Speaker 1: I'm a retired police officer from Middle Tennessee with twenty
six years on the job. My strange encounter happened in
nineteen ninety when I was seventeen years old. My cousins
and I least seven hundred and fifty acres at a
place called Toddy's Bend. It was just a small country
road at the time with mostly farm land, and it
had riverfront property on the Duck River. My cousins and
I always deer hunted and fished together. We spent several
days at the property scouting and building deer stands to
hunt from. We had hunted the property for almost half
of the season with no luck. One day after school,
I decided to drive to the property and hunt until dark.
I was alone, but that never bothered me. The fact
is I always felt comfortable in a deer stand. I
drove on to the property through two different fields to
reach the old logging road that led to my deer stand.
It overlooked the river on my right. After I got
situated in my stand, I realized I had forgotten my
flashlight and walking out was going to be tricky in
the dark. While I was in the stand, I noticed
that no wildlife was moving about. No birds singing, no
squirrels hopping. Nothing. When it started to get dark, I
headed back to my truck because I didn't have my
flashlight with me. I started my journey out and I
heard something walking to my right. I couldn't see anything moving,
but when I walked, it walked, and when I stopped
to listen, it stopped too. I was halfway to my
truck when I noticed a horrible smell, like a wet
dog had been sprayed by a skunk. Now I hunted
with a semi automatic three to eight. I dropped the
gun to my waist and I was in the ready position,
safety off, the finger on the trigger, pointing the barrel
where the noise and smell were coming from. Whatever was
escorting me out of the woods accompanied me all the
way to the field where my truck was parked. As
I was getting into the driver's seat, I heard a
horrific screen that sounded like a terodactyl from the old
Godzilla movies of the nineteen seventies. I still hunt and
I fish every chance I get, but I have never
gone back to that property. Years later, there was a
man who worked in our county jail as a correctional officer.
He lived on the property adjacent to where my encounter happened.
I asked him one night if he had ever experienced
anything weird or inexplainable there. His response was, I have
no comment, and he changed the subject. In the early
nineteen eighties, my family and I lived in a big,
old house in a little town of Saint Leonard, New Brunswick, Canada.
It was a two story home built in the early
nineteen hundreds. My father bought it from a man who
was reluctant to sell it, but had no choice. My
father had done some renovations on the house, but mainly
on the first floor. The second floor he had left
it as it was. At the top of the stairs
there was a full bathroom, and left of that bathroom
was my parents' room, and down the hall was my bedroom,
and beyond that was my little brother's room. I was
a bit of a scaredy cat. I was young and
I was unable to sleep in the dark, so my
mother would leave the bathroom light on and my bedroom
door open. One night, I had awakened from a deep sleep.
I wasn't prone to waking up in the middle of
the night. At that age, it was more like something
woke me up. I looked down at my feet, and
sitting on the foot board of my bed was a
hideous creature. It had white horns and large, yellow, bulging eyes.
It had long things that protruded from its mouth, and
its small hand had claws that seemed to be digging
into my footboard. Well, I screamed and jumped out of
my bed, and I ran to my parents' room, completely hysterical. Now,
my father was a man's man and didn't care for
this sort of behavior from his son, but when I
described what I had seen, he seemed concerned. My parents
turned on the light in my room and looked around.
My mother checked on my little brother, who was fine,
and I got to sleep with my parents that night,
something my father didn't usually permit. I was wary of
going to bed for a little while, but I never
saw it again. Years later, my parents told me they
were concerned when I described my nocturnal visitor because one
of my father's uncles described seeing the exact same thing
out in the woods. So it's a couple of months earlier.
Apparently there was a group of these sorts of creatures
that chased my great uncle out of the woods. They
terrified him and he died not long after that incident.
In nineteen ninety four, I was attending the University of
Maine at Fort Kent, and I had the honor of
knowing a man named Guy Freegan. He was a shaman
of the local First Nation tribe of the Malaseatsma l
I se t s mallaseats I believe I pronounced that correctly.
