Speaker 1: Hey, thanks for clicking on this video. Just real quick.
Speaker 1: Two of these stories were recorded out of town, not
Speaker 1: on my regular recording equipment. That were done on a
Speaker 1: little mobile device. But I saw a couple of stories
Speaker 1: that my editor had sent over over the email, and
Speaker 1: I just read them while I was on the road,
Speaker 1: So that's why they sound different. Thank you for being here.
Speaker 1: I appreciate you very much. I've got three stories in
Speaker 1: this podcast. If two of them sound different, you know why.
Speaker 1: All right, here we go. In nineteen sixty nine, in
Speaker 1: the summer before we started high school, a few friends
Speaker 1: and I would head out on our bicycles every chance
Speaker 1: we got to explore the forest in our area. We
Speaker 1: lived in Castle Rock. It was a quaint Americana town
Speaker 1: situated between Mount Saint Helen's to the east and the
Speaker 1: Columbia River leading into the Pacific to the west. We
Speaker 1: were fourteen years old then. My friend Randy had a
Speaker 1: brand new five speed shwind stingray bike with brake controls
Speaker 1: on the handlebars, and the rest of us had hand
Speaker 1: me down single speeds with coaster brakes. Randy led most
Speaker 1: of the adventures and we tried to keep up. West
Speaker 1: of Castle Rock was a two lane road known by
Speaker 1: the locals as the West Side Highway. I don't think
Speaker 1: any of the locals ever knew the highways number, and
Speaker 1: to this day I still don't. In that area was
Speaker 1: a wooded place called Whiskey Flats. It got the nickname
Speaker 1: because way out there, hidden in the thick brush and
Speaker 1: away from the unforgiving eyes of the sheriff and the
Speaker 1: game wardens, high schoolers would sneak out there and have keg.
Speaker 1: Despite the no trespassing signs posted on both sides of
Speaker 1: the highway and our parents' warnings to stay clear of
Speaker 1: the area, we hung out there on occasion. We weren't
Speaker 1: very good at following directions. We were only fourteen, after all.
Speaker 1: I don't think we ever knew who owned the property,
Speaker 1: but we knew about the sheriff and the game wardens
Speaker 1: patrolling the area for troublemakers and illegal fishing down by
Speaker 1: the Calitz River. The thing that kept us away from
Speaker 1: the area most of the time, though, was the thought
Speaker 1: of us slowly eighth graders accidentally trespassing on a high
Speaker 1: school party and getting our butts kicked by the other boys.
Speaker 1: Two weeks before school started, the four of us were
Speaker 1: riding our bicycles on West Side Highway when in a
Speaker 1: moment of bravery, we decided to check out Whiskey Flights.
Speaker 1: We looked ahead of and behind us to make sure
Speaker 1: there was no traffic coming from either direction that would
Speaker 1: catch us and ruin our big plans, and we made
Speaker 1: a quick turn past an o trespassing sign and we
Speaker 1: rushed down the hillside. The path going down the hill
Speaker 1: was loose gravel. We had to ride our brakes all
Speaker 1: the way. Randy, who made it to the bottom of
Speaker 1: the hill first, was already waiting for us, with a
Speaker 1: big grin plastered across his face. We came to a
Speaker 1: skid stop next to him and saw what put that
Speaker 1: smile there. It was a green and white nineteen fifty
Speaker 1: five Ford Sedan with a dark blue nineteen forty seven
Speaker 1: Plymouth Sedan, and both of them newly abandoned and ready
Speaker 1: to be explored. It wasn't unusual for people to ditch
Speaker 1: their old vehicles and Whiskey flights. They just removed the
Speaker 1: license plate in the cereal numbers and dump them there,
Speaker 1: and someone else would inevitably come by, strip the vehicles
Speaker 1: of all the usable parts and leave the frame for
Speaker 1: the forest to grow around. We had a good old
Speaker 1: time checking out the old vehicles and sitting behind the
Speaker 1: driver's wheel and pretending that we owned the world. The
Speaker 1: Plymouth had a single brake light in the center of
Speaker 1: the trunk with an old sailing ship molded into the
Speaker 1: glass lens, which I knew was most likely the Mayflower. Well,
Speaker 1: I wanted that lens, and I called DIBs on it,
Speaker 1: knowing all I had to do was come back with
Speaker 1: some tools and take it off, as if the sedans
Speaker 1: themselves weren't neat enough. Once we looked through into the windows,
Speaker 1: we saw something that made our jaws drop and our
Speaker 1: hearts flutter. There were stacks of Playboy magazines stashed in
Speaker 1: the cabs of both cars, where we looked at each
Speaker 1: other like we had won the lottery, and did the
Speaker 1: only logical thing any fourteen year old boy could have done.
