Over the years, the internet has seen its fair share of spooky images. From possible Bigfoot sightings to UFOs in the sky to ghosts haunting the windows of old houses, there’s no shortage of creepy photos.
While many of these images are often easily explained, usually just by camera blur or clever Photoshop work, there are some that seem to defy all logic. Take the case of runner Kay Borleis, who discovered something disturbing in a photo she took during her 100-mile run through the Hawaiian rainforest.
In 2019, Kay participated in the Hawaiian Ultra Running Team’s Trail 100-Mile Endurance Run, which involved completing five laps of a 20-mile loop through dense jungle. She was accompanied by her friend Cassie, who acted as a pacemaker and captured moments during her run.
A photo showing Kay walking along a muddy trail took a surprising turn when she later noticed a strange detail in the background. In a post on Reddit, Kay shared: “My Pacer took this photo. Look closely at the figure to the left of my head. We didn’t see anyone pass by and there were no statues on the trail. It’s NOT photoshopped; this is real”.
When you zoom in on the image, you can see a dark figure in tattered clothing who appears to be watching Kay as he runs. However, Kay insisted that no one was there at the time.
She continued: “According to Hawaiian legend, the ghosts of ancient warriors known as Night Marchers roam the island. Described as ‘murderous shadows’, they haunt the land as the spirits of past fighters and heroes”.
Kay continued her research and found that legends say that anyone who looks at the Night Marchers could face a terrible fate. To avoid this, mortals are advised to lie down in submission to show respect, which could potentially spare them harm.
“Luckily we didn’t encounter the Night Marcher”, she said with relief. Have you ever spotted something unexpected in one of your photos? Share your experiences in the comments!
I COMPLAINED ABOUT MY NEW NEIGHBORS’ HORRIBLE FOUNTAIN & RECEIVED A THREATENING NOTE FROM THEM.
The quietude of Elm Street, once a symphony of birdsong and gentle laughter, had been shattered. The arrival of the new neighbors, the Morlocks, had thrown the idyllic tranquility of their little community into chaos.
Initially, I had tried to be welcoming. A plate of freshly baked cookies, a warm smile, a friendly “Welcome to the neighborhood!” But my overture had been met with a chilling silence. The woman who answered the door, pale and gaunt, had regarded me with a suspicion that bordered on paranoia. “Ew, it smells awful,” she had muttered, her eyes darting nervously around as if I were some sort of disease.
Then came the fountain. A monstrosity of wrought iron and gargoyles, it stood imposingly in their yard, a constant, jarring presence. The incessant gurgling and splashing, day and night, had become the soundtrack to our lives. Sleep became elusive, replaced by the monotonous drone of the water.
The neighborhood, once a haven of peace and camaraderie, was now a battleground. Tempers flared. Arguments erupted at the weekly community meetings. Finally, a vote was taken – a unanimous decision to request the removal of the fountain.
And so, the unenviable task of filing the official complaint fell to me. I, the self-proclaimed peacemaker, the neighborhood’s unofficial ambassador of goodwill, was now the bearer of bad tidings.
That evening, as I returned home, a small, ominous package lay on my doorstep. No return address. A shiver ran down my spine.
Inside, a single sheet of paper, scrawled with menacing handwriting:
“I KNOW YOUR SECRET. YOU WILL BE POLITE TO YOUR NEW NEIGHBORS, OR EVERYONE WILL KNOW.”
Fear, cold and clammy, gripped me. Who was it? The Morlocks? Or someone else, someone watching, someone waiting for the right moment to strike?
The following days were a blur of paranoia and unease. I checked every window and door lock multiple times a night. I slept with the light on, the faintest sound sending shivers down my spine. My once peaceful neighborhood had transformed into a place of fear and suspicion.
The police, after much persuasion, agreed to investigate. They questioned the Morlocks, of course, but they denied any involvement. The woman, her face gaunt and drawn, maintained her innocence, claiming she was simply trying to enjoy her own property.
The investigation yielded nothing. No fingerprints, no witnesses, no concrete evidence. The threat remained, a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurked beneath the surface of our seemingly idyllic community.
I started carrying a small can of pepper spray, my hand instinctively reaching for it at every rustle of leaves, every unfamiliar sound. I avoided going out alone at night, my days filled with a constant sense of unease.
The incident had changed me. The once friendly, outgoing neighbor was now withdrawn, suspicious, constantly scanning the shadows for signs of danger. The peace and tranquility of Elm Street, shattered by the arrival of the Morlocks, had been replaced by a chilling sense of fear and uncertainty.
And the fountain, that monstrous, discordant symbol of their arrival, continued to spew its icy water, a constant reminder of the darkness that had seeped into the heart of their once idyllic community.I COMPLAINED ABOUT MY NEW NEIGHBORS’ HORRIBLE FOUNTAIN & RECEIVED A THREATENING NOTE FROM THEM.
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