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Pripyat, Ukraine. Population zero. Ground zero for the worst nuclear disaster in history.

Pripyat was evacuated within days of the Chernobyl nuclear disaster on April 26, 1986, turning a bustling city of just under 50,000 people into a veritable ghost town.

Since that date, the city has been abandoned, sitting right in the middle of the “Zone of Alienation”, a 260 square kilometer area surrounding the former power plant that extends into neighboring Belarus.

Some say this ghost town harbors actual ghosts.

Both tourists and official workers within the Zone, as well as those who illegally sneak into the area, have experienced strange things when visiting Pripyat and the area surrounding the Chernobyl nuclear power plant. …


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I want to be abducted by aliens.

I want to be taken aboard an extraterrestrial space craft, a “UFO”, if you will, and I want to experience, first hand, what so many alien abductees have, and continue to, experience.

I fully realize that there is nothing pleasant about an alien abduction.

Through personally interviewing hundreds of alien abductees, I know that the experience is anything but fun.

It’s terrifying to be taken against your will, paralyzed, and surrounded by speechless beings with pale grey skin and large, black eyes that stare through you as if they read your every thought. …


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I stepped out of the car and shivered as the cold October air blasted through my thin jacket. At the end of the driveway stood a single level ranch house with a converted garage — perhaps a bedroom or a den. Most likely a den due to the bay window, oddly jutting into the crumbling driveway.

The house wasn’t old. It was built in the 1970s. The hedges along the perimeter and the all-concrete walkway with cast iron railing leading up to the front door continued to make the case for dating the property back four decades. …


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XPI lead investigators, Allan Barnes and Lourdes Laguna, has an unnerving visit from a strange man in the desert during a UFO stakeout.

Lourdes shivered and pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders. I rubbed my hands together and cupped my ice cold fingers into the palm of my hand, warming them up just enough so that I had the dexterity to change the battery on our camera, a thoroughly modded Canon 5D MK1 with a custom-built 500mm f/1.2 lens — the only one of its kind in existence.

The DSLR had been converted to record in full spectrum, and fitted with powerful infrared and UV spotlights. It was our primary UFO-recording tool, and we were testing it out for the first time at night. …


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Lake Seljordsvatnet, Norway — Home of a legendary lake monster named “Selma”.

“It’s coming toward us.” The tone in Pol Visser’s voice was a combination of delight and agitation. At least he was in the protected cabin of the boat. I was alone on the bow, peering into the inky-black water with my night-vision binoculars.

“I don’t see anything,” I shouted back to him.

“It’s something really big,” he exclaimed. “Really big, on your right. I reckon 5 to 7 meters. …


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My father exploded through the back door leading to our kitchen and slammed it shut. Pressing his full body weight against it, he locked the door, bolted it, and then shoved our kitchen table up to it. Then he grabbed the machete that he kept tucked in the narrow space between the refrigerator and the wall.

I had never seen my father scared before. He is taller than average, and strong. As a former luchador (Mexican wrestler), he isn’t easily intimidated. But his eyes were opened wide and he was, as I vividly remember, shaken to his core. …


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Emily’s Bridge — Stowe, Vermont

The pitch-black darkness smothered me. The rushing water of Gold Brook ten feet below me echoed against the wooden walls and roof of the Gold Brook Covered Bridge in Stowe, Vermont.

It filled my ears so that I could hear nothing but the vicious rush of water over rock, reverberating off the old wooden walls. But I could feel, and what I felt was the slightest sensation of something just barely brushing against my left arm. Just barely.

I was the only one of my team inside what locals call “Emily’s Bridge”, probably the most famous haunted place in Vermont. I had taken over the “bridge shift” from Claire Heins, who had just wrapped up an EVP session and reported being lightly touched by “something” also. …

About

Davy Russell

I am a writer, tarot consultant, and aspiring herbalist. I write short fiction on Medium.

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