WEBVTT

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But this email is from Sarah.
She lives in the UK. I live

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in andover in the United Kingdom.
I have a story for you that I

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have only told just two other people, and I don't think they believe me.

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I moved into my bungalow four years
ago and I've been complaining that someone's

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been coming into my garden at night. I can hear footsteps, thinking it

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was one of my neighbors where an
ex boyfriend. I put a lock on

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my gate. I don't sleep well
and I'm up most nights when everyone else

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here seems to be in bed by
ten pm. Here in the UK,

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the local council turns the street lights
on and off as a cost cutting measure

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on the housing estate. I have
a strange, unavoidable feeling someone has been

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watching me. I put up a
blanket on my kitchen window so I wouldn't

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feel uncomfortable. My friend, who
lifts twenty feet away from my front door,

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got curious and asked me why.
I was honest with her, but

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it was awkward. I didn't want
her to think I was blaming her or

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her husband, so I reluctantly took
down the blanket. It was a few

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months later deep into December, and
as usual, I was awake in the

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middle of the night because I couldn't
sleep. There was a full moon and

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it was a little windy outside.
I walked into my kitchen to make myself

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a drink when I spotted something that
rendered me speechless. Across the way,

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peering into the window of my next
door neighbor's kitchen, there was some sort

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of a small gray being with a
faint shimmering light around it. The stream

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whistling from my kettle must have startled
it. The being turned and it looked

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at me and proceeded to conceal itself
inside the bush next to the fence that

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separated our properties. I lost sight
of it when the street light went off.

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The bushes were rustling, as if
a wild animal had gotten itself tangled

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up within its branches. The street
light came back on, and I swear

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I spotted this thing struggling to get
free, when suddenly it vanished from view,

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as if it had turned invisible.
It ripped the bush right out of

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the ground and carried it along,
scurrying right over the fence, still entangled

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well. The next morning, I
followed the trail of dirt out of my

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yard and found the bush blowing around
in the alleyway. I started to pick

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it up, thinking I could replant
it, but thought better of it.

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What if there was some sort of
alien residue on the leaves? And if

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there was, I didn't want any
on my clothes or my skin. I

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left the bush for the rubbish men
in their gloved hands. My next door

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neighbor's front door has a motion sensor
next to it. They owned two massive

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dogs, but on that night,
when I saw whatever I saw, they

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didn't bark and the motion censors didn't
come on. I'd clearly seen something,

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but I didn't know what to do. If I call the police, what

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would I say. I went on
the Internet and first reported it to the

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Mutual UFO network in the States,
and then the British equivalent, but no

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one ever got back to me.
In the interim, I developed a phobia

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about entering my kitchen after dark,
and for six months I couldn't go to

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sleep at night. It might have
happened again a couple of months later,

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when I heard something scamper across the
roof. I have never been afraid of

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the dark, but now I keep
a night light on I'm so full of

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anxiety these days that it's hard to
cope. Am I excited to have possibly

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seen something alien? Believing in them
and watching UFO movies and documentaries and hearing

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all the stories and viewing the odd
UFO flying over a pasture is all well

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and good. But seeing a day
glow being in real life just inches from

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your unlocked door is a different thing
altogether. Oh man, this thing didn't

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hurt you. I hope you're I
hope you've let go of your anxiety.

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I don't remember when I got this
story, but I kind of feel bad

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for folks like this because they're just
scared to death. You know, the

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things showed no aggression towards you or
your neighbors, and if it is something

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from outer space or some whatever,
who knows what it could be, it's

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obviously not after you, so I
would just I would let it go.

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Sorry to comment on that story,
but I I just kinda felt sorry for

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this lady. But anyway, thanks
for the story, Thank you for clicking

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on the video, and welcome to
of the Dixie Cryptid Podcast. I appreciate

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you. Let's get rolling with these
stories. I think I've got four total.

