My name’s Booker (28M). I work at a veterinarian hospital outside of Juniper, WV. I live with my two cats and an off-again on-again significant other. I’m coherent and of sound mind.
I’ve tried telling this story a thousand times. I’ve tried telling my parents, my friends, my co-workers… but there’s no way to tell it without sounding like a complete lunatic. Their eyes just glaze over, and I get ‘the smile’. You know the one. So I figured I’d write it all down instead; try to make it cohesive. Maybe someone has seen something similar.
On February 17th, 2023, I was heading to work. I took the I-79 north towards Morgantown when I came across a parked vehicle on the side of the road. Looked like an older generation silver-white Toyota Avalon. It must’ve been there for some time, since there was snow covering parts of the hood. I could see a big dent on one side, and a crack in the passenger side window. One of the doors was open.
I pulled over and glanced at it from afar. I couldn’t see anyone in there. I looked up the number to the sheriff’s office and called it in. Gave them my name and all. They told me they’d look into it. Then I got back in my car and didn’t think any more of it.
I had to work a bit later than usual that day. An hour or so, nothing major. When I was finally heading back home, it was already dark out. It was somewhere around 6:30 pm when I got to that same stretch of road where I’d seen that Avalon earlier that morning.
And 10 hours later, it was still there.
The snow was stacked higher by now, but it was impossible to miss it. I figured the Sheriff’d ignored my call. Somewhere along the line, someone dropped the ball. This thing needed to be towed, or there could be a nasty accident. All this went through my mind as I took the eyes off the road.
And in that split second, someone stepped in front of my car.
I swerved, but it was too late.
There’s a very distinct sound to hitting someone with your vehicle. There’s like a whiplash effect when the head swings around and smacks into the windshield. It’s like when you’re swinging a bat, putting all the power at the very end.
There was an explosion of blood, like a popped balloon. The sudden cracks in the windshield let in a whiff of cold highway air. I was doing everything I could to stop.
I remember this strange sound, like a wounded animal. I know it was just me, screaming, but it was such an unusual sound that I can’t help thinking it came from someone else.
When I finally came to a full stop, I was already on my phone with the emergency services. I was trying to remain calm, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I kept hearing bleeping noises as my fingers accidentally kept hitting numbers. I was telling the operator my name, address, what’d happened, everything. Hell, I probably told them what I had for lunch.
I got out of the car and saw the victim on the side of the road. I’d watched enough shows to know I shouldn’t move them, but I wanted to be near and do what the operator asked.
The victim was a young man, no older than 16, maybe 17 years old. We had the same hair, only his hadn’t been brushed in a while. He was wearing this forest-green hoodie with a pair of black jeans. There were branches and brambles stuck all over him, and I could see these little cuts and jabs along his clothes. He also had a peculiar smell. Chemical, like ammonia, I think.
His eyes were wide open, staring straight ahead. He didn’t make any sound. No grunting, no wincing. He was just taking small breaths, laying there. There was a tiny pool of blood by his temple.
The operator kept yelling in my ear, trying to get my attention. They wanted me to make sure he was breathing.
“Hold your hand about an inch in front of his face,” she said. “Can you feel the wind?”
I held my hand down and felt a cold breath push against my skin. But there was also a little huff, like he smelled me. Suddenly, his eyes darted my way. He seemed to investigate my clothes.
Once I acknowledged he was breathing, they asked me to acknowledge he was conscious. I told them he was looking at me, but they needed an estimation of his mental state.
“Sir,” I said. “Can you see me? Do you know where you are?”
His eyes locked straight ahead again. He didn’t move an inch. I repeated myself, over and over, trying to get his attention. Finally, I put a hand on his shoulder. That caught his attention.
“Bad man,” he whispered. “Help”.
He had this strange wheeze to his voice. I figured something was broken, or that he was trying to keep a straight face. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why, but it bothered me.
I was told to stay with him until the ambulance arrived. I turned on the hazard lights and made sure my car was well off to the side. I tried to be comforting. I tried telling him it was gonna be okay, and I carefully held his hand. He didn’t react. He just stared straight ahead, and whenever I seemed a bit insistent, he’d give me that strange look and say the same thing;
“Bad man help.”
When the ambulance arrived, I stepped back. They asked me a bunch of questions and tried to assess the damage. I told them about the head trauma and showed them the blood on my windshield, but that seemed to confuse them. For someone to take that kind of head trauma, and still be conscious, seemed strange. They figured he’d had a major concussion and gone into chock. They pulled out a stretcher, carefully moved him, and put the safety straps on.
The police were on their way, and my car was gonna get towed. I was freaking out. I didn’t know how to get home, or if my insurance would cover this, or how I’d get to work on Monday, or… just a thousand little worries, all at once. From the stories I’ve heard, this man might sue me for everything I owned. You hear all the time about Samaritans stopping to help, only to get screwed over.
