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Something is living in Michigans U.P
My name's Jon, and I’m a game warden up in the upper peninsula. I know, I know, rotten work, but someone has to do it, and it’s only vaguely relevant here as I was taking my PTO before they reset at the start of the year. I am honestly a bit nervous to post this here, but here goes nothing. I’m about an hour and a half from the nearest town without snow. With it? Good luck, you aren’t getting to me till it melts. That’s typically why I like it. Being in my line of work, you’ll see some weird stuff. Moonshiners, weird hiding spots, abandoned boats on sunny days. Some of it even seems unexplainable the first time ya see it, stuff like deer standing on hind legs ans not responding to noise, I've even heard of deer being completely stunned towards the tree line, a whole herd. But that’s all explainable by some form of CWD or predators in the trees or something. But nothing can explain what happened to me 2 winters ago.
I live alone. Not necessarily because I like it, it’s just hard to maintain relationships with long hours like I work, and it’s not exactly like the area where I live is booming with people. And besides, it is rather peaceful, late nights, out on the porch with some coffee, just watching the snow. At least, it should be, and typically is. But it wasn’t, not this night. From the tree line, I heard something. A whistle. Not like a plastic one, but the sort that one does with just their mouth. It was a tune I knew from childhood; “a hunting we will go, a hunting we will go…” I’m sure you all know the rest. But then, right when the melody should have concluded, where the words would’ve been “and then we’ll let him go”… it stopped.
In the beginning, before it stopped, I had simply thought it was poachers coming onto my land. Not unheard of, and it was deer season, even if it was both illegal to hunt this late and on private property without permission. But when it stopped, I felt my blood run cold. I decided to go to bed for the night, hoping maybe I’d just imagined things, and that in the morning I’d realize I’m being silly. I threw some wood in the wood stove, put my rifle next to my bed, locked my doors and windows, and curled up in my bed for the night. It was not a particularly restful sleep, but better than none at all. The next morning, with my rifle slung over my shoulder, I decided to check out the rough area of the woods that I thought I’d heard the whistling from. While I didn’t find any person or monster or even footprints, I did find a deer. And I… kept finding the deer. The first part I found was a foreleg, laid irreverently in the snow. Then, what looked like a good chunk of its innards in the trees, so on and so forth. I think by the end of it, I’d found all of it, including its head bashed against a tree, blood and brains frozen onto it. I almost threw up. That has never happened to me, in all my years working in the field I do. Whatever had done that was too brutal to be human. But if it were an animal, it wouldn’t have left it to rot. After seeing this, I’d decided that I didn’t like how any of this looked or felt, and to go back to my cabin.
That night, I sat out on my porch again, drinking my coffee again. But this time, I had my hunting rifle on my lap, on edge, watching the tree line. Then I saw it. The slightest bit of movement. It was so thin and dangly that, if it hadn’t moved, I would’ve thought it simply to be a couple of younger trees. But it did move. It moved through the tree line, never leaving, never quite showing itself fully. But I could make some details out. Its limbs were long and thin, its rib cage sunken, and under the moon I could see red down its chest, its skin an ashy white. It was fast, too fast for something that tall and lanky.
And then I heard it sing.
This was not a whistle, it was singing. But the singing was not soft or beautiful. It sounded like something trying and failing to do an impression of a human. It was low, scratchy, gravelly , and almost sounded painful.
“A hunting we will go, a hunting we will go…”
And yet again, it cut off right before “and then we’ll let him go”.
I raised up my rifle, slowly brought the scope to my eye, my whole body shivering as I did. I aimed at where its heart should have been, wrapped my finger around the trigger, and took the shot. First the bang, and then the wail. That awful, awful wail. I still hear it when I try to sleep most nights. But what I saw next made me feel an even greater terror: it did not bleed. Despite the wailing, despite the fact that that shot should have killed that thing, it did not die, and it did not bleed. Instead, it looked right at me, and I finally got a look at its face.
Its neck was thick, unusually so, its gaping maw wide and dripping with red. Its eyes were wide and round like dinner plates. And it just stared at me, chest heaving, not moving. And I stared back. We just stared at each other for a long time. Until, the first bit of the sun began to creep over the tree line. In almost an instant, it dropped onto all fours, and disappeared back into the trees.
