Speaker 1: My name is Daniel. I'm an Englishman living in Bordeaux,
France for the last twenty two years. In March of
twenty fourteen, I flew to America to receive prophetic counseling
in cored Aileen, Idaho. I think i'll pronounce that right,
cor Couer d Aileen cord Deleen court queer d Alleen.
I don't know how to say it. I decided to
check out this place on YouTube before leaving, and I
was surprised to see videos of si squatch sightings in
the margin. Since I was an infant, I've always been
fearful of all things paranormal, and I became fearful of
seeing a sisquatch while I was in Idaho. I'm thankful
that I did not see one. I enjoyed the beauty
of the area and the kindness of its people for
the two weeks duration of my stay. It was a
very pleasant memory. I then flew to Los Angeles for
two weeks to meet a friend from Facebook whom I
had never met in the flesh. I couldn't stay in
her house as there was no room, so I asked
a lady who I had met in Bordeaux several months earlier,
who lived not far away, if I could stay at
her place. The lady lives in Santa Clarita, a small
commune about forty five minutes from Los Angeles. I slept
in the guest bedroom adjacent to the garage. Behind the house.
Nearby is a golf course and, if I recall correctly,
a small field. I didn't see much in the way
of forest. One night, I think it was the seventeenth
or eighteenth of March. In my sleep, I suddenly found
myself in the garage in the darkness. Just a few
feet in front of me stood what I instantly knew
to be a sy squatch. It was between seven and
eight tall. I was petrified. He let out something verbal.
It wasn't a full blown roar. It was kind of
a mix between a roar and a warble. I don't
know what it yelled to me, and I received no
translation in my mind, but it seemed to be some
kind of a warning. Again, I was petrified, and I
yelled back what I had just heard, my best sisquatch warble. Instantly,
I found myself back in my room, sweating and trembling.
I woke up and I turned the light on and
there was nothing there. I don't recall if I opened
the door immediately and saw there was nothing in the garage,
or if I waited until the morning. Scratching my head.
I put it down in my mind as playing tricks
on me due to my fears. Two days later, I
was in the kitchen with my host talking and she said,
a couple of nights ago, I heard this strange creature
outside my house. My mind instantly clicked and I realized
that I needed to verify this. Did it sound like this?
I asked, and gave off my best squatch roar warble.
She looked at me with a kind of a how
did you know? In her eyes and said, yes, just
outside her bedroom window is a field. She had literally
heard a sound coming from a flesh and blood creature,
while I heard it only in spirit. The memory of
what happened is in some ways vague and hazy, and
in some ways remains etched in my mind. It is
clear to me that I had a spiritual experience rather
than a flesh and blood experience, so I've never relived
the fear that I experienced that night. As with many
sisquatch encounters, it leaves more questions that answers. Did God
allow this experience to reveal the truth of the existence
of sisquatch? I don't know. Did dark forces send this
thing to harm me and God protected me from it?
I don't know that either. Who transported us both into
the garage, God, the devil or the Sasquatch? I don't know,
but it is clear to me from the experience that
sisquatch are a paranormal phenomenon and that they are interdimensional beings.
Shortly after, I drove to Sequoia National Park and then
onto Yosemite National Park. Arriving at the entrance to Yosemite,
I casually asked the lady park ranger who I was
buying my ticket from, do you have any Sasquatch here?
She said, I do believe we have a couple here.
As a matter of Factly, I was on my own
and went about tree knocking, but I heard and saw nothing.
I had not heard of David Plaudus then and had
no idea so many people go missing in Yosemite. I
guess I must have received divine protection. Again. Back in France,
I joined the Bigfoot UK Facebook page and I recounted
my story. Most of the people claimed that I had
simply had a dream. Others insisted that the sasquatch are
only flesh and blood, so I left the group. I
was surprised by some of the nasty ways in which
people responded, Oh, brother, you have no idea. You really
have no idea until you start a YouTube channel. But
I digress. A close study of scripture reveals that many
other things can happen during the night season besides dreams.
I did have one interesting conversation though, with a nice
young lady from the UK who knows someone who regularly
visits with sisquatch in a UK forest. The lady claimed
there are seven species of sisquatch. I do not doubt
that sisquatch are a form of the nephilum according to
Genesis six, and are connected to other paranormal nephilin phenomenon.
It would seem that depending on the species sasquatch or
everything from human friendly to man eating, Some seem more earthbound,
while others are mostly other dimensional, occasionally visiting Earth. It
seems that sisquatch, like humans, can be cursed and find
themselves run over by trucks or shot. These are just
my thoughts and observations aside from my own brief experience.