I'm always cautious about trying to pronounce people's names properly
because it's sometimes it hurts their feelings. I don't mean
to hurt anybody's feelings. It's just a phonetic thing with me,
and probably an accent and an area where I've been
raised where it's hard to even we don't even understand
each other. But mallaseats is I believe the word. Considering
that some members of my family are of First Nation's descent,
I decided to ask him about what my great uncle
and I saw. Mister Freegan listened to my story as
we sat in the student lounge at the UMFK. He said, well,
you saw I can't pronounce this bo love boogla demuche
boogola de mouche. Mister Fregan went on to tell me
that my great uncle had somehow offended them and that's
why they chased him out of the woods. He went
on to explain that they were similar to what Europeans
called elves or gnomes. He was uncertain as to why
one would have visited me, since I had nothing to
do with the offense my uncle committed. Mister Fregan guessed
that it may have since that I had shamanic abilities.
He went on to invite me to a sweat lodge
and that I would possibly get the chance to see
them again. Well, I shared mister Fregan that though his
invitation was generous, my faith wouldn't allow such a thing,
and I thanked him for the invitation though, and for
the wisdom that he imparted me, and I nor anyone
else in the family has ever encountered this sort of
being ever again. I was raised in a small farming
community in eastern Canada, and I lost my father in
my early teens, and was lucky enough that one of
his closest friends took it upon himself to be a
role model. He was a logger and would often take
me into the woods with him to repair his equipment
or just hang out in his shop on weekends in
summer holidays. Somewhere along the way, I mentioned to him
that I wasn't sure what I wanted to do after
high school, and he suggested that I become a forest technician.
In nineteen ninety one, I received a fresh off the
press forest technician diploma and took the first job offered
to me in Prince George, British Columbia. As forest texts.
It was our job to lay out cut blocks, cruise
the blocks checked for volume, health, tree heights, in species composition.
We also performed beetle probes, looking for spruce and pine
bark beetles that could decimate vast tracts of forests, and
silviculture surveys when the areas were replanted. My first incident
was when I was doing a beetle probe. I was
climbing a long slope upward to a lodge pole pine
stand when I crested a rocky knoll and I noticed
an odd structure off to my left. It was ten
or twelve small diameter pine trees, bent and curved and
intertwined with one another. By this time I'd been in
the woods for over a decade and had never before
seen this occur. Naturally, the trees were fifteen feet tall
and five inches in diameter. They weren't uprooted, but bent
and interlocked in such a way that it was permanent
and intentional. Whatever had done this had a massive arm span.
It must have been able to reason, and it possessed
enough intelligence to know that this feat could only be
accomplished in the spring of the year, when the sap
was running and the trees hadn't hardened off. There was
another time, in a different area of the forest, I
found a second one of these weird configurations. A while later,
I was performing a beetle probe again when I got
the distinct impression that I was being watched. It soon
escalated to animosity, as if I were trespassing on someone's
land and they didn't want me there. I took the
hint and got out of there as quickly as possible.
There was another time when I was working with my
co oh walker J. I was busy taking notes while
he was performing my compassman. We had just finished our
plot and he was heading out on our bearing, dragging
our distance, measuring chain. When I heard him stop, I
looked up and saw that he was frozen. He was
shaking in fright. He slowly turned to my direction, and
his eyes were so wide I could see them bulging
out from twenty yards away. I got the same feeling
i'd felt before, only fifty times worse. The entire forest
around us had become dead, silent. There were no birds, insects,
nothing was making a peat. Even Jay and I were
holding our breath. I carefully made my way as silently
as I could to Jay, and I got him to
calm down, and I got us sight of that area
as fast as we could. This time was different, though,
as whatever was inducing the unnatural feel moved with us, silent,
bllantly stalking us. It took four hundred yards before the
feeling faded and the thing stalking us apparently satisfied that
we were actually leaving. The next incident I had was
when I was working with another coworker, Ka. We'd been
sent out to collect some extra tree heights from an
area that had already been worked. An hour into our workday,
K informed me that he'd forgotten his water bottle in
the truck, and since it was hot out and we
weren't far from the truck. He decided to scoop down
and get it. Fifteen minutes later, he came back in
a rush and abruptly informed me that we had to
get out of the woods, that a bear was stalking us.
I realized I had heard nothing, but I could smell something.
It was intense and musky with a hint of skunk.
Whatever had stunk up the air had deliberately moved up
when from our locations so that we could smell it.
