AnswerSeeker67
Paranormal Novice
I don’t like talking about what happened, but I need to get this off my chest. For privacy’s sake, all names have been changed. My hope is that by throwing it into the ether, I won’t feel so haunted by what happened that night, and maybe someone can validate my experience with one of their own. I grew up in Stewart, Minnesota, an almost nonexistent town North of everything with a population of about 460 people. Growing up in a small town surrounded by the Northernwoods, you hear things, strange things. As a kid, I heard whispers of wendigos supposedly eating hikers who have disappeared, ghost ships on the lake, and, of course, Bigfoot. Being a skeptic and a believer in science, I always pushed the stories aside because they were just that, stories. My mother was a firm believer in all things supernatural and said that even if I don’t believe, I must respect them. She spoke of these things openly and often with the rest of the town, but there was one in particular she only discussed in hushed tones and whispers amongst her church friends. I wrote it off like every other tall tale and chose not to heed her warnings. This is my biggest regret. I am now 58 years old, and I have carried the guilt from my foolishness since 1998. I was drinking with my buddy when David mentioned what all of us locals call The Beast of Drummond Grade. Drummond Grade is a long dirt road that sits snugly in the thick of the Northwoods. The Beast is the thing they say stalks it. Nobody knows what it really is, but many have described it. They say it’s a highly intelligent predator that mimics the voices of loved ones to lure you in. Once it has you, it feasts on your flesh. When it’s not mimicking the voices of your friends and family, it cries out like a dying animal. Anyway, David suggested we drive down Drummond Grade to see if we could find anything, so we got in my pickup and headed out. We drove for a while but found nothing. David stuck his head out the window, taunting the damn thing, daring it to show itself. Then, something huge ran into the road. I tried to hit the brakes, but my foot slipped on crushed beer cans, and I swerved off the road and hit a tree. As I came to, I heard my mother’s voice. “Mark, honey, wake up. Get up, Mark. Follow me; I’m going to get help.” It repeated that phrase over and over, and over again. At first, I thought it was from the concussion mixed with the alcohol, but then the voice grew clearer with persistence. David woke up and heard it too, so I knew I wasn’t hallucinating. We both sat in silence, frozen in disbelief. “Dude… that can’t be your mom. You still got your shotgun in the back?” We got out of the truck, retrieved my gun, and went after the voice. Stupid, I know, but we still didn’t believe in The Beast. David held the flashlight while I kept the barrel of my gun aimed straight ahead. David stopped a ways behind me, staring straight at the ground. “Mark?” David's voice trembled; he was scared by whatever he found. I have been hunting my entire life. I’ve seen bear tracks, wolf tracks, name any predator that roams the Minnesota woods, and I’ve seen it and heard it. To this day, I’ve never seen tracks like these. They looked similar to black bear tracks, but they were 13 inches long, with claws that were about 3-4 inches long. But I’m telling you, this wasn’t no bear. The weirdest part was that there were only two footprints, like it walked on two feet and had a 5-foot stride. David begged me to turn around and go back to the truck, but I said no. I wanted answers. David refused and walked back to the car by himself, leaving the flashlight with me since we weren’t far from the road. I kept walking, hearing branches break under the heavy weight of something close by, but it quickly faded into the distance. Then, I heard a familiar voice. “David! Get help! David! Help!” It was the voice of David’s father screaming. David’s dad was killed after being crushed by a fallen tree during a bad storm when we were kids. I was sleeping over that night, and this voice mimicked his dad’s last words. Then, I heard David scream. I ran as fast as I could back to the road and found him curled up in the truck with his hands over his head, screaming about what he saw. He said it stood on two feet, about 8 feet tall, covered in grey fur with yellow eyes. It had a long snout like a wolf but short ears like a bear that pointed at the ends. I hopped in the truck and stepped on the gas. As I sped off, we heard a raspy cry that resembled an animal screaming. This wasn’t an owl or any other animal that calls these woods home. I still hear that sound every night as I try to sleep. I slept with my shotgun that night; David took his life two months later. I will never forgive myself for not following him back to the truck. Maybe he’d still be alive if I did. When people tell tales of the horrible things that lurk in the night, they’re not just stories; they’re warnings. If anyone else has experienced something similar on Drummond Grade, I am begging you, share it. I need answers, but there’s no way I am going back out there.
