The person who sent me this email, I don't know their name. Well,
I do know their name, but they didn't give me permission to say
it. So blah blah blah. You know the story, But this event
takes place in Central America. I think you're going to find this interesting.
I was born to a large family in Costa Rica in nineteen seventy one.
Back then, it was still a very rural and remote place to live,
and there were no main roads and farmers were still breaking into the jungle using
hand tools and farm animals. And my playmates were all of my brothers and
sisters, mainly sisters and many cousins. We were a large group of kids
running through my grandparents' farm barefoot, looking for our next big adventure. In
the newly made pastures where my grandpa and uncles kept the horses and cattle they
bred, we all had specific chores laid out by my grandmother, Marie Louisa.
She was a rugged carrying woman who was always on edge. Her word
was law, and sometimes we were introduced to that law by the rugged edge
of her flip flops. The kids, from ages seven to ten were in
charge of feeding the chickens and gathering eggs, carrying milk buckets back from the
corral, gathering vegetables from the greenhouse and wood for the fire. The older
kids got to ride the horses to herd cattle each morning and then milk the
cows. They were usually up before daybreak to do their chores later in the
day. They were also the ones who delivered lunches to my grandfather, Fernando,
my uncles and adult cousins who were out working to clear more land for
more pastures and more crops. The farm ran like a well little machine.
We all pulled our weight in order to survive, and we all looked out
for each other. It had to be that way, and back then the
jungles and prairies were still full of all kinds of animals that could seriously hurt
us or even kill us, from fire ants and spiders to venomous snakes and
jaguars. We had to be careful of everything. More often than not,
when my uncles ventured into the jungle, they were going to have a close
call with a large predator, but there was only one rifle available on the
farm. Being careful and watching out for each other was the only way to
survive. My farmhouse sat like an oasis on the hill in the middle of
that thick, dark rainforest. From there, we never went out alone.
We were always in pairs or groups. The kids carried machetes for protection,
and the rifle was reserved from my grandfather or one of my uncles. One
morning, my cousin Raoul, fell off his horse while gathering the cattle from
milking, and when it came time to deliver lunch to the men, he
was in no shape to go. I was ten, then, almost old
enough to join my older cousins in their chores, and already a brave horseman.
It was my time to shine. I went and got my horse.
That was a gift from my father, and it was an old, slow
animal who had seen its best days as a workhorse long before I received it.
But it was a safe choice for a kid. I would come to
regret that later. My aunt Anna loaded me up with my share of the
lunch we were bringing to the men, and I was off with three of
my cousins to make the delivery. It all went well until we hit the
tree line to enter the jungle. I was thinking, how am I supposed
to get in there with this big horse. But by you, my horse
knew better. He was last in the line. With my older cousins leading
the way and breaking through the undergrowth when necessary. We made our way through
the jungle, with my cousin Jose guiding us toward the sounds of axes and
chopping wood. I was in my own world. Never had I seen so
many different shapes and colors. There were all kinds of new sounds from birds
and animals that I didn't know. But suddenly I recognized the sound of a
yellow pic Tucan ahead of me. Carlos asked, hey, Jose, I
thought they were working near the river, same as yesterday. Well, I
thought so too, Jose answered, But it seems they changed their plans.
Who knows. The peace and tranquility of the ride was suddenly interrupted by a
horrible, strange odor that smelled like a bunch of pigs that farted in my
face. Okay, at first I thought it was one. At first I
thought it was one of the horses. Oh, I'm sorry, y'all.
At first I thought it was one of the horses. My cousin started pointing
fingers and blaming each other. Even the horses seemed offended by it. They
started snorting and nanging and jumping about. We continued on until Jose suddenly jolted
back on his horse's harness and started looking around as if he was searching for
something. Pepe looked back at me and put his finger to his mouth to
signal silence. His eyes were wide with fear, and I began to panic.
And then he burst into laughter, and I knew I was being pranked.
I rolled my eyes and looked around to see what Jose was searching for.
There they are, he cried as he jumped from his horse and tied
it to a bush, and then he ran over and grabbed a set of
vines. Apparently it was time to play for a few minutes. So I
jumped down from my horse and pulled off the rubber boots I was wearing to
protect my feet from the thick bushes and long thorns, and I joined the
others. We climbed up the vines and took turns, swinging back and forth.
Watch out, Jose, caution, don't let go. It's a long
drop off if you do. On my third turn, I noticed it.
It had gotten unusually quiet. The birds had ceased to chirp, and a
cold chill filled the air. As I swung back toward the tree. I
expected Jose's arm to grab me and pull me in, but to my surprise,
he was looking the other way. Keeping me from falling was the last
thing on his mind. I missed my catch, and I was hanging on
for dear life. Just as I was about to let go, Carlos grabbed
me by the waist. His eyes were wide open and his face was pale,
and he wanted to say something to me, but no words would come.
I was trying to make a place for myself on the crowded branch when
Jose's hand came hard over my mouth to prevent me from saying anything. And
when I saw it, my heart fell into my stomach and I felt a
certain urge to pee. One hundred meters from us, sitting hunched over on
a tree base, was something big and hairy. At first, I thought
I was looking at some kind of big ant eater. There are no bears
in the tropics of Costa Rica, so that thought never crossed my mind.
The creature, whatever it was, stood up in full view of us,
and it looked like a man, but it was massive. Below us,
Carlos's horse started to get a bit jumpy. He was whinnying and pulling at
his harness, and I knew the ship was about to hit the fan,
and Pepe was looking for a way to get off the branch. Jose's horse
was making its way around the trunk, and we were all getting ready to
jump. But all I could think was, oh, great, by you
is an old horse. I'll be the last one out of here. The
Holy Trinity, Here comes that thing. Pepe gasp in Spanish. My priorities
changed from keeping my balance on the tree branch to jumping down as quickly as
possible and running as fast as my legs would carry me. In the next
instant, I found myself lying face down on the jungle floor with a mouth
full of leaves, and as I got up to dig in and run,
I felt a strong tug on my shorts. Then I was face up and
the jungle was spinning around me, and I found myself on the back of
Jose's horse. We were cantering out of there at breakneck speed, with my
cousin doing the best he could to hold on to me well. I did
not dare to look back to see if it was chasing us, and it
sounded like a derailing freight train. The lunches, my boots and so pads
and everything else were not important anymore. We raced through the dense jungle,
with the bushes hitting me everywhere. A deafening roar reverberated through the rainforest as
we pushed our horses onward. I saw one of my cousins pass us in
a split second, and at one point I golloped Jose so deeply with my
nails that he wore the imprint for several days. I guess I was in
survival mode. We burst through the tree line and we were in the open
pasture again, and we pulled up to Pepe and Carlos, who had made
it out safely, and they were waiting for us. We were all terrified.
Jose kicked his horse back into full gallop and the others followed, but
we didn't stop until we reached a nearby creek, where we stopped for a
drink of water. My horse I was crying. What should I do?
I couldn't stop crying at the thought of by you being eaten by that thing.
We took the stock of one another, making sure we were all in
one piece, and then we continued our ride back to the farmhouse. No
one spoke except for me. I kept asking what we were going to say
to Granny and Luisa when she learned that we hadn't delivered lunch to the men.
Finally, Jose slapped me in the head and he said, you say
what happened and that is all. Now shut up. The rest of the
ride home took an eternity, and I couldn't wait to get there, even
if it meant being reprimanded by Granny Louisa. After all, we had not
only not delivered lunch to the men, we had managed to lose all of
our stuff and my horse by you, and he was probably being eaten by
a monster in the jungle. At the moment as we neared the house,
I saw there was a gathering on the porch, and Granny Luisa stood there
with her hands on her hips in an angry expression on her face. Beside
her were aunties and cousins with a mix of anger, anxiety, and curiosity
on their faces. We dismounted and hung our heads in shame. What happened?
Grannie Louisa asked Jose, being the oldest, did all the talking for
us, and he told her exactly what had happened, without leaving out a
single detail. He even included how we drifted off for the joy ride and
the tree vines Eldugnol del Monte. I heard one of my aunties mumble.
Grannie Louisa had a troubled look on her face. The rest of the family
was still in the jungle. I went to sit in an old chair on
the porch, but she turned to me and told me to go take care
of by. You get some water and check him out. She said,
see if he's hurt, my horse. Didn't she see that I was riding
with Jose Yes, she said, you're a horse. He came back about
ten minutes ago, all sweaty and troubled by You was the oldest and slowest
horse, but he was the first one to make it back, and I
was astonished. Maybe it was because he had no writer. I went to
see about him. He had four big scratches on his rear that looked like
nail marks, but he was otherwise okay. By midafternoon, the work crew
had come back to the house as well. They knew something was wrong when
they didn't get their lunches. Jose was elected again to tell my grandpa Fernando
what had happened, and he repeated the same story without missing a detail.
For the next few days, the men didn't return to the jungle. Instead,
they worked around the farm doing other stuff. And not long after that,
my parents separated and my mother took me and two of my cousins to
live in Kidad Kisaida or Kisaida City, if you will. It was some
years later when Mom told us the truth. Carlos and Jose were not my
cousins, they were my brothers. I will never see my grandparents again,
and nor did I ever see my beloved by you. After that, it
would be thirty years before I saw anyone on that side of the family again.
But that's a different story for another time. In the nineteen eighties,
environmentalists and politicians began working on laws to protect the deforestation of the rainforest in
Costa Rica. Today, twenty five percent of Costa Rica is protected land.
So I guess whatever chased us that day, whatever scratched by you, is
still out there. The Bigfoot community folks are an interesting lot. They can
be just as interesting to study as the creature itself. Bigfoot expeditions are more
entertaining as a people watching event than for what they reveal about Bigfoot. Here
are my thoughts on the diversity of the community. First, there are the
knowers. These are people who claim to have seen a bigfoot or had some
sort of encounter they claim proves the creature's existence. These can be people who
say they actually saw a bigfoot, though they may or may not have misidentified
it, all the way down to people who saw two sticks pointing in the
same direction or a tree structure. There is absolutely no reasoning with these people.
Once they get the bug, then everything is evidence. Many people are
like this. If they see a hairball in their shower, they believe a
sasquatch has been there. Next, there are the people who have never had
an encounter but are fascinated with the subject. They're open to the idea but
remain fundamentally agnostic to it. These people have not lost their minds yet,
but they're getting close. They walk a tight rope between rabbit hole fiction and
true skepticism. The third group are the so called skeptics. They hide behind
the moniker skeptic with a religious zeal because they mistakenly think the term connotes a
scientific mindset when applied to them. In other words, it is an ego
thing with them. In reality, their mindset is far removed from the meaning
of skeptic in the context of academia. These are people who use the term
blobsquatch. They are grammar and pronunciation Nazis and repeatedly degrade and make fun of
others. In short, they are emotionally defective and they remind me a lot
of our ruling class political leaders. Fourth, there are the hoaxers. Now,
these are the assholes who drink cheap beer. They dress up like monkeys,
and they run across the highway in front of oncoming traffic. They trespass
onto hunting leases at night, dressed in a guerrilla to get their photo taken
on trail cams. Not not too hard on these folks, because they're just
trying to have a good time and sometimes they create quite humorous moments. Fifth
are the charlatans. Now, these jackasses report false sightings in an attempt to
profit from the phenomenon and the popular interests they'rein. They take advantage of people's
curiosity and ignorance. If you follow the topic, you know who the hoaxers
are some of them have podcasts and television shows. And last there are the
Bigfoot hunters. These people actively search for the monster. On one level,
this group is divided into two groups, those who want to kill one to
obtain a body for science, money, or because they believe Bigfoot is a
malignant part of nature that ought to be removed, and two the pussies.
The latter of the two grieve over the mere thought of killing one of these
gross, inbred animals. They are pantheistic or believe that Bigfoot is so genetically
close to humankind that to kill one would be murder. I personally believe that
no kill crowd are communists. This writer is in the pro kill camp.
Now, obviously I'm going to monetize the hell out of it. I've always
been very open about this. But I am also of the opinion that even
if these things are genetically close to humanity, they are so malignant to our
world that they deserve to be wiped out. There is not an adequate breeding
population. This is clear. Therefore, inbreeding is rampant, and it probably
has been this way for several generations. They are a genetic clusterfuck which explains
why they get violent and act like total assholes. Bigfoot do not even take
care of themselves stink. Plus, they always have shit in their hair,
caked with leaves and dirt. Have you ever heard a reported sighting of one
where the witness does not say the hair looked matted and that they smelled good.
The only animals that do not clean themselves are the sick and feeble,
But in the reported sightings they are not sick and feeble. They are said
to move about swiftly through the thick cover and over rugged terrain. So why
can't they clean themselves? It's because they're screwed up in the head. It's
all the years of inbreeding. Essentially, they are a bunch of homeless,
hairy devians. So, as far as I'm concerned, sasquatch hunting season is
open year round twenty four to seven. Even if the fringe theories are true
the Nephilum aliens, etc. Then they are not of our natural world and
therefore they need to be eradicated. In other words, they are an invasive
species. Only sick, godless communist wants to preserve such things. Finally,
I should note that all the groups mentioned above in the community hate each other.
Further, all the subsets in each group hate each other as well.
I've never understood this. There's absolutely nothing less scientific than being so closed minded
that you refuse to acknowledge other points of view. But to be sure,
there have been many, many instances in history where great scientists have had rivalries
with their contemporaries. This rival hatred thing seems to be particularly acute in the
Bigfoot community. In my opinion, this is one of the aspects of the
people in the community that make them such an interesting lot. Okay, here's
a good Bigfoot story. The writer let's keep his name anonymous. Every year
on Memorial Day, my extended family would have a get together at a park
near Parkersburg, West Virginia. That's my hometown. These were organized by my
mother and usually drew about fifty people. The park itself is huge, amounting
to about three thousand acres. We would secure the biggest spot on the grounds
and my mother would prepare the grill while guests brought in tupperware items like salads
and gas roles. We got there early in the morning for all the preparation,
ahead of the people arriving at lunchtime. It was nineteen ninety seven.
I was eleven. My friends and I like to explore the nearby woods.
The area was so vast that sometimes we would get lost, but always managed
to find our way back. I don't think it would have occurred to any
of the adults to call for a search party unless we were still gone by
the time it grew dark. Man, have times changed. I remember we
were deep in the woods by a pond with a circumference of fifty yards.
My friend and I were fast walking. He rushed past me and put a
little distance between us. We were on an incline, so I aimed my
eyes downward and started walking faster, and I stumbled into him a few yards
up the trail, not expecting him to be standing stock still in the path.
He directed my attention to something on the other side of the pond.
It looked like a person, but it had a lot of hair, and
it wasn't wearing any clothes. I didn't even know what to think. I
had never heard of a thing called bigfoot or sasquatch up until this point.
I'd seen the movie Planet of the Apes on cable, and that's what I
was thinking. As both of us stood staring at this thing that was staring
back at us. It wasn't much taller than my friend, who, if
I was to guess, was five foot without shoes on. This thing had
light brown hair all over, with none on its face, which looked like
something more like an eight but less like a human. Its eyes were brown,
and it just looked at me with no expression. Then it let out
a yell and bounded away from the pond. We started running for the safety
of my mother and our get together, scared out of our eleven year old
minds. After some hardcore sprinting, it occurred to us that we hadn't a
clue which direction we were heading. We were lost. Out of fear,
we started arguing, it's this way, now, it's this way. At
that point, I let out an expletive and just started running. My friend
reluctantly followed behind. We emerged from the woods in a totally unfamiliar part of
the park. Unfortunately, there were some people picnicking there. Me being the
more extroverted of the two of us, I walked over to them and told
them that we were lost and asked if they could help us. It took
thirty minutes of driving around the park, but we pulled up to our picnic
site. We'd been gone for hours, but we hadn't been missed. My
friend liked to tell the story of our encounter more than I did. No
matter how serious or straight faced we were, people laughed it off, while
I responded to the ridicule by dropping the matter altogether. My friend turned the
whole thing into a comedy routine. If you believed his version, the thing
we saw became the little brother we never had. I guess it's not an
easy to believe story. I never really heard of bigfoot sightings in West Virginia
up until then. Maybe in the two thousands that all changed. I guess
some just keep what they know quiet because no one takes it serious. In
the late nineteen nineties, the Internet wasn't a huge thing, especially for someone
my age. No one had cell phones, Pictures and videos just weren't happening.
It makes me wonder how many people saw things, but the technology didn't
allow for them to record the evidence and proved that they weren't out of their
minds, or were just a couple of eleven year olds too stupid to find
their way out of the woods. You know, regarding that's the end of
the story, regarding the you know, the images. You know. Okay,
let me back up. I know we didn't have smartphones with video cameras.
In the nineteen nineties. There were video cameras. There were those big
block VHS machines you put on your shoulder, and I'm transferring a lot of
those old VHS tapes to digital right now. I bought a little little gadget
and it's got some software with it, and I'm taking old family videos and
putting them over there by the way. But that's not what I want to
talk about. But even if people had we had all this technology that we
are lucky to have today, they get the same pictures. We get blurry
pictures and nothing. We get nothing. We need good, definitive images and
video of this thing to prove it exists. We actually need a body.
We need a bigfoot body to prove that this exists. It's just my opinion,
but I thought this was a good story. This is another story where
people remember back when they were kids and they had an experience, and all
of a sudden it starts to come together as they get older, and it
just makes perfect sense. They probably run into a bigfoot. All right,
thanks for the story. All right, here's an odd story from a man
who I think this occurs in the United Kingdom. I don't think, he
says. Maybe he does somewhere in the story, and you'll hear it if
he does. But the way he writes, and the way he describes some
of these places and the vernacular he uses, I think this guy is from
the UK. But let's read us. This is not a bigfoot story.
But this is really good, he writes. My first strange encounter happened in
two thousand and seven. There were no leaves on the trees. That is
the only thing I can recall determining the time of year. We lived four
miles away from the local town and the countryside on the bank of a large
reservoir. From the high spot where our house sat, we had a fantastic
view of the rolling countryside. We owned twenty two acres that included two large
lakes that I had excavated and acres of trees I planted. I was blessed
to live in such a beautiful and imposing home. The house itself is a
converted L shaped barn. My wife and I lived in the two story section,
and her parents lived in the smaller l that was only one story.
It was like two separate properties, but we could walk straight through each other's
homes. On the night in question, I was sitting with my feet up
on the SETTI watching TV. It was dark outside, and I imagine it
must have been getting close to bedtime. I prefer to go to bed early
and get up early. The next morning, my wife came walking into the
lounge and told me that she was going to let the dog out, but
there was someone standing in the back garden. I asked what they were doing,
and she said nothing, they're just standing there. Well, the hair
stood up all over my body and I was engulfed in fear. I'm certainly
not the cowardly type, but I had the sudden feeling that something really bad
was about to happen. My wife prompted me to get up and come with
her to have a look, so I followed her through the house to her
parents' side. She took me to her dad's bedroom because it was on the
farthest side and closest to the back garden. The light was off, so
I looked out the window and allowed my eyes to adjust to the garden,
which obviously I knew well. The part I was looking at was only thirty
feet across to where our garden meets the neighbor's pasture land. There was a
three bar wooden fence with barbed wire across the top, and we had planted
some fruit trees there. After letting my eyes adjust and looking around to identify
the objects I knew were there, I said, I can't see anybody.