Speaker 1: We split into groups of two and checked out the
Speaker 1: magazines and both sedans, and we weren't reading any articles.
Speaker 1: When we had seen all our eyes could handle, we
Speaker 1: switched cars with the other two and looked some more,
Speaker 1: and we thought about taking some of the magazines with us,
Speaker 1: but we realized some of the high school boys may
Speaker 1: have hidden them there, and we thought better of it.
Speaker 1: I swear we learned more from those magazines than we
Speaker 1: did in all of high school, and by the time
Speaker 1: we headed back home we felt enlightened. Those magazines matured us,
Speaker 1: and we bike back home and our heads swirling with
Speaker 1: glorious images of playboy women, and we decided to go
Speaker 1: back to Whiskey Flats on Saturday. We were men now,
Speaker 1: and when we came back, we would make it down
Speaker 1: to the river, no matter if the high schoolers were
Speaker 1: there or not. Saturday came and I packed a screwdriver
Speaker 1: in a crescent wrench into an old pillow case, figuring
Speaker 1: one of them would help me get the Mayflower lens
Speaker 1: off the car, and once again Randy and his Shwin
Speaker 1: led the way down the West Side Highway, and as
Speaker 1: soon as the coast was clear, we made that quick
Speaker 1: turn into Whiskey Flat and we disappeared down the hill.
Speaker 1: Randy was yet again waiting at the bottom for the
Speaker 1: rest of us, who had to coast cautiously down the
Speaker 1: loose gravel. He was wearing a big expression again, but
Speaker 1: this time he wasn't smiling. We skidded to a stop
Speaker 1: next to him and asked what was going on, but
Speaker 1: he was too scared to speak, and instead he pointed
Speaker 1: with a shaking hand toward the Plymouth. Maybe part of
Speaker 1: me hoped it was some of the high school boys
Speaker 1: having their look at the Playboy treasure trove. Maybe his
Speaker 1: terrified look was normal for a fourteen year old boy
Speaker 1: about to be knocked around by older kids. But when
Speaker 1: we turned our heads to see what he was pointing at,
Speaker 1: it took us a good minute to wrap our heads
Speaker 1: around what we were seeing. It was definitely not high schoolers,
Speaker 1: and it was about the furthest thing from a Playboy bunny.
Speaker 1: There could possibly be a female bigfoot with a hairless
Speaker 1: face and breast had gotten stuck in the door of
Speaker 1: the Plymouth. She was at least six feet tall, and
Speaker 1: her head jutted out of her torso. The brown hair
Speaker 1: under her arms was so long that it looked like
Speaker 1: the fringe on a motorcycle jacket, and as she tried
Speaker 1: to free her hair from the door latch, she saw us.
Speaker 1: I felt the hairs on the back of my neck
Speaker 1: stand straight up, and the smart thing to do at
Speaker 1: that time was to run, But fear had cemented our
Speaker 1: legs in place, and the four of us just stood there,
Speaker 1: frozen in shot and stared at this creature. She didn't
Speaker 1: appreciate having an audience, and she let us know, and
Speaker 1: she let out a blood curdling scream that sounded like
Speaker 1: a woman being brutally attacked. It rang through our ears
Speaker 1: like hells bells, and it shook us to our core,
Speaker 1: and being a mature men that we had become, we
Speaker 1: all wed our pants. It was only a matter of
Speaker 1: time before she would break free from the latch, and
Speaker 1: by the looks of the door, which she had started
Speaker 1: to bash and din up like a soda can, Tom
Speaker 1: was not on our side. We turned heel and got
Speaker 1: out of there as fast as we could, and we
Speaker 1: ran our bikes up that gravel hill, and when we
Speaker 1: got to the road, we peddled down West Side Highway
Speaker 1: faster than any kid ever had in the history of
Speaker 1: that area. Back near the safety of our homes, we
Speaker 1: agreed to never talk about what we had seen. No
Speaker 1: one would believe us anyway, and if our parents found
Speaker 1: out that we had been hanging around Whiskey Flats, we
Speaker 1: would only get into more trouble. And when I made
Speaker 1: it home, I threw my pants in the wash, believed
Speaker 1: to see that my mother was still in town grocery shopping,
Speaker 1: and relieved I didn't have to explain myself. Now, many
Speaker 1: years have passed since that day, and I've long since
Speaker 1: moved out of the area. Recently, though, I drove past
Speaker 1: the old Whiskey Flats and it's completely gone now, no
Speaker 1: downhill to the river and no downhill to the old
Speaker 1: abandoned cars. It was all filled with dredge boils from
Speaker 1: Mount Saint Helen's eruption and its level with the West
Speaker 1: Side Highway now and houses are built all over it.
