My great grandpa's story is something that still haunts me to this day.

He was a young man of 23 when he was drafted into World War II in 1943, and now, at the

astonishing age of 103, he shared with me an experience that he claimed was the most terrifying

of his life.

It was a tale so chilling that even the memory of it gave him nightmares.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I asked him if the story involved the vicious Japanese soldiers of that time.

But he shook his head and told me it was something else entirely, something that no one ever believed.

He had been stationed in the Philippines in 1943, tasked with holding off the Japanese forces along with

his comrades. One fateful day, he and his friend Samuel got separated from their platoon,

while navigating a forest within the mountainous region. exact province eluded my great-grandpa's memory but he remembered the dense forests and scattered villages that surrounded them

as they called out for their comrades they venture deeper into the wilderness until they reached the forest's end.

I asked him why they didn't simply radio their platoon for help.

He explained that they tried, but for some inexplicable reason,

their communications were scrambled and unintelligible,

a fact that unsettled both him and Samuel.

Still, they continued, mindful of the possibility of encountering Japanese soldiers. Emerging from the forest, they noticed that the sun was about to set,

prompting my great-grandpa to suggest setting up camp. Samuel agreed, and as they prepared,

they noticed a small wooden hut in the distance.

Curiosity led them to approach the mysterious structure.

They knocked on the door, but there was no sign of anyone inside, only scattered clothes strewn about the floor. My great-grandpa suggested that the inhabitants might have fled in a panic,

a theory Samuel

concurred with. They decided to make camp inside the hut, but something felt off. As they ate

...