Okay, I'm going to read you some stories from a book. This book
is authored by a man named Rob. He says he recently published the book.
It's titled Campfire Tales from Uncle Rob. He says you can find the
book on Amazon that's Campfire Tales from Uncle Rob. And he claims that every
one of the stories in his book is true. So I said he published
it recently. I don't know when I got this email. It could have
been a year ago. But I'm going to read these stories. It's really
good. So let's start with the first one. It's called the pond Stalker.
I used to spend a lot of time fishing on farm pines. Back
when I was younger, there were pines like that everywhere, and many of
them actually had water and good fish in them. But today finding a farm
pond with good fish is like being struck by lightning, only not as painful.
Most of our ponds have dried up due to drought. Healthy farm ponds
are their own finite ecosystems. Fish like largemouth bass and crappy and channel cat
and bluegill thriving these ponds. But aside from that, those ponds are a
stable source of water. For animals, both wild and domestic, and sometimes
they are a source of water for the stranger creatures of this world. Literally,
there are places where the things go bumping the night. A few years
ago I was fishing in one of these ponds. It wasn't especially big,
but it was still a pretty good size. It had a marginal population of
bass and a nice community of croppy, and though I had not witnessed it,
I was told there were even a few channel cats lurking in the depths.
My friend Terry and I decided we were going to do some night fishing
to see if we might tangle with some of those mythical catfish we had heard
about. We had seen some crawl dads and water dogs in preparation for bank
fishing that we were planning just before dark. When we got there, we
quickly set up for the night. There was a nice spot on the bank
that gave us full access to the main part of the pond. Now,
in the middle of the pond was a large tree with a few smaller trees
scattered around it. There were lines and lures and bobbers hanging from those tree.
Lambs like Christmas ornaments in Silent Testament. To the misfortune the farmer had
suffered while fishing there. I had caught my sharebas and crappie around those trees,
but on that night we were fishing for channel cats. We had what
we considered a full proof plan mapped out, complete with the kind of bait
that was like fried chicken to a catfish. To our left, the pond
narrowed a bit and curved around. Access to the water there was partially blocked
by brush and patches of cattails. Not far beyond that the area was choked
with brush, but we managed to get five lines set out along that region.
We walked a narrow cow path with the pond on our right and the
brush on our left, and nothing but brush and a few tall trees and
gullies and washes to our left, and they stretched out to a horizon of
small hills and bluffs. We set our lines in places where the shore opened
up, with the idea that the fish could easily make their way to the
struggling crawdads and water dogs that we had hung just below the water's surface.
Any movement the bait made would be like ringing the dinner bell. Once we
got that done, we set up our little camp. We gathered wood to
build a fire and some cowboy coffee, and opened a couple of cans of
beans to heat on a flat rock. Then we cast out a few rids
right in front of us and settled in for a long night of good fishing.
And for extra light, we had a lantern and a flashlight. The
night was warm and pleasant and the sky was clear with little to no wind.
Get any better than that. We'd been sitting there while talking about the
fish that we were going to catch and spinning tails when Terry remarked, you
know this is the pond where that old man drowned. Right? Uh?
No, I answered, I didn't know that. When was that, Well,
it was back in the seventies, Terry said, I was still in
high school. I thought for a minute, and I said, I guess
I never knew about that one. And then Terry said, I'm pretty sure
it was here that it happened. It was a sad thing and kind of
weird. He took a sip of coffee and added, folks said they found
him up on the bank. Well, how was that weird? I asked,
not quite getting his point. He wasn't in the water, Terry answered,
okay. Well, I shrugged it off, seeing that I wasn't understanding
the gravity of his statement. Terry explained further, he was on the bank.
If he drowned, why wasn't he in the water. I scratch my
head and suggested that maybe the the wind blew him up on the bank,
or maybe somebody moved him. Terry said quick to reply, Now, why
would anybody do that? I asked him, more than a little disgusted by
the thought. Well, folks said he drowned, but he had been on
the bank for a few days before they found him. Terry said, yeah,
I agree. That is a bit weird, I admitted, makes you
wonder. I was beginning to get a little uncomfortable with the subject matter,
so I suggested that we walk the bank and check those other lines. Terry
offered to help, but I told him, now, you stay here and
watch our riots. Maybe a big one. We'll try to pull one in.
