Disturbing TRUE Mountain Stories | Spine-Chilling Encounters in Nature
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$45 upfront payment equivalent to $15 per month. New customers on first three-month plan only. Taxes and fees extra. Speeds lower above 40 gigabytes. See details. This story takes place in August of 2013 in the mountains of Southern Oregon. I'm a United States Air Force Security Forces airman, otherwise known as military policeman. My girlfriend was at work, and as a swelteringly hot day began to turn into thunderstorms,

My buddy Nick, who happens to be another military cop, and I decided to go explore some back roads to get out of the heat of town. Southern Oregon is criss-crossed with logging roads, some actively used, and many totally forgotten and grown over. Nick and I spent many of our days starting on roads that we knew, finding roads that we didn't, driving for hours into the mountains, eventually navigating back to paved roads.

On this particular day, with storm clouds building over the mountains, we set off down a road that we had never been on and began the drive into the Cascades. After driving for around an hour, we hadn't seen nor heard any signs of other people in the woods. We rounded a bend and emerged in a meadow that was totally surrounded by thick aspen groves. The meadow itself was perfectly flat and eerily still. We both noticed the strange stillness almost immediately.

No birds, hardly any insect noise, no squirrels, and certainly no other people. On the far side of the meadow, right at the edge of the tree line, there was a picnic table. The table itself was rather odd. It was painted a bright orange and was much larger than a typical picnic table in a park. Remarking on this, Nick drove through the meadow to get us a closer look. I remember being apprehensive as we approached. The whole scene was exceptionally strange.

The overall silence of the aspen grove was unsettling. Also, it was nearly impossible to see far into the trees, as aspens grow extremely close together. When we parked adjacent to the table, I hopped out of the passenger seat of the truck to check it out. Now, I'm not a very tall guy, only about 5'7", and regardless, the table was ridiculously oversized and practically unusable. The seats were nearly at chest level, meaning I would have to climb up to even sit on them.

As I was staring at the table, Nick called me back over to the truck, and I noticed that he was looking back into the aspens. At first, I couldn't see what he was looking at, but then I noticed a splash of color that was completely out of place in the thick trees. It was a small one-man tent, set back about 50 feet from the strange table. I had an initial feeling of dread and felt certain that there was someone in that tent, and if we could see it, they likely could see us.

There were no campgrounds in this area, no people, no main roads for miles. Surely someone camping so remotely would be, at the very least, a strange person. However, as we observed the tent, we didn't see any movement or hear any sounds coming from it. Nick suggested that I call out. I didn't want to, but I did anyway. "Hey, anyone in there?" I yelled. No reply. Feeling completely on edge at this point, Nick and I thought about driving away and leaving the strange area.

But we began to fear the worst. What if the occupant of that tent was now deceased? What if somebody had gotten kidnapped? Foolish, I know, but we thought it all the same. After some debate, we decided to have Nick turn the truck around and face away from the camp, pointed in the direction that we just came from, should we need to leave in a hurry. He would wait behind the wheel while I'd go check out the tent. With my heart pounding, I started walking through the trees towards the tent. I was absolutely keyed up.

with my senses on full alert. When I reached the campsite, several things struck me as odd. It was clear that no fire had been built near this campsite, no wood was collected, and there were backpacks scattered all over. The tent itself was literally full of backpacks, along with women's clothing, still filled with an increasing amount of dread now. I turned to leave and tell Nick what I had seen, but as I left the tent, I heard Nick start yelling.

"Let's go! Let's get the fuck out of here!" Not knowing why he was yelling, I ran back to the truck. When I broke out of the trees, I saw a beat up old Ford Taurus on the road, blocking us from leaving the meadow. I immediately leapt back into the passenger seat, and Nick floored the gas pedal. The Taurus was occupied by two men. There was a third person laying against the window in the back, and as we drove across the meadow, the driver attempted to block us from the road, but Nick deftly drove around them.

and accelerated the way that we had come from. I looked back and saw the car attempting to turn around on the narrow road. Nick drove like a madman, and though I was honestly terrified that whoever that was would catch up to us, we hit the highway without seeing that car again. I still don't know if the person in the back was a male or female. We called the state police, sent them the location of our encounter, and they promised to send a trooper out to check out the scene. However, I received a call the next day from a trooper stating that the campsite

the backpacks, and all the women's clothing were gone, though he could easily tell that people had been in the area. The strange table was still by the thick aspen grove. I can honestly say, in all of my explorations since this time, I've never returned to that area, and if I'm being honest, I don't intend to.

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The following account occurred roughly 12 years ago, during the summer of 2012. It's always been difficult for me to talk about, but I've ultimately found that sharing this event is rather therapeutic. I, a female and 17 at the time, had just gotten my first job. I lived in rural West Virginia, in a small mountain community. My mom's friend owned a camping resort not too far from my house, one that had a general store to it.

and she said she'd pay me to help out in the store during the busy months during summer. It was a pretty easy job, and I met a lot of out-of-towners, which was nice because our community could get so isolated. Most of us lived pretty far away from each other. One day, a big, burly mountain man type came into the store. He was in his late 40s or early 50s if I had to guess. Huge. Probably about 6'5" or 6'6", and had to be pushing 280 pounds.

