The (Mis)adventures of Jyl- Casper Mountain Part III

Part three of Jyl’s visit to Casper Mountain, Wyoming gets a bit alien… and cryptid!

Welcome back, misadventurers! Last week, we braved the ice and isolation of the mountain’s most unsettling roads and watchtowers. This time, we’re looking up. And out. And maybe behind us. Buckle up, because the stories about Casper Mountain get even weirder. It’s not just wilderness and winding roads. It’s not just ghosts and hidden legends. It’s something else entirely. Let’s talk about aliens and cryptids!

Let’s start with the sky. For decades, people have reported strange lights over the mountain. Single orbs, sometimes clusters, occasionally moving in patterns too sharp or fluid to explain. There are a handful of old MUFON reports, dating back to the late 70s and 80s, describing bright, soundless lights hovering near the summit or blinking out as soon as someone tried to get closer. And while the older stories help set the tone, it’s not just old-timers remembering something strange from the seventies. People still report sightings. The stories tend to follow a familiar arc: headlights flickering, compasses spinning, phones shutting down. And then a burst of light that vanishes before you can say “military aircraft.” Some talk about losing time or feeling disoriented under a sky that seemed just a little . . . off. Some folks chalk it up to the nearby training base. Others think it’s something not of this world, and not entirely friendly.

But if what’s overhead isn’t strange enough, wait until you hear what’s in the trees.

One of the most persistent legends around here is about a creature some call the Ridgewalker. It’s tall, thin, and rarely seen directly—more often spotted as a silhouette standing just past the edge of the trail. Usually at dusk. Usually when you’re alone. Hunters, hikers, and a couple of tired park employees all have versions of the story. Something that watches. Something that waits. No footprints. No tracks. Just the sense that you’re not alone, and that whatever’s nearby isn’t quite human.

Then there’s the Platte River Howler. More common in Nebraska, sure, but sometimes locals say they’ve heard its eerie scream echoing through the pine valleys of Casper Mountain. Nobody agrees on what it looks like. Some say it’s catlike, others describe a horned wolf. The one thing they do agree on is the sound: a howl too low, too long, and too strange to belong to anything you’d want to meet.

Not every creature on the mountain has a name. That’s the thing about cryptids. Sometimes they don’t arrive fully formed. They grow in the dark. They show up in the corner of your eye. They start with a sound you can’t explain or a shape that disappears the moment you look too closely. They don’t care about databases or documentaries. They just… are.

Maybe they’re just bears. Maybe they’re tricks of the light. Or maybe, when enough people walk the same trail and hear the same wrong sound in the trees, a story starts to take shape. And once it’s real enough to share, it’s real enough to stay.

Next week, we close out this series with something a little different. Magic, myth, and a solstice tradition that walks the line between play and ritual. You won’t want to miss it.

Jyl Glenn is a writer, editor, formatter, anthologist, poet, and a medical-legal writer and consultant. Her lifelong love affair with horror began at a very early age when she was left unattended on the weekend Poltergeist debuted on HBO. And then she figured out she could read any horror book she liked as long as she hung out at the public library, even if the librarian deemed it not to be age appropriate. Jyl was born and raised in New York and now lives in Tulsa with her dog. She loves creepy art, dark poetry, and pink dinosaurs. When she isn’t dabbling in the macabre—she’s most likely asleep.

PLEASE NOTE: The views and opinions of the staff of Memento Mori Ink do not necessarily represent those of Memento Mori Ink or Crystal Lake Publishing. Thank you for understanding.