After that, I’d decided that whatever this is, it was worth a call to my local sheriffs department. I don’t know what I expected them to be able to do if this thing shrugged off 2 rounds of 45-70 like it was nothing. Unfortunately, as it turns out, this plan would be impossible to carry out. The harsh snows had knocked out my power. This normally wouldn’t be an issue, I have a back up generator and plenty of fuel. At least, I had a back up generator. But when I went to go check on it, see what the issue was… it was ripped to pieces, gashes through the metal, pieces thrown all over. Whatever this thing was, I’d pissed it off, and it didn’t want me to leave. And, based on the fact that the snow keeps coming all winter long, and doesn’t really melt till spring, it was gonna get its wish for some time.
So instead, I prepared. I put bear traps out by the tree line, hoping to at least make it harder for this thing to move. Although, I’m 95% sure it knew exactly where I was, what I was doing, and was watching me at that moment. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it, watching me.
After I set up the traps, I decided to take some inspiration from all those horror movies, and put salt at every entrance of the house, and grabbed my lighter, along with some old hair spray I had laying around under my bathroom sink, along with my 45-70, and waited. I knew it wouldn’t be out till nightfall.
As night fell, I heard it again. But this time, it was clearer, less strained, almost beautiful if not so disturbing.
“A hunting we will go, a hunting we will go…”
And yet again, it stopped before the line “and then we’ll let him go.”
Suddenly, for some stupid reason, I yelled out: “THEN COME AT ME YOU BASTARD! STOP PUSSYFOOTING AROUND AND TRYING TO SCARE ME AND COME FUCKING GET ME!”
Needless to say, that was incredibly stupid. It moved so, so fast. There was 200 yards between me and it, and yet, it was on me in less than 10 seconds. I’d managed to get a couple rounds into its head, but it wasn’t enough. I retreated inside, but it was breaking through the door, pulling itself through. I truly felt like I was going to die in that cabin. But I was not going to die to this thing. I refused to due to it.
With quivering hands, I lifted up my lighter and the spray, and began to spray, sending fire at it and at my door and wall. It recoiled with a shriek, and through the hole in the door I could see it convulse as it caught like dry brush.
My house was mostly fine, but it definitely needed some repairs. The next morning, when I emerged, it was gone. I don’t know if it was dead, but it wasn’t at my house anymore, and I haven’t heard that god damn singing since. Maybe it died in the woods somewhere, maybe it moved on. Either way, I don’t like going out at night anymore, at least not past where the light of my house can reach.
#entertainment
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My name's Jon, and I’m a game warden up in the upper peninsula. I know, I know, rotten work, but someone has to do it, and it’s only vaguely relevant here as I was taking my PTO before they reset at the start of the year. I am honestly a bit nervous to post this here, but here goes nothing. I’m about an hour and a half from the nearest town without snow. With it? Good luck, you aren’t getting to me till it melts. That’s typically why I like it. Being in my line of work, you’ll see some weird stuff. Moonshiners, weird hiding spots, abandoned boats on sunny days. Some of it even seems unexplainable the first time ya see it, stuff like deer standing on hind legs ans not responding to noise, I've even heard of deer being completely stunned towards the tree line, a whole herd. But that’s all explainable by some form of CWD or predators in the trees or something. But nothing can explain what happened to me 2 winters ago.
I live alone. Not necessarily because I like it, it’s just hard to maintain relationships with long hours like I work, and it’s not exactly like the area where I live is booming with people. And besides, it is rather peaceful, late nights, out on the porch with some coffee, just watching the snow. At least, it should be, and typically is. But it wasn’t, not this night. From the tree line, I heard something. A whistle. Not like a plastic one, but the sort that one does with just their mouth. It was a tune I knew from childhood; “a hunting we will go, a hunting we will go…” I’m sure you all know the rest. But then, right when the melody should have concluded, where the words would’ve been “and then we’ll let him go”… it stopped.
In the beginning, before it stopped, I had simply thought it was poachers coming onto my land. Not unheard of, and it was deer season, even if it was both illegal to hunt this late and on private property without permission. But when it stopped, I felt my blood run cold. I decided to go to bed for the night, hoping maybe I’d just imagined things, and that in the morning I’d realize I’m being silly. I threw some wood in the wood stove, put my rifle next to my bed, locked my doors and windows, and curled up in my bed for the night. It was not a particularly restful sleep, but better than none at all. The next morning, with my rifle slung over my shoulder, I decided to check out the rough area of the woods that I thought I’d heard the whistling from. While I didn’t find any person or monster or even footprints, I did find a deer. And I… kept finding the deer. The first part I found was a foreleg, laid irreverently in the snow. Then, what looked like a good chunk of its innards in the trees, so on and so forth. I think by the end of it, I’d found all of it, including its head bashed against a tree, blood and brains frozen onto it. I almost threw up. That has never happened to me, in all my years working in the field I do. Whatever had done that was too brutal to be human. But if it were an animal, it wouldn’t have left it to rot. After seeing this, I’d decided that I didn’t like how any of this looked or felt, and to go back to my cabin.