He looked dirty, like he worked outside a lot. His clothes were sort of tattered, and he had a long beard about him. We had a few of the woodsy hermit types in the area, and he definitely looked like one of them. He bought some basic items, one of which was one of our homemade bars of soap. When he came to the register, he looked me up and down carefully. He didn't speak for a minute, just stared. His people skills clearly needed work. "Did you make this soap?" he asked gruffly. "Possibly," I said.

"I help out with that sometimes. You make a lot of your own stuff? Toiletries and things like that?" "Yeah, I like that," he said, nodding to himself. I honestly didn't know how to respond. I quickly rang up his items, and he paid with crumpled money. When, right before he left, he asked, "You cook too? Sometimes," I replied. "Bet the boys around here are itching to marry you," he said as he smiled to himself. But I responded with nothing.

I was puzzled as to what I said that stood out as wife material. I told my boss, Krista, about the bizarre encounter and she just laughed it off. So did all of my family and friends. But then Mountain Man started turning up more often. We chatted a little bit here and there, and I found out he had a cabin in the woods, one that he claimed he had built with his bare hands. He said that he hunted and lived off the land, other than the things he bought at our store. Over time, our chatter escalated,

with him making comments about how nice it would be to have a woman like me around who could make those things and cook his kills. One time, he even said that I had "the burthen hips" that men lust after. This made me shudder. He even started inviting me to fish with him, hunt with him, see his place. I always politely declined, but he got more and more insistent, and I told Krista about how uncomfortable he was starting to make me. The intensity with which he said those things really scared me.

She said that when he came in to come and get her, and she would ring him up. Thanks to her, I started speaking to him less, and I thought I wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. But one night, I was closing up. It was late, around 10pm. Krista had left about an hour before, leaving me alone at the shop. The only two cars in front of the store were an old blue pickup truck, as well as my car. I was immediately alarmed because I knew Mountain Man drove a blue pickup, but I didn't see him in the lot.

Just his truck. So I quickly walked to my car, checked the back seat before I started her up. But then, when I first turned the key into my ignition, I got nothing but sputters. I tried several more times and got scared quickly. Of all nights, why is this happening tonight? I remember asking myself angrily when just as I was reaching for my phone to call for help, there was a loud pounding on the driver's side window. To this day, I'm still shocked that I didn't piss myself.

I didn't even want to look up, because I already knew it was him. But I did anyway, and my suspicions were confirmed. He smiled a big grin at me, showing me exactly which teeth of his were missing. "Need some help?" he said loudly through the window, but I shook my head furiously. "My dad's on his way," I said, hoping to scare him off. I hadn't spoken to my dad for years, and Mountain Man just laughed. "No, he's not. Just open the door." The hairs on my neck stood up straight.

How did he know that I was bluffing? "No," I said firmly. "You're good. Just leave me alone." Suddenly, he looked angry. He pulled at the handle, but I had locked all the doors when I first got in. He kept furiously pulling the handle and then started pounding on the window. "Leave now or I'm calling the cops," was all I was able to scream, but this clearly wasn't getting the message to him. So I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. I must have absolutely sounded hysterical to the dispatcher.

and I knew she could hear him pounding. She said she would have officers out ASAP, but out here? That could be a while. "The cops are on their way! Just leave now!" I screamed at Mountain Man, who didn't seem to let it deter him. But after a few more minutes of pounding, he suddenly stopped and walked back to his truck. I watched him go, hopeful that he would just leave me alone, but then he started walking back toward me, this time with a crowbar in his hand, before I could scream anything more.

He started swinging at the driver's side window with the crowbar. I ducked down into the passenger seat near the floorboards and covered the back of my neck like they teach you in tornado drills. I heard the sickening crack of the window, but not for long. Suddenly, I heard male voices shouting, telling Mountain Man to get away from the car. I sat up and saw two men approaching, one holding a shotgun, trained dead on Mountain Man. I recognized them as a couple of guests staying at the resort for a camping trip.

I breathed a sigh of relief and got out of the car, telling them that the police were on their way. I thanked them profusely as we waited for the cops, and surprisingly, Mountain Man didn't make any moves to get away. The cops arrived shortly after I got out of the car, so he didn't have much of a chance anyway. They took him away, and I gave them my statement. All things told, I was pretty shaken up for a while afterwards. A few weeks later, I finally got the entire scoop on the guy. Apparently, Mountain Man had a history of mental illness.

He had been in and out of state institutions, he really had been living in an old cabin in the woods where he wasn't taking his meds, and it seems as if his issues were only getting worse. I've got a cousin named Luke, he's a cop out here, and while we're not particularly close, it didn't take him long to hear that his baby cousin had been caught up in an incident. Later on, he told me some more about the case, things that he had heard about through some other officers. The police ultimately did a search of the cabin after the incident.