Speaker 1: It would nearly be impossible for a bigfoot to hide
Speaker 1: out in that area, now, I knew that, But as
Speaker 1: I drove by, I heard that blood curdling scream echoed
Speaker 1: through my head, and I felt my hair stand up again.
Speaker 1: What would have been a pleasant drive down Memory Lane
Speaker 1: was suddenly tainted by a life changing memory that only
Speaker 1: seemed to worsen the older I got well, I sped
Speaker 1: up and got out of there, trying to put as
Speaker 1: much distance between me and that memory as I could,
Speaker 1: all the while remembering the feeling of peddling my bike
Speaker 1: so fast that I thought I might fly, and that's
Speaker 1: when it occurred to me it wasn't the playboys that
Speaker 1: stole away my childhood and made us men. That day,
Speaker 1: it was a terrifying realization that some monsters are real.
Speaker 1: Back in the nineteen nineties, my buddy and I headed
Speaker 1: to Paint Creek Lake in southern Ohio, that's where I'm from.
Speaker 1: We decided to walk off trail to go fishing in
Speaker 1: a honey hole I knew about where nobody else goes.
Speaker 1: Usually we would get there by boat, but this time
Speaker 1: we were walking, and we walked through a heavily forested
Speaker 1: area with only a lantern to light our way. We
Speaker 1: made it through the brush along the shoreline, and when
Speaker 1: we had gotten as far as we could go, we
Speaker 1: heard some dead falls snapping behind us. And we were
Speaker 1: in the forest after all. But the normal sounds of
Speaker 1: wildlife and nature quickly turned into an explosion of noise
Speaker 1: as something massive beat and battered the trees and earth
Speaker 1: and the shadows behind us. I couldn't help myself, and
Speaker 1: I found a rock and I threw it at the noise.
Speaker 1: Everything went abruptly quiet. Friend and I shrugged at each
Speaker 1: other and got back to fishing. But a few minutes later,
Speaker 1: that same rock came flying past my head. Well. I
Speaker 1: turned around to see who had done it, but everything
Speaker 1: had gone completely quiet again, and a little light from
Speaker 1: our lantern had no chance of penetrating, darkness blanketing the trees. Well,
Speaker 1: we stood there, dumb foundain, trying to figure out what
Speaker 1: it could possibly be. We were hardly comforted knowing there
Speaker 1: was a slim chance it had been a human since
Speaker 1: the area around Paint Creek Lake is completely forested with
Speaker 1: very few homes. Standing there in the darkness, and knowing
Speaker 1: something was out there watching us, so we decided to
Speaker 1: end our fishing trip. Early a month later, my dad
Speaker 1: and I were fishing out on his pontoon boat at
Speaker 1: the same spot. It was early in the morning, around
Speaker 1: three or four AM, and a thick fog clung to
Speaker 1: the lake, and the fish had finally stopped fighting. We
Speaker 1: decided to head home. The front of our boat was
Speaker 1: tied to a fallen tree that was half in the
Speaker 1: water and half on the shore, and the back of
Speaker 1: the boat was anchored. I pulled the anchor and I
Speaker 1: started doing my part by pulling the boat toward the tree,
Speaker 1: and when my dad started the boat. It was as
Speaker 1: if a light switch had been flipped and all hell
Speaker 1: broke loose on the bank next to the fallen tree.
Speaker 1: The fog was too thick to see what was causing
Speaker 1: the commotion, but I could see the rocks and the
Speaker 1: twigs flying everywhere. And then we heard something roar, and
Speaker 1: the rope in my hand began to vibrate as whatever
Speaker 1: was pummeling the old tree like an angry bull on
Speaker 1: a rampage. I stood there, frozen at the aggressive fury
Speaker 1: that I couldn't see, too taken off guard to consider
Speaker 1: what had been happening. My dad yelled at me to
Speaker 1: cut the rope, and I was glad to do that,
Speaker 1: and there was no way I was getting closer to
Speaker 1: that tree than I already was, so I cut it
Speaker 1: in a second and we headed back to the dock
Speaker 1: as fast as we could. Now that I'm older, I
Speaker 1: think it's important to know the truth about what is
Speaker 1: in our forests, and looking back on this experience, it
Speaker 1: terrifies me to think about what it could have been.