It wasn't until much later that I remembered that I
had been around bears, both in captivity and in the wild,
and they smelled nothing like what I smell. That day,
I had a final encounter, and it happened on the
outskirts of Prince George. My friend T and I ended
up living in the same city for a while, and
one night neither of us could sleep. We decided to
head to the nearest twenty four hour gas station for
a couple of twenty ounce coffees and head out for
a late night drive. Both of us were stone cold, sober,
and were just attempting to kill some time. I was
driving my old F one fifty pickup puntering down a
secondary road well north of the city. The sky was
crystal clear, and we were about half an hour into
our drive, just talking and stargazing. It was then that
I caught an odd movement. Out of the corner of
my eye. There was a strange bright light off to
my left. T noticed that I was distracted and bent
over to peer through the truck's back window at whatever
had caught my attention. The bright light started performing impossible
aerial maneuvers. It was starting about making perfect ninety degree turns,
accelerating and stopping at random intervals. By this time, Ta
had his body half out of the truck's cab, his
butt perched on the window sill, watching this impossible aerial
acrobatic show, and then he started pounding on the roof
of the truck, shouting, go, go go. I looked to
my left just in time to see the bright light
start rapidly accelerating toward us. Te lowered himself back into
the cab and I boost off the gas pedal as
hard as I could. T shouted at me to shut
off the lights, and without thinking that's what I did.
We were tearing down an empty road. Go one hundred
miles an hour with the lights shut off. The only
thought I had was that we had to shake this
thing off. Our tail t gave me the all clear finally,
and I slowly let up on the gas. Thankfully, that
night there was a good moon out, but when I
finally turned the lights back on, we still took the
long way around to get back home. There was no
way in help we were going to chance running into
whatever that was. Again. I hope you enjoyed a few
pages of my life story. Sincerely, d all Right. I'm
going to drop a couple of archive podcasts from about
five years ago right here, So if you've heard them,
just go ahead and click away. But if you would
like to hear them again or you haven't heard them,
stick around. These are really good stories, and I hope
you enjoy it. I'm from Central Texas and they'll have
somehow always believed in bigfoot. I've never had any experience
is here that I was aware of. However, as I
get older, I think there were times when I may
have had experiences and didn't realize it. I want to
share with you what happened north of Nashville a few
years ago when I was working there. I went up
one summer for a big job and was fortunate to
have friends from my hometown who lived about thirty miles
from where I was working. They live on a big
hill way out in the country near the Kentucky border.
The driveway leading to their house ran along the creek
that ran through the holler, with a ridge line on
both sides. It was absolutely beautiful, surrounded by lush green
trees and the sight and sound of the babbling creek
over its rocky bed. I often went for walks or
a jog in the evenings when I wasn't too tired.
I had done so many times. When one evening, about
an hour before sunset, as I was walking on the
far ridge, I heard a woo. I thought I was
hearing things, And shortly after that, on the hillside next
to me, only a few hundred yards away, I heard
a clear and loud tree knock. I really started to think,
now was I hearing things? Was it some locals or
meth heads messing with me? I kept walking, my friend's
dog at my side as I tried to reason out
what I had heard. I'd gone another one hundred yards
when I heard another wool. What the hell, I thought,
and it was followed shortly by another wood knock, this
time on the fore hill. The dog had disappeared so
much for Man's best friend, I decided then it was
time to head back. I heard a few more knocks
and wolves before I got back to the house, but
none of them were closer than the others. I don't
know if they knew I was there. I don't think so.
It was an extremely secluded, rough terrain covered in dick woods.
The one thing I'm absolutely certain of is that it
was not people I was hearing. I was staying in
my RV at my friend's place. From that night forward,
I always used my spot like to check before I
went outside. I never saw anything, but I did occasionally
feel like something was watching me or was close by.
I know this wasn't an actual sighting, but it was
enough to change me from being just a believer to
a knower. A few years ago, my wife and I
were invited to a dinner by old friends. The family
are Lds and have the tradition of inviting local Mormon
elders to their home on Tuesday nights for dinner. It
is a special treat for these young men who have
chosen to leave home for two years to spread their faith.
Upon arriving, we were introduced to the two young elders.