One of the paramedics stopped to look me over but could see that I was in no immediate risk. Still, I could be concussed. They told me it’d be best if I rode along with them to get a thorough check at the hospital. I could ride up front while they kept the strange man in the back for observation. Slight breach of policy, but nothing major.
I got in, and we took off down the road. I could see the police in the rear-view mirror, just seconds behind us. They stopped at the accident site.
The ambulance driver was a woman in her late 30’s. She had a calm demeanor and this sinewy kind of strength; like she could lift a truck, but also be knocked over by a sudden gust of wind. She tried her best to keep me in check.
“I’m sure you’re okay,” she said. “But it’s better to be sure. You got that insurance for a reason.”
“Maybe you ought to just drop me off,” I said. “You guys got your hands full.”
“We got people waiting on site,” she smiled. “Don’t worry, you’ll be in and out in ten minutes. Just have a nurse check up on you first, alright?”
“Alright.”
I could hear the paramedic in the back try his best to establish contact with the victim. He asked him questions, tried to keep him calm, and encouraged him to stay awake. The victim didn’t move. Not an inch.
“I think there’s an obstruction,” I heard. “I’m checking his throat.”
My mind was racing. I could still be held accountable for some kind of accidental manslaughter charge, or something similar. I hadn’t been drinking, but maybe there could be a false positive on a drug test? I didn’t know for sure every ingredient in that lunch sandwich I ate.
I tried to stay calm and listen to the driver. She smiled at me, nodded, and told me it was gonna be okay. Then, there was that moment. It was like the sound of the engine faded away. I remember the words, clear as day.
“There’s something in his throat.”
Looking up, I saw dark figures appearing on the road ahead of us.
What happened next is hard to describe. It was like an explosion went off. There was an enormous force pushing against the left side of the vehicle, forcing the driver to swerve right to compensate. There was a scream as the paramedic in the back was flung into the wall. I heard the safety straps on the stretcher bend, and the sudden ‘twang’ of metal as something snapped.
Flesh smacked into the glass separating the front and back of the ambulance. There was a spatter of red and black, along with strands of brown hair. The screaming in the back stopped.
There was panic. The swerving was out of control. I heard pounding coming from the back of the ambulance but couldn’t see through the bloodied glass.
“Bad. Man. Help.”
That strange, monotone voice. Every word emphasized another hit.
We were going too fast, passing by streetlights. I saw it all play out like a strobe effect. The driver trying to regain control. The bloodied glass denting. Brown eyes looking up at me, and the two of us understanding that we’d lost control.
Then it all came to a stop. We hit something, and all air was pushed out of my lungs as something in my chest snapped. I was flung against the seatbelt as the world shifted around me, and we came tumbling down a slope.
Screaming. Broken glass. My world turning upside down, tossing me around like a handkerchief in a snowstorm.
And then, it was quiet.
I was scared to open my eyes, thinking I might be dead. When I finally opened them, I heard the back of the ambulance open. There was an enormous pressure on my right arm, and it took me a few seconds to realize the ambulance had flipped to the side, with the driver’s door positioned upwards.
The airbag had deployed as the driver had her head at an angle, possibly giving her some kind of neck damage. Her arms hung haplessly down towards me as she groaned, trying her best to move. I hadn’t even noticed the airbags going off, but now that they lay deployed and used, I could see that they probably saved my life.
I could barely see anything. There were no immediate lights here, and everything was at a strange angle. If I concentrated, I could make out a few stars in the sky. One of the headlights was still on, but that just illuminated the ground ahead.
I felt snow brush against my hand as I realized most of the passenger side window on my side was gone.
I stayed still, waiting, trying my best to catch my breath. My lungs ached, and every bit of movement on my part caused a new string of pain to shoot through me. My head was ringing, and I couldn’t identify what, exactly, was wrong with me.
Then, the door on the driver’s side was torn off.
It was almost effortless. I heard some kind of mechanism struggle, but all it took was a rough pull, and it came loose.
“Bad man,” I heard someone wheeze. “Help.”
I tried to shield my eyes from falling glass as I looked up. Someone was lifting the driver out of her seat.
“N-no,” she complained. “W-wait, you… you can’t-“
Then, a hard pull. She screamed. She was still stuck on something, but whoever was pulling her out didn’t care. Instead, they pulled harder. I heard something snap as she came loose, and heard a thump as they unceremoniously threw her off the side of the ambulance. There was an impact, and she went quiet.
I saw the silhouette of someone looking down at me. Someone with a green hoodie.
“Bad man,” he said. “Help.”
Something was telling me to run. To kick, fight, scream, and force my way out the broken windshield. There was that instinct, telling me that this was something far more dangerous than a car crash. That strange monotone voice was unmistakable. This was the man I’d hit with my car earlier.
