These shares involve window peeking or tapping—faces, knocks, and scratches at glass while people are inside.
Common threads are night windows, kids noticing first, and the terror of something looking in. Browse these shares for glass-level contact at homes and cabins.
Outside of Yakutat within the Tongass National Forest, siblings Tatiana and Nikolai spent five years renovating an inherited family cabin that had been abandoned for two decades. The aggressive encounters escalations began in the second year when Nikolai used a weed-whacker to clear a switchback trail behind the cabin to mitigate bear encounters, unaware that Tatiana's Australian Shepherd had been consistently alerting to a presence hiding on the slope. Three years later, Tatiana returned with her city-dwelling fiance, Robert, and their dog, Roscoe.
During the historic gold rush era around 1898, an expedition consisting of six men—Austrian-German prospectors Fritz and Johann, two young greenhorn laborers from St. Louis, Missouri, and two Gwich'in Indian guides—traveled into the remote interior near the southwest slopes of the Beaver Mountains along modern-day Billy Goat Creek. After two weeks of constructing a windowless log cabin to support a multi-year gold panning operation, the two Gwich'in guides went berry picking along the mountain slopes.
Around March 2023, an outdoorsman in his early 60s named Hank was walking his black Labrador retriever along a remote shoreline within the Prince William Sound region. Two miles into the beach walk, Hank discovered a large, fresh pile of shellfish and clams that had all been freshly broken open, accompanied by massive, ambiguous depressions in the sand and gravel. Turning back as the sun began to set, the dog suddenly exhibited unprecedented behavior, running in frantic looping circles and barking wildly into the air.
In the fall of 2019, just before the pandemic, a local high school senior named Jane was babysitting five young cousins (ranging in age from roughly five to twelve) at a federal HUD housing unit in a remote northwest coastal village of under 500 year-round residents near the Bering Sea. After coming indoors, the two youngest children were caught staring out a bedroom window, giggling and waving at a 'silly man' standing inside the immediate willow and scrub brush lines. Assuming it was an overactive imagination, Jane dismissed the event.
Two years prior to 2022, newlyweds Josh and Bridget spent a week-long honeymoon clearing brush at a remote family cabin located just outside the boundaries of Lake Clark National Park and Preserve. On their third night, under the dense canopy of land of the midnight sun twilight, a relentless owl hoot at an abnormal, highly repetitive cadence caught their attention. Suspecting a trapped bird, Josh armed himself with a .45 Auto pistol and took an 800-lumen flashlight to investigate the 30-yard cleared perimeter with Bridget.
In the early-to-mid 1990s, a Bristol Bay native named David spent weeks alone at his grandfather's (Uppa's) cabin situated on the West Channel of the Nushagak River near Keeper Cutoff, due west of Portage Creek. While constructing a log generator shed, David was pelted by pine cones and endured three consecutive nights of heavy thumping on the cabin roof, later clearing off large clumps of uprooted grass and soil with a dip-net pole under the assumption that his brother was playing a prank.
Roughly twenty-five years ago, a veteran fur trapper running a ten-mile trap line with his Ski-Doo Tundra near the Kuskokwim River began experiencing bizarre disruptions to his winter season. Several of his sets were mysteriously sprung with no animals in them, and the surrounding snow appeared deliberately swept clean with spruce boughs to conceal tracks. After noticing strange silhouettes watching him from a nearby rise and hearing single, uncharacteristic squirrel barks echoing through the timber at dusk, an unnatural sense of dread began eating away at him.
Three years ago, just as fall was setting in, Isaac, his partner Marcy, and their yellow Labrador, Jesse, reserved one of the rental cabins near Lynx Lake in the Nancy Lake State Recreation Area. While walking the lake trails at twilight, the forest suddenly fell into total, unnatural silence. Recognizing the warning signs of a nearby predator, and with his firearm still packed in the car, Isaac turned the group back toward the cabin.
Having lived on his remote wooded property between Wasilla and Willow for over thirty years, Jonathan was thoroughly accustomed to walking the trail to his cabin in pitch darkness. Carrying supplies back from a Costco run in Anchorage, he shouldered a bulky bundle of toilet paper and began walking toward his cabin armed with his trusted 10mm Glock. Halfway down the familiar path, the sound of heavy footsteps and breaking branches began pacing him thirty feet away in the thick brush.
Two years ago, Jesse and Monica were outfitting a newly built Caribou cabin kit on an isolated parcel along the outskirts of Fairbanks, working late into the evening to insulate the structure and install a wood stove before the bitter subarctic winter set in. As Jesse stood on the stove fitting pipe sections together, an intensely crisp, rhythmic clicking sound began echoing every few seconds. Thinking it might be a shifting weight clicking against something metal, the couple tried to brush it off until Monica spotted a dark shape lurking outside the cabin’s single 4x4 window.
Fred sits down with fellow Dillingham resident and tribal council member Hillary to discuss growing up in the Bristol Bay region and what it was really like navigating day-to-day life with the presence of the Hairy Man. Spending her childhood traveling between villages along the Nushagak River—including Ekuk, Ekwok, Portage Creek, New Stuyahok, and Koliganek, as well as Aleknagik—Hillary describes an upbringing steeped in practical awareness rather than fireside tales.
Back in the late 1990s, Joseph was staying alone overnight to guard supplies at an unfinished family cabin along the remote Nushagak River. The cabin was still under construction, lacking finished window panes and leaving open, rough-framed cutouts directly into the wilderness. As dusk fell, Joseph heard an unsettling, unusually loud howl echoing miles away that sounded like a poor imitation of a wolf. Within an hour, the unnatural howling had closed the distance, sounding less than 200 yards away from the cut bank before falling dead, unnervingly silent.
A husband and wife, John and Betty, agreed to house-sit for close family friends along the highway north to Fairbanks. To deter local equipment thieves while their friends were away, the couple parked their fifth-wheel camper jackknifed across the driveway. After spending a quiet evening by an outdoor fire pit behind the house, they were walking back to the camper when they heard a bizarre, guttural gurgling sound coming from the darkness.
A family vacation took a terrifying turn when Walter, Bernice, and their adult son Michael were towing a 16-foot toy hauler up the remote Taylor Highway. Approaching the bridge over the Mosquito Fork of the 40-Mile River, they spotted three massive figures crossing the road ahead. Initially mistaking them for fly fishermen dragging rod tubes, the family was shocked to realize the figures were nearly nine feet tall—and appeared to have thick, four-foot-long tails.
Ten years prior to 2022, two brothers, Jim and James, began constructing a remote 5-acre cabin cabin in the interior of Alaska, south of Fairbanks and north of Wasilla. During the building phase, they experienced recurring bear-like encroachments, forcing them to adopt a hyper-vigilant 'two-person always' security protocol. While James was left alone at the cabin to overnight, he began hearing a persistent 'click-click' sound originating from the walls of the windowless log shell.