The surprise for me was that one Elder Lux was
from Springhill, Louisiana, which is just ninety miles from my
hometown of Monroe. We had a genuinely nice hour or
so of visiting and talking about home. We had much
in common, even though he was in his early twenties
and I was in my early seventies. I asked Elder
Luck if he was born in spring Hill, and was
very surprised to find that he was originally from Falk, Arkansas,
which was forty one miles away. Of course, this immediately
prompted me to ask if he had ever seen the
Fouk Monster, which was featured in the seventies movie The
Legend of Boggy Creek and other books and newspaper articles
over the last many decades. Elder Lux replied that he
had not seen the creature, but that his father had
on two occasions years apart. As a very young boy,
he and his family, who lived alongside Boggy Creek, had
on a few occasions experience some strange and frightening moments
which they attributed to the creature. As our conversation was
getting into more detail, Elder Lux and his partner had
to leave because they had another engagement for church business
that night. We reluctantly set our goodbyes. Our friend and
host promised to have them over again. As the elders left,
I was wired and in full investigation and interrogation mode.
I had been aware of this creature for many years,
and my thirty plus years as a police officer had
me compiling a list of questions so I could obtain
more details at our next visit. That visit came a
couple of weeks later, when Elder Lux and his partner
revisited our friend's home to do some genealogy work with
the help of his wife. She runs the local LDS
Family Research Center. As she helped Elder Lux's partner, he
and I sat down and I got to ask more
questions about this time in falk. This is the story
of the first encounter of Elder Lux's father, William Bill Lux, Junior,
and a little information about the area they lived in
in their homes unique location. This description will help with
understanding the story of the second encounter of the creature
and finally the family's experiences. Elder Luxe's grandfather, Bill, moved
to Falc in the mid nineteen thirties and bought twenty
acres of land about three miles south of Falk on
Arkansas Highway seventy one. This was the main north south
route from Louisiana to Arkansas. The property was heavily wooded,
as was most of the land around Falc at the time.
This thick forest area was interspersed with fields of beans, cotton, corn,
and other crops grown in that fertile area. The Lux
property was fronted by Highway seventy one one on the
west side. The north, east and south sides were heavily wooded.
Boggy Creek ran through the Lux's property east to west.
It flowed under the Highway seventy one bridge, which spanned
the creek and continued west to the Sulfur River. Mister
Lux built his home about three hundred feet north of
the creek and two hundred feet from the highway. It
is not known if mister Lux was aware of the
creek's connection to the fabled creature who used it to
traverse the country. It was nineteen fifty nine and mister
Lux Junior was eighteen years old and home on Thanksgiving
vacation from his local high school. That day in late November.
It was the day after Thanksgiving, in the first day
of deer season. Bill was hoping to get a little
honting in that day, but his father had other plans.
Projects around the farm kept him busy until almost noon.
When he finished, He made a sandwich in s stuffed
into his pocket of his hunting coat. He grabbed the
World War II surplus M one garand rifle he bought
from Sears and Robot for twelve dollars, and placed two
eight round M one charger clips into his hunting coat
pockets and grabbed a small thermos of coffee and then
threw it all into his old Ford truck. The three
family dogs had seen this scenario before and were looking
forward to the hunt the first of the season, but
Bill could not take them on this day. He was
already getting a late start, and dark came early in
the late fall, especially in the thick woods, this would
be a still hunt. It was chilly as he drove
towards his destination, an old pipeline cut that ran north
south through heavy woods about ten miles east of Bill's home.
Most of the leaves had been blown from the trees
by the cold winds. The grass was brown but still high.
On the pipeline. Bill had first he'd seen the cut
one summer when fishing from the highway bridge that crossed it.
He had noticed that several deer crossed it during the
hours while he fished. He had made a note to
give it a try come deer season. It was about
half past one pm when Bill reached the cut. He
crossed the bridge and parked his truck off the highway.
He took out his rifle, grabbed his thermos, stuck it
in his hunting coat pocket, and crossed the road to
the north side of the bridge and looked over the cut.
It was much lower than it looked from the bridge.
It was about three hundred feet wide and miles long,
disappearing into the distance. He understood why the oil companies
used small airplanes to inspect the cut and check for leaks.
Once on the flat ground of the cut, he loaded
his rifle with eight cartridges and began walking north away
from the highway. The stiff, knee high weeds and grass
made quite a bit of noise as it rubbed against
his thick canvas hunting trail. He moved to the south
side of the cut, nearer the tree line, looking for
a good place to hold up and do his hunt.