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Three more left to go. All
right, here we go. This

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writer doesn't give his name, but
this is Bigfoot related and I think there

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are several stories in this account.
So get ready, get ready to strap

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in. This is a collection of
true stories that happened to me when I

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was growing up in the Los Casas
area of Tennessee, fifteen miles outside of

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Murphosborough. From day one, my
grandfather was my favorite person in the world

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and my best friend. He didn't
officially raise me, but I spent every

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summer there, Thanksgiving in spring,
and even Christmas break, as well as

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weekends at his house. As I
got older, I pretty much knew every

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inch of the hundred acres that he
owned, as well as the surrounding land

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of his neighbors. My grandfather claimed
for years that someone was building a barn

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and hammering nails somewhere in the woods. On nights, I heard the sounds

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of tool striking wood. The noise
seemed to come from different directions. It

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was odd because there weren't any lights
to be seen through the trees, and

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nothing to the naked eye that would
suggest laborers out there hard at work.

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His advice to us was that if
we ever heard anything that sounded like a

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woman screaming in the woods to get
out of there, because it was probably

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a bobcat. He thought all of
these unusual occurrences were somehow connected. I

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spent a lot of time hunting deer
and squirrels in those woods. His land

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was split up into two different parcels, the smaller one he lived on and

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the larger one that stretched out to
his property line at a mile from where

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his home sat. A lot.
Chose to hunt on the parcel he lived

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on because of its proximity to the
house. I was following a trail from

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the bottom of the yard through a
large open field, past his old log

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barn and into some thick woods.
There was an access logging trail two hundred

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yards long that ended by my grandfather's
sage grass field. I would walk the

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length of the field to a deer
stand. It's not a good idea to

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tramp through the area where you're going
to hunt, but I didn't know that

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at the time. I had a
twenty gage single shotgun with a quail load,

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and there was one in the chamber
and two in my pocket. I

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known this movement coming out of the
thick woods on my right, I saw

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the outline of a very large man, seemingly dressed in all brown boots,

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gloves, and coveralls and topped with
a toboggan hat. Encased in all that

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brown, he resembled a walking hershey
bar. The air around him seemed to

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shimmer like the rising heat from a
hot tar road. There was a janitor

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at my school who was seven foot
three is tall, and he was the

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largest man that I had ever seen. I realized then that the Good Lord

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made people this big, but maybe
not a lot of them. Well,

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this man I was watching walked slow
and deliberate, and his enormous arms stretched

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almost to his knees, and he
swung them in an exaggerated motion. There

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was an unusual arch to his back, and he seemed to almost fall forward

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with each step. His necklace head
was wedged between his shoulders like it was

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a jammed despenser on a liquid soap
bottle. When he looked up at me,

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I realized it wasn't a man at
all. It was four o'clock in

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the afternoon, and this human light
creature was bathed in sunlight. His hairy

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body glistened as he stared back at
me. His manner suggested that we could

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both be passive with each other,
or that we could go to war.

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While I watched the beast walk across
my grandfather's field, and when he vanished

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into the horizon, I ran the
half mile back to my grandfather's house,

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all junior. My grandfather Josh,
when I described the man beast in the

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woods, you just saw slew foot. I went back to that same field

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during deer season. My curiosity was
greater then than any fears that lingered from

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my initial encounter. This time,
I chose to carry my Marlin thirty thirty

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with one in the chamber and five
more rounds in the magazine. I was

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deep in the woods when I heard
voices coming from somewhere ahead of me,

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and because of the trees in the
distance, I could only make out a

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few bits of what sounded like a
conversation between two very guttural sounding males.

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The dialect wasn't like anything I'd ever
heard in Tennessee. Four years later,

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when I was sixteen, I sold
my fourteen foot v bottom boat to a

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neighbor named Benny. He was thirty, and he was a ugged outdoorsman who

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wasn't afraid of anything, or so
it seemed. I was more interested in

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cars and girls than I was fishing. Benny and I put in the boat

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below Guy James Bridge on a chilly
night in April, and we drifted down

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toward Brown's Mill Dam fishing for smallmouth. That night we camped on a gravel

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bar two miles away from any roads
or houses, and I was familiar with

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the place because we used a limb
line for catfish and stay the night there.

