just a human."
Mara exited the pool and screamed at them all. "Those tardigrades that you all claim you love - you ride them and then put them on plates," she wagged her finger at the audience, pleased to lecture them all.
One of the top Azura stood up and raised a glass of octopus wine. "We’re all heroes here; it's a game of evolution, of adaptation. You were chosen to become—one of us.”
Before she could protest, a searing pain shot through her body, the realization washing over her with absolute horror. The illusion shattered and she ran for the edge of the pool as hard and fast as she could. She pushed her palms against cold glass doors and kicked the edge as hard as she could, her skin ripping from the force of the ocean bursting in from the break.
“Go as fast as you can,” Mara screamed at all the human-tardigrades. smooth and horrifyingly calm.
She could feel it then - the remnants of humanity swirling within her.
As the screams erupted around her, she saw her hands, taut and rubbery from the water, mirroring the tardigrades she had once viewed with aberrant fascination before they got their skins.
The Azura turned on her like the monsters they are. She stayed in the pool. "Go ahead and stitch me into my skin," she screamed between tears.
The ocean rocked in gentle undulations. The grandiose floating mansions bobbled along on the water, their opulence a stark contrast to the bleak horizon of endless water. A balmy mist hung heavily in the air, adorned with the soft hum of technology that whirred over the water.
Mara, a real human and the youngest heir to the Azura lineage, peered into the pool that shimmered like liquid sapphire compared to the bleak ocean all around thems. This was her world, a paradise sheltered from the real horrors lurking in the waves out there. Mara pet her giant tardigrade that floated around her pool.
Her family had taught her from infancy that the deep sea out there was full malevolent spirits, an abyss intent on swallowing her whole. As an Azura, her blood was thicker than water, and that meant she must not venture out there into the endless ocean.
She was, also, raised to believe in her inherent superiority—she was precious gem among drowning stones. Yet, something inside her churned like a growing tempest, begging her to break free of her gilded existence.
Their pool contained what her parents called their “tardigrade pets.” Before the flooding, she had thrilled over the scientific marvel that these giant creatures represented. But now, when the sun shone through the water, illuminating their gelatinous forms, the creatures felt disturbingly familiar. They bloated and floundered, their slick bodies wriggling helplessly in the water.
“Look! They love the light!” her father chortled over breakfast, pointing to the pod of tardigrades sunning on the lawn chairs around the pool. Father's laughter echoed through the walls which were adorned with iridescent sculptures of ancient sea creatures. “You’ll learn to connect with them, Mara. They’re ours to nurture and adore.”
Mara had hoped to learn to ride them like her great-aunt Zara had done. Fathers fork dropping, brought Mara back to the time when the world collapsed. They might have lost something more than land; what if freedom had perished amid the rising tides? This is all Mara could think of as her father took his OJ. The thought sank deep into her, the desire for escape from this pampered life inside their ocean pod.
But the lure of upcoming games distracted her, particularly Vile Acceleration, a brutal contest of survival her family hosted every month. In it, they placed bets on the Tardigrades ability to withstand torture. Her eyes lit up inside from the thrill of the games.
“Ready for tonight?” her older brother, Kaden, asked, donning his best attire. “You’re going to need to swim harder than ever. Uncle Torin is said to be ready to drown anyone that tries to ride him.” His eyes glinted with mischief, pitting twisted excitement. Uncle Torin was their best giant tardigrade pet.
As evening fell, darkness swallowed the mansion but thousands of beautiful candles and torches lit up the whole perimeter of the pool. Guests mingled about still excited from having taken their ocean buggies over for the celebration. Several Azura from the highest social hierarchy arrived, some boasting costumes that mimicked the humans that had once roamed free -- that is before they had been transformed into tardigrades.
A group of Azura marveled at the fat tardigrade wretches tumbling about in the shallow end of pool. "Some of those humans sure are grotesque once they are covered in tardigrade skins, arent' they," one of the Azura said wrinkling their nose at the poor specimens floundering, beached in the shallow end of the pool.
"It's better for them," one of the Azura answered.
