The Shadow of Black Star Canyon

When the paranormal comes too close

I was raised to believe in the paranormal.

My mother has claimed to have had more experiences than I can count, and I always believed her.

Seeing the apparition of my great grandfather the night she went into labor with me. Unleashing spirits on her friend’s childhood home through the reckless use of a Ouija Board. Capturing phantom voices on the Queen Mary. These are just a few of the stories that sparked my interest in the unexplained and macabre.

I believed every word of it.

Throughout my life, I have stayed open-minded and searched for proof of the paranormal. I have been to haunted locations, walked miles of ghost tours, and taken midnight drives down desolate desert highways. But I never felt or saw a thing, and my belief was waning.

Until May 2017.

My sister was home from college for the summer, and we were making the most of it. On that night, we had been out fairly late at a concert and were driving back to our parents’ house.

I think it’s also important to mention that we were completely sober — for several reasons. Probably nothing is scarier than driving under the influence.

As we were leaving the main road to an area we always called “The Canyon,” a back road that swerves through the Temecula hills in Southern California, the conversation had lulled into a peaceful quiet.

It was now 3 a.m., and we were ready to be in bed.

The Canyon is lacking in street lamps, and only the headlights from your car illuminate the road in front of you.

While sitting in the comfortable silence, up ahead a figure rapidly came into view. On the passenger side of the road, only feet away from me, emerged a figure well over 6 feet tall. The motion it was making was as if it was squatting with its hands behind it on the ground, like a crab walks, then getting up from that position without using its hands. It was almost like coming up from a back bend. There is no better way to describe it — believe me, I’ve tried.

As we drove past it, the headlights shone directly on it.

This being had no face.

No distinguishing clothing.

No characteristics whatsoever.

Though I knew, based on the movements, that it had been facing us.

It was a large black mass of what looked like static. Or fur. Or shadow.

My sister and I both immediately sat bolt upright and yelled at each other to make sure we had seen the same thing.

I screamed at her to keep driving, afraid that somehow it would materialize into view again. Only this time, in front of the car like a horror movie, forcing us to drive right through it.

We went back and forth, comparing what we had seen, concluding that we had both seen the exact same thing. I am grateful I wasn’t alone because I don’t think anyone would have truly believed me.

The spot where we had this encounter is near an area called Black Star Canyon — a popular spot for thrill-seeking students and paranormal enthusiasts. Rumored to be haunted, with stories of chanting, cults, “satan worshipers,” and the spirits of Native Americans, I can’t deny it has an eerie energy about it, especially in the dark of the night.

I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I will never know what it was.

In the hours and years after this experience, I found myself wishing we would have turned around for a closer look to know for sure it wasn’t a large animal or a shrouded person. But when remembering the dread I felt in my gut looking into its blank visage, I know leaving it alone was the right decision.

After submitting an email version of this story to Last Podcast on the Left: Side Stories, it was featured on the June 8, 2022 episode titled “Side Stories: Phantom Hums.”