Okay, I said, we'll trade off. You go this time and
I'll take the next turn. That's a deal, I said, as I
hit it down the path, Holly, if you need help with the big
one, he called after me. It was good and dark by then,
but the lantern that I was carrying cast a nice halo of light on the
path around me. The water dog on the first line was still alive and
wiggling, so I moved to the second. I was bent over pulling the
crawdad on that second hook out of the water when the hair stood up on
the back of my neck and I got the eeriest feeling that I was being
watched. I lowered the bait back into the water and I turned around,
and with the lantern held as high as I could get it, I scanned
back into the brush, but it was too dark to see anything. I
think that damn story about that old man drowning on dry land has got me
spooked, and I was telling myself that as I moved on down the bank
to the next line. I was almost to it when I heard a rustling
in the brush to my left, and again I held the lantern up and
I searched the brush, but it hadn't gotten any lighter out, so I
still couldn't see At the next line. The sound came from directly behind me.
It was crunching sounds like footsteps. Had to be a raccoon, I
thought, or maybe it was some other animal moving around back there. The
lantern light that felt so adequate before now seemed pretty feeble. I needed to
get better light, and the noise stopped when I turned around. I rushed
to check the rest of the lines, and each time I stopped, I
could hear the rustling in the bushes behind me and to my left. But
whenever I turned to look, I didn't see anything, and we didn't catch
any fish either. I made my way back, and a passing thought occurred
to me, what if Terry was messing with me? First he tells me
this spooky story, and then he follows me down here and makes noises to
scare me. But when I came around the little ben and top the rise
in the trail, I had a clear view of Terry sitting by the fire.
He would have had to have hustled to get back there ahead of me.
It wasn't his style. You catch anything, he asked, and I
walked into the firelight. Now nothing, I answered, and the bait was
still on. I sat the lantern down and asked if he had any luck.
Look in the ice chest, he said, with a grin opened the
lid. I saw a nice three pound bass. Oh, that's nice,
I said, what'd you catch him on? Terry smiled and he said,
I caught him on your rod, the one with the crawdad. Oh that's
cool, I said, and I shut the lid. I settled in with
a cup of coffee, and I was debating about whether or not to tell
Terry about the noises I heard, but I decided not to. Half an
hour later, it was his turn to check the bank polls. He had
it out with the lantern while I assured him that I'd be watching the rods,
and I watched him disappear round the bin, and I wondered if there
would be any fish on those lines, and if he would hear the same
noise as I had heard. Fifteen minutes later, he came back empty handed,
and I asked about it, and he said that the bait was still
hanging. He made small talk about possibly moving the lines in a bit while
he poured himself some coffee. Then he asked me about the rods we had
out right there, and I told him we didn't get a bite. We
talked. I watched him. I was staring at the fire, but I
was watching him. He seemed a bit off. He kept looking in the
direction of our bank lines, but he didn't say anything. I considered asking
him if he'd heard the noise, but I decided there wasn't any point in
getting him worked up if he hadn't heard anything. After a while, he
blurted out, you know, some folks say that old man's ghost haunts this
place. I sat straight up and I stared right at him. Get the
hell out you believe that crap? You don't, he asked. But you're
a Catholic, aren't you. Yeah, well, what does that have to
do with anything the father son and the Holy Ghost? He said, isn't
that a Catholic saying? I rolled my eyes. Dude, cut it out.
You're killing me, I said, as I threw the rest of my
coffee out on the ground. He laughed and said, whatever, it's your
turn to check the lines, all right, I grumbled, and I grabbed
the lantern. I was walking away and Terry call out to me, watch
out for the Holy Ghost. I displayed a prominent finger over my shoulder and
I kept walking. By the time I got to the first line, I
had convinced myself that Terry was messing with me somehow. He had to be
making those crunching noises, and I had an idea for how I was going
to prove it, assuming that something would happen. Even though the first line
still had bait and no fish, I was relieved because there was also no
noise. I was halfway to the second line when it started crunch, crunch,
crunch. It was coming from the brush to my left again, and
this time I didn't hold the lantern up to look around. Instead, I
turned and ran back to the camp to determine to beat him back to the
fire and catch him coming out of the brush. But when I came around
the turn and up the rise, I stopped and shot. Terry was sitting
at the campfire right where I left him. There was no way he could
have beat me back to the camp the brush while I was running down that
path. The run back in the adrenaline rush had me breathing hard, so
I stepped back for a minute to catch my breath, and while I stood
there, I kept an eye on Terry while checking over my shoulder. I
took that opportunity to look for a second path just in case, And while
I stood there, Terry got up and bent over one of the rods.
