New York, NY – Weekly World News award-winning reporters – Glen Wich and Harms Whey – have departed our New York offices to begin their road trip across the US in search of the many cryptids in every state that inspire many Americans. Their first stop was in New Jersey. They were searching for the New Jersey Devil. The following is their report:

Harms and I emerged from the scenic Lincoln Tunnel and headed down the world-famous I-95 to the Pine Barrens. We set out armed with cameras, a hockey stick, and a cardboard cutout of Jack Hughes in a swimsuit. We trudged through the forest looking for the famous Devil until night fell.

As the sun set, we began to hear loud sounds of banging and crunching. Harms and I looked at each other, terrified. For thirty minutes we heard demonic sounds. A screeching started to fill the forest. We looked at each other, getting up, knowing this might be our only chance. We grabbed our flashlights and headed toward the sound. It kept getting louder and louder. We noticed the air become colder and suddenly —

Lights appeared in the distance. We slowly approached, until we could make out what they were from. A hockey rink! And there he was! He gracefully skated around the rink, shooting hockey pucks. He took a shot and went bar down and then stopped. Glaring at us through those glowing red eyes. His wings unfolded and he soared in the air until he landed in front of us.

“It’s nice to see some fans. I haven’t had anyone come watch me play since that Jesus guy slandered my name” he said.


We were starstruck. We couldn’t even speak. He invited us onto the ice, “Well what are you waiting for? I have extra gear for you guys. Grab on.”

We each took his hand and the NJ Devil lifted off and headed to the small shack next to the rink. He sat us down and had demons put on our gear for us. It was the best service I have received in a while. After everything was strapped on, we headed out onto the ice.

We never thought the Jersey Devil would play hockey for real. I mean, we just thought that the professional team just named it after him for the fun of it. But no, the beast can play!

Despite his ghastly appearance, the Devil played a fair game. Surprisingly agile, he darted around the rink with ease. His stick was a blur as he deftly maneuvered the puck. Harms was on defense, bravely blocking the creature’s attacks, while I tried my luck at offense. The Devil’s eyes gleamed each time he scored, but he was always a good sport, a small grunt of acknowledgment escaping his throat each time we managed to slip one past him.

Our breath fogged up in the cold night air, but we played on, lost in the surreal experience. Eventually, as dawn broke, the New Jersey Devil lifted his stick in salute, indicating the end of the game. Exhausted, we watched him, for the last time, unfold his wings and fly away into the forest, the rising sun painting an eerie silhouette against the morning mist. The gear instantly disappeared off our bodies, and Harms and I started to head back to camp.

We got off the ice and were instantly teleported to Big Cypress Preserve in Ochopee, Florida. As we landed, the Devil thanked us for a fair and honest game and told us to be on the lookout for the Skunk Ape in Florida. He handed us a map, a shampoo bottle, and a luffa and then took off into the warm Florida morning.

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