My wife said, now look through this, and she handed me my night
vision scope. By now her dad was standing next to her and looking quite
concerned, and I took the scope from her and I returned to the window
to look. I instantly saw the likeness of a person standing in the neighbor's
field, but right next to the fence. My wife asked if it could
be one of my friends messing about to scare us, and I replied,
who the hell would stand there? On the off chance that you might look
outside with a night vision scope, I adjusted the focus on the scope and
I looked again, and this time seeing something that filled me with terror.
It looked like an extremely tall man with a heavily woven cloak pulled over and
around him. The cloak or shroud. Whatever it was was coarsely woven twill.
The strands were as thick as jumper wool and tightly woven, and it
looked heavy, so much so that I guessed I would have had a difficult
time lifting it if it were on the floor. It was only thirty feet
away, so with the scope zoomed in, it was the equivalent of being
right next to it. I could see the waving in the shroud as it
came below the waist and flared out. The arms to the side, and
the hands weren't visible. In fact, I couldn't see anything of this being
outside of the intimidating figure with its head leaning forward and the cloak pulled over
it. You've probably figured out by now that what I'm describing is the grim
Reaper, and it was terrifying. It wasn't carrying a scythe as depicted in
so many stories. Judging by the fence it was standing next to, I
determined it to be nine feet tall and as much as three and a half
feet wide. I opened the window slowly and quietly looked again. I'm not
sure if I did that to get a better look, or if I needed
confirmation that what I was seeing wasn't a reflection in the glass. When I
took the scope away, I couldn't see it, But when I looked through
the scope again, it was there. Through the scope, I could also
see the grain in the wood on the fence rails, the cobwebs on the
fence, and the long strands of grass in front of its cloak. There
was truly some kind of being in front of me, but there was totally
no explanation for what it might be in our world, our knowledge of what
exists among us, be it in other dimensions or whatever else. I don't
think could ever explain this. I later asked my wife what she had been
doing standing in her dad's bedroom window with my night scope. She said that
the dog wanted to go outside, but she had heard foxes barking at the
back of the house. She thought that she would have a look around the
garden before letting the dog out, to make sure there were no foxes.
She had a little pug that she treasured and didn't want the foxes to attack
it. I know this is a far fetched story, but it is what
I and my wife and her dad all witnessed. Her mother refused to look,
she said it was a bad omen. Sadly, the truth of that
statement came to pass when my wife passed away in twenty and thirteen after a
four year battle with ovarian cancer. She was only forty six years old.
We had been married for nineteen years and five days. She left me with
the most beautiful, blond, four year old son any parent would be proud
of. How could such a mythical being have been in my back garden,
as real as the apple trees, the fence and the grass, and as
true as the myths. I lost my wife and my son lost his mother.
I know neither you nor anyone else can give me answers, but at
least you can listen to my story, a nightmare really, and be sure
that not all things are a myth. The second unexplained story that happened in
twenty eighteen. I had moved from my lovely home in the country to a
home in a quiet village only ten miles away from my original home and encounter.
I had fallen asleep on the city and awoke in the early morning hours.
The TV had timed out and it was turned off, and I just
lay there, fully dressed and regaining enough energy to get up and go upstairs
to bed. There was a street light at the end of the drive,
and with all the curtains open in the lounge, there was an ambient light
coming through that allowed me to see reasonably well. I had been lying there
for a good ten minutes and was awake enough now to go upstairs when I
noticed something coming around the corner from the other part of the l shaped lounge.
I would not call it smoke or a mist. The only way I
can explain it would be to call it a cloud. It was just like
in The Predator her film. There were loads of pixels, and with each
pixel being an inch square in size. Although I could see straight through them,
they distorted whatever they passed in front of. This cloud was two feet
deep, three feet wide and a good six feet long. It was just
floating under the ceiling, and it passed above me and went through the wall
behind me. It must have been another half hour before I picked up enough
courage to get up from the couch and go to bed. I had never
heard of this before until I listened to a Sasquatch story where someone had explained
this same strange phenomenon at a time when they had seen a bigfoot. I
was excited that someone else had also witnessed this. Thank you if you find
time to read my story. All our best from far away in Staffordshire.
Yep, see, I was right. I could tell that was from the
UK. And first let me say my condolences to you. It's been a
while since your wife passed away, but I'm so sorry that you lost your
wife. And I have to say, in my humble opinion, this you're
losing your wife had nothing to do with this grim reaper figure that you saw
by your garden. I'm so sure of that. There may be entities floating
around and moving around, and I don't know the explanation for them, strange
entities, ghosts, apparitions. Maybe they're demonic, maybe they're not. Maybe
it's something God created and it just moves around in the spirit realm. I
don't know, but this was such an interesting story. Thank you Ian is
the author. Thank you Ian for sending this. We really enjoyed it.
And I hope your son's doing well and your family has adjusted to missing your
wife and your son's mother, and that life picks up and gains good meaning
for you and you can move on I'm sure that's what your wife would want
you to do. I'm probably stepping out of bounds talking about any of this,
but I just, you know, it just breaks my heart when I
hear stories like this. But at any rate, it was a great story,
and thank you for singing it. All right. Here's another short story
that I thought was great, and it's titled Full Moon Society of Hikers.
I don't know exactly where this woman is from. Oh, she's from New
York. I assume she's in New York because the story is set in New
York. I live in the Catskill Mountains of New York. I hadn't really
thought twice about Bigfoot, but my boyfriend has believed and pondered Bigfoot's existence for
a long time. I've always believed that there's a whole lot of more mystery
and enchantment in this world than we realize, and that the true nature of
reality is not as firm as we tend to believe. So when he played
me a few of the videos of possible Bigfoot sightings and audio recordings, I
watched and listened with an open mind, but I didn't think much beyond that.
In twenty twenty, I had a small group of female friends that I
would gather with on every full moon. We would do a little moon magic
and then head out into the woods to hike under the moonlight. Hiking is
always a pleasure, but hiking at night with just the moon to light your
way is extra special. As we hiked, we would listen to the rambling
rivers and the wind in the trees, or we would just be chatting it
up as friends do. But on this specific night, we chose to take
an old carriage trail. The Catskills are beautiful terrain, and a lot of
local trails are narrow and rocky. The carriage trail is wider and so easier
to walk in the dark. And as we made our way, everything felt
normal and we fell into a little peaceful silence. But then from fifteen to
twenty feet away, and from off the trail and up in the woods,
came a seriously loud and thunderous whoop. It started low, and it got
higher in frequency, and we all immediately looked at each other in shock and
flipped on our headlamps. My two companions immediately wrote it off as some sort
of bird call, and they didn't want to consider it any further than that,
but I could feel that the creature who made the call was close by,
and I recognized the call too. It sounded just like some of the
bigfoot recordings I had heard before. My instinct was to speak to the creature
telepathically, and then I thought, clearly, we mean you no harm at
all. We're just passing through and thank you. The whoop had sounded like
a hey, you're in my territory kind of warning, and I don't think
it was meant to be especially threatening. As I thought my message of coming
in peace over and over again, I felt that the creature heard me and
under good and this was a special full moon night. Yes it was.
And what a great little email this person sent me. I really enjoyed reading
this, and I appreciate the writer for sending it. Thank you very much.
Here's an email from Ted I actually got recently, and he writes,
I've been listening to your Bigfoot stories and enjoying them immensely. Thank you,
thank you very much. I take special interest in the stories here in Mississippi.
I was born and raised down here on the coast near Pasca Goula,
and now I live on five acres here in Moss Point, Mississippi, in
an area known as Helena, which is out in the country. I've been
an outdoorsman all my life. I'm fifty seven years old and I've been in
the woods since i was a child. My grandfather had a camp up at
Creole by you, deep in the Pasca Goula Swamp, just off the Pasca
Goula River. It's only accessible by boat retirement from the US Navy. We
would spend many nights at his camp, hunting and fishing and just enjoying life.
And there wasn't hardly a weekend that went by that I wasn't with him.
I remember one Saturday morning getting up and going out of the cabin and
setting down by popall by the fire that he already had going around five am,
and he was drinking coffee. He was being unusually quiet. When I
asked what our plans were for the day, he replied, shh, listen
boy oft in the distance, I could hear what sounded like people talking in
a foreign voice. It was pitch black dark, and it was very still,
and a light fog hung close to the ground. No other sounds or
the usual owls, bugs or frogs could be heard at all. Only the
faint chatter is the only way I know to explain it, of voices down
in the swamp behind his camp. We sat and listened for I guess about
another five minutes when I whispered, what is that, Papa. He whispered
back to me, It's just them old harpies arguing over breakfast. The hair
stood up on the back of my neck, and I got instant chicken skin
when he said that I had often heard him talk about the harpies that lived
behind his camp, but I thought me, being only twelve years old at
the time, but I only thought that he was joking with me, as
he always did. But this time, when he said that, he was
very serious and didn't crack a smile, I knew he was serious. I
can still see his face in the glow of that campfire, and hear those
voices in my head to this day. I wish, to this day I
would have asked him more about the things that lived behind the camp and if
he had ever seen them. After he passed away, my father sold the
camp, and since then many other people have purchased property up there and built
more camps, so it's not nearly as secluded as it used to be.
I still occasionally will ride by they're in my boat, and the property has
all grown over and the camp has fallen in. Apparently nobody ever used the
camp or has rebuilt on the property. I have recently listened to recordings of
what seems to be sisquatch conversations, and the recordings I have listened to sound
very similar to what we were hearing that morning at my grandfather's camp years ago.
At present, I go camping once every month rain or shines, lead
or snow deep in the DeSoto National Forest, but I have yet to hear
anything like that ever. Again, do you have any reports of sightings or
sounds from DeSoto Forest? I camp all over the National forest from south end
up to the north end for the last two years, and I found no
sounds of a bigfoot anywhere, although I have just recently started actually looking for
signs since I started listening to your posts on YouTube. Please email me back
with any information you may have, for I've grown quite interested in this topic.
You have my full permission to use this email and its contents as you
see fit. Thank you for what you're doing, and keep up the good
work. Signed Ted Ted, thank you. I've never heard Bigfoot called a
harpy. Matter of fact, I've never heard that term, and I think
it seems like I should have, but I just haven't. That's a new
term to me. But I'm guessing that's what your granddaddy was cut your papa
was calling the Bigfoot the harpies. That's fascinating. And you know those old
guys. I know how a young boy looks up to his big, strong
grandfather and his father. I know exactly what that feels like. And I
can see his grandfather sitting there in the glow of that fire and being real
serious about him, keeping quiet and listening to that chatter off in the distance,
and I bet that wouldn't spook a little kid anyway. It's wonderful story,
Ted, Thanks for sending it in. I really appreciate you, buddy.
What follows her several experiences recently shared with me by a coworker. This
fourteen year old Anna snuck out of the house and made her way to her
favorite place. It was a tree swing that sat atop a hill, and
it was motionless and waiting. It overlooked the valley in stream below, which
was a good quarter of a mile from her home, and this is where
she came to escape from her four brothers and to enjoy the fresh air and
to daydream in peace. As the wind blew through her hair, she saw
something shimmering and sparkling. It was sixty to eighty feet away. Rubbing her
eyes to make sure of what she was looking at, she could make out
a silver triangle hovering twelve feet above the stream. She immediately slowed the swing
enough so that she could jump off, and she ran down the hill to
see what it was. But when she got there, it was gone.
Where did it go, she wondered, as it only took a few seconds
to get there. Sharing this childhood's story with me, she remembers that it
didn't make any sounds and it had a light at each corner. She also
estimated it to be around ten to fifteen feet long and it was a silver
metal material. She also doesn't remember seeing any people around it, and when
she asked about being abducted in missing time, she said she doesn't remember a
sense of missing time or any strange dreams or memories. She continued that when
she was fifteen years old and living in Stephenville, Texas, her and her
brother were out for a drive around town one night. That's when they saw
the sign for Rising Star, Texas, and they decided to make the drive.
After driving for nearly an hour, she asked her brother, shouldn't we
have been there by now? Well? He agreed and offered to turn around
and go back. Let's just go back, she said. As soon as
she turned the car around, they were immediately back in Stephenville. One of
her dreams, you know, the ones that seemed super vivid and real,
she saw her brother floating motionless up at the ceiling while she slept. She
was standing in the middle of the bedroom and was in a conversation with a
gray alien. When she looked back at her brother, two other grays went
to get him down, and they lowered him somehow so they could move him
around, and one gray was at his feet, the other was holding his
shoulders. Just then, a door or hatch opened in the floor and the
two grays escorted her sleeping brother down into it. When she was thirty four
years old, she remembers having too much to drink one evening and admits that
she drove home drunk. She recalled seeing a beautiful sunset in front of her,
so she stopped to take a photo and then continued toward home. While
she was making her way along the curvy country road, she noticed an object
in the sky pacing along the side of her. It followed closely all the
way home and at the same speed she was driving, and then once she
got out of the car, she watched as it flew away. I believe
they were following me home to make sure I made it safely, she told
me many days later. While looking at the photo on my phone, there
was something else in it, and when you zoom in, it looks like
a glowing saucer craft. That was the object that followed me home, she
told me. I didn't see it when I took the photo on the way
home. She also has many memories or dreams of her flying, and when
asked if she remembers having or seeing a silver cord attached to her like people
having out of body experiences report, she said there wasn't one. I asked
if she was in a craft or flying like Superman. I was flying outside
of the craft, she said. And that's the end of her story.
And what's all These abduction type stories are fascinating to me, She didn't see
it when she took the picture, but when the when the digital components of
her phone developed the picture, that object is there. That's really interesting to
me. So thanks Todd for sending an a story. Here's another one from
Todd. This one is called The Boy Scientist. We were in the process
of moving into a new store location, and while taking down and dismantling the
sign out front, a stranger approached me. He wanted to share a few
stories with me, so I stopped what I was doing and I listened.
This story begins when I was around four or five years of age, he
began. I remember my parents taking me to a location with small hills surrounding
the area. We went there often. One day, while en route to
the location, I could see up ahead a metallic disc shaped craft sitting on
the ground, and people appeared to be working on it. I remember thinking
that it was being built by these people. Once we parked and got out,
the workers asked me to come over and inspect the craft. I also
recall walking around it and somehow knowing where to place my hand to open a
door into the craft, And when the door opened, I was just about
to go inside when someone stopped me to ask my advice on some other matter.
That's really all I can remember, he told me. I don't even
remember if I eventually got to go inside the craft. Over the years as
an adult, I've been plagued with those similar memories, and I even set
out multiple times to find that place, but I never succeeded. I remember
the tiny location with the hills well, but I cannot remember anything beyond the
surrounding hills or how we got there, he added. He told me that
he's also asked his parents repeatedly about it and where they lived when he was
four or five years old, but they've continued to withhold that information, and
he concluded, either way they've been told to keep it a secret, or
they really don't know what I'm talking about. It's really rather strange. His
next story developed while he was on vacation. He was out near two popular
hiking trails when he saw some strange lights in the sky, and from his
experience, he told me he felt that they were not conventional aircraft, so
he wanted to start up a conversation with some people who were part nearby.
Something was strange about them, he said, but I couldn't be sure what
it was, and when I turned around to look at them again, they
were gone, and so was their vehicle. He told me that he recalled
going home and later that evening asking for a sign that those were in fact
UFOs he'd seen over the canyons. My request was specific to the daytime and
location where I wanted to receive the confirmation, he clarified. When the time
near. Drove up to the lookout near the airport, and there were other
people up there, so I wasn't alone. Two of the people standing near
me seemed a little odd too, so I turned to the man and asked
what had drawn them to the lookout that day. The stranger replied that he
had heard there was going to be a large sighting in the sky at sunset,
and he pointed to an area of the sky in the distance. Because
of the odd coincidence of what the stranger said and where he pointed, he
decided to turn and walk away. He pointed to the same location that I
saw the lights, he added, and that freaked me out, And as
I walked away, I thought to myself, that's enough of a sign for
me, And suddenly I heard the woman who was with him say, well,
I guess there won't be a sighting after all. The following story was
the final experience he shared with me. After possibly feeling separation, anxiety,
or to reassure himself off that he wasn't crazy and that his memories of seeing
craft and interacting with other beings was real, he again asked for contact and
selected the time in the location. This time he began. I arrived at
my preferred location a bit early and parked the car, and I waited,
and as the minutes passed, I grew restless, and then right at the
prescribed time, an old, beat up truck pulled up beside my car.
It was driven by a woman. I couldn't believe it, he said,
there were so many other places to park, Why did she have to park
right next to me. I looked back at my watch, and it was
now past the requested meeting time, and I became frustrated, and I huffed
as I reached for the keys and started up my car. As I backed
out and shifted into drive, I looked back at the mother and child one
last time. It was at that moment the newborn set up and waved goodbye
to me. It wasn't until miles down the road, about halfway home,
that I realized what had just happened. I replayed in my mind all the
details from that brief period in the park, leaving me no choice but to
conclude that they were there to meet me, and I blew it. He
continued, They were setting up a sort of picnic, but it wasn't warm
out, and what mother would bring a newborn child out into the cold elements
for a picnic? And the child was not dressed warmly either, And what
newborn baby can sit up on its own and lift its arm and then wave
goodbye while looking right at me. He asked me this while shaking his head.
That's a good story. That is a good story. These people have
recurring events over and over and over, and I see in the comments,
and I see in emails that people send me, And this is so interesting
to me that once you have one of these experiences, they continue to happen
through your life, and sometimes you have to really think think about what's going
on, and then for the rest of your life, if you tell other
people, you're branded as a nut. And I'm glad that this man shared
this story with Todd. No names are given. Nobody here can call him
a nut, but it is fascinating stuff. Let's do a Bigfoot story right
now, and then I'll do the last one from Todd. This is a
Bigfoot story from Barry and Idaho. Back in the late nineteen eighties, when
I was ten, we lived in the Waha Mountains of northern Idaho, where
I spent most of my time outdoors, hunting and fishing. I would often
run off in the woods by myself, where sometimes I'd notice things would get
real quiet, and I'd get the feeling that something was watching me. One
day, while we were out driving, my mother suddenly yelled at my dad
to stopped the car. Dad argued, but Mom won, so we stopped
and we got out. Behind us on the road were bear tracks, Some
were big and some were small. We followed them to a meadow that rested
on top of a small hill. I was fascinated by what I was seeing,
so I continued to follow the largest tracks into a stand of trees.