He messed with it for a minute and probably tightening the line. Maybe he
had a bite. After a minute, he returned to his seat, and
finally I decided it was time to return to the campfire. Terry threw another
log on it while I took a seat. Well, I didn't take long.
He said, yeah, there's still nothing on those lines. I told
him. Did you see any holy ghost? He asked, as he added
a few more pieces of wood. I ignored his chuckle and I said I
was going to check my bait. And afterward, I asked if he had
any bites while I was gone. Not sure. He said, this one
here had slackened the line, but I didn't see anything hit it. Maybe
I should check my bait too, he said, getting up and reeling in
the line. After that, we sat in silence. We watched our rods,
and we sat by the fire and we stared into the night, but
we never talked. Terry finally got up and said, this fire is making
me sleepy. I'm going to go check our lines, and if we don't
have anything this time, we should move on. Sounds good to me,
I said, not sure if he heard me. Terry was right, The
fire was making me sleepy too. We were out of coffee, so I
got up and stretched. I just sat back down when I saw Terry coming
back down the path. He was walking pretty fast, and he was clearly
upset. That's it, he barked at me. You need to cut the
crap. His eyes were wild, and he was agitated by something. I
knew then that he had heard those sounds too, but I wasn't sure what
he was accusing me of what. I asked, you heard me. It's
not funny. I don't know how you're doing it, but cut it out.
It really isn't funny. What the hell are you talking about? I
asked, even though I was beginning to understand. You were making noise back
in that brush. Well, I started, it's not funny. He was
hot. I thought it was you. I said, it's not funny.
He exclaimed, You heard noises too, I asked, at the same time.
Wait, he said, looking at me. That wasn't you. Hell,
no, it wasn't me, I answered. You never left the fire
while I walked down there. I stayed right here, I said. We
stood there, looking at each other for several minutes, and then together we
turned and looked back down the trail. I think we were thinking the same
thing. What the hell was it? Terry turned back to me and asked
one more time. That wasn't you. You're not lying to me. I
swear it wasn't me. I assured him. I heard the stuff too.
I thought it was you, especially after all that talk about that guy drowning
and ghosts and stuff. Terry shook his head. I started talking about that
stuff because the first time I went back there, I heard that crap and
I thought it was you. So I thought i'd creep you out so you'd
stop. Now. I was shaking my head. Exactly what did you hear?
I asked him. I heard footsteps back in the woods and stuff being
stepped on. Did you hear the same thing? Same thing? I said,
Well, maybe it's a cow or an ornery old bull, he suggested.
We decided that we would check the lines together. I took the flashlight,
Terry carried the lantern, and we set off down the bank. Terry
checked the first line. The bait was there, so he dropped it back
in the water. As he did so we heard it. It was the
same crunching footsteps we had heard before. The flashlight was a weak little thing,
but it shined into the brush to try to see something while Terry held
the lantern high. There was no movement back there shapes to be seen.
And as soon as I turned the flashlight back down the path, the crunching
in the brush started again. Were we hearing footsteps? If so, what
was back there walking around? How about we pick up our lines and get
the hell out of here? Terry said, it's a damn good idea.
I answered, well, I kept the flashlight on the brush. Terry pulled
up the pole and threw the bait into the water, and then we moved
to the next pole. He was pulling up that pole, and we heard
it again. And this time, when I aimed the weak beam of light
into the brush, I thought I saw a vague figure of something. Hey,
did you? I began, and then I stopped abruptly. Terry was
standing beside me, now in the area where I thought I saw the shape.
I was now looking at a pair of red eyes. Terry lifted the
lnern higher and they disappeared, or maybe they blinked. A few seconds later,
the eyes were back. They were six feet off the ground, maybe
thirty feet back in the brush and those two red eyes were staring right at
us. What the hell is that? I whispered, I don't know.
Terry whispered back, it ain't no holy ghost. Let's get the hell out
of here. Come on, let's go. I didn't argue with him.