Thanks for reading my story, Dixie, I certainly appreciate it.
Yours sincerely, Daniel Verdeaux, France. Daniel, you hit the nail
on the head, brother, You got in a Facebook group.
That's your first big mistake. You can't tell people the truth.
And you would think you would think you could. You
would think, Okay, well, I'm going to join a bigfoot
group online and I'll be able to discuss my encounter
and get some good, positive, constructive feedback. But no, brother,
I'm telling you that's not possible. It's not possible because
everybody's an expert on sosquatch. But I really appreciated this story,
and I've even said on this channel that I can't
I can't make it jib in my mind that these
things are paranormal because the only basis for anything in
my life is it's based on what I can see, feel, smell, hear,
all the normal senses that a person uses. Something that
is paranormal, that's big and Harry in the Woods just
does not jib in my head. But that does not
mean it's not real. I just can't see it, and
so don't everybody start commenting that I'm ruling that out.
I'm not. It just doesn't make sense. It makes more
sense to me that they would be flesh and blood.
But I would never get on a Facebook group or
in the comment section or whatever and belittle someone for
believing or saying. I mean, they're telling you they had
this experience. It's no different than someone saying they saw
a bigfoot run across the road in front of their car.
This guy saw it in a supernatural way. The other
person may have seen it in a supernatural way, and
it just appeared to be real. Anyway, it just gave
me a chance to kind of rib on the buttholes
out there who just hammer everybody. Look, the biggest enemy
the bigfoot community has is not the federal government. It's
the Bigfoot community itself. That's the worst enemy of this
whole topic. I'm just glad I'm off here just in
my little corner telling stories. That's all I do. I
don't get into that research stuff. I don't you know.
I told you about the Beast Facebook page where they've
got videos from lb Elvis past weekend. They've got perfect
tracks in the mud from water. That's that's been drawn
down on the Tennessee River at Lake Barkley, and they've
got these perfect tracks and you can see. I'm on
their Facebook page. I talked about the video that Bob
Gimmelin showed into just a just a video he uploaded
just less than a week ago, and all of his
commentary on that. And I know there are people that
are gonna just squash all that stuff. They're gonna say
the footprints are a hoax, and they're gonna say that
that so and so is a hoax. But they're gonna
consider themselves in the Bigfoot community. Okay, I'm ranting. I'm sorry.
I shouldn't rant, but it just drives me nuts. It
drives me nuts. And again that's why I'm just happy
off here in my little corner telling stories. Here, we
all are off at our little corner. They're weird and wonderful,
just enjoying these stories. And that's where I'm gonna stay.
That's where I'm gonna stay. All right, enough of that,
here's an email from Robert I got some time back.
It's a little different. It's not even a Bigfoot story,
but it's a scary story and it's about a cryptid
and it's got a twist to it that I think
will make you scratch your head. So let's get into
it here. Robert writes. I was raised on a twelve
hundred and fifty acre farm on an island off the
coast of South Carolina. The farm had six hundred acres
of cleared land which we farmed, and the rest was
forested with a large swamp that ran through it. When
I wasn't working on the farm, which to a young boy,
seemed like all the time, I would spend as much
time as possible hunting in the swamp. I hunted everything
in season. My dad taught me at a young age
how to hunt safely, and to take care of my
guns and how to shoot. One time, he gave me
three shotgun shells and he told me that he wanted
some squirrels to eat. I remember thinking three squirrels wasn't
a lot. As I headed out the door, and he said,
I want five nice ones. I looked at my mother
and she whispered back, catch them together in the trees.
My dad was one who didn't believe in wasting anything.
Why waste five shots when three would work. These type
of challenges made me an excellent shot. I loved shooting
and became an excellent shot. As a matter of fact,
my dad would often get bets going with people that
were new to our hunt club to challenge me. Whether
it was with a shotgun, a rifle, or a pistol,
I always won. It made me proud the way my
dad would brag about my shooting skills. In the fall
of nineteen sixty six, I was sixteen years old. My mother,
my older brother, and my older sister, and I were
playing a board game in the kitchen. I believe it
was Monopoly. My dad was at my uncle's house helping
him work on a tractor. It was already dark outside,
but the moon was bright enough that you could still
see pretty well. On dark nights, I like to lie
back on the hood of the old pickup truck and
look up at the stars. The night sky was so beautiful,
so full of stars, that the sky almost looked white
stars that today are drowned out by light pollution. Since
there was a full moon that night, I stayed inside
and I played the game with the rest of the family.
