THIS Native American JUST EXPOSED Them

THIS Native American JUST EXPOSED Them

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Hello, son!

I'm an Old Texas Scare. An old man from Texas that likes horror. On this channel, I mostly talk about scary park rangers, deep woods, and camping horror stories.

#nativeamerican #horrorstories #texas

[perfectlyimperfect]

So glad I found this channel, Thank you for the awsome stories!Hope everyone has a great night !

[Chatgpt]

Story ideas: It was a bitter, cold winter evening in the old Texan heartland, and it had folks all riled up to stay indoors, huddled by their fireplaces. As an experienced park ranger, I've seen many peculiar things in my day, but none as eerie as what I stumbled upon the night the Wendigo came to town.

My memory of that night is as clear as a cold stream in the black heart of winter. The moon was hangin' high in the sky, casting a ghostly glow over the landscape that stretched as far as the eye could see. Out there in that desolate land, one could easily lose their way or mind. I reckon that's exactly what happened to the Wendigo's first victim.

He was a young newlywed named Jeb, eager to show his wife the great heartland that he knew and loved so well. The two had unwittingly ventured deep into the Wendigo's territory, foolishly unprepared for what would befall them. A ruckus woke me from my slumber; that's when I first caught wind of the deviltry that would ensue.

Makin' my way toward the sound, I found myself outside their camp; Jeb’s wife, the picture of terror, with her face whiter than a sun-bleached cow skull. She'd been left alone; that there Wendigo snatched up her dear Jeb like a child takes a toy from another. I could tell it had not been no ordinary beast that took him; the tracks were misshapen and not unlike those of a man.

Gatherin' up my courage, I began to track that foul creature. I'd heard whispers of such a beast before, but never had I come face-to-face with it. As I followed them gnarled tracks, the wind whistled through the trees, each gust sendin' icy shivers down my spine. Somethin' about this search felt unnatural, like I was bein' tested by some mighty force.

They say that when the Wendigo strikes, it leaves the air heavy with a smell o' sulfur and decay. That night, as I stumbled upon the remains of poor Jeb, I knew I was in the presence of pure evil. What I saw can't be forgotten or retold, lest I wish to fill others with indelible horror.

With resolution steelin' my heart, I returned to the misguided wife and broke the news; Jeb was gone, and there weren't no bringin' him back. I sent her to the nearest town to gather help, and I spent that night awaitin' the imminent return of the beast.

Yet before the townfolk could heed my warning, the Wendigo made 'nother appearance, snatching up poor Timmy Jenkins from his family's porch. Screams and cries tore through the night, and I knew the Wendigo was claimin' its territory.

Glowin' eyes hauntin' each corner of the woods, it was impossible to pinpoint the source of the evil. But I'd be damned if I gave up. I was the last line o' defense between that Texan town and the leviathan that stalked it.

A band o' volunteers formed, and we set out to tear the Wendigo from its sanctuary in the woods. Bravin' the cold and fear, we found signs of that unholy bein’. Blood and bones scattered 'round its lair, tellin' us we were near.

Out of the darkness, it struck. Fast and furious, it tore through our party like a cyclone. Men I've known all my life were ripped limb from limb, their screams unnervingly met with the wind's howl.

I locked my eyes with the Wendigo, the power of its gaze dang near paralyzed me. It was somethin’ beyond human, twisted and gaunt, its hunger radiatin' out like a predator near a wounded animal. I was sure it was my number that would be called next.

Luck was on my side, though, for the beast decided to spare me that night. Instead, it tore off into the woods, seemingly satisfied with the carnage it had left behind, while I, shaken to my very core, remained alive to bear witness.

I returned to the town, scarred and forever changed. We swore to never speak of the Wendigo again and to stay vigilant for its return. As time crawled on, the townfolk began to believe the beast had retreated for good, movin' on to other prey.

But season after season, cold hearts and eerie howls still plagued me. I could feel the Wendigo's breath lingerin' on the fringes, its eyes still hauntin' the town through the long winter nights.

For years, I remained vigilant, a soldier against the silent terror that had once struck us. As more families settled in the area, we kept quiet 'bout the Wendigo's legend. You might say we chose to forget, but I reckon it's more proper to say we chose to bear our burden.

And so, as the sun sets each evenin', I stand watch over the woods, lookin' for the sign that the Wendigo will surely return. Others question my sanity; they say that the burden of tragedy has driven me mad.

But as I look off into the depths of the woods, a deep chill grips my heart, and the unnerving truth remains: the Wendigo has not forgotten, and one day, it will rise again to claim its cruel reward from the blood-drenched soil of this Texan heartland. The Wendigo waits, and so do I. Hope you like it