The Worst Kind of Demon

to move out after a couple of months. Well, maybe she's a nut living in the middle of nowhere in a trailer. I don't know. Maybe she just couldn't afford anywhere else. But a lot of times, when these girls are crazy and people can't last even one day with them, it's not the ghost that we're about to read about. It's because the girl's a nut and you shouldn't be shacking up. You shouldn't be doing that. You should marry the girl Mary. The girls quit shacking up with these

women guys. Okay, enough of my social commentary for the day. Move on with the story. One night I was staying over at her place and I got up to get something to drink. As soon as I walked out of the bedroom, I heard whispering from a whole bunch of people. It was all around me. I looked into the kitchen and saw what appeared to be twenty silvery ghosts having a party. Some were holding plates and some were holding drinks. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I slammed my

hand on the light switch and they disappeared. Another time, I saw something shadowy standing at the edge of the woods. It was only as tall as a large dog, but there was something off about this thing. I told my girlfriend, who knew all about it, and she told me that it didn't like me. She said that many nights it would come right up to her trailer, but when I was around, it would retreat into the woods and wait

for me to leave. The final straw for me happened in the middle of the day when we heard a little girl singing at the top of her lungs. There were no other trailers or neighbors in sight, so I went outside to check it out, thinking she might have been lost, But as hard as I looked, I couldn't find her anywhere. I heard her singing but I couldn't see her. I circled the entire trailer, and when I got back to the front door, it went quiet again.

After that, I stopped spending time there. Now. When I was a little kid, we had a burn pit about one hundred yards from the house. One night, my dad was carrying the trash down there and I went with him. When we got there, we saw something that scared the hell out of both of us. It was the color of blue gray smoke, and it looked like a genie out of a lamp. It was skinny at the bottom, but toward the top it widened, forming a human torso

with the arms and a head. My dad was not particularly a fit man, but he dropped the trash can, grabbed me like a football under his arm, and sprinted up the hill to the house. Not long after that, my grandmother died. While we were going through her things, we found out she had been practicing witchcraft. We found letters where she had been channeling her dead. She would write out a bunch of questions and then channel a

spirit who would answer them for her. The creepiest part of all was that the questions were written out in my grandmother's nice flowing handwriting, but the responses were in a man's rough handwriting. He gave me goosebumps reading it. When my friends and I were fifteen, we were heading up a hill to a bluff, and as we were walking, something hitting me across the back of my head with

a stick, breaking it in two. We turned around, ready to fight, and I saw a young bigfoot standing there, six feet tall, broad at the shoulders, with hair hanging off his arms and legs. He took off running and we went after him, though it was useless because he had disappeared up the hill in a matter of seconds, out of sight. Late one night, my friend and I were walking home. We were nearly at the last street light before my house when something walked into the road

in front of us. It looked like a demonic grimlin. It was almost black with white stripes and had kind of an egg shaped head. Its knee bent backwards over long feet, and its back had an unnatural arch. As soon as it appeared, it vanished again on the other side of the road. My friend took off running like a scared little girl. It took me a minute to catch up with him. Later, I described it to a friend of mine who informed me that I had seen a schup of cabra. Where I live, you'll meet more

people who have had strange encounter. Every other person out here has had their own personal experience, whether with a bigfoot, a white thing, a chupacabra, or something else that'll make you lose sleep. It's comforting on the one hand knowing that I'm not the only one seeing these things, but it is disturbing too, knowing I live in a hotspot. I love your show. I think you do a fantastic job,

and I've probably heard every one of your episodes. I heard you say once that you don't like your accent, but I don't think the show would be the same if some Yankee was reading it. Have a good day of peace, be with you. Well, thanks for the story. This is I get these every once in a while, and there are some people in this world that just have event after event after event in their lives with things that nobody else believes. I don't make a call on this story one way or another, but I just

sometimes I'm going to just be candid with you. Sometimes it's kind of odd. I'm not saying it didn't happen. This guy knows whether it happened or not. But if you think this story is not believable or believable, let me know in the comments. Hey ya got everybody, just feel free to say whatever you want to say. It was a good story at any rate, and that's why I read it, so I appreciate the writer sending it. Hello. Hello, welcome to the podcast. My name's Cam Buckner. This is