The game commenced, churning with a turbulence of dozens of tardigrades readying to fight off anyone that tried to ride them. Mara held her breath as she watched Kaden’s team rack up points. . Each successful diver into the depths of the pool brought shrieks of joy every time an Azura mounted a tardigrade.
Something snapped inside of Mara and with a euphoric scream she demanded her turn in the pool, a sense of freedom unfurled in her - Why did the game feel like a theft of life rather than a celebration? Why did she feel trapped?
Her heart raced as she studied the human-tardigrades as she walked into the pool, recognizing glimmers of familiarity—vague reflections of her own self started to emerge.
"You know you aren't really an Azura, dont' you," one of the human-tardigrades asked her. Perhaps, she pondered, the real horror lay in what it was saying to her.
Another tardigrade swam up beside her, "ya you are really a human and one of these days the Azura will let you know."
Mara had always felt different inside, not like the other Azura. "How do you know I'm not really one of them," Mara asked inquisitively as she swam with them.
She swam to the pool's edge, her reflection catching her eye along the wall—complete with her bright eyes. There was something wrong with her; a flicker of something bright flicked in her eyes. Awareness shot through her. She stumbled back, unable to align her conviction with her reality.
"We know," said one of the human-tardigrade, "because your eyes sparkle like ours."
Mara knew it too. She thought of how their Azura's eyes all seemed so dark and devoid of light compared to hers. Mara looked up into the warm, shiny eyes of the human-tardigrade standing around her. Their eyes locked together and Mara promised with her eyes she would save them.
“Something’s wrong,” she gasped to the audience watching her, her voice swallowed by their silence. “They’re not pets. They’re—”
“Enough Mara! Go ride one!! ” Kaden’s eyes burned with anger. The crowd fell silent, the laughter evaporating, replaced by sharp tension. “Thank god, we didn't bet on her winning," several of them laughed, "she always was just a human."
Mara exited the pool and screamed at them all. "Those tardigrades that you all claim you love - you ride them and then put them on plates," she wagged her finger at the audience, pleased to lecture them all.
One of the top Azura stood up and raised a glass of octopus wine. "We’re all heroes here; it's a game of evolution, of adaptation. You were chosen to become—one of us.”
Before she could protest, a searing pain shot through her body, the realization washing over her with absolute horror. The illusion shattered and she ran for the edge of the pool as hard and fast as she could. She pushed her palms against cold glass doors and kicked the edge as hard as she could, her skin ripping from the force of the ocean bursting in from the break.
“Go as fast as you can,” Mara screamed at all the human-tardigrades. smooth and horrifyingly calm.
She could feel it then - the remnants of humanity swirling within her.
As the screams erupted around her, she saw her hands, taut and rubbery from the water, mirroring the tardigrades she had once viewed with aberrant fascination before they got their skins.
The Azura turned on her like the monsters they are. She stayed in the pool. "Go ahead and stitch me into my skin," she screamed between tears.
666
Revelation
The Legend of El Coco
Glowing red eyes from under your bed or in your closet.
Mouth full of razor-sharp teeth like a barracuda.
A hairy beast atop the roof.
Long claws like knives.
Some say it is a vaguely female, humanoid alligator.
Or has an empty pumpkin for a head.
Some say it is the dark shadow of someone who recently died.
Whatever the form, the mere sight will paralyze you with terror.
The creature lives in a cave in the hills or mountains and uses one large, bat-like ear to listen for children misbehaving. It comes down from its den to stalk misbehaving children. El Coco snatches them up, tosses them into a bag, and whisks them back to its lair.
In the darkness, El Coco tears into the children, feasting on their flesh and leaving no trace of them behind.
Parents warn their children, "Behave, or El Coco will come and take you away."
It is a tale told to children who want to go into dangerous places, those who do not listen to their parents, and those who don't want to go to bed. You'll notice that there are conflicting descriptions of El Coco and that the warning of "behave" could really take on nearly any meaning based on the parent.
As adults, whenever we encounter something like this, we inevitably ask: is El Coco real?
While you may read this and think that El Coco is simply a myth created by parents to keep their children in line, remember that countless children over centuries have been terrified by these brief stories and warnings. So, in children's minds, El Coco is very real—no matter what you think.