Just to see if there was anything that might be of interest to them, they found Mountain Man's journal. Apparently in it, he had said that he was lonely and wanted a wife. He mentioned me by name a lot, thanks to the stupid nametag that I was forced to wear at work. Luke said that there were a lot of lewd things in there about me, things that he didn't want to share. But putting it as simply as he could, he said that Mountain Man had a detailed plan on how to abduct me, starting with the sabotage of my car engine to put me into a vulnerable position.

When Luke said that, I nearly burst into tears, thinking about just how horribly that night could have gone if those two guests hadn't come along. For better or for worse, Mountain Man didn't find his way to prison after this, but after the case wrapped up, he was reinserted into a state institution, and with any luck, he'll stay there for good. I don't reside in West Virginia anymore, so even if he made his way out, the chances of me running into that fellow

are slim to none, but that doesn't make this memory any less prominent in my mind. I have always loved the outdoors. I was fortunate enough to be born in the great Pacific Northwest, the Western Washington Cascades to be exact. My father and I spent much of my early years exploring the mountains, fishing, and hunting. There are parts of the Cascades I know like the back of my hand. One of those places is called Goblin Creek.

up the index Galima road off of highway 2. When I was a kid, we would drive up there to do some fishing and shooting, but also to collect a specific type of rock that when cut in half and polished would resemble a scenic picture of the view of the mountains from within a cave. I do not recall the true name of these stones, we just called them picture rocks. My father's friend and neighbor owned an art gallery/mineral shop that used to be a church.

If you have ever driven through startup on your way from Sultan to Gold Bar on Highway 2, you might remember seeing the robot sculpture outside the shop that my dad built. This is a place that we sold the stone for $2 a pound. It was lucrative revenue for a preteen. The walk from the creek where we harvested these rocks to the dirt road wasn't particularly long, but lengthy enough that you could presumably get lost while en route if one didn't know where they were going.

In the years we spent at this creek, I had only ever seen two other people out there. One was a game warden that heard the gunshots from our target practicing session and tracked us down to make sure that everything was fine. The other is the subject of my curiosity. When I was about 14, I distinctly remember hauling a backpack full of these rocks up from the creek to my dad's truck. Along the way, I ran into a man that looked to be about 30 years old

We both appeared to be surprised that we would run into anyone in this rather remote section of the mountains, but as I got closer to this man, he was heading down to the creek as I was heading up to the road. He seemed to grow increasingly more startled, and at that point in my life, I remember very vividly not understanding why. He didn't say anything as I passed. He just stared, seemingly trying to figure out the appropriate words to ask me something. After passing him,

I remember distinctly thinking to myself that after coming across someone randomly out here, that I was glad that it wasn't some mountain weirdo, that it was just a regular dude out here exploring, much like myself and my dad. I continued on my way back to the truck, dumped my load of rock off at the truck, and headed back down to the river to my dad. When I got down to the water, I told my dad about the encounter that I had, and asked him if he had seen this man, to which he replied that he hadn't.

I've remembered this encounter quite vividly since then. Well, last year, I was visiting my family in Snohomish and decided to head up to Old Goblin Creek for nostalgic purposes. It had been about 15 years since I was last up there. Along the way, I found out that the index Galima Road had apparently washed out years before, but luckily, I knew of another way up there via Jack Pass. I found the dirt road and parked where my dad used to park.

and proceeded to walk through the woods down to the creek. Along the way down, I saw something that absolutely shook me to my core. As I was about halfway through the woods, I was startled when I saw someone else coming up from the creek. It was a boy, about 14 years old if I had to guess. He was wearing a backpack, one that looked to be burdened by heavy weights. As we got closer, I began to get increasingly confused and shocked as the boy looked exactly like I did at his age.

I meant to say something to him as he passed, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out the right words to express what I was thinking at that very moment. He passed me and just kept going. I walked a little ways and finally stopped when it all really hit me. I remembered the encounter from my teenage years and realized I had just lived the other half of the experience. Both the man and boy were me, roughly 15 years removed.

I turned around in an attempt to catch up to the boy in the thick western Washington woods. I ran all the way back up to the road where my truck was, only to find… nothing. There wasn't anywhere else besides the road for him to go, and I hadn't stalled so long as to not be able to catch up to him. He was just… gone. That's when curiosity got the best of me, so I hurried down to the creek, half expecting to find my dad fishing on the bank 15 years younger, but found nobody. After all of this, I ended up going home.

and deciding that this experience was just too unbelievable to tell all my friends and family. I just wanted to get this out there to the wonderful community of internet strangers, to see what others think, and hopefully, to see if anyone else has had this type of experience as well. I personally have never been a believer of the paranormal, glitches in the matrix, or even sci-fi movies. That's at least in part why this experience is so mystifying to me. It leaves me wondering if it's not just the magic of nature out in those mountains,

If there's something more unexplainable that resides there. At your job, do you ever have to deal with a nose roller? How about a snub pulley?

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