Growing up in New Jersey, I had been accustomed to our state’s natural folklore and mystique. My parents, also Jersey natives, had instilled in me a knowledge of supernatural beings that ran amok in our state. But I never believed them; even as a child I could see through their silly stories about ghouls and ghosts. 

That was, until one night I had my first encounter with the Jersey Devil. 

My boyfriend and I were driving through the woods in South Jersey one night to get to New York. It was stormy, and I had mentioned that according to my parents, the Jersey Devil was born in this part of the woods on a stormy night like tonight. 

“That’s just coincidence,” he said as he looked out the passenger window. He looked nervous, but I wasn’t going to let it get to me. 

As we drove through the woods, I noticed our radio was cutting out. No big deal, but it became worrisome when my headlights suddenly went out. I pulled over to the side of the road, and we got out of the car. 

That’s when we saw something approaching in the woods on the slick road. A loud whoosh sound cut through the trees, like wings flapping quickly. A faint clacking of heels on the asphalt. Now it was too dark to be sure it really was the Jersey Devil, but I couldn’t be more confident. 

“We gotta get out of here,” I whispered to my boyfriend, who was already trying to unlock the car door. We slid inside, and without even a second thought I made a fast u-turn on the road and sped out of there. The radio was emitting straight static  — but just quiet enough for us to hear the Jersey Devil’s scream in our car. We looked at each other anxiously, and I pushed my foot to the gas pedal, hoping that we wouldn’t become the next plotline to some horribly written X-Files episode. 

My parents didn’t believe me when I called them the next morning. They said that I was probably just tired, that the sound was just a coincidence. But I knew it was real. I knew what I saw, and it terrified me. While they laughed it off, I made it a point to never go back into the woods again. 

After all, one run in with the Jersey Devil is one run too many.