Interestingly, there are legends of malevolent creatures in folklore that can only be seen by children. If you talk to adults who heard about El Coco when they were children, some have stories of close encounters with it. Somewhere, in the back of their minds, lies the stories of El Coco from their childhoods, still haunting their sleep.
Possible Origins of El Coco
The earliest known reference to "El Coco" comes from 1518 in "Auto da Barca do Purgatório"—an allegorical play written by poet and playwright Gil Vicente. The name "Auto da Barca do Purgatório" translates to "The Act of the Ship of Purgatory" and the use of El Coco is in reference to the devil. Sadly, I had trouble finding much in the way of Gil Vicente's work available in English, but you can read more about him here and here on Project Gutenberg and even see photos of an original manuscript from him right here.
Gil Vicente wrote this over 500 years ago. Who knows where he got it from? But that means we have hard evidence from over 5 centuries ago of "El Coco" used to describe an evil being.
All of this bogeyman business, like in the case of El Coco, could be attributed to a simple tradition of parents using fear to scare their children into behaving. But that would mean the entire world spontaneously decided to scare their children into behaving using the same method. That seems a little unlikely.
Is there another reason why these bogeyman legends exist worldwide? Perhaps some folklore spread like wildfire across trade routes hundreds or thousands of years ago?
Or maybe there really were evils that lurked in the dark, waiting to eat children. But things like that can't be real, right? You know, like Albert Fish, the American child serial killer cannibal dubbed "The Boogey Man."
Glowing red eyes from under your bed or in your closet.
Mouth full of razor-sharp teeth like a barracuda.
A hairy beast atop the roof.
Long claws like knives.
Some say it is a vaguely female, humanoid alligator.
Or has an empty pumpkin for a head.
Some say it is the dark shadow of someone who recently died.
Whatever the form, the mere sight will paralyze you with terror.
The creature lives in a cave in the hills or mountains and uses one large, bat-like ear to listen for children misbehaving. It comes down from its den to stalk misbehaving children. El Coco snatches them up, tosses them into a bag, and whisks them back to its lair.
In the darkness, El Coco tears into the children, feasting on their flesh and leaving no trace of them behind.
Parents warn their children, "Behave, or El Coco will come and take you away."
It is a tale told to children who want to go into dangerous places, those who do not listen to their parents, and those who don't want to go to bed. You'll notice that there are conflicting descriptions of El Coco and that the warning of "behave" could really take on nearly any meaning based on the parent.
As adults, whenever we encounter something like this, we inevitably ask: is El Coco real?
While you may read this and think that El Coco is simply a myth created by parents to keep their children in line, remember that countless children over centuries have been terrified by these brief stories and warnings. So, in children's minds, El Coco is very real—no matter what you think.
Interestingly, there are legends of malevolent creatures in folklore that can only be seen by children. If you talk to adults who heard about El Coco when they were children, some have stories of close encounters with it. Somewhere, in the back of their minds, lies the stories of El Coco from their childhoods, still haunting their sleep.
Possible Origins of El Coco
The earliest known reference to "El Coco" comes from 1518 in "Auto da Barca do Purgatório"—an allegorical play written by poet and playwright Gil Vicente. The name "Auto da Barca do Purgatório" translates to "The Act of the Ship of Purgatory" and the use of El Coco is in reference to the devil. Sadly, I had trouble finding much in the way of Gil Vicente's work available in English, but you can read more about him here and here on Project Gutenberg and even see photos of an original manuscript from him right here.
Gil Vicente wrote this over 500 years ago. Who knows where he got it from? But that means we have hard evidence from over 5 centuries ago of "El Coco" used to describe an evil being.
All of this bogeyman business, like in the case of El Coco, could be attributed to a simple tradition of parents using fear to scare their children into behaving. But that would mean the entire world spontaneously decided to scare their children into behaving using the same method. That seems a little unlikely.
Is there another reason why these bogeyman legends exist worldwide? Perhaps some folklore spread like wildfire across trade routes hundreds or thousands of years ago?
Or maybe there really were evils that lurked in the dark, waiting to eat children. But things like that can't be real, right? You know, like Albert Fish, the American child serial killer cannibal dubbed "The Boogey Man."
What do we think of the work Ed and Lorraine Warren did?