I wasn't very good at board games, and I lost
most of the time. I guess that's why my mother
didn't mind me looking at the stars on game nights.
That night, our dogs started barking outside. We had a
shepherd at the time, and he stayed inside almost all
the time, and he was growling and looking at the door,
and his hackles were up. I remember saying, it's probably
that possum trying to get at the chickens. Again. My
mother told me to take the gun out and get
rid of this thing. So I grabbed up my twenty
two rifle, my spotlight, and I headed out the door.
Rex was at the door when I got there, and
I thought that he would find the possum real quick,
so I'll let him come out with me. Rex could
dispense of it fast and I could sneak a cigarette.
Rex ran out the door onto the porch, but he
stopped at the top step. I thought he was waiting
on me, so I stepped past him. Come on, boy,
I said, as I stepped off the porch. Rex just
stood there, staring into the field. Back then, we didn't
have any problems with codies on the island, but there
were plenty of bobcats, fox raccoons and other small predators
that would occasionally get into the chickens. At times, we
would hear what sounded like a woman screaming in the
woods down by the swamp, but my dad said that
it was probably just a bobcat. There was the occasional
sighting of a black panther by some of the island folk,
and that included myself and my dad, but the game
wardens said that there weren't ever any panthers on that island.
Yeah right. I shined the light out across the field
and I didn't see anything. Our front porch based out
across a fifteen acre field where we often saw deer
in the evenings and early mornings. My mother forbid us
to hunt those deer while they were in the yard.
The driveway stopped at the side of the house and
was about one hundred and fifty yards long before it
entered the woods, and another one hundred yards or so
before it came out at the highway. Rex had turned
around and he was at the door, whining, wanning back in,
and he would not leave the porch no matter how
much I called him. This caused a chill to run
down my back. I shined the light around again and
still saw nothing. Rex could see or sense something that
I couldn't I did know that. I asked my brother
to come out with me. I went back in for
my pistol and a different rifle. As I walked back
through the kitchen, my brother said, damn, there must be
a big possum to need that big rifle. I told
him what had happened, and my brother said, I'll come
with you. My brother was an excellent shot as well.
I felt relieved. As we walked out the door, my
mother said, you boys, be careful. My brother tried to
get Rex to follow me, but he was cowering under
the kitchen table and he would not move. My brother
had his thirty six and a three point fifty seven
magnum and a spotlight. When we went out, the chickens
were quiet and nothing was bothering them, so we figured
the problem wasn't there. The outside dogs were still barking
like crazy now, so we walked around the house towards
the driveway. My mother and sister walked out onto the
porch to see what was going on, and it was
then that my brother said, oh, hell, do you see that?
Out across the yard by the driveway, close to the woods,
were three large black panthers. Two of them were very
large and the other a bit smaller than the rest.
My sister and my mother walked around the side of
the porch by this time, and we're all so seeing
the same thing. My sister said to me, hand me
your light and I'll keep it on them so you
can get a shot. I handed her my light. She
rested it on the porch rail to keep it steady.
My mother did the same for my brother. My brother
took the one on the left, and I chose the
big one in the middle. My brother said on three,
and my sister slowly counted down one, two, three, and
both rifles fired at the same time. My mother said
she could see both of the large cats get hit.
The one my brother shot collapsed on the ground and
the one I shot flipped over backwards and fell to
the ground too. Our eyes were adjusting from the flash
of the rifle, and everything was real quiet, and like
someone had turned a switch. Both spotlights went out at
the same time, along with every light in the house.
We lost all power to our house. We all ran
back inside the house. Once inside, my mother shut and
locked the doors. My sister lit an oil lantern that
we had for power outages. It was totally silent outside.
The outside dogs were quiet now, and after about five
minutes the lights all came back on, and that included
the two spotlights that were laying on the coffee table.
Now we just stood there and looked at each other.
My mother walked out the living room towards the bedroom,
and she said for everyone to go to the kitchen
table and to turn those two lights off, pointing at
the spotlights. A few minutes later, she walked into the
kitchen with an oil lantern still lit, placing it in
the middle of the table. She sat down and she
started reading from the Bible in Psalms. No one said
a word. We just sat there and we listened to
her read. We stayed up all night listening to her read.