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My buddy's dad once hooked something there
that suggested an object larger than a

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fish. It was late in the
evening Benny and I were catfishing with no

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luck. Now about the time he
turned to me and uttered, shears quiet

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out tonight, as if on que, the biggest splash I ever heard in

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my life broke the surface of the
water sixty feet away from us. We

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sprang to our feet, alive with
the adrenaline coursing through us, and Benny

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grabbed the flash Now I followed him
to the end of the gravel bar,

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where the rocks along the edge were
wet with splash marks. His flashlight battery

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was dying and had all the power
of a live firefly with its butt pointed

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in a given direction, but we
pressed onward. Benny leaned out and pointed

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its fading light at something massive in
the water. It looked like the top

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portion of a half submerged head with
two glowing red eyes the size of bicycle

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reflectors. Benny started muttering under his
breath, it's a monster. It's a

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monster. You're crazy. I encountered
that's a cow. A cow's come down

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here to get in the water.
Well, it was obvious, judging by

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the size of this thing, that
this was no Mama heifer. A shiver

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went up my spine as I realized
it was turning its enormous head in our

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direction and it was checking us out. I knew that the water surrounding the

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gravel bar was eight feet deep.
Well, this thing pushed off from the

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rocks towards the middle of the river
and went down the stream and his zig

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zag pattern and it outpaced the current. It didn't appear to be swimming,

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but taking measured steps, like an
adult slashing through a kid's waiting pool.

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Benny had his twelve gage loaded with
buck shot, and he put it to

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his shoulder and took aim as the
thing duck beneath the surface of the water.

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It's got to come up for air, he whispered, and his hands

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were shaking. After fifteen minutes of
waiting for the beast to resurface, Benny

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suggested that we take turns sleeping at
night with the shot gun. I think

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could come back up out of the
water and kill us, he said,

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his eyes nervously skinning the black river. I slept through my turn at guard

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duty, and when I woke the
next morning, Binny was still holding a

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shot gun. He was staring at
the river. It never came up for

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air, was all he muttered.
It was a quiet ride home that day.

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I'm fifty three years old now,
and I've never had any experience as

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quite like what Benny and I encountered
that night. A friend of mine,

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heavily into Cryptid's, played me some
audio once, something he referred to as

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the Sierra Sounds, and it reminded
me of what I heard when I was

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a kid, way back when stalking
the deer in the backwoods of my grandfather's

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place. Benny was a genuinely good
man who was dealing with a lot of

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demons. I have no idea how
he chose to process what he saw that

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night on the gravel bar. I
was sixteen and two, naive to recognize

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the signs of PTSD, and about
a year and a half later, Benny

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took his own life. That's the
end of the story. Man, that

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ended sad, poor Benny, Dad
Gum. Anyway, this was a great

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story. I don't know. This
story seems familiar. I don't know if

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I've gotten this twice and pulled it
up and read it again. A matter

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of fact, I know I've read
this story before. Anyway, maybe I

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did it justice better justice the second
time. Sometimes that happens. People send

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the same story, sometimes several times, and they think I'm not getting their

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emails. But I get them.
I just have I have a thousand to

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do, so it takes a little
time to get to them all. But

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I'm almost sure I did this one
before. Anyway, you got to enjoy

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00:14:26.679 --> 00:14:35.080
it again. This email is from
Buddy. Here's what he writes. I've

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had two sidings that I believe or
bigfoot or Bigfoot related. Both occurred while

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I was hunting, and luckily for
me, neither of the encounters escalated into

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something violent. The first happened just
outside of Donaldsville, Ohio, where I

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was positioned inside a twenty foot tree
stand. The stands were all high because

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of the train and the deer trails. There were five in the area,

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close to the bedding and feeding areas. It was late in the afternoon when

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I saw the largest thing I believe
I have ever seen in all my days

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as a hunter, and I struggled
to identify it. Whatever the heck it

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was. It was seventy five yards
to the right of me, rooting through

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the grass behind me and walking on
all fours. Not having a clue as

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to what it was, I kept
an eye on it until I got distracted

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by noise coming from my left.
I spun and aimed my rifle, thinking

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there might be a deer coming out
to feed, but I saw nothing.

