My first paranormal encounter happened during a storm-of-the-century when I was just a kid. It was dark and hairy and fast. So fast, you wouldn’t even know it speared you. Get the scoop after the jump.

I was about 7-years-old when my life ‘spooky’ life changed. School had just closed for the Christmas-New Years break, and the biggest winter storm in a century descended on Wisconsin. It was December 20th, and the weatherman said the storm would sit over the Great Lakes for 3 days and lash the Upper Midwest. Gale force winds, nearly 2 feet of snow, and whiteout conditions would knock out power, which means the heat would go out, too.

My mother, Bonnie, packed me and my 2 older brothers into our family station wagon. You know the type: olive green, wood paneling, and it had a deep, burly growl when it started. It also got 6 miles to the gallon to boot.

Outside, the storm’s dark, swirling clouds formed in the distance. I wasn’t sure how long before it hit the house, but Bonnie tore through her Marlboro Lights. She took one deep drag after another and dashed the impossibly long ashes into the tray on the driver’s-side door.

Of course, my brothers and I had to fight in the backseat, well, because … brothers.

Bonnie would reach back and start slapping around blindly to make us stop. She almost fish-tailed off the skinny, gravel road and into a ditch. That got our attention I tell you!

About 10 minutes later, we rolled into the Piggly Wiggly to get some food in case we got snowed in. Our old farmhouse sat on top a hill well off the main highway to town. So, the plows would never make it up. You’d be stuck unless you could shovel your way out. And that road was a half mile long. Better to stock up, and sit it out, than try to get out.

Inside the store, we had jobs to get the provisions, as I liked to say. I heard that word on TV, probably Hogan’s Heroes reruns, and set out for the deli area. That’s where the cookies were, and cookies were a vital provision for wintry lockdown.

After I found Bonnie in the check out line, I dropped the cookies into the cart. She fiddled with her watch, twisted her wedding ring, and tapped her foot. The storm would be here soon, and we had a good 15 minute drive back.

As we walked out of the store, we could feel the icy sting of sleet hitting our faces. The winds had picked up, and the salt trucks dumped the dirt-salt combo on the roads. We had to go … now.

Bonnie drove 15 m.p.h. over the speed limit on the way back. The windshield wipers looked like a propeller: She had them cranked as the sleet and snow bombarded the car. Our gravelly road seemed to disappear into the whiteness outside.

Bonnie fishtailed the wagon again. This time the back, passenger-side tire dangled over the ditch, but she stomped the accelerator and pulled the car back on the road. Gotta love front-wheel drive.

We pulled up to the porch and exited the car into a gale. It felt like Jack Frost slapped my face. We popped the rear door open, grabbed the provisions, and headed inside. My moon boots slipped on the icy steps, but Charlie, one of my brothers, grabbed my snowmobile suit sleeve and stopped me from busting open my face on the stairs.

Inside, Griz and PowPow barked and hopped as we entered. Griz, a German Shepherd-Collie mix, and PowPow, a true mutt with long, wavy white hair and black spots, ran up and gave us kids a few licks. I think they really wanted the food, but I’ll take some sloppy kisses from our fur siblings.

There was a big bang as the wind slammed the door shut. That startled Griz and PowPow: They ran into the living room and hid behind the couch. The storm didn’t seem to bother them much, but the dogs became extra cuddly after the door slam.

Soon, the dogs, especially Griz, would become protective as the storm raged on and the sheep would break out of their barn.

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I sat on a chair, looking outside through my bedroom window. Sleet had caked onto the corners of the frame, and the winds rattled the glass. Griz laid next to me. Outside, I saw a lonely maple tree. It’s skeletal branches twisted as stronger winds blew. Next to the tree, a light pole provided an eerie glow over a half-collapsed well. Parts of its stone wall had fallen down into the shaft.

My dad had been filling it in over the past year. He’d use the tractor to haul dirt and rocks from the nearby hills and dumped them in. It never seemed to be enough, and it worried him.

After all, he had 3 rambunctious boys and 2 dogs that run around that gaping hole in the ground. In time, someone would fall into it.

But on this stormy night, it wasn’t about who would fall in. It’s what would crawl out.

