In the serene countryside near Stevens Point, a secluded stretch of road harbored a chilling legend that had persisted for over two decades. It went by the name Boy Scout Lane, a place where tranquility coexisted with spine-tingling mysteries. Allow me to recount the eerie tales that have swirled around this enigmatic locale.
One version of the story suggests that a troop of Boy Scouts met a gruesome fate during a camping trip, at the hands of their very own bus driver, on this isolated road. Another variant speaks of a Boy Scout troop vanishing mysteriously, never to be seen again. The third rendition narrates a tragic incident where a troop of Boy Scouts camping on this road accidentally caused a fire when one of them dropped a lantern at night, leading to the demise of their comrades. Yet, despite these eerie stories, no concrete evidence ever emerged to substantiate the claims of missing individuals, mass murder, or a catastrophic blaze. The road earned its name due to the Boy Scouts’ former ownership of the land, where they once envisioned constructing a camp that never came to fruition.
Now that you are acquainted with the unsettling history, let me share our personal experience. It was a warm July night in 2005 when my friend Erin paid a visit to our mutual friend Michelle and me in Stevens Point. Michelle and I had spent the summer working at a Boy Scout Camp (a curious twist of fate, isn’t it?), and Erin was planning to drive me back to my home in Minnesota when the weekend drew to a close. Faced with boredom, Michelle proposed an expedition to Boy Scout Lane for a little investigation. The previous day, we had come across the story in a bookstore, and it had piqued our curiosity. Without further ado, I found myself in the backseat, clutching a video camera.
As soon as we turned onto Boy Scout Lane, an unsettling feeling washed over us—a sensation of being watched that sent shivers down our spines. Being the young adults we were, we initially dismissed this eerie feeling with jokes and laughter. We drove down the road and circled back, but nothing extraordinary occurred during our initial visit. The true shock awaited us at home.
Michelle connected the video camera to the television and played back the footage. At first, it appeared to be rather uneventful. However, there came a point when I coughed (still recovering from a nasty cold), and immediately afterward, a heavy, whispering breath echoed through the recording—a breath that did not belong to me. The three of us exchanged wide-eyed glances, captivated by the eerie encounter. Upon closer inspection, Erin and Michelle reported a brief flash of a bright ball of light darting across the screen, though I had not witnessed it.
As I filmed our journey back to the main road, my gaze fixated on the rolled-up window (a habit we all share, never suspecting that spirits could transcend physical barriers). I had the camera’s infrared light activated in case any movement occurred in the field nearby. Yet, no motion stirred in the field. Instead, an unsettling image manifested—a face pressed up against the window, and it certainly wasn’t mine. The small camera screen didn’t emit enough light for such an apparition, and I was not pressed against the window. When the three of us beheld this chilling sight, our screams pierced the air, prompting Michelle’s mother to intervene. We retreated to her room, recounting the harrowing encounter, but she berated us, refusing to watch the footage.
Another unsettling detail that emerged: in the rearview mirror, two stationary lights appeared in the upper corners. The area around Boy Scout Lane lay far from the city limits, and no vehicles trailed behind us. These lights persisted until we re-entered the town limits. We never ventured back to that place, but we shared the footage with others, and they too bore witness to the same eerie phenomena. As I now reside in Stevens Point, a town steeped in history, I remain open to the possibility that anything can happen here, and my belief in the inexplicable only deepens.