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By the time I turned back to
look at this big creature on my right,

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it was gone. After much research, I came to the conclusion that

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the large beast I saw was a
big foot. I'm sure the thing was

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familiar with our locations out there,
it just didn't see me that evening until

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the noise on the left got the
attention of both of us. I honestly

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think it left me alone because it
thought that it was interfering with my hunt.

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My second encounter was much the same. I was in the Rockies elk

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hunting. One thing I remember clearly
was the stench in the air. It

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burned my nostrils. It was that
bad. I set about fifty yards above

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a fire road, making various cow
calls when I heard a limb crack above

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me. I looked up and saw
something huge running down the hill away from

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me. I caught a better look
this time. The week before was gun

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season, and I'm sure the soul
boy had seen the damage a hunter could

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do with a gun, so he
chose to run for safety. I think

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in both cases it was simply a
bigfoot walking around in my hunting area and

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decided to leave me alone. I'm
afraid that had I intruded into a bigfoot

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hunting ground, it might have been
a different story. If someone broke into

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your home to take your food,
wouldn't you defend it too. This email

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is from Bill. Here's what Bill
writes. My name is Bill, and

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the stories I'm going to relate can
be considered a twofer. One is a

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UFO story and the other is well, I don't know what to call it.

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I have allowed myself to think it
was a screech owl or a bobcat,

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but my best instinct says that it
was something else, maybe a bigfoot.

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We owned property in southwest Arkansas that
has been in the family since the

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eighteen fifties. It was farmed until
my grandfather retired around nineteen sixty eight.

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After his death in nineteen seventy two, my grandmother moved into town to be

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near her children, but the farmhouse
and the acreage remained intact in the family.

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Half of the total acreage is planted
with pine tree thanks to the USDA

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incentives offered at the time. However, as the property is located along the

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Gulf Coastal Plain, which marked the
edge of the Gulf Coast in prehistoric times,

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the sandy lone quality of the soil
is unfit to grow anything but cedar

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trees. In fact, for many
years, families from our area harvested their

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Christmas trees from our property. Now
I say all this because I spent much

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of my time growing up on this
land and I know it well. Some

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years ago I had decided to camp
in this cedar covered area over several weeks

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to determine the feasibility of building an
off gred cabin. The site was way

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off the main road and way out
of sight. This event occurred on the

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first night that I camped there.
It was in April of two thou and

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sixteen. Sometime after three am,
I woke for no apparent reason, and

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I sat up in my cot.
I looked around the tent. I saw

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that everything was in order, and
then I heard four heavy wax or thuds

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on the ground very near the tent. Imagine the sound if you hit the

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earth with a baseball bat as hard
as you could, only it was much

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louder than that. Next there came
a scream unlike anything I've ever heard.

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Not only was it so loud that
it made my ear drums distort, but

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it generated an immediate fear in me
that I can only describe as primal.

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It wasn't like I felt like I
was in danger, but rather the scream

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produced an authentic fear that I have
never known. I imagined a banshee mask

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I made in the third grade during
a study of myths and legends. The

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phrase she screamed like a band shee
came to mind. Had I heard a

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bandsheet? Immediately after I heard what
could only be described as bipedal steps running

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away from the ridge, and in
an effort to rationalize at all, I

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assumed it was a screech owl that
produced the scream, and the flappings of

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its large wingspan was what produced the
sound of rapid footsteps. But that explanation

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provides no rationale for what was thumping
the ground. Now, bobcats can scream,

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for sure, but that doesn't fit
with the other things I heard.