a Dixie Cryptid YouTube podcast. We also have a podcast on your podcast app called the what If It's True? Podcast. You can look it up and search anywhere. Probably a lot less ads, a lot less data usage, and it's easy, easy, easy on your phone battery if you use a phone to listen to the podcast. Hey, what is it about YouTube videos that just drives you crazy? What do you hate about YouTube videos? I'm curious what everybody will say. Now, you can't say ads, because ads this is just a

natural part of all of these platforms. You cannot go on a single platform Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, YouTube, Rumble, Twitter, any of them and not encounter ads. Now, I know the ads are annoying in the YouTube videos because you are into a story or into a video and an ad pops up. But there's a way to solve that. You can just get the YouTube premium for seven ninety nine a month and you don't have to ever deal

with ads, and I can't live without it. But other than that, what drives you crazy about a YouTube video? I'm gonna tell you my biggest pet peeve is when I click on something that I want to see and it takes the creator in a ten minute video seven minutes to get to the effing point. It drives me insane. Now I used to do that on this channel. I'm kind of doing it right now. And that is the main reason I quit talking so much in these videos, is because it drives me nuts when other people do it.

I'd rather them just get to the point. I clicked on the video to listen to a story, to watch something on a particular topic. I don't need to know everything about their life. I don't need to know. I don't need all the apologies that the sound is bad. I don't need. I don't need them to tell me to subscribe, because I know how to subscribe to a channel. If you put out good content, I'll subscribe. That is what drives me nuts about YouTube videos, and I've seen

them on TikTok, seen them on YouTube shorts. You can just go down the line and people just blab or blab or brib or until they get to the point. So I'm gonna stop blabbering, but I'm gonna look forward to hearing what your pet peeves are on YouTube videos that you watch. So let me know. Let me know in the comment section. All right, we got a couple one or two more stories in this podcast. Hope you enjoy it. All right, here we go. The first flash

pulled me from a drunk slumber. I lay there in the tent next to my wife wondering what I had heard till the second splash woke her up. What was that, she asked. I quietly shushed her, and I listened intently to something shuffling and mumbling on the other side of the river. I chose our camping spot because it was an island in the river. If something were to approach our tent, it would have to wade through the channel on either side of us. My fault was I'd hear

it and wake up if something crossed. I take these precautions after growing up and spending my spare time in grizzly country. The third splash sounded as I unholstered my big Boar revolver and found my flashlight. My wife asked me again what it was. I could tell by her voice that she was shaken. Earlier that evening, we had fished and swam next to the camp. I didn't recall seeing any evidence of a beaver. The size of the

splash was not just from an average sized rock. It would have been a very large rock thrown high in the air hitting the water. It sounded like shuffling and mumbling. I heard rocks rolling down the slope and what sounded like footsteps. The mumbling was low and mixed with a grunting, and I couldn't make out any specific words. In the distance, I heard a train approaching, and soon the train was all we could hear. After it passed, we lay in

the tent listening. I realized right then that if something had crossed one of the channels while the train was close, I wouldn't have been able to hear it in the water. I told my wife everything was fine and I was just going to have a look around, and I un zipup the tent and I stepped out the flashlight was on and my pistol was raised. I scanned three hundred and sixty degrees and didn't see anything. We were alone on that island. I head back into the tent to

tell my wife everything was all right. When I heard something crashing off through the brush up the slope. I tried to get the flashlight on it, but it was far enough away that I couldn't see anything now. I spent the rest of the night feeding the campfire, sitting in a long chair with my back to the flames, with a pistol and the flashlight in my lap, while my wife slept. The following morning, we tore the camp

down and quickly loaded everything into the raft. Before leaving, I walked up and down our side of the river channel, once again looking for evidence of beavers, but nothing I saw led me to believe that there was any in the area. We floated out of there before even cooking breakfast, and a few miles down stream, my wife asked me what I thought it had been. I told her it was probably a bear or a moose. She said, bears