The mom and dad were close behind, and there we found one impression.
It was the footprint of some giant creature, and it appeared to have mowed
down several trees in the middle of those trees. We found a spot where
it looked like the creature had fallen, and we could see the evidence in
the snow where it had pushed itself up. I'm guessing by the size that
it must have been the Alpha. My father and I both measured our arms
against the marks left by the creature's arms, and my dad was a big
man, but even his long arms couldn't match the imprints. We tried stomping
in the frozen snow to make prints as deep as the creatures, but we
couldn't. Its print went all the way into the mud, and ours went
no more than an inch deep. Well, I couldn't believe it. It
was the coolest thing I'd ever seen, and it was all right in front
of me. I saw all the little imperfections in the foot. There were
veins and wrinkles and signs of past injuries, and impressions of hair around the
foot. It looked like it had broken a little toe that curved outward.
There was a small track that showed up for just a few feet, as
if it was an infant that had been allowed to walk for a few minutes
and was then lifted back up into the mother's arms. I followed the largest
track over to what was clearly a vantage point overlooking the meadow, and I
imagined it had stopped there for quite a while before turning and heading into the
trees. My father went into town and got something to make a cast,
and he contacted Grover Krantz, the famous professor at the University of Washington,
who told him he believed that Bigfoot was an ancestor of Gigantopithecus. Oh,
my father to kill one and bring in the lower jaw, and then we
can prove that Bigfoot exists, doctor Krantz said. I was listening in on
the call, and I clearly remember my father uttering a few unkind words and
response. Sometime later, my mother and I were out driving the back roads
up in the mountains again when we came across another set of tracks. We
decided it must have been a juvenile that made them. I think we thought
that we were some kind of pros out in the forest, but we were
about to find out that we were intermediate at best. We were about to
get school. We started following the track, careful to walk next to them,
not in them, and it wasn't long before I started to realize that
we were making a big circle. It was doubling back. As soon as
I saw a car ahead of us, I got the feeling that we were
being watched, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up,
and I felt fear, unlike I'd ever felt it before. I instinctively started
trying to be quieter, and I was fighting to remain calm, and I
felt like it was in the trees above us. I'm right here, I
whispered, I know, Mom answered quietly, I think it's above us.
I told her, Then, don't look up, she replied. We need
to get out of here, I said, fighting to hide the fear in
my voice. We made it out, but I couldn't stop thinking about how
it had doubled back on us, and somewhere along the way it had turned
and walked right back into its own tracks. I realized that we were out
there tracking something that could have hurt us, and we were unarmed. I
wanted to share these two encounters for a while now. It isn't easy.
I grew up in a time when people told stories like these and they were
considered weirdos. I'm glad things have changed, Barry. I don't know if
things have changed or not, but it is a great story. And the
doubling back man that is an event I have never heard of. So you're
out tracking a bigfoot and he's just walking in circles. He's staying on the
opposite side of the circle, putting his feet right back in the tracks,
and he's running you in circles. That sounds like something Native Americans would do
at some point. Maybe I don't have any proof of that, but it
sounds like something they would do because they were very crafty and clever out in
the wilderness. So Barry, thanks for the story. It was really good.
All right, let me open Todd's last story. All right, this
is a story Todd in titles. My name is Todd. I don't know
if he's talking about himself or not. I'm reading this cold. I haven't
read this, so I'm just first time i've read it. From the first
night they lived in the house, bumps or thuds and the sound of feet
running in the attic, beings walking past windows, and the sounds of doors
shuttings all began at eleven pm every night after a long tour. I'd oftentimes
get back to their house well after midnight, even as late as three am,
I would drop off their truck and then drive my car home, which
was a good thirty five minutes away. I was already tired, and it
was common for me to spend the night on their couch rather than driving all
the way home. My boss's daughter always had friends staying over, even on
the weekend nights. They were always up all night playing and talking in their
bedroom. One night, while sleeping on the couch, I awoke to find
three of them curled up together on the floor next to the couch. They
hadn't slept yet and the sun was on the rise. I asked, what's
going on? How come you're not in your bedroom. One of them said,
well, we can't sleep in there. What do you mean you can't
sleep in there? I said, We hear noises and see things outside the
window, said the daughter. What sort of noises? I asked, Well,
it's like people running on the roof. She replied, it's always happens
at eleven pm. Okay, I said, as I rolled back over and
went back to sleep. Over the next several weeks, this same thing played
out again and again, and finally her mother changed bedrooms with her, but
that didn't help. Then their daughter's birthday arrived and they took her to Las
Vegas, and they asked me to house sit and keep an eye on the
dog. It was business as usual at the shop, and i'd crash at
their place afterward. The dog and I got along great, and when it
was time for bed, she slept close by. The first night I heard
them become active. The house was previously quiet and then sounded as if a
family returned home from vacation or something. Doors were slamming and kids were running
around, et cetera. And when I turned to see what time it was,
the clock said eleven pm, just like clockwork. I thought to myself,
she was right. There's a lot of noise in it. Sounded like
a bunch of people on the roof are in the attic. While I lay
there awake, I listened to them and mentally followed their activities around the house,
and I made notes of where I heard them. The following night,
I went to bed before eleven o'clock so I could send them a bit of
an invite, And as I lay under the blanket, I sent them a
thought that if they were okay with it, I would like to see them.
My name is Todd, and I'm watching the house and the dog.
I said to them, and my thoughts, if you would rather not show
yourselves to me now, maybe you could appear to me during my dreams,
I added. Sometime in the early hours, I heard someone near me whisper
his name is Todd. With this, I woke to see two women in
period dresses, maybe from the eighteen hundreds, standing about four feet from me,
and one of them was facing me, while the other, who I
believe was the one talking, was slightly turned to the side with her back
to me, as if looking at the other woman while she talked. The
more I tried to focus on them, the more I awoke, and the
less I saw them. Within five seconds, I couldn't see them at all.
After this encounter, I never again heard them in the attic, and
that was the only time I ever saw them. This email is from Christopher,
and it's paranormal in nature. It's really good. My family on my
mother's side have unique abilities. My grandfather, as told to me by my
grandmother, was for lack of a better term, a witch doctor. People
would come to him because he could cure different types of illnesses. He said,
my mother would be next in line, but he died before he was
able to teach her. She was still able to predict bursts and feel the
moods of people around her. My abilities are the opposite For me. It's
death and ghosts. I've had many strange things happened to me, and there
was one incident that bothers me to this day. It changed my life.
There's a church near the Southern Park Mall in Boardman, Ohio, where my
brother's friend was a caretaker. It's a church and school combined, so it's
a large building with two large chapels, a classroom, offices, and community
rooms. A good sized group of us were meeting there to play some game
or another. One night. We showed up early, so my brother's friend
asked me to walk around with him to shut off the lights and lock the
doors and generally just check the building. It was I that he asked me
to do this, because I was always seen as George's little brother, not
their friend Christopher. These were all my brother's friends, and I was happy
to do it though, because I saw it as me being accepted into their
group. It all was okay until we reached the room where the priest gets
ready the worst feeling hit me. The pressure seemed to increase and there was
a disgusting feeling coming from the room. I stopped and I said I can't
go in there. My brother's friend said, don't worry about it. You
won't be breaking any religious rules by going in. Well, that wasn't quite
what I meant, but I couldn't explain why I felt that way, so
I went in. It was even worse inside. We walked through and went
out the other side. Instantly everything felt normal again. We locked some doors
and turned off a couple of lights before coming back to the room. The
second we approached it, I got an awful feeling again and I beg not
to go in there. I even asked to go outside and wait by another
door, but he said no. It was late February, with the temperatures
and the teens and half a foot of snow on the ground feet. I
only weighed one hundred and twenty five pounds, so no thermal on me,
and I was only wearing a T shirt. But I didn't want to go
in that room so much that I would have willingly stood outside to avoid it.
I had no choice. Though my brother's friend was a former lineman for
the football team. He wasn't small, and we went in and the room
felt even worse this time, Just like the first time. As soon as
we left the room, the feeling went away. Next we went to the
basement where there were some more classrooms, the cafeteria and kitchen, and some
storage areas. Then we went back upstairs and entered the old chapel from the
rear side. We had to go across the back to set a couple of
doors just inside the chapel. I stopped, I can't go in there.
I told him there's a ghost and it doesn't like me, and then I
pointed it out to him. He could see the black shadow near the front
by the organ. He uttered an expletive and we headed for the doors across
from us, and it started following us. The faster we moved, the
faster it moved. There was just the one shadow, not too so it
wasn't our own shadows we were seeing. We made it through the doors,
moving at a pretty fast paced. It was fifty feet to the corner where
the stairs to this third floor apartment were and I started feeling hot as we
walked to it. It was like something hit me, but it wasn't physical.
For a few seconds, I was completely disoriented and I lost all thoughts
where I was or even who I was. Now. I was just coming
back to myself when the second one hit. This was worse than the first
one, and I had to grab the wall to keep from collapsing. Well,
it passed, and my head was beginning to clear when a third one
hit, and this one put me on the ground. My brother's friend pulled
me to my feet and away from that spot. Now I got my head
on straight, and I told him to go stand in the spot where I
was attacked. Well, he was a big boy, like I said,
alignment on the football team. He bounced off the wall like he was nothing.
That stirred him into motion, and he grabbed me and we ran up
the stairs, and I don't remember touching a single step in two flights.
When we got to where my brother was, he asked me how I knew
about the ghost. So I told him about my ability. About a week
ago, he said, I was getting in bed with my wife. I
just lifted my leg to climb in when a face appeared in front of me
that scared the crap out of me. He paused him in it, and
then he added it was just a face. There was no head, no
body, just a face. The next day, he and his wife moved
out of the church and in with her parents. This happened back in nineteen
ninety five, a couple of years ago. I went back there to talk
to someone about it, and no one there was able to tell me anything.
I wrote down my name and number, along with a note stating that
I'd like to talk to someone about what happened to me there, but no
one ever called me. It was still there. I felt it that day
that I went back. I want to go there again. There are more
details about the church I'd like to clarify, but there are more stories of
things that had happened to people there. But whatever is there, it's very
strong. Okay, that's a ghost living inside a church. I don't know
something about These paranormal events are just captivating. They're very believable. Some of
these are very believable, and I really enjoyed reading this person's account. Chris,
Thanks for the story. I really appreciate it. All Right, here's
an email from someone who doesn't have a name. I don't know. Maybe
they have a name, but they didn't give it to me, which is
not a problem. But this is a Bigfoot story, and he says this
is absolutely true. In November of nineteen seventy nine, I was fourteen,
not old enough to hunt legally in New York. My dad was an avid
hunter who usually hunted in Naples. They call it part of the southern tier
of the state. My dad worked with a man who owned some prime hunting
property there. My uncle was supposed to go with him that year, but
something came up, so my dad asked me if I'd like to go in
his place and push the deer. Of course, I said yes. I
was so excited I barely got any sleep the night before we left. We
drove off at four am and headed to the dark and frozen woods in our
Ford pinto wagon. Dad explained as we went what my function would be.
I would head into the woods alone and push the deer to where he would
be up and ready for them. We got to the gravel road that took
us into his coworker's property and Dad told me to walk about two hundred yards
in the woods and hunker down for forty five minutes or so, and then
start walking east. I actually knew a lot about the woods even then.
I spent pretty much every spare moment of my time in the woods around our
home. Anyway, Dad handed me his O twelve gage shotgun. It was
empty, but I had a couple of slugs in my coat pocket just in
case. I stood there watching the tailgates of the pinto disappear over the crest
of the hill, and then turned and let my vision adjust to the darkness
for a minute before I started walking. I wasn't afraid of the woods back
then. I walked quite aways, and I had to scale an old fence
line At one point. I remember the patches of snow and how cold I
was, despite being dressed in three layers of clothes and a good pair of
winter boots, the kind with liners that can be removed. It began to
get light outside, but the sky was overcast in dark shades of angry gray.
I went into a deep gully with ten to fifteen foot banks, and
I followed it until it turned east, the direction I had to go to
get to my father. Then I climbed the tall bank and found a good
sized tree that had fallen, and where I squatted and rested my back against
it, and by then I was tired. Without a good night's sleep,
I'd been running on pure adrenaline all morning. I guess I've knotted off.
I woke up to the sound of a tree branch snapping, and I panned
the area across the gully to the opposite ridge, thinking it might have been
a big buck. And I searched across the area and I saw what looked
like a large man standing next to a tree. Well, I focused in
and I froze. It wasn't a man. My father was six feet tall,
and this thing was nearly twice that. It was covered hair, but
it wasn't a bear either. I couldn't see its face, its long,
matted hair covered it, but I could see clouds of breath pouring through the
hair on the cold morning air. Its hair was all brown, but a
lighter shade on its chest in the front of its thighs. Based on its
body position, it had to be looking straight at me. Well, I
figured it was standing like this for five minutes or so, which felt like
a lifetime to me. My heart was pounding out of my skin the whole
time. But I was frozen in place, and I couldn't move, and
then it took one step in my direction, and that unfrozeed me. I
turned and started running as fast as I could in the direction that I'd come.
I had the twelve gage, but I didn't think about it at the
time. I approached the fence line and I chucked the shotgun over it and
dove a the fence behind it, and then I grabbed the gun and briefly
looked back to see if anything was behind me. And I kept running until
I got to the gravel road. During that Olympic run, I managed to
lose a boot. I was only wearing the lining, but I didn't care.
I got my bearings and headed up the road in the direction my dad
had gone, and I found the Pinto parked on the side of the road,
but to my horror, it was locked there. I was surrounded by
heavy woods in the middle of nowhere, and now painfully aware that monsters do
exist. I loaded the gun and knelt down with my back against the car
and waited and listened to every single noise. When my dad finally came out
of the woods, he was asking, what the hell happened to you,
boy? I told him exactly what happened. It was probably a bear,
if anything at all, he reasoned. I told my best friend back then,
and he seemed believe me. I'm now fifty six and I live in
Florida. Dad has been gone since nineteen eighty seven, but I can relive
that morning like flipping a switch. I did some small game hunting after that
happened, but only in the woods where I grew up in Neverden. When
I was in my thirties, I ran across the BFRO and reported the incident
to them. A man contacted me about it, and we spoke for quite
a while. The research I've done since then shows that these things migrate from
the Adirondack Mountains down through the Herkimer Valley and into the Southern Tier, as
well as northern Pennsylvania and the Ohio Valley regions. Whoa, whoa, you
know I did a story not too long. Well, no, it was
about three years ago about a kid who was squirrel hunting and he ran up
on the same thing, And it seems like his grandfather walked up behind him
while he was facing this bigfoot and just said, you need to just back
away. Come on with me, and we're gonna walk out. Everything's gonna
be fine. This story reminds me of that. It's I think people go
in the woods hunters. I fallen asleep under trees before squirrel hunting, and
up in the Duff's falling asleep in a deer stand before. You just get
comfortable, especially if you're in a shooting house. It's got a heater in
it. Oh man, get ready to take a nap, take some food
and be a glutton and then go back to sleep. But a minute you
wake up, you look out that one to Sometimes there'll be a deer standing
there, and I can see that happening with Bigfoot. You fall asleep,
you wake up straight in front of you, there's this giant monster just staring
at you, wondering what the hell you're doing there. Anyway, I love
this story. I thought this was a great story as well written, and
it had so much good stuff in it. So thank you to the writer.
Here's a pretty good story from South Mississippi. I think you guys will
appreciate this one. The writer doesn't say whether to reveal his name or not,
so I'm just not going to do that. But here's what he writes.
My story begins when I was eight years old. I'm forty now,
and I grew up in deep southern Mississippi, and that's all I'm really willing
to say about the location. My mom, dad, and two sisters,
and I lived on my grandparents' property, where my grandfather had cattle. We
lived towards the front of the property and my grandparents lived way in the back.
The road dead ended at their brick house, where my grandmother had at
least one hundred azalea bushes out front. I don't recall the exact year,
but I do recall it with spring because the azaleas were in full bloom.
It was a beautiful sight to come around the bend in the road to see
my grandmother's azaleas and all their glory. My grandparents had several businesses, so
they were always gone. Living in the country and thirty miles from the nearest
store, my mother would often find it easier to send me down to their
house to raid the cupboards for a missing items she might need than to drive
into town. It was a walk I made a thousand times, and one
I loved, especially in the spring. Sadly, that day my opinion would
change forever. I don't remember the item my mother had sent me to retrieve,
but I was eager to get out of the house. I couldn't wait
to see all those azalea bushes, so I took off down the road,
completely unaware of what was in store. When I got to the first straight
away, I caught movement to my right, just inside the woods. I
was no stranger to those woods. I knew them like the back of my
hand. I got to know the woods through one hundred imaginary deer hunts and
squirrel hunts. Armed with my Daisy pellet rifle. The movements stopped me dead
in my tracks. I wasn't afraid. I thought it was one of my
grandfather's cows that had gone out of its pasture. It had its back to
me, so all I really saw was something big and red, reddish brown
in color. Just as I began to resign myself to the thought of having
to wrangle the wayward cow, it stood up on two legs. It stepped
over a five strand barbed wire fence like it was nothing. My mind was
screaming that it was a bear. Even the thought of being a bear was
enough to scare me to death, and I just stood there in shock or
amazement or fear. I can't say now. I just know I stood there
for what felt like minutes but I'm certain was only seconds. At some point
I snapped out of it and turned to run as fast as I could back
to my house. There was no way I was coming back through these woods
with that big thing out there. Even as I turned to run, my
curiosity he got the best of me, and I couldn't resist looking back.
The monstrous thing was staring at me, and it was huge. It was
a huge figure with its hands resting on the top strand of the barbed wire.
I didn't want to see its face, so I made tracks for home.
I got back to the house, where I'm sure Mom was expecting me
to have whatever items she needed from Grandma's kitchen. I didn't give her time
to ask. Out of breath and hands on my knees and gasping for air,
all I could say was there's a bear down there, mom. Mom
said that I must have been imagining things. She insisted that I get back
down there and get what she needed. We do not have bears in these
woods, she said. I couldn't bring myself to tell her or anyone else
that what I saw really wasn't a bear, and I didn't want to be
laughed at. Now I was pretty darn sure my mom was right. There
weren't any bears in those woods. I refused to walk back to Grandma's house,
so Mom finally agreed to drive me. I showed her where I saw
it, but of course it was gone. I never told anyone except my
mom because I was certain i'd be laughed at. As time went on,
though, I think Mom began to believe that I saw something that day.
Before that day, I was never one to stay inside. Suddenly I was
perfectly fine with being indoors, and she would ask me to describe it to
her, so I did. Back then, I didn't know anything about bigfoot.