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I have come to terms with the
fact that whatever I experienced that night was

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meant to inform me that I wasn't
welcomed there. Now. I understand territorial

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mentality, but that's my family's land, so if I decide to build there,

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we'll have to learn to coexist with
whatever that thing is. I know

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I can gladly go the rest of
my life without having to hear that scream

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again. Though. Next is UFO
related, and it happened around the year

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two thousand on this same property.
Like many families who share land out in

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the Sticks, we would often gather
over a weekend of fish and out and

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mow grass, or just sit around
a bonfire and hang out. The farmhouse

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could get a little crowded when bedtime
rolled around, so my crew would put

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a large tent in the back pasture. On this night, I was snoozing

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inside the tent with my middle school
daughter when we both awoke to a fairly

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loud sound. It was vaguely mechanical, like a turbo charger on a semi

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pulling a load uphill, but big
riggs don't travel on our highway. Feeling

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a heavy drowsiness, I went back
to sleep, but when I woke again,

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the sound was still there. My
daughter was standing at the door of

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the tent and she said, Dad, you need to come see this.

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But I couldn't rouse myself from my
cozy dream state. You fathers who have

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daughters will understand this. As a
dad, there's absolutely nothing you won't do

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for your daughter. No one reflection. This should have been my first indicator

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that something was going on. Why
did I not get up out of that

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sleeping bag and go look at what
my daughter wanted me to see. It

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almost felt like the twilight sensation during
an anesthesia procedure, just before the doctor

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tells you to count backwards from one
hundred. When I woke the next morning,

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my daughter was safely tucked inside her
sleeping bag. All was well with

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the world. But later that day
she said, Dad, you really should

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have seen that thing over the pond
last night. Well what did you see?

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I asked her. My daughter is
very observational and painted a vivid picture

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of what drew her attention while I
was dead to the world. The sound

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we heard was coming from this thing
that was really moving slowly over our pond

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at about tree top level. She
said. I couldn't really make out the

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shape of it, but it had
two big red round lights at the back

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of it. It moved over the
pond and kept going toward the north over

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the highway. As a point of
reference, the pine is fifty yards from

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the farmhouse and where we were sleeping
that night. I wondered if that sound

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we heard had the hypnotic effect of
neutralizing me. Yet it didn't seem to

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affect my daughter in the same way. I've heard of abduction stories, but

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she had no recollection of anything other
than watching the craft ease its way to

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the north. She remembers getting back
in her sleeping bag and dozing off,

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but no one in the house heard
or saw anything unusual. Well, those

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are my stories, and they're probably
too long to use, but I feel

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better for having written them down while
the details are still fresh in my mind.

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And I think it's important to share
our experiences in a safe environment.

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It's not only therapeutic, but it
builds a community that we all desperately need

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during these strange times. You know, I've never thought of it that way,

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but I agree with that for people
who have had strange events in their

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life. I guess to have a
community like this is comforting. I guess

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for no other reason other than you
know, see you don't feel like you're

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the only crazy person out there.
But now, these stories weren't too long.

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We uh, sometimes we edit these
and cut out some you know,

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people write these stories and sometimes there'll
be things added that really don't have much

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to do with the story, and
we'll take those out. And that's not

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a punitive action on our part.
It's just that for the for the purposes

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of the podcast, we just want
to get right to the story and share

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your tale to other people. I
don't know if the story was long when

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we got it, but it's it's
eleven hundred words. That's a perfect length

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story. Nioma who edits ninety five
percent of the stories I do may have

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cut some stuff out anyway, I'm
just rambling on, but no, it

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wasn't too long. It's a great
story, very interesting stuff. And I

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almost want to say, what a
cool experience your daughter had. She doesn't

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seem to be afraid. She just
got to see something really interesting. So

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and last, I understand what you're
talking about. You'd do anything for your

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daughter. And it's like you're getting
caught in a nightmare, like your daughter's

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in trouble, but you can't move, you know, it's like a nightmare

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scenario. That's what you know.
You're running but you're not moving, or

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you can't get up, or you're
trying to get up a hill and you

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keep sliding back. Those are I
have those dreams. I don't much anymore,

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but I used to. Anyway,
I'll shut up here, but I

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thought these were great stories. Thank
you, thanks for hanging with me on

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this podcast, and we'll see you
guys on the next one.