and moose don't throw rocks, and she was right. I felt my eyes wander toward either bank on alert, hoping I would and catch a glimpse of something tracking us. We finally determined that someone was walking along the train tracks, a vagrant maybe, who happened to see our campfire and thought it would be funny to throw rocks in the water close to us. This would be extremely foolish to do to anyone camping in Bear country, but it was

the only logical conclusion we could come up with. This happened a few years ago, and since then I've had more encounters, including an experience I had bow hunting in northwestern Montana. I have never been one to go to church or really give God much thought. Throughout the last forty one years of my life. Although I had a strong belief in God, I generally had the mindset that if I kept out of his business, he would keep

out of mind. This was all about to change, however, and I feel compelled to share my story in the hopes that maybe it will be of some used to others who were struggling or sitting on the fence. When it comes to handing the reins over to Jesus, my introduction to truly believing in God did not start with him. It started with something else, something that still makes my blood run cold just thinking about it. In July of last year, my family moved from Calgary, Alberta, to my

parents' home near Edmonton. We wanted to assist my mother and father since they lived on a large piece of property by themselves. My father was ill and dealing with that much land was exceedingly difficult for them to manage. My dad had smoked for sixty years, and the result of that decision was unfortunately drawing to its inevitable conclusion. Dad was an old school stored of fella and refused

oxygen or any other help from its doctors. As we were settling in for our recent move, I noticed that over several nights, my mother was sleeping with the loan lights on in her bedroom. She and my father had slept in separate bedrooms due to his coffee. I thought her keeping the lights on was a little odd, and I inquired about it. I was surprised by what she told me. Now, my mother is an eternal optimist, and I can barely recall when unbridled fear ever touched her face.

She told me one evening prior to our arrival that she entered her room to use the washroom. She turned around to grab a book, and there in the corner of the room, just behind the partially open door, stood a black figure. She described it as being so tall that it hunched forward to fit in the room. It had big hands and long fingers, and no facial features except for two deep black bits where the eyes should

have been. Although its body was bent forward, she could tell it was looking at her, and she quickly ran into the bathroom slammed the door. She didn't stay in the bathroom long because she was worried about whatever that bloody thing was getting at my dad, and when she re entered her bedroom, the figure was gone. And after checking on my father, she tried to reason out what

she had just witnessed. From that moment on. If she slept at all, she slept with her lights on, and she wouldn't go into that room without a dog with her. I attributed this story to the deterioration of her mind from what we thought was Parkinson's at the time, and although I tried to comfort her, I simply dismissed the whole thing as a trick of light, and I got one with the evening. A few weeks passed without anything notable happening. I was responsible for my father's care and

that took up most of my time. Watching someone else die from lung cancer is an ugly business, and I feel for anyone who has experienced a loved one dying from that cancer. But one night everything changed, and it started with bugs. I would lie in bed with my wife and it would feel like bugs were crawling all over me. I could feel them on my back and chest,

and arms and legs. I could feel them everywhere. I did find a spiderbar bed the third night that started, and I merely pounded it into oblivion with my hand, thinking this was the cause of my problems. But the next night, the same thing happened. I asked my wife about it, but she didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. It became a nightly routine to check my bed for non existent bugs, only to feel them crawl across my

face shortly after I turned in. The only reprieve seemed to be moving to the couch, and when I went to the couch, the crawling would cease, but another issue would soon start. I would fall asleep and my dreams would be awful, and I'd often wake up sweating and in a panic. Other times the nightmares would leave me feeling angry or depressed. So that's how it went for

a while, Bugs the couch, nightmares, and repeat. This went on for weeks, and then the next regular occurrence started, a bad feeling followed by little pokes all over my body. This happened whether my eyes were open or closed, and as the days progressed, things got worse. The light poking became more aggressive and turned into jabbing and grabbing and squeezing and pulling and pushing. I was getting less sleep,

and tending to my daily duties became increasingly difficult. I occasionally asked my wife and mother if they noticed anything strange, but they never experienced anything. I never told my nine year old son about what was happening, except that if he noticed anything out of the ordinary, he was to let me know. I shared everything with my wife that was happening at the time, and I can't thank her enough for not calling the men in the white coats. But I told my father nothing because I figured he