The old timers would talk about buggers, but I never really put all
that together until recently. Years passed and I got into my thirties, and
by then I had decided that one incident wasn't going to keep me out of
the woods. I had gained permission to hunt a prime track of woods that
were perfect for getting a good buck. I took my younger brother and stepbrother
along with me, and I sent them to a good box stand where they
could hunt together. While I took off with my climber for the deep woods.
There was a spot where I knew the big ones would be. I
was walking to this perfect spot and the deeper end of the woods. I
got the more of a creepy feeling I got about the place. It was
like I was being watched. I started hearing noises in the bush when I
walked, but it stopped when I stopped. Now, I told myself it
was just me being rattled by being so deep in the woods, until I
started climbing up the perfect pine tree and my old man climber and started getting
rocks thrown at me. I yelled out that whoever was throwing the rocks was
on private property, but dead silence was my only answer at first, and
then the god offless scream I've ever heard in my life came belting out of
the woods. It felt like it vibrated the tree, and it shook me
to my core. I'm really not going to why about it. I climbed
down out of that tree and got back to my truck as fast as I
could, leaving my old man climber right where I'm sure it still hangs today.
I threw open the truck door, jumped inside and cranked her up,
and I was about to tear out of there when I remembered my brother and
step brother. Oh well, I thought it'll be dark soon enough and they'll
come out. And it wasn't long before I heard footsteps coming up to the
side of the truck. I was looking at my phone and I assumed it
was my two brothers, and I never bothered looking up. One of them
jumped into the back of the truck, and I thought, yep, that's
got to be my step brother. He's six foot four tall and easily weighs
three hundred pounds. I couldn't imagine anything else that could rock the truck like
that. After a bit, when there was no noise, no truck shaking,
and only pure silence, I opened the door to see what was going
on. And that's when I saw their flashlight coming up the road. What
did you guys forget? I called, Well. They looked at me with
a puzzled expression and said, huh. I told them that they'd come to
the truck and put something in the back, and now they were walking up
the road, so I figured they must have forgotten something and gone back to
get it. They said no, that they were just now coming out of
the woods. For the first time, I could tell that they were telling
the truth, and I kept hoping they'd burst out laughing at any moment,
but they never did. They got in the truck and we left. I
have not been back to those woods, and I've spent a lot of time
mulling over these events. What did I see in the woods that day on
my way to my grandmother's And what in this world could have screamed at me
in the woods or made my truck rock like that. I'm content to believe
that whatever it was did not want me there for whatever reason, and I'm
happy to oblige. Oh dude, that's a good story. South Mississippi gets
a lot of these stories. The whole state does, and I don't Mississippi
Alabama. Here's the point. These things apparently are everywhere. There's some form
of these creatures all over the United States. The only place I haven't heard
of encounters like this, and I'm just thinking off the top of my head
is the Great Plains States. You know, the middle of the United States
where the uh, the Great Grass Plains are think a little big horn,
that type of area because there's no cover, there's no place for them to
go. And those you know, those are just just grasslands, is what
they are. So I don't recall having a story from there, but in
any place that's wooded, especially in the southeast or the east, or the
Pacific Northwest, not necessarily the desert, although Arizona has a few with the
mogion thing. Anyway, I'm just I'm just talking out loud. I don't
know what I'm talking about, but all these thoughts come to my head and
just I don't know, they just come out of my mouth. But I'm
just thinking and about when was the last time that I got a story from
those great plains or like the deserts of southern California, for example. But
anyway, this is a great story, and I really appreciate the man riding
in. I've had it for a long time and I've been anxious to get
it out. So there you go. The guy claims it's true, but
it's just the wonderful story. The writer says, I'm from the beautiful small
town of Princeton, Indiana. It's grown a bit in recent years, but
back when I was seventeen the time when this encounter happened, it was still
a typical small town America kind of place. I grew up in a hunting
and fishing family. We were taught how to live off the land and respect
life at an early age. My dad took each of us kids squirrel hunting
at the young age of ten. He taught us proper gun handling and safety
and the best techniques for hunting. I did pretty well on my first but
my brother Gary not so much. Dad said he had never been aimed at
so much in his life. Every time he turned around, he was staring
down the barrel of Gary's gun. That probably wouldn't have bothered him nearly so
much if it hadn't been for my brother's evil grin. For me, hunting
was a man's ride of passage. I had my dad and older brother as
examples of everything a hunter should be, and I was bound and determined to
meet their standards, and it was not easy. The first squirrel that I
ever killed was on a hunt with my dad, and it was the biggest
thrill of my life until I had to feel dress it. Mom's awesome fried
squirrel biscuits and gravy didn't quite taste the same that night, as I stared
down at my plate of food, all I could see was that little squirrel
staring back up at me while I was pulling its guts out. Finally,
Dad leaned over and he said, God provided our food, and it's wrong
to kill anything you're not going to eat. Those were Dad's standard. So
I tried to ignore the tiny little Alvin in the chipmunk's voice whispering from my
plate, telling me all about his wife and kids, and I finished off
every bite. Over the years, I toughened up a bed and it became
a little less bothersome, until eventually I couldn't hear Alvin talking at all.
Every year, I'd get more and more excited waiting for August, when squirrel
season would begin. On the first day of the season. The year I
was seventeen, I called my best buddy to go with me. He was
busy, so I asked my dad and my older brother. They were both
working. I wasn't about to risk being shot at by my other brother,
so I decided to man up and go alone. This is something I never
did, but I saw this as my path to manhood laid out before me.
The night before, I told Mom and Dad where i'd be hunting.
It was a great spot down by the river and known to be the home
of lots of squirrels. Then I cleaned my rifle, a birthday present from
my dad that I was especially proud of, and I gathered my gear and
did my best fall asleep. It seemed like my head had just hit the
pillow when the alarm sounded. Feeling a little groggy but anxious to get out
there and hunt me some squirrels, I jumped out of bed and threw on
my clothes and grabbed my gear and I headed out, wolfing down a peanut
butter and jelly sandwich as I drove. I needed to be in the woods
and settle down before sunrise or the squirrels might see me. I went down
the old winding road across the creeky bridge, and I parked by an oil
well in the field. The sky was beginning to pale and I could see
a light fog rising off the river. I walked the short distance across the
field and into the woods along the river with my gun in hand, and
I was covered in skeeter dope. It was a beautiful morning, despite the
fact that the fog gave everything a slightly creepy feeling. The waist high grass
was covered in dew. As I quietly made my way down to my hunting
spot, making sure to be very very quiet so as not to spook the
squirrels. My dad my brother were like squirrel hunting ninjas in the woods,
capable of walking right up behind a person without breaking a twig. I moved
more like a squirrel hunting bull, breaking twigs and crunching leaves with every step.
I came to a fallen tree about four feet in diameter that had fallen
away from the river and into the field. As I approached it, trying
to figure out how I was going to get over it or around it,
I stepped on a small branch that snapped like a rifle shot. Cursed under
my breath as the sound echoed through the fog, A nearby beaver slapped his
tail on the water in protest, and I jumped a little at the loud
splash it made. But I was mentally prepared for run ends with almost any
animal that morning. I just wasn't prepared for what happened next. I watched
as the angry beaver swam off and was about to resume my journey. When
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I froze as I
watched what looked to be a grall hooded cobra rising up from behind a tree
not more than six feet in front of me. As my eyes focused in
the low light, reality set in. This was a no snake, and
it continued to rise until it was at eye level with me. Its neck
was long, with two large golf ball sized shiny black eyes perched on top.
It did not make a sound or blink stared at me. My mouth
went dry as the adrenaline pumped through my veins. Now I tried to rationalize
what I was seeing, but all I could think of was a story my
brother in law had once told me. He and some friends were out in
the country one night having a party when he had to answer nature's call.
At the edge of a cornfield, he came face to face with a classic,
big headed, large black eyed, gray alien wearing a silver jumpsuit.
My brother in law jumped and the alien jumped, and each ran back in
the direction from which they came. My brother in law told his friends about
it, but they all accused him of just being drunk in anger, he
insisted they come and see. When they finally went out there, they found
seven to eight inch long, three toed tracks like a chicken would mate.
They tried following the tracks toward the neighbor's field, but it started raining,
so they gave up. The next morning, the sheriff showed up, accusing
them of making a big circle in the neighbor's cornfield. With that story running
through my head, I couldn't help but compare the alien my brother in law
described with the alien that was currently staring at me from the other side of
the fallen tree. This wasn't a classic gray though. It was more like
the alien in Close Encounters of the Third kind. I wondered, should I
whistle that tune to protect myself? I slowly took the safety off my gun.
I didn't point it at the creature for fear of making things worse,
but at least I would be ready if I needed it. In response,
it began to rock from side to side as it moved a little closer to
me. Fear was setting in, and I felt beads of sweat trickle down
my face. Why doesn't it speak, I wondered, Maybe it's telepathic.
After what felt like a millennium, it turned its head. I didn't expect
this, and I caught my breath anticipating the worst. It was staring at
me from its left eye. Now. My knees grew weak and my stomach
churned a little as I saw the protrusion on its face. It looked just
like a bill. In fact, it looked just like the bill of a
sand crane. I exhaled in relief as I saw the alien before me for
what it really was. It was a sand crane. Just as I was
beginning to laugh at myself, the beaver slapped the water again, getting one
more startled jump out of my already jangled nerves. That was enough for me.
I had manned up and had gone hunting alone, but I didn't enjoy
it. I put the gun on safety and turned and left the alien sand
crane still standing behind the tree. I walked back to my car, ignoring
the squirrel that was barking at me. I was too shaky to even shoot.
He probably knew that, and I'm sure if I could still hear Old
Alvin's voice, he was probably making fun of me. I didn't care.
I was kind of laughing at me too. The next weekend I went hunting
with my brother and had a great time. The story is all true,
as best as I can remember it. Thank you for hearing it. The
challenges we face as young people can be tough, but they make us who
we are today. I had read through half of this, and I had
not got to the point where he realizes that the crane looking straight at him,
and when it turned its head he could figure out what it was.
And I can see that. I can see that. But I thought it
was a great story, a great, fun, good hearted story from a
good writer, and I wanted to share it with you guys. Let me
go see if I can find another one. All right, the writer wants
to be a none. It's about bigfoot, and they're all true. They
all claim they're true, and I don't tell them a bit. My father
passed away in two thousand and four. He was a Vietnam veteran who wasn't
scared of anything, but in the early nineteen seventies something happened that terrified him.
It was a fall afternoon in the small town of Bird's Eye, Indiana.
My father was squirrel hunting on my mother's family property. He used the
opportunity to scout the land for signs of deer for the upcoming season. There
was a nice autumn day and Dad wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere.
He was enjoying being in the woods and surrounded by nature. As he made
his way through the forest, he came across what he believed were some animal
bones. He took a minute to look at them, but he wasn't all
that interested, so he moved on. He hadn't gone much farther when he
came across some more bones, and he moved on and he found more,
and the deeper he moved into the woods, the more bones he came across.
That was when he noticed a trail of bones leading up the hill.
All these remains lying around was odd, and Dad was the curious type.
He decided to follow the trail of bones, and as he made his way
up the hill, he noticed that the bones seemed to be getting bigger.
Some of them almost looked human a Dad was a medic in the Marines.
He was familiar with human bones, and about halfway up the hill he started
smelling something pungent. If he was a Medican, the Marines he was a
navy corman, by the way, just the heads up. My son was
in the Marine corpns. I learned all this stuff back to the story.
At the top of the hill he found a cave, and all around it
were more bones of all shapes and sizes. And when he approached the mouth
of the cave, the odor got so strong it nearly overpowered him. The
smell burned his eyes and he fought back the knee to vomit as he looked
into the black open and a pair of red eyes stared back at him.
He jumped backwards and shock at the glowing eyes that were easily seven feet off
the ground. An instinct kicked in and he emptied both barrels of a shotgun
into the mouth of the cave. But even as the shells were spent,
he was turning and heading back down the hill at break next speed. He
didn't wait to see if he'd hit anything or if he just made it angry.
He got out of there. My father was never an animated man.
He believed in getting right to the point. He kept a poker face at
all times. But when he told this story, I could see the fear
in his eyes, and I could hear it in his voice. Years later,
when I was thirteen, Dad and I were squirrel hunting on my uncle's
place in Taswell, Indiana. Like always, while we were there, we
were scouting for deer trails and scrapes and rubs. It was a hot day
in the middle of a dry spell. Dad decided we'd follow a creek bed
that wasn't more than a few water puddles here and there. And when we
came around to ben in the creek, Dad stopped so quickly that I nearly
ran into his back. I'll never forget the expression on his face when he
turned around and looked at me. It was out of place for him.
I really only remember having seen it when he spoke of that day at the
cave. I was looking at my dad and he was scared. I don't
know what the hell made this track, he said, but we're not going
to stick around to find out. I was born with my father's curious nature.
I had to see what he was talking about. I thought maybe he
was joking with me, and I looked around him, and at first I
thought I was looking at some kind of deer track where the deer might have
slipped or something, and then I realized next to the half dried up puddle
was a track that must have been eighteen inches long and nine inches wide.
I could clearly see the tow prints in the hud well. Dad was right,
we didn't need to stick around to see what had made that track.
When we got back to my uncle's house, my dad told him what we'd
found, and I guess I half expected my uncle to laugh at us.
Instead, he looked at my dad straight in the eye and he said,
well, this doesn't surprise me. My uncle had been hearing weird howls and
noises for the past few weeks. He told us that he saw a hairy
man who was over seven feet tall take two of his pigs. Now,
I guess we didn't have to wait around to find out what made the track.
My uncle already knew. Oh man, the way you wrote this was
perfect, absolutely fantastic. And your dad was a Vietnam veteran, and he
wasn't scared of anything. Those guys had been through, you know a lot
of stuff, and so everything else that they would run into after that was
just you know, it was small peas compared to the horrors they had seen
in war. And the same thing for the Afghanistan and Iraqi vets and all
the other vets who've actually seen combat. But they run into a bigfoot or
something like a bigfoot and it scares them to death. And I totally get
that. I mean I get it. Following all those bones up up that
mountain and then looking in a cave and two red eyes looking back at you.
I don't think there's any doubt why those bones are there when you see
that. And I would have shot into that cave too. But this was
a great story and I appreciate it, and it's a good little legacy to
leave your dad. You know. It's an interesting story that he shared with
you, and it'll be in a podcast for a long time, all right,
brother, thanks for the story. Here's another odd email that I received.
The title the writer gives it as strangeness in the South forty Our farm
operation was several years behind the times. Our neighbors planted straight rose using GPS,
and I enjoyed the comfortable, controlled environment of a modern tractor. We
didn't always have the luxury of a cab guided by dead reckoning. The tractors
that did have cabs were nothing more than a noisy box to shelter from wind
and rain. I had learned to layer of clothing to utilize my own body
heat. I actually preferred to drive an open station unit anyway. There was
something about the feel and smell of that evening. The chill fall air was
pleasant against my face, and I could smell the rich earth as the dirt
glided and rolled through the three bottom plow I was pulling. I was operating
one of my favorite tractors. It was built several years before I was even
born, but it stood up proudly to the duties to ask of it.
The old farm all imperred, like the well tuned machine it was, and
I admired the shine of the red hood before me. Hence of warmth came
from the exhaust stack that lightly glowed from the work strain, and it was
a wonderful evening to be farming. Dusk was starting to darken the pale clear
sky. Now the colorful pastel canvas displayed shades of blue, green, and
hints of red. It wasn't quite dark enough to really need lights, but
shadows were starting to creep from the timbered field edge. Darkness was beginning to
claim the landscape. This particular area of the farm could give a particular sense
of foreboding. Tonight revealed to be one of those nights of eeriness. I
turned around, was coming up the evening row was shaded by the timber edge.
Now I noticed corn stalks were jamming up in the middle plowshar, which
would need kicking out before it plugged Tightly, I rolled to a stop and
idle detractor down. Sighing dejectedly, I stood up and stepped backwards down to
the U shape of the drawbar, and I stepped further down until I was
on the ground. I took out an earplug and let my hearing adjust to
the surroundings. And it was silent, just way too quiet. The only
sound was the tractor engine idly. This was very peculiar. My eyes gazed
slowly and carefully around, but I didn't realize anything extraordinary. I should be
hearing crickets, maybe some woodland cadences, but I heard nothing. My footsteps
loudly crunched as I maneuvered myself to clear the plow sheer. My body felt
like electric adrenaline was quickly flowing, and this caused me to go on high
alert. I couldn't shake the feeling as if I was being watched. I
quickly bent to my task. The sooner I could get back on the operator's
seat, the sooner I could move on tink. I rocked. The size
of my ft hit the shear to my right. I jumped, barely missing,
bumping my head against the plow frame. As I turned to scan the
tree line and other large rock zipped inches past my head. There had been
power propelling this object, and I heard a whiz sound as it passed,
impacting the ground with a hard thump behind me. What the hell? I
exclaimed, not finishing my thought, A very large, dark, indescribable shadow
moved directly in front of me. Out of the darkness, a man shaped
form materialized. This was nobody I recognized now. I judged the figure to
stand at least eight feet tall. A very primitive looking being with menacing dark
eyes stood just beyond my tractor. Dark hair covered a majority of the neked
body. This was very decidedly a male, and I'm not going into detail
on that. Just trust me. He was well muscled and presented an athletic
body a wrestler or a football player would desire. We stood within a few
short yards of each other, and now I was trembling with fear, but
I stood my ground, trying to hide my terror. I could feel a
penetrating gaze, as if I was being measured and evaluated. Finally, the
mighty beast nonchalantly turned and walked away, as if I were being dismissed.
I heard a loud crunch behind me, and I quickly turned to see a
large fleeting shadow disappear into the woods on my right. There had been more
than one shaking. I collected myself and I climbed back in the operator's chair
on wobbly legs, and I was done plowing for the evening. In fact,
I picked up a higher gear to get back to the farmstead. I
didn't tell anybody about my encounter when I got to the barn lot who would
believe me anyway, I had been there and was still processing the event had
it been nothing but my imagination. The rock throne that hit my plow sheer
had left a chalk like mark, though I didn't get harassed about coming in.
With darkness falling and the old reliable em didn't have the best lighting,
which made it hard to see at night, the bitter chill was overtaking any
warmth found. As the sunlight had retreated, it was time to call it
a day. Anyway. I did overhear a mumbled comment about pushing the old
tractor too fast. My racing, bumping, and creating a clatter was unusual.
Vintage and antique equipment were treated with great respect on this farm. I
had great trepidation realizing I had to go back and finish plowing the south forty.