Once it was it was light enough to see well
enough outside, my mother blew out the lantern. My brother
and I grabbed a couple of shotguns and we filled
our pockets with buckshot and we walked outside. This time,
Rex followed us out. He didn't seem afraid like he was,
which helped soothe us a little bit. We rounded the
corner of the porch and started up the driveway. Towards
the area we had seen the large cats. My mother
and sister on the porch were watching, and my sister
holding my mother's bible in her hands. After fifty yards
of walking or so, my brother and I stopped and
looked at each other. Where were the cats? We both
hit our targets last night. There was no way that
we missed, not both of us. But there was nothing
on the ground. My brother said maybe the small one
dragged him into the woods. So with shotguns at the ready,
we walked to the spot where the cats had been.
The ground was torn up with scratches all over the ground,
but there was no blood. Thirty yards away was the
open field that I had cut with a disk the
day before. In that field, we saw three sets of
large cat prints walking across towards the back end of
the field. The prints at first seemed to be dragging something,
and then they all cleared up and everything became normal.
The scariest part to us was the tracks went maybe
forty or fifty feet or so into the field and
just stopped. There was no backtracking, no forward, no sideways,
no nothing. They just ended like the cats had vanished,
fresh plowed ground and no tracks was all we could see.
My dad came home that morning around ten am. He
and my uncle had worked all night fixing that tractor.
We told him what had happened, and he asked which
way the cats had headed. I told him back towards
the big oaks in the corner, but the tracks stop
way short of getting there. He said that when his
his dad, my granddad, had bought this farm when he
was a young man, he was told there was an
old graveyard in that area with about three hundred slaves
buried there under those oaks. He said that he was
told they had all died from malaria, and over the years,
strange things had happened in that area, and that those
cats had been seen before by that family. Over the years,
several years went by before anyone ever saw those cats again,
just like before they showed up the first time, you
could hear what sounded like a woman screaming down in
the swamp. We saw that far many years ago, and
I miss it dearly for many reasons. All of the
family that were there that night have all passed away now,
so there's no one left to be worried about what
people would say about this story. There's only me left,
and I'm now sixty eight years old. I'm married, and
I even have great grandkids. I love to listen to
the stories that you tell, and I enjoy them very much.
They bring back memories of days gone by. There are
people that listen to these stories that may say this
is a bunch of bull, but those of us who
have lived those stories, we know better. Keep up the
good work, brother, and maybe next time I get the chance,
I'll tell you some of the other strange things from
that old farm. God bless sign. Robert, Oh, Robert. I've
loved some more of those stories. But you know this
is namely a bigfoot channel now, but this was so
good I had to share that with y'all. And I
don't know what the deal is with these big cats.
I've heard them. I remember years ago being in we
had duck hunted all day long. We were tired and
it was dark and my boys and I and some
other guys we hunted with. We had stopped in this
little store in Cash, Arkansas, and we were just getting
some blooney sandwiches and stuff and about head home. And
there was an old man in there and he was
going on and on about this old this big old
black cat that he had seen cross a ditch. Now
northeast Arkansas is not real wooded. Most of the woods
have been cut down and it's like a flat as
a pancake delta. There's little patches of woods here and there.
But he swore he saw a big black panther cross
a ditch and go into a little patch of trees.
There was another guy, I think it was his son
in there, and he was that wasn't no damn panther.
That was my black lab. He had gotten out and
he was running, running those ditches and he went up
in those woods. But this old man just stuck with
his story and he said, I saw that black cat.
I know what it was. He was like looking at us, going,
y'all believe me, don't you. We were like, oh yeah, sure,
sure we do. We just wanted our blowny sandwiches and
to get home. But I don't know what the deal
is with these black cats. I hear these stories all
the time, you know. And I said in a previous
video that I know guys who are getting catching images
of them on trail camps. They are not black. They
look like mountain lions in the out West, but apparently
they're here. I don't know about the black Ones. But anyway,
I'm just babbling on and let's go ahead and end
this up. Robert, this is a great story. It took
about a year for me to get to this. I
hope you, hope you listen in. I'll send you an email.
Make sure you know it's in this it's in this
video or Robert, is a great story. I really appreciate you.
Here's an email from Bobby and here's what he says.
I live in North Carolina in Anson County. I didn't
grow up here. I grew up in an adjacent county.
I've lived here for thirty five years, on my land
that my grandfather left me from his estate. It has
a pond and many acres of woods on it. My
track is in the middle of seven tracks that are
owned by other family members, and they're primarily wooded areas.
Now fifty six years old, so nothing has ever surprised me,
well until now. I've always let my chickens range out
during the day to forage. In the evening before sunset,
they would always return to their pen and I would
shut them up at night. So the coyotes wouldn't get
them well, they stopped going back into their pin in
September of twenty and nineteen. I could catch them and
put them up, but they would fly back out, so
they could sit on the ground right beside the dog
kennel with two of my dogs, about fifty feet from
their house. This was odd to me because I thought
they would be safer from the coyotes in their pin.