Speaker 1: Was it a bigfoot, was it a dog man? Or
Speaker 1: could it have been something worse. This event took place
Speaker 1: fifteen or so miles south of the Niangua River and
Speaker 1: a town so small the only thing in it is
Speaker 1: a Rundown post office at an intersection between state highways.
Speaker 1: In this part of the state, cows are much more
Speaker 1: numerous than people in the fields of crops and livestock
Speaker 1: and timber are expansive. It was four years ago in
Speaker 1: May that I was visiting my dad's house, shortly after
Speaker 1: graduating high school and accompanied by my then girlfriend. We
Speaker 1: had planned to stay a few days at his residents
Speaker 1: to celebrate and explore all the nearby natural areas. At
Speaker 1: the time, he had fifteen or so acres of woods
Speaker 1: that bordered the backyard and the shop near the house
Speaker 1: that the boys and I would walk through to get
Speaker 1: to the fence line of our neighbor's cow pasture to
Speaker 1: look at the stars some nights. Between the line of
Speaker 1: woods in the backyard and the fence was a small
Speaker 1: pond that was home to many frogs that sank throughout
Speaker 1: the night, and straight back behind the shop about forty
Speaker 1: yards was a pile of debris from a tornado some
Speaker 1: years ago that swept through that area and was bulldozed
Speaker 1: to that location. This same pile was used by my
Speaker 1: dad as a trash pile, and it doubled as a
Speaker 1: mountain of bear cans as he was a heavy drinker
Speaker 1: at the time. Well, we lived along the US Highway,
Speaker 1: close enough that certain semis passed and would rattle the windows,
Speaker 1: but far away enough that it was the only vehicle
Speaker 1: you could hear with the windows closed. Used well, after
Speaker 1: my dad went to sleep, my brothers and I went
Speaker 1: about trying to get as much wood as we could
Speaker 1: before the sun had totally set, and between the five
Speaker 1: of us we managed a pretty sizable stack that would
Speaker 1: keep an immense fire blazing throughout the night, and blaze
Speaker 1: it did. I pulled my car up on the side
Speaker 1: opposite of where my girlfriend and I were sitting in
Speaker 1: a kayak on the ground and played old rock tunes
Speaker 1: from it. We sat and laughed for hours, tossing around
Speaker 1: and shooting the bull and catching up and laughing the
Speaker 1: night away. The sounds of the woods were like a
Speaker 1: symphony behind me that were full of life and penetrating
Speaker 1: the cool air, with the coral sounds of crickets, frogs,
Speaker 1: and the occasional owl. It had been a long time
Speaker 1: since I had been privileged enough to be present in
Speaker 1: this kind of atmosphere living in Kansas City, and I
Speaker 1: was just elated the whole night. At two am, my
Speaker 1: two younger brothers went inside for a refill of their beverages.
Speaker 1: It was just a couple of minutes later, while talking
Speaker 1: to my older stepbrother, who was sitting next to me
Speaker 1: in a camp chair, that I heard sticks break in
Speaker 1: the woods over the music. Hey do you hear that?
Speaker 1: I asked my stepbrother, who was staring at his phone.
Speaker 1: I don't know what you're talking about, dude, he said,
Speaker 1: and he never looked up. I wrote it off as
Speaker 1: a deer, seeing so many walk through the backyard in
Speaker 1: the mornings, so I continued conversing with him for a
Speaker 1: little bit longer. When I noticed the frequency in the
Speaker 1: volume of these sticks cracking simply did not add up
Speaker 1: to a deer passing through. My experience as a hunter
Speaker 1: told me that something wasn't right, and I told my
Speaker 1: stepbrother to go turn off the music so I could
Speaker 1: hear it better. The first thing I noticed was how
Speaker 1: well I could hear these sticks breaking from what sounded
Speaker 1: like all the way to the fence, as the woods
Speaker 1: had gone silent. The three of us in silence tossing
Speaker 1: around ideas as to what could be making such a
Speaker 1: racket in the woods at this hour, Bears had been
Speaker 1: known to come through the area, and sitting with my
Speaker 1: back to the woods, I suddenly became uncomfortable at that thought.