The duties still needed completion, regardless of my attitude. The next morning,
I swallowed as much of my fear as I could and I headed back
to the field. The morning went with no incident. It was slightly warmer
as the sun rose higher in the pale sky. My eyes were constantly scanning
all the scenery and my head was constantly swiveling in every direction possible. I
was seeking any abnormalities hiding in the darker forest. It was difficult to stay
focused on the task at hand, and the electric adrenaline feeling had returned,
and I sensed I was being watched again. My nose soon alerted me to
an offensive smell. It was stronger when I neared the tree line. The
pungent odor of wet, rank dirty talk, combined with the smell of a
dead animal attacked my sinuses. No skunk would have smelled more pleasant. I
had planned the plowing so that I had worked my way to the edge of
the middle, and each pass drew me closer to the trees. I dreaded
my actions after last night's bizarre occurrence. The tree line felt as if nothing
was closing in, making it easier for the spectators to reach out and grab
me off the operator's seat. My imagination had gone into overdrive. Fortunately,
the cornstalks weren't hampering the plow, and I wasn't real comfortable with the idea
of stopping to clean that plug away anyway. I felt vulnerable enough slowly moving
in the open, and this was one of the very few times I would
have rather dealt with the noisy confinement of a cab. There probably wouldn't have
been any more safety in an enclosed area. That was nothing more than an
idea, a false sense of security. Another rock zip passed my ear with
fierce intensity. The projectile had been close enough that I felt it brush the
side of my face. One inch closer and I would have been struck in
the eye. My immediate reaction was to mash the clutch pedal, bringing the
unit to an abrupt halt. Angry and I looked all around but observed nothing
out of the ordinary. Now it wasn't the reaction of fear. I was
mad. After calming myself, I assessed the situation with more reason. The
only place of concealment the rock could have come was still a good distance.
Whoever or whatever made that pitch had more power and accuracy than a major league
pitcher. Intelligence to no vulnerable points was also demonstrated. This knowledge was rather
disturbing. I heard the sound of another tractor in the distance. The volume
was increasing, and I observed another plow unit head to the field. I
sat back down and eased out the clutch, and the old m started forward
with a slight strain, and I had my doubt, but maybe I'd be
safer with the increase in numbers. The plowing force soon increased again, and
shortly there were three tractors and plows working in unison. A three bottom plow
pulled by another M and an old John Deere fell into the work, and
the old A's distinctive chugging sound overtook most of the created human noise pollution.
The electric feeling of adrenaline faded in short time, and I started to get
more comfortable now that there was companionship. It never occurred to me the unpleasant
odor still lingered until I observed one of the other operators sniffing the air.
He gave me a puzzled look and pinched his nose and shrugged, indicating he
had found the smell strange and offensive. He asked me later when we stopped,
if I had hit a skum. The title of the story is The
Ghost Demons of Prescott. The story begins in a place called Prescott, Arizona,
a rather unique city commissioned by President Abraham Lincoln. In eighteen sixty four.
President Lincoln sent a delegation to the Arizona Territory to establish a capital.
A site adjacent to Fort Whipple was selected and given the name Prescott, in
honor of William H. Prescott, author of the history of the Conquest of
Mexico. When Arizona won statehood in nineteen fourteen, Prescott became the first Arizona
state capital. In nineteen sixty eight, my family moved to Prescott. I
was going to be a junior in high school, and Prescott seemed to me
to be really small and with not a lot of entertainment options for teenagers.
When such is the situation, teenagers can get really created. At least they
could in the nineteen sixties, one summer night after church, a family with
teenage daughters invited us to their place for refreshments and fellowship. While the parents
visited out front, the two girls invited the teenagers to the back room for
a little Wigi board action. I'd seen this wigi board thing before. It
was something that for me never actually worked, and this time was no exception.
The sisters opened up the board. They lit a candle and turned out
the lights, and laid their fingertips on the stylus and began calling on the
great Wigi to answer a few simple questions. With a handful of onlookers gathered
in the darkness around the table, Wigi did nothing. I mean nothing.
This is exactly what I experienced every time some kid would drag out a wigi
board. The two sisters that summer night insisted their wigi board work work for
them without fail. Why parents would allow the girls to dabble in such demonic
tools as beyond me. It should not have been there in that home.
It is important to point out that these little Wigi boards are nothing to mess
with. They can provide a foothold for a portal for evil entities to come
into a home. As I got older, I thought about this incident and
I realized why the board probably didn't work that night. Many of the teenagers
who were there were actually real Christians. I believe old Wigi was powerless to
show up due to the presence of God's angels surrounding and protecting us from evil.
High schools started in the fall, and I met a great buddy,
a guy named Louie. He's one of those people who brings a smile to
your face with every remembrance. Having lived in Prescott his whole life, Louis
had a laundry list of create things to do on Friday and Saturday nights.
One of his favorite pastimes was trying to scare the girls who happened to be
with us, and variably he would suggest we venture to what we considered to
be the haunted areas of Prescott. This included a famous spot east of town
called the Baby Grave. It was reputed that one could hear the sound of
a baby's mother crying on a moonlit night. That never happened. When we
visited. We didn't hear a mother crying, and we didn't even hear a
baby either. But it was fun to get the girls out there and creep
around in the dark. It was kind of spooky, and it gave us
the willies. One night, Louie decided we needed to get serious about escalating
our spooky adventures. There were four of us. It was me, Louie,
Louie's sister Dolores, and her girlfriend Susie. The four of us piled
in the front seat of Louis's step side pickup truck and we drove to an
old cemetery. Although it was well past dark, the cemetery gate was standing
wide open. No one tended this deserted place. Louis cranked the wheel and
pulled off Sheldon Street and smack into the center of what could be labeled Spookville,
USA. The truck tires crackled on the gravel driveway as we slowly made
our way deep into the center of ancient gravestones. Tall weeds and overgrown trees
and bushes had taken over this place was definitely creepy and immediately invoked the willies.
Louis drove us to the back of the graveyard and turned the truck around,
being careful not to drive over any actual grave plots. Once the truck
was facing the gate, Louis stopped and announced that we were now getting out
to look at some old gravestones. Seriously, I was all ready. He
freaked out. Louie's sister, Dolores flatly refused to get out of the truck.
There was no way she was getting out, No way not happening.
Louis, Susie and I got out and we stepped into the darkness, and
we left Dolores behind by herself in the truck. She was a little bit
spooked. The three of us began cautiously prowling about like some adventurers from the
Raiders of the Lost Arc. There was no light except for the moon,
and it was difficult trying to read what was etched into the gravestones. When
we reached the west side of the graveyard and bent around the front of a
gravestone to see what was written there, we got the ultimate scare of our
lives. As we bent forward to look at the gravestone. Suddenly, an
opaque, iridescent, lime green, absolutely hideous man's face came straight out of
the gravestone in our direction. It scared us so badly that Susy screeched abruptly
and Louis cried out in horror. The three of us turned on our heels
and bolted like lightning back to the truck. With the truck doors flying open,
we dove into the cab, hit the ignition, and ripped out of
the graveyard, throwing gravel from the back tiers all the way to the front
gate. When we got about a quarter mile down Shelton Street, Louis finally
caught his breath and he gasped, what was that? My answer was quick
and final. I don't know, but I'm never going back to another graveyard
ever again, especially at night, and especially with you. What we saw
that night in a Prescott graveyard was definitely a demon. If there was ever
a doubt in my mind that demons existed anywhere beyond the pages of the Bible,
I had just experienced a startling revelation. Demons do exist, and I
had just seen one. The sight of that evil thing is still etched in
my mind to this day. Throughout my life, that single event has kept
me vigilant to never allow a foothold or portal for any of these beings in
my life or the lives of my family. I took it especially seriously when
my kids were growing up. If there was anything questionable that showed up in
the house, it was thrown out immediately. I wanted to keep the kids
safe, just in case there were any hitchhiking evil entities attached to those questionable
things. Ten years ago, while living in a rental property, I became
aware of the presence of a ghost in my home. It was probably left
behind by the previous resident. At night, whatever this thing was, it
would come into my bedroom and cause the hair on my arms to stand up
with goose bumps, and just generally give me the creeps. I would hide
under the covers and hope that it would go away. Imagine that a grown
man hiding under the covers. I thought maybe it would get tired of hanging
around and eventually move on. I had no luck at that. It just
kept hanging around, and it freaked me out fairly frequently, mostly after dark
when I was in bed trying to get some sleep. But while living there,
I got a request from a friend who needed a place to land for
a short time, so I let her stay in the guest a bedroom.
A few weeks after she was gone, the weirdest thing happened while home alone.
I walked into the hallway in the middle of the day and I smelled
that Gal's perfume in the air. What Why am I smelling her perfume?
She's been gone for weeks. That was the last straw I was sure it
was another manifestation of a demon. I called a Christian buddy and asked him
to come over and help him, praying that the Lord would get rid of
this evil thing. My buddy came over, we prayed, and the ghost
was gone. From that day forward, I never had another creepy visit from
the rental ghost. Another ghost issue came up about six years ago. I
was working at a private golf club. Hanging out there in the men's locker
room was a particularly pesky and annoying demon. It would make itself known anytime
I had to go into the men's locker room by myself, especially at night,
I would feel its presence and the hair on my arms would stand up
with goosebumps like crazy. It really annoyed me. My coworker, the cleaning
lady from the maintenance department, also complained about this thing. She was bilingual
and referred to it as li fantasma, the Spanish word for ghost. I
believe this evil entity came in with some Kachina dolls that were on display in
the locker room. Kachinas are one of those items that I personally would not
have around. I think they provide a portal or foothold for demons, at
least that's what I believe. Manifestations of the golf club ghost got so bad
that even the manager in the lounge complained. The ghostly thing opened a sliding
patio door one night after she had closed and locked it. She was there
by herself late at night closing up. Everyone was gone except her. Her
routine was to go around checking all the doors to make sure they were all
locked. When she came back into the lounge, the sliding door leading out
to the patio that she had just closed and locked was now standing open.
It was very freaky. Workers from the pro shop also reported problems with this
evil thing was overseed time. Overseed is when a golf course shuts down for
a couple of weeks to make the transition between summer grass and winter grass.
With the golfer's gone, the pro shop gets new displays and any change is
needed in anticipation of the golfer's return once the grass is ready. The pro
shop guys had set up a new clothing display. One day, closed and
locked the pro shop doors, and they went to lunch. When they came
back, they found the new clothing display knocked over. It was very annoying,
especially when no one else was around and the pro Shop was locked until
they returned. They set up the display again and went outside the pro Shop
to their storage area. When they returned a few minutes later, the display
was overturned again. A real nuisance this demon was. Knowing the demon was
always hanging around the men's locker room, I decided to torture at a bit.
When I walked into that area by myself and I felt the goose pumps
coming up on my arm. I would start singing some good old Christian hit
songs like Amazing Grace and when we all get to Heaven. I was just
messing with the ghost. You know, I'm guessing it didn't appreciate my song
selections or my singing. Either one was probably pure torture. This whole golf
club ghost situation finally came to a head one morning when my coworker and I
were folding table claws. We were at the linen closet just inside the men's
locker room, quietly working away with our folding. What we knew to be
an empty locker room except for us, suddenly had somebody else in it.
We could hear noise on the other side of the golf lockers to my right.
Those lockers stood about seven feet tall, so there was no singing over
them, but we could hear somebody on the other side. Knowing well that
we had a demon in that locker room, we both looked at each other
with our eyes as wide open as they would go. We either had a
golfer over there that we didn't know about, or it was the demon.
My coworker whispered life on tasma. Not sure what to do, we both
continued to work in complete silence, wondering whether it was a golfer that we
didn't know about, or was it the demon. It didn't take long until
there was more rustling on the other side of the lockers. This time,
it sounded like someone was fiddling with something inside of the locker. That was
it. I had to go around the corner and check. I walked around
and there was no one there. No one. The ghost was at it
again. It had gotten to be such a nuisance that I determined to go
to the general manager and report the problem. I recommended that we remove the
koachdales and see if that would make a difference. Over the weekend, I
had dinner with a Christian gal who worked for Southwest Airlines. I told her
about what was going on in the men's locker room at the golf club.
When I expressed my concern in what I was planning to do after that weekend,
my friends suggested, why don't we just pray and ask the Lord to
sweep that thing out of here. Then, without hesitation, she began praying
and asked Jesus to get that evil thing out of there. When I went
back on Monday, the demon was gone. Later, there was a remodel
in the men's locker room and the kachinas were disposed of. I worked there
for two more years in the evil entity. The golf club ghost never came
back once again. It was amazing to me the power of prayer, even
from a long distance away. These evil entities are no match for the Lord.
One last incident, while visiting with a lady friend from the west side
of town, she was complaining about ghosts in her family's cabin at South Lake
Tahoe. Several of the family members had seen these things over the years,
and she had also seen them as recently as the previous summer. There were
two of them, she said. They looked like dark shadows as they moved
across the main room of the cabin. She was there alone, and the
appearance of these two evil entities was unnerving, to say the least. She
hollered at them, telling them to give her a break and please move on.
Now. It was getting close to her vacation and she was headed for
Tahoe again and not looking forward to encountering the cabin ghosts. Without my friend
from the west side knowing, I later called the guy who had helped me
pray the demon out of the rental property, the same guy, but a
different ghost. He and I prayed together over the phone that these two creepy
cabin ghosts would be removed from my lady friend's family cabin in South Lake Tahoe.
When she came back from her summer vacation, I asked her if she
had seen any of the cabin ghosts this year. She said no, I
didn't see them at all this year. She had no idea that two guys
had prayed asking Jesus to sweep those demons out. It's amazing to me that
the Lord hears and answers our prayers even in these really creepy situations. In
closing, if you're having issues with ghosts, demons, or evil entities in
your home or business, go through the place with a critical eye and see
what might possibly be providing a portal or a foothold. If you find anything
that looks like it might be remotely responsible, throw it out. Then have
a Christian friend pray with you, asking the Lord to sweep out whatever evil
entity might be hanging around. Things will change, and if you haven't done
so, invite Jesus into your life. Your life will be better. John
three sixteen. This emails from Jacob. I have a couple of pretty tame
encounters I'd like to share. In twenty fifteen, I moved to Montana,
I'd always love the idea of living in the mountains and exploring in nature.
By twenty and sixteen, i'd finally become a resident and was chomping at the
bit to go on my first deer hunt. Up in Little Bear Canyons south
of Bozeman. I'd driven up the ten mile access road using my spotting scope.
Along the way, i'd spotted a really nice buck mule deer, along
with a few dos up on the side of Wheeler Mountain. I parked at
the base, partially blocking an ATV trail to let people know the area was
occupied for about a mile, and then tested the wind. I figured if
I went straight for them, they'd catch my scent and my hunt would be
over for the day. I decided to make my way around the mountain above
them and come down from the top. After about three hours of stalking,
carefully making sure not to spook anything else that would alert the deer to my
presence, I finally made it to the top. It was very thickly forced
it to one side, so I decided to stick close to that tree line
for cover while I worked my way down to the deer. When I got
to thirty yards from the trees. I began hearing some kind of grunting.
I stopped, thinking maybe it was a bear or some other large creature.
I couldn't make out the sound very well, but whatever it was definitely knew
I was there and was walking towards it. I took a knee and I
listened. It had runned off and on for about five minutes when I heard
what sounded like a large branch breaking. Now I was thinking it might be
a moose. Everything went dead silent. I checked the place where I'd last
seen the deer to see if they were still there, and they were,
but now they were looking in my direction. I remained down on one knee,
not moving an inch, and began slowing my breath to try to keep
calm. I thought whatever it was would looted's interest in me and move off.
I looked back over the tree line, squinting to try and locate the
source of all the noise. The sun was up all the way by now,
warming my cheeks against the frosty air. It was seven am. Shadows
were casting everywhere in the forest. Another five minutes passed since I'd heard the
limb snap, and I hadn't seen anything else. So I turned my attention
back to the deer. I didn't want to walk into the forest after all
that noise, so I looked for a different route to get down to them.
I saw one game trail that that was my best bet, and,
due to the fresh layer of snow that had fallen that morning, my least
slippery option. Unfortunately, it took me closer to the thick forest. With
my hand resting on the grip of my side arm, I started walking towards
the trail. I was only ten yards from the trees when a perfectly healthy,
maybe eight inch in diameter lodge pole pine fell across the trail that I
was planning to take. At this point, I was feeling nervous, so
I decided maybe something or someone was just saying this isn't your day. And
since sound of the crashing tree had sent the deer bounding over the next ridge,
I made the decision to not test whatever it was stopping me. I
turned around and went back to my truck, following the same way that I
had come in. I have a great respect for nature and conservation. I've
hunted deer since I've been old enough to hunt on my own, and I
listened very closely to what nature tells me. In twenty fifteen, and I
only moved to Montana, also got my CDL. Needless to say, I've
spent a lot of time trucking in Montana, and here's my second encounter.
At the beginning of twenty nineteen, In early February, I was asked to
haul a load of hay down to Utah Idaho state line. The weather was
bad the night before, so I decided to leave a couple hours later than
usual to allow the road crews time to stand the roads. It was nine
eighteen am, and I will never forget it. I was almost thirty miles
south of Enis, Montana, going about forty five miles an hour. The
roads were still a little slick, and I was taking my time and being
careful. I was almost to the point where the road parallels to Madison River.
As I rounded the bend, I looked down into the clearing across the
river, and there it was. It was about one hundred and fifty yards
from the road, covered in black from head to toe. It was walking
back towards the forest, but it stopped and turned to look back at me.
Its shoulders were extremely broad, and it was incredibly tall. Its hair
was blowing in the wind that was coming off the canyon. I had a
perfect view of it. There was no question about what I was seeing.
There was a small mound up ahead that was going to block my view for
a split second, so I slowed down. When I came to the mound,
I decided if I saw it again on the other side, I was
going to stop and try to take a picture. And it was still there,
but running towards the forest. Now, by the count of three,
it had covered the roughly two hundred yards from the river to the forest,
and it was gone. I called a friend of mine who lives in Indiana.
First. He's a strong believer in bigfoot, and I told him what
I saw. He said, finally, I'm not alone. I've always loved
movies and stories about bigfoot. Wife and I often talked about the possibilities of
seeing one. She's somewhat of a believer, so I called her next.
I had debated about telling her for a good reason, and our conversation went
something like this, good morning, darling, You'll never believe what I just
saw. Really, what did you see? I finally saw a bigfoot?
She started to laugh at me. Yeah right, No, seriously, Look,
I want to believe you. Any other time I would have if you
hadn't been watching bigfoot documentaries all weekend. Crickets started chirping. We love to
go back to this conversation. We like to tease each other about it,
but I don't think she will ever believe me until she sees one for herself.
Unfortunately, we may never go back to where I saw it. We
recently moved to Texas from my work. Hopefully, one day on one of
our mountain excursions, we will get another glimpse at one of these amazing creatures.