Back upstairs, Griz perked up her ears and looked out the window. She pushed me aside and started to whine. We both leaned closer to the window, so close I could feel the cold air through the glass. Griz tilted her head and began to breathe faster, shallower.

Creeping under the light pole, a mass of cottony blobs moved closer to the well. Inch by inch. Dragging themselves through the deep snow and icy winds.

Sheep, about 20 of them, had entered our front yard.

The herd settled in around the well, but one sheep stepped too close. It slipped and fell, its hind leg dangling over the deep, dark well mouth. The sheep rolled over on its back, belly exposed, wriggling to get back up. But the mass of the herd kept it pinned. I could almost hear its tortured bleats.

Griz gave a troubled bark and rushed out of my room. Her nails clicking and clacking down the wooden stairs. She raced to the front door and began scratching to go outside. My dad told her to stay back because of the storm. He wouldn’t let her out to get lost in the whiteout conditions.

That sheep continued to twist and turn on its back. And … inch by inch … I saw something move in the well. The light pole cast a faint glow on a long slender arm. Something crawled closer to the top. By that fluffy sheep that began to buck and kick to get away.

A fuzzy black hook on a spider-like limb raised high …

… and struck!

It pierced the sheep’s belly and pinned it to the ground. The sheep convulsed, bucked a few times and became still.

The other herd members scattered, disappearing into the darkness and storm.

And with a tug by that black, hairy hook arm, the now dead sheep slipped into the black gaping maw of the well. The blood in the snow faded as the snow continued to land.

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Two days later, the storm stopped. We got two feet snow and everything was covered in hard packed snow and ice. It’s like I stepped into a blazing white photograph from Antarctica.

My brothers, dogs and I played outside in out snowmobile suits and moon boots. The cold had also broken, well, I should say it was over 30 degrees. Not quite warm enough to start melting the ice and snow.

Mr. Halvorson, the old farmer on the other side of the hill, had stopped by looking for his sheep. The winds blew open his barn doors and the sheep escaped.

We had 10 acres that stretched along the side of hill outside Sauk City, Wisconsin. Half of that was forest, and the other half unused corn fields.

My dad and Mr. Halvorson did find his sheep. Some died in the storm while others had huddled up not far from highway at the end of our access road. Dad helped him put the dead ones on a trailer hitched up to his green and yellow John Deere tractor.

As my brothers and I played, Dad and the old farmer looked over the side of the well. They looked at each other, and then yelled at us to go inside. My dad looked worried and Mr. Halvorson shook his head.

“Get in the house … now!” Dad commanded. He said that strong and stern enough for Griz and PowPow to run right to the door and scratched it. Those dogs knew when Dad was bothered by something.

My brothers and I trudged through the snow and into the house with the dogs. But I went right up to my room to see what was going with the well.

As I watched from the safety of my room, my dad tied one rope end to the back of the tractor and tossed the other end into the well. Mr. Halvorson took another rope and tossed one end down, too. Then, Dad gripped one and lowered himself into the well.

I could see the ropes jiggling and moving and twisting … would Dad be OK?

Then, they straightened, taught, and Mr. Halvorson started to drive the tractor forward. He was pulling something out.

The sheep’s body came up with ropes around its shoulders. Its belly had been sliced open, leaving a hollow, crimson pit. Frozen, crystallized ice clung to the wool around the wound.

My dad crawled up next, and he and the old farmer tossed it into my dad’s pickup truck and covered it with a tarp. Dad gave Mr. Halvorson a look … they KNEW something about what had happened … and shook hands.

I couldn’t sit in my room and watch anymore. I grabbed my coat and moon boots and ran down the stairs and outside.

As my dad slammed the cargo bed gate shut, I tugged on his coat. He turned, leaned down, stared at me, his brows furrowed and jaw tensed.

Dad said, “Tell me about the monster.”

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Right after New Year’s Day, Dad came home hauling dirt and rocks in his pickup. He backed his truck up against the well and shoveled the it into the well. It took about 10 trips to get enough to fill it in completely.

I’m not sure if filling the well killed the monster or scared it way, but I never saw it again. Never heard any more stories about it. Never found other eviscerated animals near our farm house.

A year later, my parents divorced, and I never went back to the farm house.

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If you’ve encountered a monster at home, let me know about it in the Comments below.

Thanks for reading Ghostly Activities. Much appreciated. Take care!