Speaker 1: But boy do I wish I could have seen a bear,
Speaker 1: as I was not prepared for what came next. It
Speaker 1: dawned on me that the sounds were getting closer, close
Speaker 1: enough that I could hear individual footfalls on the leaves
Speaker 1: and the sticks on the ground, and I froze when
Speaker 1: it registered that these steps were being taken on two feet.
Speaker 1: I tried not to get ahead of myself, after all,
Speaker 1: I had two younger, mischievous brothers that had just gone inside,
Speaker 1: Nate and Joe. What the hell are y'all doing out there?
Speaker 1: Quit messing around? I called out to the woods behind me.
Speaker 1: I shot a grin at Michael, who had finally looked
Speaker 1: up from his phone listening to the sounds with concern
Speaker 1: on his face. I got no answer from j Nate,
Speaker 1: so I called out again, wondering if someone was trespassing
Speaker 1: on our property, whoever you are, you need to announce
Speaker 1: yourself a warning you and I remember the AK forty
Speaker 1: seven that had been used for target practice that day,
Speaker 1: was just inside the shop, and then the rustling paused.
Speaker 1: It was met with silence, and I thought that maybe
Speaker 1: they acknowledged my words. But then the walking continued, except
Speaker 1: it was now coming in our direction. My older brother
Speaker 1: and I exchanged glances of worry when my two younger
Speaker 1: brothers came walking around the corner of the house with
Speaker 1: drinks in their hands. Y'all better quit before dad wakes up?
Speaker 1: What's going on out here? And when I saw them
Speaker 1: and realized that whatever was walking toward us was not familiar,
Speaker 1: the potential danger of the situation was starting to set in.
Speaker 1: Who the hell was walking in the woods between properties
Speaker 1: at two am? Well? My girlfriend, who was sitting right
Speaker 1: in front of me, who had been quiet this entire time, asked,
Speaker 1: what are we gonna do? Just sit here? Well? I
Speaker 1: didn't have an answer, and I was the only person
Speaker 1: capable of operating a firearm in the group. Intense anxiety
Speaker 1: gripped me, and I thought of what it meant to
Speaker 1: possibly pull the trigger on somebody. I must have sat
Speaker 1: there for a good minute now. I was petrified, thoughts
Speaker 1: racing through my mind when it became apparent that the
Speaker 1: footsteps were closing in. Whoever this was was making deliberate
Speaker 1: steps with the full intention of walking right up on us,
Speaker 1: And I swear to you it must have only been
Speaker 1: ten yards or less away. When I stood up out
Speaker 1: of the kayak and I shouted as loud as I could, Hello,
Speaker 1: who goes there? The footsteps stopped dead, just out of
Speaker 1: you from the light of the campfire. The tension in
Speaker 1: the air was thick, and so was the silence, only
Speaker 1: ever broke by the crackle of the fire. We all
Speaker 1: sat there anticipating their next move. We were paralyzed. Just
Speaker 1: then they were treated toward the left of our viewing area.
Speaker 1: What the hell? I thought? And we all looked at
Speaker 1: each other in disbelief, and we listened to the footfalls
Speaker 1: go back and forth between our ten o'clock and our
Speaker 1: two o'clock. It seemed whoever this was decided they were
Speaker 1: going to stay just outside of our field of view,
Speaker 1: but just close enough to observe our group. I could
Speaker 1: see the look of astonishment creep across the faces of
Speaker 1: my siblings, except my younger brother, Nate. Nate, he was brave,
Speaker 1: and he grabbed sticks and rocks and whatever he could
Speaker 1: find laying on the ground, and he started chucking them
Speaker 1: into the woods, shouting at the bastard. I think his
Speaker 1: intentions were to taunt the guy into coming out, or
Speaker 1: at the very least, this was his attempt to run
Speaker 1: them off. But his actions, nor our knowledge of the
Speaker 1: figure year's presence, dissuaded them from running away. It simply
Speaker 1: moved from left to right, dodging the items that were
Speaker 1: being thrown. It was at this pivotal moment that I
Speaker 1: was wrestling with the thought of getting the gun and
Speaker 1: firing warning shots, when I realized that if this lunatic
Speaker 1: was armed, they would have already done what they had
Speaker 1: intended to do, so I told my brother to stop
Speaker 1: let them get close. It seemed their objective was to
Speaker 1: make their presence known but conceal themselves in the trees.