That night, I sat out on my porch again, drinking my coffee again. But this time, I had my hunting rifle on my lap, on edge, watching the tree line. Then I saw it. The slightest bit of movement. It was so thin and dangly that, if it hadn’t moved, I would’ve thought it simply to be a couple of younger trees. But it did move. It moved through the tree line, never leaving, never quite showing itself fully. But I could make some details out. Its limbs were long and thin, its rib cage sunken, and under the moon I could see red down its chest, its skin an ashy white. It was fast, too fast for something that tall and lanky.
And then I heard it sing.
This was not a whistle, it was singing. But the singing was not soft or beautiful. It sounded like something trying and failing to do an impression of a human. It was low, scratchy, gravelly , and almost sounded painful.
“A hunting we will go, a hunting we will go…”
And yet again, it cut off right before “and then we’ll let him go”.
I raised up my rifle, slowly brought the scope to my eye, my whole body shivering as I did. I aimed at where its heart should have been, wrapped my finger around the trigger, and took the shot. First the bang, and then the wail. That awful, awful wail. I still hear it when I try to sleep most nights. But what I saw next made me feel an even greater terror: it did not bleed. Despite the wailing, despite the fact that that shot should have killed that thing, it did not die, and it did not bleed. Instead, it looked right at me, and I finally got a look at its face.
Its neck was thick, unusually so, its gaping maw wide and dripping with red. Its eyes were wide and round like dinner plates. And it just stared at me, chest heaving, not moving. And I stared back. We just stared at each other for a long time. Until, the first bit of the sun began to creep over the tree line. In almost an instant, it dropped onto all fours, and disappeared back into the trees.
After that, I’d decided that whatever this is, it was worth a call to my local sheriffs department. I don’t know what I expected them to be able to do if this thing shrugged off 2 rounds of 45-70 like it was nothing. Unfortunately, as it turns out, this plan would be impossible to carry out. The harsh snows had knocked out my power. This normally wouldn’t be an issue, I have a back up generator and plenty of fuel. At least, I had a back up generator. But when I went to go check on it, see what the issue was… it was ripped to pieces, gashes through the metal, pieces thrown all over. Whatever this thing was, I’d pissed it off, and it didn’t want me to leave. And, based on the fact that the snow keeps coming all winter long, and doesn’t really melt till spring, it was gonna get its wish for some time.
So instead, I prepared. I put bear traps out by the tree line, hoping to at least make it harder for this thing to move. Although, I’m 95% sure it knew exactly where I was, what I was doing, and was watching me at that moment. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it, watching me.
After I set up the traps, I decided to take some inspiration from all those horror movies, and put salt at every entrance of the house, and grabbed my lighter, along with some old hair spray I had laying around under my bathroom sink, along with my 45-70, and waited. I knew it wouldn’t be out till nightfall.
As night fell, I heard it again. But this time, it was clearer, less strained, almost beautiful if not so disturbing.
“A hunting we will go, a hunting we will go…”
And yet again, it stopped before the line “and then we’ll let him go.”
Suddenly, for some stupid reason, I yelled out: “THEN COME AT ME YOU BASTARD! STOP PUSSYFOOTING AROUND AND TRYING TO SCARE ME AND COME FUCKING GET ME!”
Needless to say, that was incredibly stupid. It moved so, so fast. There was 200 yards between me and it, and yet, it was on me in less than 10 seconds. I’d managed to get a couple rounds into its head, but it wasn’t enough. I retreated inside, but it was breaking through the door, pulling itself through. I truly felt like I was going to die in that cabin. But I was not going to die to this thing. I refused to due to it.
With quivering hands, I lifted up my lighter and the spray, and began to spray, sending fire at it and at my door and wall. It recoiled with a shriek, and through the hole in the door I could see it convulse as it caught like dry brush.
My house was mostly fine, but it definitely needed some repairs. The next morning, when I emerged, it was gone. I don’t know if it was dead, but it wasn’t at my house anymore, and I haven’t heard that god damn singing since. Maybe it died in the woods somewhere, maybe it moved on. Either way, I don’t like going out at night anymore, at least not past where the light of my house can reach.
#entertainment
source
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