My grandparents are Dutch immigrants in New Zealand, and in the 1970s they had a caravan that they took out camping to a rural part of the North Island for a little family fun camping trip (my mum and siblings would’ve been 10 or younger at the time).
They were way out in the middle of nowhere near a lake in the rainforest, and after the kids had gone to sleep my grandparents had stayed awake a little while just reading etc, having a cup of tea.
They started hearing strange noises, like footsteps outside and twigs breaking, maybe a hushed voice but thought they were going paranoid. They were getting a bit freaked out at this point, but assumed it was nothing and they’d be safe.
Grandpa told me he couldn’t go to sleep, and suddenly heard a definite footstep right outside the caravan door. He peeked out the window of the caravan and it was completely pitch black and no moonlight whatsoever, but he could see the glowing cigarette of what must’ve been a pretty tall man standing right at the door of the caravan. He could still hear other footsteps too, even though whoever was smoking this cigarette outside the door was standing dead still.
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