Speaker 1: I told my brothers to sit quietly and let this
Speaker 1: fellow get close enough while I was waiting in my
Speaker 1: car that I then pulled up to the edge of
Speaker 1: the tree line. When I thought they were close enough
Speaker 1: to be viewed, I would illuminate the woods with my
Speaker 1: brides and the perpetrator would come into full view. But
Speaker 1: in hindsight, this action seemed kind of strange, but the
Speaker 1: result was much more so. I waited there with my
Speaker 1: car on and my headlights off. I could hear this
Speaker 1: person getting closer and closer, and it occurred to me
Speaker 1: that the sight of an operated vehicle near the woods
Speaker 1: would have been enough reason to flee in fear of
Speaker 1: possibly getting run over. And yet here they were, meandering
Speaker 1: ever nearer to the edge. I heard the rustle of
Speaker 1: the leaves right in front of the car, some feet
Speaker 1: away when I decided to light up their world, and
Speaker 1: I shouted profanities as I flipped the switch. And this
Speaker 1: is the moment that I would never forget. As it
Speaker 1: would turn out, I wasn't close enough to see the
Speaker 1: damn thing thing is what it was, because when the
Speaker 1: lights came on, I only saw the movement of a
Speaker 1: single branch in the trees where it had just been
Speaker 1: accompanied by what sounded like a freaking car driving through
Speaker 1: the woods as this thing crashed through them, running away
Speaker 1: from me. Judging by how loud the snapping was this morning,
Speaker 1: munster had to have been a few hundred pounds on me,
Speaker 1: and my blood ran cold. My comprehension of what I
Speaker 1: thought lived in the woods was immediately defied, and when
Speaker 1: the trees were once again quiet, I turned to the
Speaker 1: rest of the group, who also had their jaws hanging open.
Speaker 1: My two younger brothers were the first to break the silence,
Speaker 1: announcing their departure indoors, and they wished us a good night,
Speaker 1: and they hurried inside, having no idea what to even
Speaker 1: think or feel. My older step brother and my girlfriend
Speaker 1: and I sat there trying to wrap our minds around
Speaker 1: what took place here, but we stayed out there, unsure
Speaker 1: of what to do next. When I heard it come back.
Speaker 1: This time it stayed further out in the woods, but
Speaker 1: it didn't try to conceal its movements, and my mind
Speaker 1: raised as daunting thoughts of revenge made me fearful of
Speaker 1: my life, and my girlfriend certainly ran inside for hers.
Speaker 1: And then the most unnerving thing happened. The creature walked
Speaker 1: out from our ten o'clock all the way to the
Speaker 1: trash pile, which was to our four o'clock, and it
Speaker 1: stayed concealed by the woods the entire trek there, and
Speaker 1: I heard it walking on top of all the beer cans,
Speaker 1: seemingly jumping up and down and throwing or kicking cans around. Well,
Speaker 1: the size and weight of this thing was fully illustrated
Speaker 1: by the crunch of the aluminum beneath its feet. Neither
Speaker 1: of us could tell what it was doing or why,
Speaker 1: but we got the hell out of there, and when
Speaker 1: we went inside we found that our brothers had woken
Speaker 1: up our father to tell him what had happened. And
Speaker 1: by the end it was just past three, and I
Speaker 1: thought my dad was going to be really hiked off,
Speaker 1: but he wasn't. He seemed somewhat concerned, but more bewildered
Speaker 1: than anything. He knew exactly what it was, having had
Speaker 1: his own experiences in the state of Washington, but he
Speaker 1: seemed astounded that such a thing would happen in Missouri.
Speaker 1: He inquired about the event for a few minutes, and
Speaker 1: then he shrugged it off, and then he went back
Speaker 1: to bed. I couldn't believe what I had just heard.
Speaker 1: Four am rolled around and we were all getting tired,
Speaker 1: and I crawled into my makeshift bed on the floor,
Speaker 1: and I was almost asleep when it struck me that
Speaker 1: my phone was lying on top of the roof of
Speaker 1: my car. Well. I was gripped by fear at the
Speaker 1: thought of even going out there, but with the rain
Speaker 1: in the forecast and the thin wallet, I surely wasn't
Speaker 1: going to let that happen. So I stepped through the
Speaker 1: front door and I made my way around the corner.