And he signs off. Jacob. Look, you're Jacob. Your encounter
in Montana is exciting. But the most funny, interesting, entertaining part of
your story is how your wife reacted to you seeing a big foot. That's
hysterical. Man. What a great story and a couple of good experiences.
What a great way to relay a story. And I'm glad you and your
wife have a sense of humor with each other. My wife and I tease
each other all the time, and it's a lot of fun. It's really
cool to have a spouse you can do that with especially for a guy,
because we're used to teasing each other all the time, and so, hey,
this is a great story, and I really appreciate Jacob sending you this
is really interesting, really interesting. The writer doesn't say whether to use her
name, so I won't. She writes, I live on a short one
mile long road in the Dairy Township of Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania. My house
sits at the halfway point of the road, with a few other neighbors dotted
here and there along the way. My backyard butts up to a large pond
in an open field, and to my chagrin, I have recently discovered that
this part of Pennsylvania is pretty much sisquat Central. I might never have bothered
to learn the small bit of trivia if not for what had happened to me
on Sunday, May the ninth, twenty twenty two. At one pm that
day, I took my dogs for a walk. I opted to walk down
the end of the road where a retired federal government employee lives. That he
values his privacy is evident, and the no trespassing signs posted, and the
fact that his property is gated, I usually stop at the gate and turned
around. When I choose to walk the dogs in that direction, I had
walked past another home on the opposite side of the road when I saw what
I thought was my neighbor walked from the corner of his yard and on to
the driveway. At the same time, both of my dogs began to react
strangely. They dropped their tails and began to whine and whimper as they backed
away. I stared in amazement as what I had first taken for a human
being crossing the driveway in two strides. Realization began to set in. This
was not my neighbor. This was not a human being. This was something
seven and a half to eight feet tall, and it was covered in long,
matted, dark brown and black hair, and it was only fifteen feet
away from me. It never looked at me or in my direction. There
was no accurate smell that so many have talked about, nor did it make
any sounds. It simply crossed the driveway, which was about two feet wider
than a car, and then it went up a slight embankment and disappeared into
the woods. At this point I still didn't realize, or perhaps I hadn't
accepted the reality that I had seen a bigfoot. I was surprised and rattled
and in denial. But I couldn't tell you what I was thinking at that
moment, and I wish I could. I was still holding on to the
thought that it was my neighbor as I began walking back toward my house.
When I reached the spot where it had stepped into the woods, I realized
there was no earthly reason why anyone would venture into that heavy thicket. It
would be dangerous to do so. A healthy man would struggle with it,
and someone like my neighbor, who smokes heavily and enjoys his drinks, would
never be able to make it through there. Well. This is when I
began to get nervous. The dogs had stopped whimpering and whining, but they
were in as much of a hurry to get home as I was. I
kept checking back over my shoulder, but I didn't see the creature, nor
did I hear anything. And when I realized I didn't hear anything, it
occurred to me that even the birds had on silent. There were no normal
woodland noises at all. A few days later, I was able to have
a conversation with the man who owns the property, and I began by saying,
so, I saw something while I was on a walk the other day.
There was a nervous pause while I collected my thoughts. You're probably gonna
think I lost my mind. I began again, Did you see bigfoot?
He cut in. His question caught me off guard, and I wasn't expecting
that answer, But I can't say I wasn't hoping for it either, I
believe, so I managed to get out, have you seen Bigfoot? No?
He answered again, not what I was hoping for, but not entirely
unexpected. There isn't much to tell beyond that it isn't the most exciting story.
It certainly isn't how I imagine things would play out if I ever saw
Bigfoot. But it is what it is, and I know what I saw.
I don't know the writer's name. I've got his email address, but
that doesn't matter. Because this is a good story. Let's jump into it.
In nineteen seventy nine, my best friend and I flew to Texas to
see the Royals play the Rangers in a three game series. We were juniors
in high school at the time and big fans of the Royals. Typical of
teenagers. We didn't get our reservations in time to fly down with the team,
so we had to make separate accommodations. We still managed to get there
without any trouble. It was a great weekend. We spent our days at
six Flags over Texas Amusement Park, riding rides and enjoying our freedom the way
kids on the verge of adulthood can. And in the evenings we went to
the ballgames. That was a great experience too. We watched the Royals take
two out of three games. Everything was fine right up until we were ready
to leave that Sunday evening twenty second. From that point forward, things went
downhill. We were in a hurry to get to the airport, and I
guess I must have left my return ticket on top of the cab. I
didn't realize it until we got to the airport. I was lugging around three
suitcases in a gym bag. I may have overpacked just a bit, and
I had no place to go. My friend went ahead and got on our
flight while I tried to reach my parents to tell them what happened. And
right away my parents contacted the airport to try to make arrangements to get me
home. By now, it was pretty late and Branefayr had no more flights
leaving for Kansas City that night, nor could they find any other flights to
put me on, so I had no choice but to wait until early the
next morning to fly out. I got the typical lecturer from Dad. Don't
talk to strangers and do whatever the airport people say, he said. And
then it was my mom's turn. Now don't worry, she said, I
know a Christian science woman there who has direct communications with God, and I'll
ask her for help. Okay, sure, Mom, I answered back,
trying not to sound too sarcastic. Then I didn't give it another thought.
By the time I hung up the phone and found a spot to sit with
my bags all around me, where I could watch out a big window at
the planes taking off and landing. It was ten forty five pm. I
was watching a Boeing seven twenty seven taxi down the runway when it all started
over my right shoulder. The room became very bright with an amber light,
and I looked over to see a nine foot tall image of a very broad
shouldered being. At first I thought it was a man, and then he
began to speak to me telepathically, Get up and follow me. It was
saying, I will get you home. The crazy thing was I wasn't in
the least bit afraid. I picked up my bags and I followed him.
No one else was around except for an old man cleaning the floors a few
feet away. The being led me to a gate and he pointed at the
door. Gone, Now this is your way home, he said, still
speaking telepathically. I entered the tunnel that led to an open door of an
air liner and inside the plane, and to my left was the pilot in
his associate doing their pre flight checks. To my right were two stewardesses helping
others. And I went to the open seat in the first row and I
sat down with all my stuff in front of me on the floor. The
stewardess came back and closed the door. Neither one ever looked at me or
offered me anything. After we took off. It was like I wasn't even
there. Eventually, the pilot came over the intercom to announce that we would
be landing in ninety minutes, and that was it. The plane landed without
any issues. I got up to exit the plane, and the pilot came
out of the cockpit, looked right at me and said, well, I
hope you enjoyed your flight. Don't worry, you have friends with you,
and smiled. Well. I called my parents and let them know I had
arrived and to have them come pick me up. Well, they were both
surprised I was already home, but Dad more so than Mom. By the
time Dad got to the airport Dallas Fort Worth was calling the house frantic that
they couldn't find me, and I tried to explain what I had experienced,
but neither one of my parents believed me. They accused me of stowing away
on another plane until they remembered there were no flights out that night. Oh,
another great story that. Oh man, these I don't even know what
to say about that. What a cool, strange experience. And I've never
heard a story like this. I'm just speechless. I don't know what to
say. And I'm not just saying that, I really don't know what to
say. Why would none of it makes any sense? But it is so
mesmerizing that this happened to this guy, and who would make a story like
this up. It's so it's so non eventful, and very you know,
there's no action to it. There's just a strange occurrence in this guy's life.
Now, Could it be all natural and people just didn't talk to him
and they let him carry his luggage, just carry on and pack it all
around him. That could be the truth, But it sounds more like this
being he saw was really there and guided him on the plane and just got
him home. I don't know. It's weird, but it's a great story.
Thanks to the writer for sending it. This is an email about Bigfoot,
and the writer says, my siblings call me Buckshot. I guess you
can tell by that name that I've spent most of my life in the woods
hunting everything from white tailed deer to turkey to coyotes and hogs. Because of
that, I've also spent many an early morning and night listening to the sounds
of mother nature. Where I'm from, coyotes are pretty common and black bears
aren't unheard of. We also have black panthers or black cougars here, but
don't tell the authorities. They ain't figured it out yet. I know I
haven't seen or heard everything, but I've always been pretty comfortable with my knowledge
of Mother nature. That's why I was so shook up by what I heard
One night a few weeks back. I was sitting in my barn taking a
rest before heading to the house, when out of the blue, I heard
an extremely loud roar or I guess you might say it was a yell.
Well, whichever it was, it was something I've never heard before. I've
heard everything that might have come close to it, but this wasn't any of
them. I'm sure of that. There's something else I'm sure of. Whatever
made that noise was huge. The sound repeated itself three more times. With
each successive yell, my heart beat a little faster until it felt like it
was beating out of my chest. I retreated to the house as quickly as
I could. Since then I carry whenever I step outside, especially late at
night. So naturally I told my dad and sister and nephew about it,
and just as naturally, they laughed and picked fun at me for it.
After a week of being mocked by them, we were all sitting out in
the yard one night, enjoying the evening air. It was getting to be
around eleven forty PM, and I was half listing for another yell and half
hoping I didn't hear one. Just as my dad opened his mouth to say
something, that loud, bellowing howl came from the woodline along the backfield of
my proper. In the daylight, we could have seen where it came from,
but at night it was too dark. As that sound echoed across the
barnyard, everyone went still. My dad frozen midward and his eyes bulged from
his face. We all sat looking at each other as that same sound came
from the bowels of the woods a few more times over the next several minutes,
and no one spoke a word, probably because no one needed to.
That effectively ended our night. The next night, we regrouped in the barnyard,
with everyone anxious to talk about what happened the night before. As my
dad and siblings discussed the loudness and the possible source of the sounds, my
nephew and I searched the Internet on our smartphones looking for animal sounds that might
explain what we'd heard. We searched for several hours, but we came up
empty. Nothing came close to what we he heard. Then we stumbled across
the site that had bigfoot sounds. They were remarkably close to what we'd heard.
After hearing those recordings, we all looked at each other and came to
the same collective conclusion that thing roaring in my woods had to be a bigfoot.
A few days after that, my nephew and I were walking in a
field on my property when he came across an unusual track in the soil.
He called me over to look at it. What I saw led me to
conclude that it was definitely a bigfoot. The print was very human in appearance,
except that it was six or seven inches wide at the top and four
to five inches wide at the heel. I could see the toes and the
curve of the arch and the foot. My heart was racing as fast as
it was that first night. I've always believed in the possibility of their existence,
but I never thought I would actually see a print or hear one yell.
A few nights passed and I was standing out on my front porch to
catch a bit of fresh air before turning in for the night, and from
the woods across the road from my house, I heard that roar again.
Having heard it several times now, I wasn't so quick to retreat. It
was a little different, this time, more like a squeal of pain with
a hint of a roar in it. Fear gripped me, but I was
determined to stand my ground. My wife heard it and came outside to see
what it was. This was the first time she'd heard it, and I
could see fear and worry in her eyes as she stood there and shot.
Two nights later, my son and I were out checking my grapes at eight
pm, and I was studying how many grapes were producing when I heard that
familiar sound in the distance. I marveled at the power it had, even
from so far away. With white eyes. My son looked at me and
he said, is that what you've been hearing? And I nodded my answer
as he turned to run for the house. Come inside, he called over
his shoulder, and I followed on his heels. A couple of more days
went by with no unusual sounds from the woods. I had just gotten comfortable
with the idea that we wouldn't hear any more of those yells when as my
wife and I were lying in bed that night, somewhere between awake and dreamland,
and a loud bellow came through our bedroom window and rattled our walls.
We both immediately sat up right in bed and looked around, neither one knowing
what to say. All we could do was stare at each other when another
loud roar shook the window glass. After that, all was silent for the
rest of the night. It was just enough to keep either one of us
from getting a good night's sleep, and we spent the rest of the night
sitting up, waiting and listening. By now I was contemplating looking for more
evidence, despite my internal struggle between fear and curiosity, I decided to take
a walk along my property line at the edge of the woods. This time
I found two different sets of prints. One was fifteen inches long and the
other was ten inches. Both were very wide, and I realized then that
I was going to have to accept that whatever this was, it had chosen
to make my property its home. Judging by the size of the Prince and
the strength of its roer, there wasn't going to be much I could do
about it. I told my siblings about the Prince the first chance I got.
They all ran over to look at them, but I could tell that
they were struggling with the same internal battle between curiosity and fear that had me
tiden knots. I've lived on this property for the last six years. Before
that, I left five miles from here. Now i've lived in this general
area thirty one years. Never have I heard anything like this. I'm sure
my siblings could all say the same. That night, after I showed my
siblings the Prince, we all decided to wait up to see if we might
hear it again. The neighbor who was living three houses down was having a
shin dick that night, and around nine pm, the creature in the woods
let loose with a long, bellowing yell, and the neighbor heard it.
How do I know that he heard it? Not two seconds later all of
his friends started leaving in a hasty manner. The fire went from lighting up
his yard to darkness, and I laughed a bit, but I understood their
fear. So far, it's the last time I've heard that yell. I
can't remember when I got this. I'm kind of reaching back and pulling some
of these up that I haven't gotten to yet. So I wish I had
the date on this, but I don't. But I'd be curious to know
if he's heard it anymore. Man, This is interesting, and thank you
to the writer for sending it. I appreciate you. Here is ay an
email and the person doesn't give his name, so I don't know who they
are, but here's what they write. I grew up in a suburban neighborhood
in New Jersey. I had no experience with the real outdoors. Growing up,
all my activities took place inside the city limit. I never considered the
unseen world as anything more than fantasy. I'm not a believer in conspiracy theories.
I think most things can be explained by science or sound reasoning. Sometimes
two plus two really does equal four. After graduating from high school, I
became a little less sheltered, maybe even a bit more open minded. Now
I met my wife, who had a love for these topics I either dismissed
or had a little interest in. She shared a few stories with me that
happened while she was growing up, like the abandoned garage where the neighbor's kids
claimed a pair of bright red, glowing eyes would stare at them from the
window. The old two story house where she lived with her family had a
basement that had been dug out after the place had been constructed around the year
nineteen hundred. It had a dirt floor and the foundation was starting to sag.
There was a section that had an inlet crawl space. When she aimed
a flashlighting into it, she could see nothing but cobwebs. One day,
her mother sent her to the basement to retrieve some canned goods sitting on a
metal shelf. Her arms were loaded down with baked beans. When she looked
up and saw a pair of red glowing eyes looking at her from within the
crawl space, she let out a scream, dropped the canned goods, and
fled to the safety of the first floor. Her father's response was to hang
a few more lights from the basement rafters. My wife and I were visiting
her mother one evening, shortly after we were married. The two of them
left to visit a relative on the other side of town, leaving me alone
to watch the television. Well, maybe it was a mix of hearing my
wife's scary stories and the power of suggestion, but I thought I heard something
rumbling around in the basement. There was a loud crash, and I immediately
thought about the metal shelf of canned goods, so I opened the door leading
to the basement and reached for the light switch. The lone bulb hanging over
the steps flickered and went out, and I peered down the stairwell into the
darkness, and I saw two red glowing eyes staring back at me. And
I slammed the door and ran to my car, and I fled to a
nearby fast food joint. My in laws were not bothered in the least by
my story. They righted the toppled shelving unit, restacked the cans, and
changed the bulb over the stairs. Critters was all they said. Since then,
I've had what you call a heighten awareness of my surroundings. I readily
admit that there are things in life that can't be explained, though I always
believe that two plus two equals four. Well, sir, that's very good
reasoning, because two plus two does equal four, and sometimes there is a
rational explanation for this. Could that have been like a raccoon or something?
I don't know. I'm trying to and I've said this before, but I
can't remember what animals eyes glowed red when you shine light on them. However,
he wasn't shining a light down in this basement. I'm assuming his wife
wasn't either when she saw this, and the kids in the neighborhood who have
seen it. But I know when he went in, the light bulb went
out, so there's no light to reflect off the animals that back mirror part
of their eye. I can't remember what it's called, but it reflects.
It's how they gather, like to see at night. Or any of those.
Do any of those reflect back red? I can't remember. I think
raccoons maybe I don't know. I don't maybe some birds, birds of prey
I can't Maybe an owl, maybe that's what that was. And maybe it
was some kind of creature that lives in the cross space in the duckwork in
her in her parents' house. Either way, it was a scary story and
it was very well written, and I loved it. I love these stories,
so I appreciate the writer. Thank you. This is an email I
got actually recently. I thought it was so good i'd pull it up and
do it. The woman does not want to want me to use her name,
and there's the first paragraph of the email gives me quite a bit of
it from quite a bit of information about where she lives and stuff that I
think I'm not gonna talk about, but I'll say this. She's a US
citizen. Apparently she married a man from Ireland and live in Ireland now and
she lives on the coast. But she was born and raised in the United
States. And she's remembering an event from her childhood, and that's where her
story picks up. So she writes, so, here's my story, which
happened when I was sixteen years old. Our neighborhood backed onto a large forest
which led right up to the I'm not even going to try to pronounce this
Zeka zeka swamp z e kiah, which we used to explore up to the
point back along the woodlands. I had three brothers, all of whom lived
in the woods, and being the only girl, I tagged along like a
tomboy as best I could. My oldest brother and three of his friends decided
to put their carpentry skills into practice and spent several weeks building a treehouse deep
in the forest, two miles back from our neighborhood. All the materials were
hauled in by hand or loaded on motorcycles. I was impressed with a construction
project, but I was disappointed that it was so high off the ground,
I was afraid of heights. They hammered horizontal steps going up the tree,
and the floor hatch door was a bit awkward to access, which made entering
and exiting the treehouse a challenge. This was no treehouse for sissies. It
was built solid and even had a small locking sliding window to block out critters
from getting in. Back in those days, this was the nineteen eighties,
all the young people seemed to roam wild with little or no supervision. I
have no idea how we kept this treehouse a secret from our parents for so
long, but it was where we all went to smoke cigarettes and drink Boone's
farm or beer. Don't forget the Mad Dog twenty twenty, MD twenty Mogan
David twenty twenty. We called it mad Dog. Lot of people my age
will remember that anyway. One of my friends, her name was Debbie.
She got the idea that it might be fun to spend the night in the
treehouse. Besides being afraid of heights, I wasn't overly king on pitch black
woods either, but hey, you're only a teen once, so I agreed
it might be fun. We lied to our parents, and we told them
we were spending the night at the other person's house, and we packed what
we needed for the night to stay in the treehouse, including sleeping bags,
candles, magazines, and food. We hiked into the woods and settled into
the treehouse before dark. We were grubbing on junk food and talking about school
and things that girls talk about at sixteen, and we didn't tell anyone we
were going to sleep in the treehouse for fear that someone would try to spoil
the fun for us. We settled in for the night. It was quiet
in the woods, unusually quiet up until something struck the side of the treehouse.
