Lake of the Ozarks dead bodies

On average, 16 people drown each year in the Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri. The majority of the deceased are rarely recovered. The local authorities blame underwater currents, lack of water clarity, and wildlife for the inability to retrieve the corpses. However, what I experienced last winter has led me to believe something much more sinister is responsible.

Last year, my parents purchased a new construction condominium at the Lake of the Ozarks, and were the only residents at the time, as the other units were still being built and sold. The condo was only an hour and a half from my campus and was a perfect place to study for finals. It was paradise compared to my rundown college home. It had a king size bed, full kitchen, clean bathrooms, and most importantly— it was quiet.

It was early December of last year, I had just finished packing up my car with dirty clothes and books— excited to have a weekend of peace and quiet before the last few days of final exams. Usually one or two or my housemates would come with me, but they had already finished up for the semester and decided to spend the last few days partying before they had to head home for the holidays. This was a perfect excuse for me to retreat to the quiet condo. The throaty exhaust of my old Mustang roared to life on the first turn of my key, and I smiled. I was way too excited for my getaway. It was getting late as I hit the highway towards the lake. After an hour or so I pulled off, hit the backroads and decided put the pedal down. I cracked the windows and the cold December air whistled past as I chased the sunlight.

If I knew what was in store for me that weekend, I would have turned around floored it back to campus.

About ten minutes later I saw the dim, aqua-colored glow of the “Blue Shore Condominiums” sign cutting thought the darkness. I shifted gears and pulled down the steep hilly entrance, my headlamps the only source of light for miles. Just as I expected, the condominium parking lot was completely empty. I pulled into the front spot and parked. I stepped out of the warmth of my car into the frigid, night air. The two-story complex would eventually have five units on each level. My parents' unit (the only occupied one at the time) was at the top corner, with only one neighboring wall. I scaled stairs and walked into my second home, condo number 2-1.

I pulled out my phone and used the screen to illuminate the door’s keypad and typed in the code— my birth year. My parents were under the assumption that I would forget any other 4-digit combination, and they were probably right. I stepped inside and turned on the lights. The entrance led into the dining room, with the kitchen on the left and living room to the right. At the far end was the master bedroom which had a large window that provided a beautiful view of the lake. Since I was on the second floor, I could see the black, moonlit water for half- a-mile. I made a frozen pizza and studied for a couple of hours. It didn’t take long for my relaxation to turn to exhaustion. I decided take a shower and head to bed early, promising myself that I would wake up early and hit the books.

I jolted awake in the middle of the night and looked at the bedside clock, 3:18 am. The cold wind howled outside as the sound of ice and snow brushed against the siding. I had completely forgotten to check the weather prior to leaving. I rubbed my eyes and slowly made my way to the kitchen for some water. I drank the glass and stood sleepily in the dark. Just as I turned to head back into the room, I heard the last thing I ever expected: the breaking of ice, and the echoing sound of splashing lake water.

I walked to the back window that overlooked the lake and stared into the vast darkness. My mind raced until I came to the eventual conclusion that the noise must have been the result of a fallen tree or unlucky deer trying to take a drink. The next morning, curiosity got the best of me. I zipped up my coat and stepped outside, pulling the door shut and hitting the lock button at the center of the keypad. I walked to the top of the stairs and peered down.

There were footprints in the snow. Bipedal prints.

They led from the edge of the lake, to my car, turned, and disappeared once again at lake shore. It didn’t make any sense, and a cold chill ran down my spine. I carefully walked down the stairs. The air was thin and quiet, the only noise came from the crunching of my boots in snow. I had the overwhelming sensation of being watched as I made my way to the dock, turning and looking over my shoulder every few seconds. I cursed as I held my phone in the air, desperate for a signal. I had to tell someone, anyone. After what seemed like an eternity, 1 bar appeared. I dialed 9-1-1 as quickly as I could and held the phone to my face. It was no use, it was too weak. I had been gone for over an hour and decided to head back inside. It was considerably warmer now, and the snow on the asphalt had already begun to melt. I kept thinking to myself: "Had someone really jumped into the water last night?"

I did nothing but stare at the lake from the window and drink. I was too paranoid, and my mind raced for an explanation. Before I knew it, it was already midnight and the alcohol had made me drowsy. I don’t remember falling asleep.

3:09 am

I awoke to the unmistakable, horrendous sound of scraping against the metal of the front door.

I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, the only thing I could use as a weapon. I raced back to the door and leaned against it. My heart was beating through my chest. After a moment, I worked up the courage to look through the peep-hole. To my relief, I saw only the vacant space of the doorway. I sat back down on the cold, hard tile with my back against door and knife clenched tightly in my hand. I stayed that way until the dim, morning light spilled through the windows. I got back up and checked the peep-hole. Everything seemed clear. I slowly unlocked the bolt and opened the door. I discovered what I feared the most, the footprints led straight to the door which was now covered in deep, long scratches that ran its entire length.

With my rear-wheel drive car and a snow-covered hill as the only exit, I knew that I was stuck for the time being. I had to do something or tell someone. The door was my lifeline, my shield. I stayed in the condo most of the day pacing around with my cellphone in an attempt to find a signal, too frightened to go outside, and cursing my parents for not yet installing internet. Eventually I worked up enough courage. I knew I could potentially get a signal at the end of the dock, it had worked in the past.

As I made my way to the dock, I followed the footsteps that once again led to the lake shore. I got closer and examined them. They were unmistakably human, and despite the cold—reeked of lake water and rot. I stood at the edge of the dock with my phone, unable to receive a signal. I decided to head back and barricade myself inside before dark. Just as I left the dock, I heard the faint sound of something large swimming just below the icy surface.

That evening I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the door waiting for something to happen. The hours flew by and my eyes grew heavy. Before I knew it, I fell asleep with my head on the table.

3:02 am

The sound of pounding and splintering wood woke me up. I looked in horror as I quickly discovered what was happening. The door was being rammed. Adrenaline shot me up in the darkness, I didn’t have much time. I ran to a closet and quietly closed it just as the front door burst open. I covered my mouth, and my eyes filled with tears as I stared though the crack in the closet door. Something walked inside. It was too dark to make out any of the features. It walked with staggered, unnatural movements. The room instantly filled with the smell of putrid, decaying flesh as it took heavy, wet steps on the tile floor. As the figure moved deeper inside, towards the back of the condo, I made a break for it and ran out, jumping over what used to be the front door.

I fumbled my keys and jumped in my car. The engine clicked as it refused to turn over. My heart pounded as I worked the clutch and accelerator. On the third attempt, the engine finally turned over and roared to life. As I tore up the hill towards the main road, I checked the rear-view mirror. The dark, massive figure stood a few feet from the building. I had barely made it. I will never forget the inhuman scream it let out as I drove off.

I reached cell service and through rambling hysteria, eventually informed my parents of all I had witnessed. My father contacted the local authorities, and was told to not return to the condo until the police had investigated. We never returned. The building owner contacted my father a few days later with some bogus story about “unexpected foundation issues,” and claimed that the entire project was to be demolished. He wrote my father a check for three times the value of the condo for our inconvenience.

After what I experienced I have drawn two possible conclusions. The first is that something otherworldly is responsible for the deaths and missing bodies… or...those who are lost in the lake are far from dead.

How many bodies are in the Lake of the Ozarks?

Is there a graveyard under Lake of the Ozarks?

What is at the bottom of the Lake of the Ozarks?

Is Lake of the Ozarks contaminated?