had had enough to worry about. While this was happening, I contemplated my own sanity, and I attributed most of the issue to the stress of watching my father slowly deteriorate and my lack of sleep. One event, however, got my full attention and charged my mindset from that day forward. Once again, I ended up on the couch one night trying to sleep. I was on my right side when that old, familiar feeling crept in. However, this night was

very different from the previous nights. Instead of the usual routine, I felt a hand grabbed the side of my face and pushed my head down into the pillow. The hand felt large and cold and rough, with extremely long fingers. The palm of it covered the side of my face from my chin to the top of my head, with the fingers wrapping around my head and running down my jaw. We always leave a light on for my sun at

night in case he needs to use the bathroom. So when my eyes snapped open and I could see but there was no one there, the force came straight down and there was pressure from what I can only describe as a gigantic hand squeezing my head tightly. This time there was pain both from my neck and head being pushed down hard. From the pressure around my face, I could feel my hair and skin moving in response to the hand moving and pushing and squeezing, but I still

saw nothing. I let out a muffled, startled cry instinctively threw my arms up over my head. Surprisingly, this seemed to stop whatever was happening, and I rolled on my back and I looked around wildly, and I could feel something walk down the link of the couch toward my feet, kind of like when someone walks by you when your eyes are closed. There wasn't any sound either, no footsteps or anything. I turned my head to look at my feet, which were now placed on the arm set opposite my head,

when I felt something grab both of my ankles. This time, I did see something. As I was watching my feet, I saw the material of the sweatpants that I was wearing move, as if someone was painfully squeezing my ankles. I began kicking my legs and uttering a series of curses, and then it stopped. I sat up and rubbed my neck and my jaw on my ankles because they hurt like hell. There wasn't any bruising that I could see, but my head and ankles felt that they had been

placed in a vice. I didn't sleep at all after that. My routine changed, and I stayed up every night after that for as long as possible, checking in on my family constantly and making sure they were okay. Now, this happened to no one else in the family at the time. Other than that, I did nothing else. I didn't seek out any help from the outside sources, and I kept what happened to me relatively quiet, even though I was

pretty scared. After that, thing seemed to die down a bit and reverted to bugs and poking again in the wee hours of the morning. I was running on months of no sleep while trying to care for my father, and now I knew that there was something seriously wrong going on. Early in the morning a few weeks later, I was having a cigarette in the garage. Our garage has a work bench in front of a big window.

When I was watching YouTube and drinking coffee with my leg on top of the bench to stretch my back while I was looking at my phone, the bad feeling return. This time, however, it was much worse than before. What I felt was pure malevolence. I wanted to run, but I was afraid to move. I could feel it coming closer, and I suddenly noticed that I was cold. I couldn't see my breath, but I was shaking from the drop

in the temperature. I felt it come up behind me and managed to turn my head and look, and there was nothing there. Then I felt it grabbed my upper thigh, and I panicked, and I spun around and I swung my fist through the air, and then I ran to the garage door and entered the house. I made my way through the house and I could feel that bloody thing behind me the whole time. Again. I saw nothing and heard nothing from whatever this was, but I could

feel it. So I just sat in my chair and I waited, knowing that something more was likely to happen. My breathing was labored and sporadic, as I was beyond terrified. Again, it grabbed me, this time around the back of my neck. It squeezed hard, and that was when I started to pray. First in my mind, I started to say our Father, and then I started whispering it aloud. The pressure and the grip looted and then let go all together, and

that awful feeling dissipated warmth returned to me. While I sat there whispering that prayer for quite some time, not wanting to move. I was done in every way I can think of, and I had had enough. Like so many times before, I did not sleep that night, and in the morning, I drove off the property and made a call to my aunt and uncle, who were both pastors. After telling them everything and on the verge of tears, I was surprised that they weren't as alarmed as I

thought they would be. They asked me a few basic questions, like had this ever happened before? And if I had ever prayed or spoken to Jesus out loud. Well up until the previous night, I couldn't recall ever praying out loud, except on rare occasions that I would go to church for something like a funeral. They told me of its importance. I repeated a prayer offering both myself and my son to Jesus. I met what I said, and although I did not understand it fully, things again were about to change.