About a half mile from the road, he found a
place where he could see easily in both directions, and
if necessary, safely fire back towards the highway. Bill could
see well from his vantage point, about ten feet into
the brush off the side of the pipeline. It was quiet.
A wind high in the trees was rustling the leaves
that had not yet fallen. An hour passed, Nothing moved
except an occasional car on the highway half a mile away.
He ate some of his sandwich and drank a little
coffee to warm him up. He noticed the shadows of
the trees above him were getting longer as they moved
over and away from his side of the cut. It
was now near three point thirty pm. He had been
there two hours. He thought, I cannot wait much longer.
It was getting cold, and he didn't want to be
getting home at dark. There would be evening chores to
do and supper. He would wait another half hour and
then he would leave. Something moved on the other side
of the cut, which was still in the late afternoon sun.
Bill didn't move. He estimated he was about two hundred
yards away to the south of what attracted his attention.
Now it moved again, he could see it. It was
a deer. It was a dough. She trotted out of
the woods and then turned her head and looked back
as if she was waiting, and in a moment another
dough joined her in the cut. They moved cautiously further
into the open, constantly checking behind them. Then like a shot,
both turned and sprang into full run and into the
woods on Bill's side of the pipeline. They were trying
to get away from something, possibly a buck. Bill thought
mating season for white tail deer is October through December
in the south. Bill waited and thought, oh, let it
be a big buck. Shortly he saw more movement where
the deer had come from. Whatever it was, it did
not come out completely into view, but enough for Bill
to see that it was darker and not the color
of a deer. A few seconds later, it walked out
into the edge of the sunlit trees, and it was
not a deer. It was upright like a man. It
was dark brown from head to toe. Its arms were
longer than a man's, and it was tall. Its knees
were much higher in the grass which came to Bill's
lower thighs, and it was not overly heavy. It looked
up and down the cut slowly, like one would do
before crossing a street, and Bill froze. And then it
started at a fast walk and crossed the cut in
a noticeably short time. It was going the same direction
that the deer had gone. Bill stood there for some time,
and he thought, what was that? At no time did
he ever think about shooting at it? And then he
thought where did it go? Oo? Did it continue through
the woods after the deer, or did it turn north
away from me? Or south towards me? Suddenly the cold
did not bother him. Bell listened as hard as he could,
but he couldn't hear anything. It was big and fast.
Surely if it were coming his way, he would hear
the rustling of the dry leaves all around him. He
decided he needed to get out of there. It was
getting on close to dark and he didn't want to
be there. Then Bell decided to head back towards the road,
but walked at the edge of the trees, thinking maybe
there could be another one across the cut and it
would see me if I were in the open. But
the going was slow and noisy through the edge of
the woods, so he decided to move into the center
of the cut. At least he would have some warning
if it came out, maybe have a bit of time
to defend himself. Bill moved to the center of the
cut and he started walking fast, continually turning his head
like it was on a swivell rifle at the ready,
safety off, and around. Chambered all the way back to
the truck. His heart was pounding, he was sweating from
fear and exertion despite the cold air. Once he made
it to the road, Bill turned back, using his higher
vantage point to see if he was being followed, but
he saw nothing. He walked to the truck, threw his
loaded rifle into the cab, something he never did, and
then he drove home. When Bill got home, he unloaded
the rifle, checked with his dad to let him know
that he was back, and started on his evening chores.
He said nothing to his family about what he had
seen at supper. When asked if he had seen any
deer at the cut, and if he thought it might
be a good place to hunt. He only said that
he had seen too dough and he didn't think he
would be hunting there again. According to Elder Lux, his
father did not talk about his sighting until several years
later when he over heard others at the Foulk General's
store talking about and increased sightings of the creature. When
he did talk about the incident, it was only to
his family. In nineteen sixty five, Bill saw the creature again.
This time it was closer to home, and this time
he was not alone. Six years had passed since Bill
Lux Junior had his sighting on the pipeline cut. He
had not gone back there since that time, and a
lot had changed. His father had passed away, leaving Bill
to support his mother and two sisters and run the
farm alone. Bill took a part time job and foult
to make ends meet, and Bill also got married. He,
along with his new wife and younger sister, lived in
a house that his grandfather built next to Highway seventy
one and alongside Boggy Creek. Bill's oldest sister had married
a few months earlier and moved to Springhill, Louisiana with
her husband. Bill's mother spent most of her time in
spring Hill, which is forty miles away. Locally, there was
more talk of sightings of the creature and of footprints
left in beanfields, as well as strange cries back in
the deep woods and along the network of creeks around Fout.