Speaker 1: The fire had gone out and the only thing illuminating
Speaker 1: the night was a single light on the shop that
Speaker 1: was on the side closest to my car, thankfully, and
Speaker 1: as I walked across the yard, I noticed that the
Speaker 1: woods were still, and I had the distinct feeling that
Speaker 1: I was being watched. I grabbed my phone from the
Speaker 1: top of the car and made a quick work of
Speaker 1: getting back in the looking behind my shoulder every so
Speaker 1: often at the dark and the silent abyss of trees,
Speaker 1: until rounded the corner and I got inside the house.
Speaker 1: The next morning, my older brother and I were up
Speaker 1: before everyone else, and we decided to go out back
Speaker 1: and do some investigating. We carried the rifle with us
Speaker 1: and I told him to stay put and I wanted
Speaker 1: him to listen to me jump on the pile of
Speaker 1: cans to try and guess the weight of the creature.
Speaker 1: And when I arrived at the pile, I was amazed
Speaker 1: and frightened by the amount of beer cans and trash
Speaker 1: that had been strown about the general area. When I
Speaker 1: came back, he told me that whatever had been on
Speaker 1: that pile the night before must have been at least
Speaker 1: three times my size. At that point in time, I
Speaker 1: was five foot eleven, one hundred and sixty five pounds,
Speaker 1: and I was not courageous enough to look for prince,
Speaker 1: realizing that even a full clip might not protect me
Speaker 1: from a creature of that size, and we left it
Speaker 1: at that. My love for the woods is not wavered,
Speaker 1: and I'm an avid out dorsman, but this event has
Speaker 1: cemented itself into my mind, and my view of the
Speaker 1: natural world has changed. And since this event, I do
Speaker 1: not enter the woods at night anymore, and during the
Speaker 1: day I'm very attentive to my surroundings. I have seen
Speaker 1: strange structures and smelled unexplained things since then, but those
Speaker 1: experiences are just conjecture. This, however, is significant for a
Speaker 1: couple of reasons. Whatever this creature is was walking on
Speaker 1: two feet and objectively bigger than a human, and most
Speaker 1: importantly aware of its utility, and deliberately making its presence
Speaker 1: known to us, yet staying just out of sight. What
Speaker 1: gets me about this experience compared to the others that
Speaker 1: I've heard, is that I did not smell anything, and
Speaker 1: it seemed genuinely curious about us, not at all wanting
Speaker 1: to be seen. It wasn't deterred by our advances, and
Speaker 1: it even came back after a crude attempt to see it. Also,
Speaker 1: in hindsight, it might have gone to the trash pile
Speaker 1: for food, but the sounds it made while doing so
Speaker 1: were very unusual, and I swear to you it was
Speaker 1: jumping around like it was deliberately making noise, And the
Speaker 1: prospect of something being intelligent and bold enough to do
Speaker 1: such a thing is terrifying to me. Now I have
Speaker 1: only told very few people about what happened that night
Speaker 1: because it is so surreal and outlandish, and I'm pretty
Speaker 1: sure no one would believe me. And that's the end
Speaker 1: of his email, and that was I just can't believe.
Speaker 1: What a good writer, this guy, What a great story.
Speaker 1: I'm not going to send anything else and ruin it.
Speaker 1: You heard it, You know the story. You make your
Speaker 1: own judgments about it. But I thought it was great
Speaker 1: and I appreciate the man sending it. Thank you. Okay,
Speaker 1: I was going to do another story. But I got
Speaker 1: dogs walking around. They want to go outside. I'm tired
Speaker 1: of letting them in and out, in and out, in
Speaker 1: and out. I've been doing that for two hours while
Speaker 1: I recorded this audio. And Betsy, Betsy, why do you
Speaker 1: keep going out and in and out? Girl? Can y'all
Speaker 1: hear clicking over here? He thinks I'm mad at her.
Speaker 1: I'm not mad at her. I kind of am, but
Speaker 1: I'm I'm I'm loving on her right now. Anyway. Thank
Speaker 1: you for joining me on this podcast. I appreciate it. Hey,
Speaker 1: maybe you could hit the thumbs up on this video
Speaker 1: if you liked it. This a little button right there,
Speaker 1: right there below your screen with a little thumbs up
Speaker 1: click that it helps me get recommended to other viewers.
Speaker 1: Other than that, we'll see you guys on the next one.
Speaker 1: Thanks