In a moment of instinct, I froze. I closed my eyes, leaned my head away, and just lay as still as possible. I felt the ambulance shift as he climbed down and tugged on my jacket. Fingers ran down my face, like when a cat tries to poke you with its paw for attention. I stayed still, holding my breath. Another tug at my jacket, and then they climbed back out; leaving the driver’s side wide open.
They weren’t interested in dead people.
I tried to stay still. One of the headlights were still on, and I could see dark shapes moving outside. I could feel my pulse rising and slowing as my body demanded air, but every breath felt like a risk. I tried counting them, to keep myself calm.
There were four people outside. One of them was the man in the green hoodie, but the other three had wandered in from seemingly nowhere. An overweight and balding man with a thick red scarf. A tall, muscular woman with some kind of choker. And lastly, someone who looked like a 12-year-old girl.
None of them was appropriately dressed for the season, yet none of them seemed to freeze. Also, I couldn’t see them breathe.
I tried to get my phone out of my pocket, but it was difficult without moving too much. The deflated airbag kept crinkling when I moved, and I didn’t want the people outside to notice. They had dragged the paramedics into the snow, and seemed to be inspecting them.
One of the four people, the one who looked like a young girl, perked her ears up and looked off in the distance. It kinda reminded me of how a meerkat alerts the flock. The others stopped to look at her. Then, in a coordinated movement, they all dropped to the ground - seemingly dead.
One by one, they started screaming with these eerie, hollow voices.
“Help!”
“Heeeeelp!”
“Bad man! Heeeeelp!”
I could hear voices in the distance. An old woman screaming ‘oh my God’ over and over. A man telling them help is on the way. Another man shouting, telling them to ‘hold on’.
From behind the cracked windshield, I saw a man drop to his knees in the snow, putting his ear to the mouth of the one with the hoodie. I wanted to signal him to run, or to back away, but I couldn’t risk myself being pulled into this. If I exposed myself, it might be a death sentence. Whatever these people were doing, there was something fundamentally wrong.
“He’s not breathing!” the man yelled out. “Hurry!”
He pushed the hoodie back, straightened the man’s neck, and started to administer CPR. Heart compressions, and then mouth-to-mouth. He did it several times, and I saw people coming down from the highway slope to check them out. At least three people. One was on his way over to help the tall woman.
Then there was a strange sound.
The man administering mouth-to-mouth stopped. He made this strange gurgling noise as he tried to pull himself up. At a glance, it seemed that the man with the hoodie had somehow attached his face to him, like a suction cup. There was a struggle, and this pained humming noise, growing louder. Like someone screaming into a pillow. For a moment, the men’s lips separated, and I saw something ivory white moving in the space between.
The man with the green hoodie did something impossible.
It looked like his shoulder blades moved independently of his arms, pushing him up with an impossible sit-up; still with the man administering CPR on top of him. He flipped, putting himself on top, with the man underneath him. Then, walking on all fours like a scurrying insect, he started to drag him, mouth-to-mouth, away from the highway slope.
At this point, a switch clicked in my head. These weren’t people. I couldn’t stay calm any longer, and there was no way that I’d try to fake being dead any longer. I couldn’t risk it. Instead, I forced my leg up and started climbing out of the ambulance; putting my dirty shoes down on the expensive equipment, using it as a springboard.
There were so many screams.
I saw the tall woman bite down on the calf of her would-be rescuer and dragging him off. The 12-year-old girl looking person jumped on the back of another, biting into their neck and digging her fingers into their chest.
It was so fast, like they’d practiced it. It was perfectly coordinated, and in a matter of seconds they’d overpowered three people.
The moment I got out of the ambulance, I noticed one of them looking at me; the balding man. He had these wide black eyes, and a strange looking tongue. It was completely white and had a split end; like a cluster of noodles, or snake heads. For a split second, we just looked at one another.
Then he dropped to all fours and started galloping towards me.
I jumped off the ambulance, only to lose the remaining air in my lungs. I had clearly broken something and couldn’t stand up straight. I just couldn’t. The nerves didn’t obey the way the should. My leg was sprained, but as long as I didn’t bend it I could move pretty fast.
The ambulance had driven straight off the highway, down a slope, and slid into a field. I could see this long stretch of barren ground where snow had been pushed away.
There was a small patch of trees next to us, and I decided to rush through it. Maybe it would slow him down enough for me to catch my breath. I was getting light-headed, like I couldn’t push enough air into my body.
“Bad. Man. Help. Bad. Man. Help.”
The balding man kept repeating the same words, over and over, with every gallop. It had such an unnatural sound to it; a voice coming from down low, with such an unearthly monotone cadence.