We both stopped talking. We noticed the smell. It was like rotting
trash. Oh, you guys, I just have the best imaginations for a
riting trash. Isn't that funny? But I think when I come up on
smells, I always just naturally laughed anyway, She writes, I looked at
Debbie and I wondered what she ate earlier that day, and then she pinched
her nose and I knew the smell was coming from outside. And then bang,
something hit the treehouse again, but it was much bigger. We were
both very frightened, and we heard grunting sounds and scraping at the bottom of
the treehouse. We locked the hatch, which was made of wood and was
almost invisible to the eye from outside, as the boys had made it look
like a part of the flooring from underneath. But the thing wasted no time
in finding it, and it tried to slide it open, or so it
seemed to us. I said directly on top of the hatch, and Debbie
was in a panic. I was too scared to be in a panic,
and I sat frozen like a statue, and I prayed with all my heart
for this thing to go away. I kept thinking that we were going to
die. This thing was way too determined to figure out how to get inside.
The trees that supported the treehouse were very substantial, and you could never
imagine someone could actually shake them, and I could barely get my arms around
them. But the treehouse shook slightly, and then we heard funny sounds.
I don't remember exactly what they were, but they sounded like gibberish. Maybe
there was more than one, we couldn't tell. We heard the loud footsteps
and undergrowth of the leaves and sticks snapping and I decided to blow out the
candle, and then I walked over to one of the small windows which had
a sliding covers, and I tried to peek out, but it was so
dark that I couldn't see. Now, I shut the window back and I
locked it, and then it or they started scraping the bottom of the treehouse
again, and this went on for a long time. After a while,
we were both exhausted from fear. Things started landing on the roof of the
treehouse too. Debbie had big blue eyes and she kept staring at me with
them wide open. We spoke with our eyes, occasionally closing them tight.
We were afraid to speak, and I wanted them to think that we were
asleep. I didn't know what to do or think. I just wanted to
be in my own bed back home. After several hours of banging things hitting
the treehouse and shaking and scraping, things started to quiet down just before sunrise,
and then we heard a loud, roaring growl sound, but unlike anything
else we had heard before, and it felt like it could easily have pulled
the treehouse down and gotten inside. After hearing that, and I knew it
was really big whatever this thing was, and then it went totally quiet and
everything stop. We waited for a couple of hours after they left, never
speaking a word, until finally I said that we should take a look outside.
By this time it was seven a m. And I whispered that we
should leave very quietly and leave all of our stuff there and run like hell.
Once we got down to the ground, she nodded and was softly crying,
and I slid the hatch open and popped my head through to look as
best as I could, and I didn't see anything, and we went for
it and we ran like hell. And as soon as we got home,
we woke the boys and told them all about our experience. They called their
friends and went back to retrieve our stuff for us and have a look around.
Two of the boys took rifles. My older brother said that we were
pretty stupid for going back there for the night, and we agreed. He
was not going to get any argument from us. They said it was probably
a bear or the goat man, and they teased us for months following this
event, but I knew they believed us. Needless to say, Debbie and
I never went back there again at night. I moved up north after high
school, and I lost touch with Debbie. I found her on Facebook a
few years later and we chatted online a bit, and then one night I
messaged her and asked her if she remembered that night in the treehouse, and
I asked her if she would share what she remembered so I could fill in
some of the blanks. She never replied. I messaged her three times and
I tried to rephrase my question being careful and considerate, but I got nothing
from her. She never replied back at all. Eight. Fine. The
writer's name is Jeremy. It's a short story, and here's what he writes.
I have a sosquatch or monkey man's story to share that was told to
me by my grandmother. We live in a very rural part of southwest Pennsylvania.
This area is still more forest than civilization. Back in the late nineteen
thirties and early forties when this happened, it was even more so. My
grandmother was fairly young at the time, about twelve to fourteen years old.
Her parents, my great grandparents, were farmers. They lived mainly off of
what they produced on the farm and hunted off the land. Things haven't changed
much we're still geared towards living off the land and our family. At the
time of the encounter, my great grandparents had a few head of general purpose
cattle. They were used for dairy and then once they got too old to
produce milk, they were used for beef. It all started when these cattle
began acting strange. At first, they just seemed nervous and jittery. They
began bellowing a lot, and their tails were often tucked between their legs and
they were scared. Then they started kicking and butting. These were all clear
signs that something was going on, they just didn't know what. Well.
After a few days of this behavior, some of them all but quit producing
milk. There was no doubt now that the cattle were spooked by something.
Everyone thought a bear or a cougar was probably to blame. Finally, one
night, the cattle wouldn't come to the barn for feeding or milking. This
was very strange. Cattle don't just decide not to feed. Plus, going
without being milked can be downright painful for a cow. My grandmother and her
siblings were sent out to the partially wooded pasture to round up arrant livestock and
drive them back to the barn. And as they walked, they all knew
to keep their eyes open for the predator they thought was scaring their cattle.
If they spotted it and were able to drive it off, life could return
to normal on the farm. The pasture they were headed to was a fair
piece back in an old mountain haller with boulders laying all around. As they
made their way out there, they were able to make out in the evening
light a bear sitting on top of one of those boulders. As soon as
they recognized it, they all shifted into scare off mode. They clapped their
hands and whooped and hollered and made all kinds of noise as they walked towards
the bear. They had only gone a few yards in that direction, though,
When the bear stood up now they all got a good look at it,
and they knew it wasn't a bear at all. My grandmother described it
as a giant monkey that was larger than anyone who was there, or for
that matter, anyone she had ever seen before in her life. Flight or
fight kicked in, and none of them to fight. They ran back to
the barn as fast as they could where my great grandfather was working. They
were all crying and scared half to death. Fear and adrenaline made it difficult
to tell what they just witnessed, but evidently they got it out. My
great grandfather didn't believe them, but he figured he'd better go see what was
really out there. He took his gun with him, just in case he
could make a free meal out of a bear. By the time he got
all the way out to that back pasture, the only thing left there was
the terrified her. He drove them back to the barn, more convinced than
ever that the kids did not see a giant monkey. However, once he
got them into the barn, the cattle wouldn't go back outside for a week.
My great grandfather had to conceive that something out there had terrified the cows,
something that could scare them beyond the average bear. No one ever saw
the monkey man again, but just to be safe, no one ever went
out to that back pasture alone again either. There have been more Si squatch
sightings in this area than I can begin to tell you. A great many
of them were recorded in the nineteen seventies by our local paranormal experts, Stan
Gordon. Between the number of sightings he recorded my grandmother's stories and the countless
times I felt unwelcome in the forest around here, I am inclined to believe
that something does live in these woods. There are still more than enough forests
in deep dark hollars for whatever is out there to have a place to live
and hunt and survive for many years to come. Here's a story from Georgia,
just a little bit east of Atlanta. The man said I could use
his name, but I don't know what his name is. He didn't sign
the email, so or maybe I missed it. But this is really good.
This is really good. Back in nineteen seventy four, when my cousin
Bobby and when I was seventeen, we were both hunting white tailed deer on
our dear least east of Atlanta, Georgia. We had originally decided to sleep
in Bobby's car that night, but there was an old, abandoned house on
the property, so we went inside and put our sleeping bags on the floor
and we went right to sleep. At three am, I was awakened when
one of the brightest lights I've ever seen fill the room. It was coming
through the windows from outside. My first thought was that the sheriff's deputy was
shining his spotlight on us. Well. I looked over at Bobby's sleeping bag
to see if he was awake too, but he wasn't there. It wasn't
anywhere inside the room we'd fallen asleep in. Had he gone outside. I
thought I was scared to death. We were about to be carted off to
jail. So I got up and I went to the window, and out
in the yard was a small round craft like nothing I'd ever seen before.
I stood there staring out at it and shock and as I watched, a
door open and three little gray creatures came out and started walking toward the house.
A fourth one came out and stood on the ramp. The light from
the little craft turned nighttime into daylight, so I could clearly see everything that
was happening. All four of the creatures looked a lot like the aliens that
other people describe. They were small, they had gray skin and large eyes
and oversized, edge shaped heads. And then one of the ones on the
ground spoke to me. I don't know if it spoke telepathically or if it
used actual words, but I do remember what it said, we are looking
for male men. What are you talking about? I answered again. I
don't know if they were reading my thoughts or if I was verbally speaking back
to them. We're looking for males, another one repeated. The next thing
I knew, I was lying in the middle of the flot my underwear,
and somewhere nearby Bobby was screaming, where am I? Where am I?
The bright light was gone. We were in total darkness now. I was
struggling to adjust my eyes to it as I scrambled to find the candles that
we'd brought with us into the house. I found a candle next to my
sleeping bag, but Bobby had the matches last before we went to bed,
and I couldn't find him anywhere near the candle, so I knew he must
still have them. Bobby, I yelled, light a match. He kept
repeating, where am I. I don't have any matches to light the candle.
I yelled, light a match so I can find you. He went
quiet for a minute, and then I heard the distinct sound of a match
being struck. It went out before I could locate him, so he had
to light another one, and he lit several before I finally found him.
He was practically hanging feet first up the chimney. I managed to help him
get out. We'd both fallen asleep in our jeans, and he was still
wearing his, but somehow I ended up in my underwear. I found my
clothes piled in a corner, and I got into them as quickly as I
could. We both ran out of that house like bullets fired from a gun.
Seconds later, we were in his car and headed toward Interstate twenty to
Atlanta. We didn't care that we'd left all our hunting and camping equipment in
the house. We just needed to get away from there. We pulled into
a rest area and tried to sleep, but I couldn't let myself close my
eyes. I was still shaking in fear, and just before daylight we drove
to a waffle house and we had breakfast. Bobby told me that a demon
had dragged him out of his sleeping bag and was trying to drag him up
the chimney. I described to him what I saw, and he said it
could have been demons. This was nineteen seventy four. There were zero et
movies out at that time. No one that I knew ever talked about aliens
or being abducted. Heck, we had no idea what had just happened to
us. We just knew we weren't going back in that house in the dark.
It was well after daylight when we went back to the house to retrieve
our stuff. Bobby kept watching the door while I ran inside and threw everything
into one sleeping bag and I ran back out. I tossed it all into
the car and we hauled but out of there. The next afternoon, we
went to the opposite side of the property and we hunted, but we were
out of the woods and on our way back home before dark. I was
at Bobby's house last week for a few days. He had never talked about
this with his girls. Two of them were there. They were completely shocked
when we started telling the story. I don't really talk about it to anyone.
A few people that I've told said we must have been stoned. Well,
I've never had anything to do with drugs in my life. These days,
I don't really care what people think of me. I'm old now and
my family believes me, and they're the ones who really matter in the end.
I was heavy into racing in the mid seventies, I'd been asked to
tune a flat bottom circle boat in the SK class. They were headed to
the World Championships to defend their number one title of the previous year. I
was asked to come along by my friend Dan, the guy who built the
engine, to work on the tuning and the fuel. As usual with racing
parts, people and shops, nothing ever lines up to get you on your
way to the races on time. To make matters worse, we had a
seven am Saturday morning tech time to meet that was almost six hours away.
On Friday night, we found ourselves starting the new motor for the first time
at a eleven PM. We set the timing, jumped in Dan's Silverado crew
cab, and let out for Phoenix from Santa Ana, California, with six
hours to get there and sleep a bit before tech inspection while towing a flat
bottom raceboat with a monstrous motor in it. Since I was the only coffee
drinker in the bunch, I had guzzled a gallon in the course of prepping
the motor that night, it was decided that I would drive the first leg
to Phoenix. Everybody else would sleep until it was their time to get behind
the wheel. I asked Dan how fast he wanted me to tow with his
truck. He and the boat owner debated and then told me that ninety miles
per hour would be fine. The truck had a five hundred cubic inch big
block in it. Apparently gas knowledge wasn't a concern. When I cleared the
inner city freeways, I took it to ninety and I set the cruise control.
We made it to Palm Springs by twelve fifteen am. That was fast,
considering we were towing a heavy load through a mountain pass. At the
other end of Palm Springs is Shirako Summit, a nineteen mile long six percent
grade, usually strewn with big rigs and the right lane plugging along at forty
miles an hour. This night, there weren't many, and I was able
to slallom mile way around them at seventy to eighty miles per hour. There
was no worry of anyone in the truck complaining, as they had all fallen
asleep within ten minutes of leaving home base, including my shotgun Keep me awake
guy Bobby. He was in full drool mode, slumped against the door.
I was still lamped up on caffeine, so I decided to roll on past
the first leg until someone became coherent and took the wheel from me. As
we passed the top of the it was a downhill run for twenty miles to
Desert Center, which has only a cafe in some vacant buildings. Highway ten
is one desolate stretch of road. The occasional semi rig we passed was the
only sign of life. In my usual watch the sky mode, I noticed
a bright green star out past the mountaintops on my right, about seven miles
away. I didn't think much of it, and I didn't watch it for
very long. But ten minutes later I looked back and I saw that it
was still directly out the passenger window, not moving behind where I had first
seen it. That was strange, and I kept my eye on the green
light. There were no aircraft, running lights or strobes, and it kept
pace with the truck. As I traveled, I realized it was no longer
on the other side of the mountaintops. It was on my side, and
the mountains were behind it. It was now clearly pacing the truck a quarter
mile away. I slowed down to sixty and it slowed down, and when
I sped up, it sped up. All I could make out was this
bright green, glowing object. There was no discernible shape. I shoved Bobby
to wake him up. Where are we, he asked. I pointed out
the window, and I said, never mind that, look at that thing.
Just as he began to turn his head, this thing made a left
turn and it came blazing straight at the truck. What the hell, Bobby
yelled. It was coming right at the truck, and I braced myself for
impact. I slowed and I held the wheel tight, and then it was
by so fast that I pulled my foot off the accelerator and hadn't been able
to put on the brake before it had disappeared to our left. This happened
in less than a second, almost instantaneously. I fully expected a Vortec's turbulence
to blast the truck at any moment, but none ever came. How it
missed the truck. We had no idea this thing was going at least one
thousand miles per hour. If it was going one, It literally looked like
a seventy five foot diameter green blur as it passed the front of the truck
and the back seat boys never even woke up. Bobby and I rode in
silence for a mile or two, and he finally said, are we going
to tell the other guys about this Hell to the Noah? I said,
they're going to think we're crazier full of it. He agreed, and in
ten minutes he was sound asleep again. Me, on the other hand,
I was adrenaline amp to the Bejesus belt. Between my gallon of coffee and
the adrenaline rush, I could have run to Phoenix at that point. Not
wanting to stare at the ceiling in the truck. The rest of the way,
I kept pushing that five hundred cubic inch that was under the hood of
the Chevrolet. With the hum of the engine and the highway lanes snapping past,
I think I went into autopolot mode. I was shocked out of my
trance when a CBE radio barked at me. I almost jumped out of my
skin. Hey, Seafer, where's the fire? It crackled in a Southern
accent. Seafer is what truckers call the guys pulling boats in California. Registration
numbers for Cali boats started with the letters CF. Dazed, I grabbed the
mic and I said, ah, we're late for the races in Phoenix.
His reply was, well, I ain't seen a smoky for a while coming
your way, but you better watch your speed. Besides, you're almost there
anyway. I looked over at the speedometer and I was rolling at one hundred
miles per hour. How had I gotten to this speed? And he was
right, I was coming up on the Lake exit in two miles. I
looked at my watch and it read two forty five am. When the craft
passed in front of us at Desert Center, it was one thirty am.
From there, we were an easy three hours from our destination. We rolled
into the hotel at three am. I woke everyone up. They were all
trying to figure out how we got to the hotel in four hours, especially
towing that big ass boat. The trip was three hundred and eighty two miles
on the odometer. I would have had to average ninety to ninety five miles
per hour to make it in that time frame. From Desert Center to Phoenix
is one hundred and ninety seven miles, and I had made it in an
hour and a half. That section alone would have required me to be flying
at around one hundred and thirty five miles per hour. Even creepier was the
fuel consumption. We should have run out of gas long before Phoenix. With
only fifty gallons on board and the trucks usual six miles per gallon towing at
sixty five, we would have been seventy miles short. As fast as I
was driving towing that big boat, four miles per gallon should have been great.
If I thought the weirdness had passed, I was wrong as wrong could
be. I finally fell asleep around three point thirty am, or I passed
out from the letdown off of adrenaline and in caffeine. At six I was
shaken awake by Dan and he was asking me what the hell happened to my
truck. I looked at him and I said, I don't know. I
never stopped, so nothing that I know of. He insisted that I get
out of the truck and come look at the front end. I dragged my
warn ass out to the front of the truck to see that the chrome and
the paint on the front end was all bubbled up. Bobby walked over and
took a peat, and then he grabbed his head and he said, oh
damn man, I thought I had dreamed that The other guys were confused,
so we related the story to them. They were incredulous, as we expected,
but we had to get to the tech inspection and there was no time
for a debate. On the way to the lake, I started running some
math through my mind. Hey, Dan, how much gas is left in
the tank? He looked down at the gage and he said there was a
quarter of a tank, and asked where I had stopped to fill up.
I told him I had never stopped for gas. How could I have with
the time that I made. We finished our day and the boat ran fine,
and not much was said until dinner on Sunday night in Buckeye, Arizona.
Dan, being an engine builder, was no slouch at math and had
been doing his own calculations. It was at dinner that night that we decided
that we would never speak of the trip's details again. When we had to
stop for fuel on the way back, despite having filled up in Phoenix,
we all looked at each other and we shook our heads. None of us
have any idea where the time or the miles went. I only know when
the trucker coming the other way woke me from my trance. I wasn't aware
of where we were or how we had gotten there. All right, the
writer wants to be anonymous. It's about Bigfoot, and they're all true.
They all claim they're true, and I don't tell them a bit. My
father passed away in two thousand and four. He was a Vietnam veteran who
wasn't scared of anything, but in the early nineteen seventies something happened that terrified
him. It was a fall afternoon in the small town of Bird's Eye,
Indiana. My father was squirrel hunting on my mother's family property. He used
the opportunity to scout the land for signs of deer for the upcoming season.
There was a nice autumn day, and Dad wasn't in a hurry to get
anywhere. He was enjoying being in the woods and surrounded by nature. As
he made his way through the forest, he came across what he believed were
some animal bones. He took a minute to look at them, but he
wasn't all that interested, so he moved on. He hadn't gone much farther
when he came across some more bones and he moved on and he found more,
and the deeper he moved into the woods, the more bones he came
across. That was when he noticed a trail of bones leading up the hill.
All these remains lying around was odd, and Dad was the curious type.
He decided to follow the trail of bones, and as he made his
way up the hill, he noticed that the bones seemed to be getting bigger.
Some of them almost looked human a Dad was a medic in the Marines.
He was familiar with human bones, and about halfway up the hill he
started smelling something pungent. If he was a medic in the Marines, he
was a Navy corman. By the way, just a heads up, my
son was in the Marine corpns. I learned all this stuff back to the
story. At the top of the hill he found a cave, and all
around it were more bones of all shapes and sizes. And when he approached
the mouth of the cave, the odor got so strong it nearly overpowered him.