When I went home, I felt better, but wasn't expecting any kind of change. As the evening loomed, I readied myself for the worst. I was exhausted, and early in the evening I tried to lay down for a nap as I was expecting the night to be a long one. However, when I went to bed, nothing happened. There were no bugs crawling on me, no poking or prodding. I wasn't even anxious. I was just tired. For the first time

in months, I fell fast asleep. There were no awful nightmares or experiences, and when I woke it was light outside. I slept through the entire night without an incident. At that point I dared to dream that my ordeal was over, but it wasn't. It happened again. Three weeks later. My aunt and uncle had told me that I had the authority to send anything un gone out of my house by speaking the words I had spoken in the car

of weeks earlier with them. As I felt the presence move up beside me, I felt that old, familiar hand grab the top of my head. My breath caught, and I went to say the words my aunt and uncle had taught me, but nothing came out of my mouth. And in my mind I heard the words say it, say it, You've got to say it, but I couldn't find my voice. I was becoming more alarmed as the presence felt increasingly hostile toward me, the grip tightened and

I was on the verge of sheer panic. It took everything I had to get it out, and I blurted out what I was instructed to say. The result was instantaneous. The grip on my head immediately lifted, and I could feel that malevolent presence move away from me. It did, however, leave me a gift. My right knee exploded in pain, and I felt as if a knife was twisting inside of it. It took my breath away, but as quickly as it started it stop. Laying there panting and sweating,

I felt something significant had just happened. That was the last time it ever bothered me, and the first time I truly felt God's presence. Unfortunately, a week later, my father was admitted to the hospital, and soon after that he died. The months following my father's death were confusing, and it took me a long time to put the pieces together. My son came to me a few weeks

after my dad passed, complaining that he couldn't sleep. He told me that it felt like he was being watched and that he got a bad feeling while he was trying to fall asleep. And when I heard this, I immediately took him to his room, and he repeated the same words I had spoken twice before. There's been no disturbance in the house since. My son has never again mentioned any kind of disturbance. He just turned ten years old. Now. I never told him of the experiences I had months earlier.

And as for my mother, she too never had any other experiences. Now. I read the Bible one or two times a day, and I pray several times throughout the day. We now sit together as a family to read and discuss the scripture. My son and I pray together every night before he goes to bed. Even reminds me if I forget up. Until a few months ago, I had never cracked open a Bible. I call myself a believer,

only to find that I was far from it. I've done some awful things in my life, and I guess fundamentally, I never thought redemption was an option for me because I didn't deserve it. But not only was I forgiven, but God was there when I needed him the most. And to discover that God is there will help you if you ask is mind blowing, as is the realization that the devil and his minions are also real I still struggle with what happened to me daily, and it is only through the grace of God that I can

continue to remain sane. To say the last year has been difficult is likely the biggest understatement of my life. But through prayer, I have learned that if you talk to God, he might answer you, which is both wonderful and terrifying all on its own. Again, I consulted my aunt and uncle about whether this sort of thing happens, and they assured me that it indeed does. I sent my story to you because I was instructed to talk about my experience and tell others about it. For reasons

I can only guess. As I've stated before, I'm new to this sort of thing and I don't really understand it. I hope that as this journey progresses, I will gain some clarity, but only time will tell. Thank you for your time in reading this. I truly appreciate you sharing my experience. Take care, and may God bless you and he signs his at the end. And as a terrifying story,

I actually believe the story one hundred percent. Anyway, for people who might be having these problems, listen to what this man wrote he's found the secret to getting rid of some kind of evil spirit, and I think it's worth taking seriously and I think it's worth listening to. So thank you to the writer. It's a horrifying story, but I'm glad everything is okay. Thank you, Hey, thanks for hanging with me this far on this podcast. Hope you enjoyed it and we will see you on the

next one. Love you all see it. M. Thanks