But I got tired of catching them for nothing, so
I just left them out. I had also noticed that
the coyotes had ceased calling out at night, or even
maybe they had left the area. They were a permanent
fixture here for years, and with the coyotes gone, I
figured the chickens would be safe saf outside overnight. After all,
I did keep a dog beside the chicken pen so
he could guard the chickens and keep the wildlife away.
This pen was one hundred feet from our house and
surrounded by trees. My dog there was constantly running back
and forth at night, barking non stop. We thought it
was deer since there are so many around here, so
we weren't concerned about us barking. About the same time
that the chickens started their routine my wife and I
started smelling decomposition and wet dog. We have a lot
of deer and we live close to the road, so
we attributed the decomposition smell to deer that had been
hit by vehicles and died in the woods near our house.
But we never ever saw a deer carcass. The smell
would come and go over time. This continued until July
of twenty twenty, when I had the experience of hearing
thumping on a tree in the woods behind our greenhouse
while I was cutting wood one day. It was a
pattern of one two three four, one two one two
three in that sequence. Then there was a pause and
the pattern would start again. I felt like I was
being watched too. I would listen to the knox for
a while, and then I decided to answer it myself
on the red tip beside the dog kennel. After doing
three sets of these thumps, the sounds from the woods stopped.
I went back to cutting wood. On Sunday, September the
twenty seventh, twenty twenty, I went out to feed the
dogs and cats, and I found my dog in the
hog pen dead. I found him exactly where he had
slept in the pin with his neck broken and his
head twisted around looking backwards. His eyes were open with
his right front leg dislocated pointing back over his show.
I went back inside our house and I told my
wife what I had found. My wife is a forensic
anthropologist with crime scene investigation training, so she was intrigued.
She found the entry point over the barbed wire that
was ripped down, and impressions inside the pen on solid ground.
She even found a footprint just outside the pen that
we took several cell phone pictures of. After our investigation,
we buried my dog and we had a somber day
of disbelief. The next morning, I went out to our
greenhouse to put a water jug in. Again, I had
the feeling that I was being watched. When I exited
the greenhouse, my chickens came running, hoping that I would
give them some cracked corn like I usually did. About
halfway to the corn bend, I heard a grunt behind
the greenhouse, and then I smelled that terrible odor, and
I froze in my tracks. The chickens also froze and
stretched their necks high, looking in the direction of that sound.
They didn't move until I did. I went ahead and
fed them the corn, and I walked back to the
house and sat down in the swing on our patio.
This was unnerving because I know what deer and wild
hogs sound like when they grunt, and this was neither.
That afternoon, I decided to put some lights in the
backyard near the hog pen, because we had no security
lights out there. While installing the lights, I sensed again
that I was being watched and that odor was back.
I install the lights, and the other dogs have stopped
barking towards the woods at night, and everything seems to
have calmed down. Back in the nineteen seventies, I used
to hear horrible screams back in the woods where I hunted.
It always happened when someone was with me. I don't
know this again magnificance of that, but at least there
were witnesses. It happened frequently enough that we stopped hunting
that area. Now we hunt closer to the road, and
from the seventies until now, there's been nothing out of
the ordinary going on here. And this recent activity with
my chickens and my dog being killed has changed me
in a way that I don't understand. I've never been
afraid of being out in the woods, but I'm a
bit jumpy now. I never work outside without a gun.
I haven't told anyone the latest things that have happened.
I'm waiting to see if anyone else has had a
similar experience. Thanks for your channel and hopefully understanding that
I'm not crazy, Bobby, You're not crazy. You're not crazy
at all. I hear this stuff all the time. I've
never experienced it, but apparently people have these type of
experiences all the time, and I think I've only got
one or two stories up with where Bigfoot was suspected
in killing a dog. That's the part about this story
that breaks my heart because I love dogs, and I
hate the fact that your dog was killed in such
a violent way. Maybe he never felt it sounds like
it was pretty quick. So but I'm sorry about the
loss of your dog, and it sounds like you got
bigfoot activity there. I don't know if there's anybody in
your area you can call or know that might be
able to help you, And I don't know if they
could even help you if they knew about it. But
this experience is not uncommon. I mean, people that have
bigfoot on their property I mean, I think these kind
of things happen a lot. I really appreciate you sharing
this with us, Bobby. You did a good job right
in it, and it's very clear we can all see
what's going on. Thanks Buddy,