There were also reports of damaged fences and buildings, as
well as missing farm animals. One Saturday afternoon in January
of nineteen sixty five, Bill was working on his old truck,
which was parked in the front yard just a few
feet from his front door. His youngest sister and his
wife were in the house. Bill had his head under
the hood of the old vehicle, trying to discern its
latest malady. It wasn't until his little feist dog had
gotten between his feet that he noticed its shaking and whimpering.
Bill looked around and he saw nothing, thinking it was
frightened by another dog, a skunk, a raccoon, or any
matter of critter that passes through the farm at times,
but he still didn't see anything. Bill returned to his work,
but the dog continued to whine. Bill looked under the
truck and he saw nothing. He walked around the truck
and saw nothing. He then noticed the dog was staring
off across the road, which was about two hundred feet
from the front of the house. Bill looked carefully at
the tree line just on the other side of the pavement. There,
next to a large oak tree, and somewhat in the shadows,
was something stooping down watching Bill and the dog. He
could tell it was large because of the size of
the tree it was near. Bill tried not to give
away the fact that he had seen it, and he
scolded the dog and moved back to the front of
the truck where he could look through the lower windshield
and rear window to the woods on the other side
of the road. It was still there, this time, it
appeared to be sitting and watching. Bill called out quietly
to his wife and his sister, asking one of them
to bring him his rifle, which he kept beside his bed,
and to put it just inside the open front door.
Bill explained what was happening, and he told them to
carefully look out the window towards the large tree across
the road, and they both saw it. Bill picked up
the little dog and went into the house, and he
closed the front door after a delay of only a
minute or so. He looked through the blinds of the window.
The space next to the tree was empty. Bill picked
up his rifle and went from window to window, checking
all four sides of the house in case the creature
came across the road onto the property, and he saw nothing.
Bill estimated that the creature had been watching him for
twenty minutes. The dog had been whining for at least
ten minutes before Bill checked on him and saw the
shadow next to the tree. This was the last time
Bill saw the creature, but not the last time it
would bring fear into their home. Over the next nine years,
sightings continued around Falk and reached a peak in nineteen
seventy four that got to the point where Bill installed
floodlights on the corners of his house that would illuminate
the yard for some one hundred feet away. He had
the local power company put a light pole in his
front yard with a bright light that would burn all night.
He trimmed down the grass in small trees for two
hundred feet around the house. For Bill and his family,
there would be more occasions when they felt afraid. Each
started much like the last, always at night. The three
family dogs which slept outside the house and were known
to chase anything on four legs, would begin wailing and
barking and bashing into the front screen door, warning to
get in. One of the family would open the door
and almost get knocked down by the dogs, who would
go behind the couch or under a bed. The door
would be locked, blinds would be drawn if they weren't already,
and all four spotlights would be turned on. Bill and
one of his sons would pick up their weapons and
go from window to window while the rest of the
family sat quietly in the center of the dimly lit house.
The progress of what was moving around outside could be
tracked by watching the dogs. Their noses always pointed towards
Boggy Creek, their heads slowly turned following what they were
hearing and smelling. Once it was gone, they quit shivering
and they came out from their hiding places. In the
year two thousand, Bill and the family decided that they
had had enough of farming and of the small town,
uneasy life of Falk. They followed Bill's sister and moved
to spring Hill. They joined the LDS Church there, and
later the elder would be born. Sightings around Falk continued
into the nineties, and on occasion they had still today,
the old farmhouse Bill's grandfather built is no longer there.
It's been replaced by a single wide trailer far back
away from the road. The fields are there too, but
most of the timber around the old lux farm is
now cut and the field grows rows of soybeans. Old
Highway seventy one still there, although the new highway has
been built to speed along those folks going from Louisiana
to Arkansas. And the creek Boggy Creek is still there
just as it has been for centuries, and the creature will.
Some of those who still live around Fout say he's
still out there too. Thank you for listening to the podcast.
I really do appreciate you, and we will see you
guys on the next one. Thank you.