We both took off down the trail at a brisk pace, and behind us
and off to our right, we could hear those footsteps following us. Terry
led the way with the lantern held high, and I falled, with the
flashlight shining at all around us, and we cleared the little rise and found
ourselves back at the dying fire. Immediately we turned and looked back to see
if the eyes were behind us. We didn't see anything at that moment.
Let's reel up and get the hell out of here, Terry said, after
a minute, all right, I'm with you. We reeled in our lines
as fast as we could, and we kicked dirt on the fire. Now.
I took the rods and both the lantern and the flashlight, while Terry
carried the ice chest and our bait bucket. We climbed the slope up to
where the truck was parked, thankful that we had let the tailgate down and
while I started the truck, Terry set the ice chest in the back of
the truck and opened it. When I went back to shut the tailgate,
he was standing there staring into the ice chest. Where the hell's that fish,
he demanded, It's not there, No, it's not there. I
looked into the chest myself, but he was right. The three pound bass
was gone. Did you throw my fish back? Terry accused, Now,
why the hell would I do that? I demanded to know. He threw
his hands up in exasperation. Fish don't get out of an ice chest and
walk off on their own, he said. Look, I swear, buddy,
I didn't throw that fish back in the water. The last time I
saw it was when you had me look at it after my first trip to
check those lines. The only time we were both away from that fish was
when we went to check the lines together, and we both turned and looked
back toward the pond. Well, forget it, Terry said, let's get
out of here. As we drove toward the gate, we were both looking
for reasonable explanations. Terry said, it had to be a big old bull
out there. Do bulls have eyes that glow red? I countered, We
passed a dozen cows as we neared the gate, and so I swung the
truck around to shine my headlights on them. Their eyes all shine yellow.
Okay, so it's not a bull, I said. Terry was quiet.
I think he was still angry about the missing fish. What about our bank
lines? I asked. We can come back in the morning and get those,
he answered, and I agreed. In the daylight, he said,
And I nodded my head. Maybe about eleven, well after daylight. He
said. That sounds like a real good idea, I replied. I picked
Terry up early and we went to have some breakfast before heading back to get
our bank lines. And when we got to the pond, Terry raised his
brows when I pulled a shot out from behind the seat. It's just in
case, I told them, as I put a shell into the chamber and
put the safety on. Well, maybe there'll be sufficient on the hooks after
being out there all night, Terry said. Together, we walked down the
slope to where our fire had been the night before. We realized that we
had left our coffee pot and cups behind, and our haste to vacate the
premises that gave us both a chuckle. The laughter stopped when we ventured down
the bank to retrieve our lines. The brush beneath the high bluff on our
left didn't seem nearly as foreboding as it had in the dark, but we
still couldn't see much back there. We could see now that there was quite
a bit of water standing back in there that we hadn't seen the night before.
It was odd that we hadn't noticed it before. What was even stranger
was that all three of the bank lines that we had left were gone.
Something or someone had taken them through the year. There's Terry and I speculated
quite a bit on what we might have experienced that night. We always came
up with more questions than answers. What was making those footsteps sounds? Were
those red lights really eyes? If so, what did they belong to?
And what happened to Terry's fish? And what happened to our bank lines?
We tried to find rational explanations for what happened. It was an animal back
in the brush, maybe a deer. The eyes could have been an owl
in a tree, or maybe a possum or a raccoon, And then we'd
wander into less logical territory. Did it have anything to do with the old
man who had drowned? There was the place haunted. Maybe someone or a
group of someone's was messing with us. They took the fish in the bank
lines, or maybe someone wandered up on those lines the next morning before we
got back there and took them. We wondered if they had been hooked up
with fish, or maybe just maybe something we didn't know stalked us that night
and it took the lines. Something with the red eyes. Okay, that
is a really good story. I'm going back to the top here to I
want to tell you the name of the book again, so you guys,
I may buy this book. This is pretty good. Let's see Campfire Tales
from Uncle Rob. It's on Amazon. Just do a search for Campfire Tales
from Uncle Rob. If it's still for sale on Amazon, it'll still be
there. You guys buy his book. I'm sure it's in an electronic version
or probably in paperback. I don't know how that works. But that's a
good story. And if this book is full of stories like this might be
worth a good read. So I thought i'd share with it. You share
that with you. Thanks Rob for sending Thanks Rob for sending this to me.
This was really good. The title of that story was the Pond Stalker.
I thought it was an excellent story. I hope you guys enjoyed this
video. We'll see you on the next one. Thanks