I rushed through the patch of trees with the balding man catching up to me. He didn’t seem the least bit bothered. He crawled over logs and bushes with ease; much faster than what I did. The only thing I had going for me was a head start and this burning panic pushing me forward.
I got to the side of the slope and started climbing. It was at least 16 feet and a steep angle, so I had no choice but to crawl my way up. It was part dirt and part gravel, making me slide whenever I put too much weight on it.
Fortunately, the balding man was much heavier than me. He had a lot of trouble getting up, but he made up for it in enthusiasm and sheer abandon. He dug his hands in, he kicked with his feet, he jumped and lunged. And little by little, he was catching up to me.
His hand touched the sole of my shoe.
Instinctively, I kicked. I felt my heel connect with something soft as cartilage gave way to rubber. I looked down.
I could barely make out anything with the waning light from the streets above. But I saw this blank face with these completely black eyes, looking up at me. His nose was broken, almost ripped from his face, but there was no blood. All I saw was these little white strings under his skin; waving back and forth. Slowly, the strings started to pull the nose back to its original place.
In a hissing warning, he opened his mouth, and I saw straight into his throat; where something moved.
I made it back up to the highway and started sprinting. In my mind, he was just inches away, and I didn’t want to find out what would happen if he caught me. I didn’t want to be dragged off into the dark.
Instead, I heard cars approaching in every direction. Some honked, others switched lanes. I sprinted straight across, hearing the man switch from a gallop to a two-legged run.
I was climbing across the mid-section when I flinched from the pain in my chest. The air in my lungs escaped me, and in that moment of hesitation he caught up to me. He grabbed a hold of my jacket and started pulling me back.
“Bad. Man. Help.”
He was too strong. Not just for me, but in general. There was this cramp-like pull in his fingers, like iron clasps. I tried to pull away, but I just couldn’t. I tried to scream for help, but I had no air left in my lungs, and I was getting dizzy. Instead, with the last bit of strength in me, I undid the zipper on my jacket. It came flying off, and my assailant lost his footing.
I saw him stumbling backwards; straight into an oncoming moving truck.
The balding man bounced off the hood like something out of a pinball machine. He tumbled into the road as the moving truck stepped on the breaks, trying their best to honk to warn the other drivers.
I found an opening and headed straight for the truck, yelling along the way.
“Stay… stay in! Don’t go out! Keep your windows up!”
I got to the passenger side. There was only the driver inside, and I knocked. He let me in. A man in his late 60’s, clearly shaken. He could barely contain himself. I tried to calm him, but we just ended up screaming at one another. Finally, I pointed to the balding man, still illuminated by the headlights.
“He’s not dead!” I repeated. “He’s faking! He’s faking it!”
The driver didn’t listen. He opened the door, but I grabbed his coat. I didn’t let him go. After a few seconds of struggling back and forth, he tried punching me. We scuffled a bit until we noticed flashing lights in the rear-view mirror.
Two police officers approached us, but there were more coming down the opposite side. I pointed at the balding man, screaming the same thing over and over. Telling them he wasn’t dead. That he was faking. That I’d been attacked. One of the officers pulled me aside.
“Are you sure?” he said. “Are you sure about this?”
Of course I was. I tried telling them everything at once, making me jumble the words and lose my train of thought. The two officers exchanged a look, and the other approached the balding man. In one swift movement, he pulled out his handgun, and fired eight rounds.
It was like the world stopped for a second. All screams and shouts faded away with my ringing ears. The balding man took eight rounds, but still squirmed. He took four more to the chest before he stopped moving. One of the officers started repeating numbers into his walkie-talkie, while the other stayed with me and the driver.
“We’re taking you home,” he said. “No questions right now. Let’s just get you home.”
I was put in the squad car, along with the driver of the moving truck. Just minutes later, the road was swarming with flashing lights. I saw some policemen move to the side of the road, looking down the slope. As we drove away, I heard several of them open fire against something down below. Handguns, shotguns, rifles; a firing squad, illuminating the dark.
When they realized I was wounded, I was taken to the hospital.
The incident was reported as a traffic accident. No matter who I talked to about it, they all said the same thing; traffic accident. That’s what it said in all the papers, online, and in all the reports. That’s all I got to hear; over and over. Traffic accident. Not a single source mentioned handguns being discharged, or people being carried into the woods.
I was diagnosed with a concussion, a broken rib, and two small fractures just below the knee on my left leg. Every time I tried to mention what really happened, I was immediately dismissed. Not a single reputable news source would listen, claiming I was concussed and obsessed with “popular fiction”. Apparently, these things are a common urban myth. They call them “scarf people”, and there have been stray reports (and hoaxes) relating to them for years. Fake people using devious tactics to lure victims into secluded areas.
It goes against my nature to look the other way when I see people get hurt. I want to help. I want to be there. But now I know that there are things out there that aren’t playing by the same rules.
They’re just playing possum.