The smell burned his eyes and he fought back the knee to vomit.
As he looked into the black opening, and a pair of red eyes stared
back at him. He jumped backwards and shock at the glowing eyes that were
easily seven feet off the ground. An instinct kicked in and he emptied both
barrels of a shotgun into the mouth of the cave. But even as the
shells were spent, he was turning and heading back down the hill at break
next speed. He didn't wait to see if he'd hit anything or if he
just made it angry. He got out of there. My father was never
an animated man. He believed in getting right to the point. He kept
a poker face at all times, but when he told this story, I
could see the fear in his eyes, and I could hear it in his
voice. Years later, when I was thirteen, Dad and I were squirrel
hunting on my uncle's place in Taswell, Indiana. Like always, while we
were there, we were scouting for deer trails and scrapes and rubs. It
was a hot day in the middle of a dry spell, and Dad decided
we'd follow a creek bed that wasn't more than a few water puddles here and
there. And when we came around to ben in the creek, Dad stopped
so quickly that I nearly ran into his back. I'll never forget the expression
on his face when he turned around and looked at me. It was out
of place for him. I really only remember having seen it when he spoke
of that day at the cave. I was looking at my dad and he
was scared. I don't know what the hell made this track, he said,
but we're not going to stick around to find out. I was born
with my father's curious nature. I had to see what he was talking about.
I thought maybe he was joking with me, and I looked around him,
and at first I thought I was looking at some kind of deer track
where the deer might have slipped or something. And then I realized next to
the half dried up puddle was a track that must have been eighteen inches long
and nine inches wide. I could clearly see the toe prints in the mud.
Well, Dad was right, we didn't need to stick around to see
what had made that track. When we got back to my uncle's house,
my dad told him what we'd found, and I guess I half expected my
uncle to laugh at us. Instead, he looked at my dad straight in
the iine and he said, well, this doesn't surprise me. My uncle
had been hearing weird howls and noises for the past few weeks. He told
us that he saw a hairy man who was over seven feet tall take two
of his pigs. Now, I guess we didn't have to wait around to
find out what made the track. My uncle already knew. Oh Man,
the way you wrote this was perfect, absolutely fantastic, And your dad was
a Vietnam veteran, and he wasn't scared of anything. Those guys had been
through, you know a lot of stuff, and so everything else that they
would run into after that was just you know, it was small peas compared
to the horrors they had seen in war, and the same thing for the
Afghanistan and Iraqi vets and all the other vets who've actually seen combat. But
they run into a bigfoot or something like a bigfoot, and it scares them
to death. And I totally get that. I mean I get it.
Following all those bones up up that mountain and then looking in a cave and
red eyes looking back at you. I don't think there's any doubt why those
bones are there when you see that, And I would have shot into that
cave too. But this was a great story, and I appreciate it,
and it's a it's a good little legacy to leave your dad. You know.
It's an interesting story that he shared with you, and it'll be in
a podcast for a long time. All right, brother, thanks for the
story. This email is from Mike, and this is what Mike writes.
In September of nineteen seventy four, my wife and I were living on a
farm west of the small town of Leveland, Texas. Leveland is twenty five
miles west of Lobock. I guess that part of Texas just about as flat
as land can be. It's five and a half million acres of flat farmland
sitting on the largest sand sheet on earth. There are no trees except in
towns and around farm homes. Otherwise it's just a wide open space. The
local joke goes that you can stand on your front porch and watch your dog
run away for three days. That's a good one. You may laugh,
but that's pretty accurate. Oh, that is so good. On the weekend
of the fifteenth, we had traveled to my wife's parents' house, one hundred
and fifty miles northeast of us. We'd gone for a visit and to get
her dog He was a half rat terrier and half gaiter. He was a
great watchdog and an even better guard dog. We left to make the three
hour drive home late on Sunday evening. The moon was bright that night and
there wasn't a cloud in the sky. We pulled into the driveway at eleven
PM and quickly unloaded the truck, and we showered, and we went to
bed with gater Dog curled up on my jeans. I was almost asleep when
my wife elbowed me and asked if I quote heard that. Well, I
didn't hear anything. Oh, I said, go to sleep. Two or
three minutes went by, just enough time for me to drift back into that
place between being awake and sleeping soundly. When she elbowed me again. Something's
on the roof. She insisted, you must be tired. I grumbled,
go to sleep. She sat bolt upright and said, there's someone on the
roof. Why I didn't hear a thing? But I knew I wasn't going
to get any sleep until I got up and checked it out. I walked
out to the living room and mumbled to myself, that's when I heard it.
Someone was walking across our roof. It sounded like size twelve boots up
there stomping around and Chris crossing the roof from front to back. I swallowed
my panic and turned around to go back to the bedroom, and I found
my wife standing right behind me, And after I took another big gulp of
panic, I knew I had to do something, but what. I put
my boots on and grabbed my shotgun, and I took a long, hard
look at Gaiter dog, who was sleeping soundly. The shotgun was all I
had, so it was going to have to do. We went to the
back door and listened, and the footsteps continued back and forth across the roof,
from one end of the house to the other. Whatever it was,
it was huge, and it definitely was not trying to hide its presence.
When the steps got just above the door we were standing at, it turned
and walked back to the other side of the house, and I used the
opportunity to sprint out of the door. With my gun in my hand.
I hugged the side of the house and I listened intently until I heard it
directly overhead, and when it turned, my blood ran cold. I heard
the rough surface of the shingles rub as it turned, it ground the asphalt
as if it was wearing leather soles of a boot. I thought for a
minute I was going to pass out. As it walked back over to the
crown of the roof, I bolted for the other side of my truck that
was part close by, and from there I could see the entire roof,
and I could see the roof jiggle as it stepped. We could both hear
it clearly. Gaiter Dog snored in his sleep. When it walked back to
the side of the house. I could see the roof shake and I heard
everything, but nothing was there. I motioned for my wife to come out.
Timidly, she stepped outside and we both looked and listened for fifteen minutes
as it continued, and not once did we see anything. Gaiter Dog got
a good night's sleep. We finally went back inside. My wife went to
bed, and I sat in my chair with my gun in my hand until
dawn. The marching continued on until daylight. I became a praying man that
night, and I still am to this day. My wife went to work
and I went to get my farming done. The elderly gentleman I was working
for came out and noticed I was having a horn day. When I told
him about our night, he just laughed. It's still going on, I
said, and he laughed again. When I asked if he wanted to see
it for himself, he agreed, and we walked through the pasture to the
house. It was nine am, and that thing was still marching, as
invisible as ever, back and forth across the house, shaking the roof and
making as much racket as it was the night before. The old gentleman saw
it and heard it, and then he turned and ran home like a little
girl. I stayed at the house until noon, and it never did stop.
At one PM, I gave up and I went back to work,
and when we got home at six that night, the noise was gone.
I could never get my employer to discuss it with me. My wife and
I talked about it briefly, but we never figured out what it was.
I still work in the area, and from time to time we drive by
just to see. Fifty years later, the house is still standing there,
just like we walked out of it yesterday. The femails written by Travis.
I'm a US Army veteran who served in Operation Iraqi Freedom from two thousand and
seven to twenty thirteen. In my travels, I've seen a lot of crazy
things, from camel spiders to unexplainable backwards flying birds in boshra Arak. I
now work a third shift as an assistant manager in Wilkesboro, North Carolina,
a place well known for its bigfoot activity. I live on Noel Hays Road
in State Road, North Carolina, a forty five minute drive away. Until
recently, I have noticed on my long drives home that the deer population in
our area has spiked because of our close proximity to Stone Mountain National Forests.
There are hunting grounds nearby, but the population seems to be dwindling. One
morning, when I came home, I was overcome with an overwhelming dread,
like I was being watched. It's hard to spook me, but for some
reason this made me feel uneasy. And then I heard a distinct whistle sound
I've never heard before. I noticed all the birds outside and thought this may
be a new species or something. I thought to myself that I need to
get this on video. I left my key in the door and went outside,
armed only with my camera and started whistling back at it as I filmed,
the thing mimicked my whistle back to me in a low tone. I
knew I needed to keep filming, but I was unarmed and alone, and
for lack of a better word, I was scared. My side arm was
in the house, but I wasn't leaving without knowing what this thing was.
I stayed in the backyard but close to the house, and I continued filming
and trading whistling noises with whatever out there. When the whistles started coming from
two different directions, I stopped. As soon as I did, a rock
smashed the ground where the yard meets the woods. I started walking around towards
the house, but turned around again, hoping to catch something on camera,
and when I did, another rock tapped a tree and ricocheted into the tin
roof of the building in front of me. That was all the confirmation I
needed that this was no bird. I continued to video without further incident,
so I decided to wait and try again the next night. The next couple
of days were much like the first with the whistling. I didn't interact this
time because I was beginning to feel like I was going crazy. I showed
the videos to some guys at work, but they only laughed at me,
which was what I expected. It's a bird, they said, just one
day, had never heard before. At least they admitted the rock throwing was
abnormal. I tried to put it behind me and move on. On my
day off, I decided to put up my Christmas tree in clean house.
I was doing the dishes when I heard a distinctive growl outside. My windows
are fairly new and well insulated, so they're pretty good at muffling noises.
Even so, it caught my attention and I looked out to the woods.
Everything looked normal except for a giant shadow just behind the woodline. I grabbed
my phone and began to put it in the camera mode, hoping that I
could get a shot and catch something. As soon as I did, the
giant shadow rose up and up until it was a full ten feet tall.
I took a few photos and then zoomed in and I got another shot.
I couldn't make out anything in the regular shots, but when I looked at
the zoomed in shot, I was mortified to see half of a face.
This ten foot tall creature was watching me as I played house dad. It
was staring me down and it was growling. I dropped my phone and went
to bed. I wanted it to be my imagination, but when I looked
at it again closer, sure enough, there it was. I now have
this picture in my phone and it haunts me. I grabbed what little of
my prior military training I had left and went outside, and by then it
was gone. But the next day, as my wife and I and our
two children returned from dinner, I noticed a fence post in the yard had
been knocked down. There was a clump of matted, dirty, auburn and
gray hair on it that I put into a plastic bag and sealed. Do
I think it's the creature's hair? Well, I'm not sure, but too
much has happened that says it exists, and I didn't want to let this
possible hard evidence slip away. The reason I'm sending you this story isn't because
of what happened in my backyard, though, It's what I found on my
way home from work. Like clockwork, I was driving home from work,
heading down Noah Hayes Road. I noticed several tree breaks and trees that had
been knocked down that hadn't been there before. It was the tpe shaped structure
in the woods close to my house that made me whip my car around and
get out my camera. It was a circle of trees broken about eight feet
in placed vertically together with underbrush piled on it. The surrounding trees were untouched.
The evidence is there. If anyone had asked me three weeks ago if
I believed in bigfoot, I would have said no. Now, I would
tell anyone who doesn't believe that they're crazy not to thank you for your time.
And he signs his name Travis, and that is three or four some
kind of encounters either. You know, he's getting audible feedback from these things.
He can see shadows, he got a picture of a half a face.
He's found the tpee type strung ructures pushed over trees. He's got rocks
thrown him at him, and he's just got all kind of stuff going on.
I don't know someone edits these, Naoma edits these for me now,
And I don't have the date in front of me when this email came in.
It could have been as long as a year or so ago. I'm
still that far behind. This is a great story. I mean, this
guy's got a lot going on. I'm wondering what he's doing with all the
pictures, and I would warn you if you put them on the internet,
you're just going to catch a lot of crap for it. So I would
say keep those to yourself. You're probably not going to further the calls or
the evidence of Bigfoot any more than this story. People are going to shoot
down your pictures and debunk everything. But you know what you've got, you
know what you've got on your phone, and you say it still haunts you.
But this is great stuff, great stuff, Travis, Thanks for sending
it, buddy. Here's an email from Stacy. I got this email back
in November of twenty nineteen. You can see how far I'm reaching back and
getting them. This is a great story. I don't I've never read anything
like this, and I'm always so glad to get these that aren't. You
know, They're just some of them are different. This is one of those
different ones, and I think you'll find it interesting. She writes. I'm
a Bigfoot believer and I've read countless stories and have seen almost every photo or
video documented on the internet. In two thousand and seven, i'd been studying
encounter stories for a year and I'd heard of several in the Adirondack Mountains.
It wasn't that far from where I live, so I convinced my best friend
to take a hiking trip with me in search of Bigfoot. We were both
in our twenties at the time and looking for adventure. Within a few weeks,
we made our plans, purchased our supplies, and loaded our backpacks,
and we were on our way. We'd picked a remote hiking trail and headed
out. An hour into our hike, the trail came to a fork and
one path was well worn. It was clearly the path most people chose.
The other path was overgrown and grassy. Which way should we go, my
friend asked, and I pointed to the overgrown path, and I said,
let's go that way. For sure, I knew if I wanted to have
an encounter of any kind, I would have to choose the path less traveled.
We hiked a long way before we reached a point where we could take
a rest. My friend immediately noticed that there was no sound in the forest.
No insects were chirping, no birds were singing, no other animals were
even moving around. It was unsettling, and I thought maybe we were about
to be attacked by a mountain lion or something. I knew that silence in
the forest usually meant a predator was in the air, so we decided to
keep moving. Not long after that, the forest grew dark. There wasn't
nightfall yet, but the sun was shining on the other side of the mountain,
and it cast a long shadow that made the whole area look like something
out of a creepy movie. The dark forest ahead of us felt like it
was swallowing us up, and I couldn't help being a little bit afraid.
My stomach sank and I took a few big gulps of air, and I
could feel my heart pounding in my chest. Somehow I knew we shouldn't be
there. I told my friend that I didn't want to go in there.
She said, oh, come on, we can't stop. Now. Let's
go just a little bit further. I was uneasy with every step. Finally
I convinced her it was time to turn back. I couldn't wait to get
out of there. I had the sense that something was watching us, and
I didn't know if it meant to harm us or what its intentions were.
After a while, we got out of that area of the woods, and
I felt a bit relieved. It was time to start heading straight back to
the car. The woods had fallen darker, and I did not want to
be lost out there. After the sun went down, we were still two
hours from the car. We picked up the pace as we walked back.
I admit that I felt a bit disappointed that we didn't have an encounter with
the creature, and that thought didn't last for long. Five minutes later,
we heard a loud popping sound of a boulder hitting another rock as it landed
on the ground, and then it rolled twenty yards before coming to a stop.
It had come from our left and behind us. There were no hills
in that direction that it could have fallen from, and the landscape behind us
was flat. I looked toward the sound to see what was going on,
but we didn't see anything. But all of a sudden, I was excited,
and it gripped me as I realized that something had to have thrown it.
Maybe we had contact. Finally, this is what I had come for.
I wasn't scared at this point. Suddenly I was thrilled. I picked
up a handful of small rocks and I threw them back into the woods in
an effort to communicate with whatever had thrown the boulder. We slowly moved down
the trail, looking into the woods, hoping to see this thing, and
a handful of small rocks soared through the air and landed behind us. We
stopped and smiled. This was it. I picked up more rocks, and
I gently threw them in the forest, and we waited, and then more
rocks came flying back to us. I couldn't believe this was happening. I
was growing more excited by the minute. For the next forty five minutes,
we walked the trail, tossing rocks into the woods, and back and forth
it went. I never saw herd or smelled anything other than the rocks,
But what animal was possibly capable of playfully throwing rocks back and forth? When
we reached a point with a small pond on one side and thick woods on
the other, I heard the sound of a tree creaking back and forth at
a rapid pace. I'm not a stranger to the woods. I grew up
in the country, and I spent most of my days playing and walking out
there, and I know the sound of the wind blowing through creaky trees.
This is not what that was. It sounded like someone was shaking the tree.
My friend was now afraid, but I became more curious, and I
begged her to let me inspect the sound a little closer. Against her better
judgment, I stepped off the mark path and into the woods. That was
my first mistake. My intuition was telling me not to go any further.
The energy in the area was heavy and thick, and it took everything I
had to move my legs forward. I looked down at my arms and the
hair was standing straight up. I should have turned back right then, but
I didn't. I picked up a large rock and I threw it as far
into the woods as I could. I had a good throwing arm, and
I sent it as deep into the darkness as it would go, and the
tree continued to shake. One last rock. I thought, I'll just throw
one last rock. Well, that was my second mistake, and it almost
cost me my life. My friend walked up behind me with a rock in
each hand. We must have looked like a couple of idiots creeping through the
woods with those rocks. And I cranked my arm back and I began to
throw and upon my release, a rock the sides of a softball came buzzing
past my head at incredible speed, and it missed me by half an inch.
I felt the wind off of it as it hung by then it hit
a tree behind us, and it landed on the trail. I turned to
my friend and shocked, and I was hoping she was playing a joke on
me. And all I could see was the fear in her eyes. As
she held up both of those rocks in her hands. She said, I
brought one for you and me, but we didn't throw them. Let's get
out of here, we both said at the same time. Somehow, unintentionally,
we had made this creature angry, and if that rock had hit me,
it would have killed me. If it was a person who'd thrown it,
they would have had to be close enough that I would have seen them.
We started beating feet out of the woods while more rocks were thrown at
us. But this time it wasn't playful, and they weren't small rocks.
They were being thrown directly at us, and for the next forty minutes,
as we headed out of the trail as fast as we could, we had
to take cover several times from the rocks being flung at us. We were
lucky. The rocks hit the leaves as they flew through the air and gave
us a split second warning that they were coming. Again and again we had
to duck to avoid being hit. These rocks kept coming at us until we
were a half mile out of the trail. They were making sure that we
were leaving. I should have never thrown that row. It was a stupid
move on my part. You know the old saying, it's all fun and
games until someone loses an eye. Right. There is no doubt in my
mind that I was interacting with a bigfoot that day. And this is one
of my favorite stories to tell those friends who won't laugh at me, And
now I'm sharing it with you all. Thank you well, Stacy, thank
you. Good grief man. What a story. I was reading this earlier
and then as I narrated it here, I was thinking, you know,
I would do the same thing. I would throw rocks back at it,
not to try to hit it or hurt it or anything, but if someone's
throwing rocks, you know, heck, throwing back kind of takes you back
to your childhood when you had dirt clod fights. And rock fights and snowball
fights. There's no way to know that you're going to hack this bigfoot off.
You really didn't know if it was a bigfoot or not at first,
and here we go throwing rocks back at each other. Anyway, I don't
know you did exactly what I would have done, so I wouldn't beat yourself
up over that. But you did say you love telling this story, and
you did come out of that whole experience with a great story, and now
you've shared it with us, and we're all so appreciative. So thanks Stacy,
and sorry it took so long to get to this, but I'm getting
to them all