Speaker 1: I was returning to my hometown after being abroad for
almost a decade. I was going from one of the
most populated cities in Southeast Asia, where I had managed
to survive some nine years traversing endless seas of people,
subway stations, and taxis, and I was going back to
my small town routes in North Carolina. To say I
was looking forward to my return trip would be an understatement.
I'm a country boy at heart, and even in the
big city, I never lost that part of me. One
of the first things on my long to do list
was to get out to my parents' cabin and break
out some fishing poles around dusk and catfish long into
the night. Fishing had been a big part of my
life and my favorite pastime before going abroad, and I
couldn't wait to cast out get a line into the water.
On my first night out to the cabin, I did
just that. It was a glorious night. I could not
have dreamed of better conditions. It was a warm summer's
evening with fair skies and almost a full moon, absolutely
perfect for fishing. There was no question that I was
going to do some fishing down by the dock even
though my father had warned me it was pretty shallow
out there. The water could have been inches deep. For
all I cared. I just wanted to go fishing, so
that's what I did. I set up my pole, and
I walked down to the dock, and I ready myself
a nice comfortable spot with my pole rigged up in
my first cold beer open and lying out in the water.
I sat back and took a moment. Finally I was
in my personal little heaven. As I sat there, I
decided to get out my camera and take a few
shots of the moon in the cabin. I've been taking
a lot of photos in general, as I had no
idea when I'd be getting back again once trip was over.
I'd only been sitting there thirty minutes when off high
and to the west, I could see a red ball
of light moving and descending rapidly down in my direction.
I didn't have time to think about what it was,
or if it was a plane or a drone or
anything I knew of. It obviously wasn't. It was a
plasma like red ball, about the size of a grapefruit,
and it seemed to admit its own dull, deeply red
light and it would change shape as it appeared to
react to the gravity of its movements. As it got
to about fifty yards from me, it began to slow down, Thankfully.
At this point, my instinct was to get the camera,
so I began taking pictures of the orb as it
slowly descended approximately thirty yards away to my left toward
the water. I managed to zoom in on it and
zoom out, feverishly taking photos as it stopped and hovered
about three feet above the water. It hovered there for
five seconds, and then it sped off to my left
toward the bank and into the woods. That's where I
lost sight of it. I can't say that I was scared.
I really can't say if my feelings were positive or negative,
but something told me to call it a night. Back
at the cabin, I took a shower, and I picked
up my phone to message my wife, who was waiting behind,
to tell her that I was okay, and chat a
bit before going to bed. We chatted about how our
days had gone and what we'd done. Of course, who
could top of UFO siding right? I told my wife
what had happened, knowing she'd laugh and not believe me.
She'd think I was kidding with her, as I often
do about everything, only this time I wasn't kidding, and
I had the photos to back it up. I randomly
chose five photos of the fifteen or twenty that I
had taken of the orb and I texted them her.
Had I not after the following day, they would have
all been lost at the bottom of the lake over
which they had been taken. The following morning, at the cabin,
I woke up hungry, as I'd gotten in the late
that evening before, and I'd missed supper. I can't say
I was jazzed up about my sighting and the photos
that I had. At most, I figured i'd share a
few photos on Facebook and other social media outlets. It's
just something interesting that happened on my trip. After breakfast,
I told my father what had happened, and I handed
him my phone to scroll through the photos that I
had taken. And you'd have to know my father to
understand his reaction, but I could tell he believed it,
and after all, there were photos to prove it. I
put my phone away and began the rest of the day.
After all, I had more fishing to do and Facebook
would still be there when I was done. I used
the rest of the day to fish and help out
around the cabin a bit. I wanted to prepare an
old canoe my father had for another catfishing excursion, this
time using the canoe in deeper waters where I knew
the big fish were well. Day turned into night and
I was already prepared for my journey at chicken livers
and fishing poles, my tackle box and life jacket and lights,
and of course a shotgun. There were a lot of
snakes out this year. Who knows whatever else was out there.
I also packed my smartphone, which would remain at the
red ege, just in case my little red friend decided
to pay another visit. I set out for deeper waters
where the larger fish lay, not so far from the
dock of the cabin, just far out enough to get
past the sandbar in the wash out from the creek
which ran into Haiko Lake. I had rolled out about
one hundred yards and I decided to set an anchor
and ten feet of water, and I baited the hook
of one of the fishing with my trusty chicken liver,
and I began to rig up a second pole. No
sooner had I had the second pole rigged. My first
pole had a bite and it was something big, so
I set the hook. The fight was on, but the
catfish had a secret weapon, my anchor rope. He swam
around the rope of my anchor, making me shift my
body in order to try to get to the anchor
and get it up, while hopefully somehow managing to still
land this fish. Looking back, it was perhaps an overestimation
of my own rusty abilities. I should have let go
immediately in the melee, I lost the ever so delicate
balancing act of canoe fishing and capsized. I emerged from
the water the canoe completely turned over, with all the
contents eight to ten feet underneath me. I turned the
canoe back over, and with a little help from my
small plastic container of chicken livers, I managed to bail
out enough water to keep it floating. That catfish won
the battle, but I had more important things on my mind,
like finding all the items I knew were somewhere at
the bottom of the lake. And one by one I
dove down and I found each item. The shotgun was
one of the more tricky ones, as it camouflaged itself
quite nicely among the sticks and branches. Finally, it was
down to my smartphone. I knew this would be tricky,
if not impossible, but half of my trip and over
three hundred photos were still on my sim card, and
I wasn't going to give up without a fight. I
must have doved down to the bottom fifty or more times,
feeling around since visibility was about zero, but I never
could emerge with the phone. I was getting tired, and
I knew that I still had one hundred yards to
cover over a sandbar with a water filled canoe. I
resigned the phone and all photos lost, and I began
the arduous task of salvaging the canoe in its contents.
The events of what happened later that night have haunted
me ever since. I returned to the dock, completely exhausted
and wanting nothing more than to hit the shower and
go to bed. I climbed the hill to the cabin
and I reached the front porch. There, I decided i'd
pause for a smoke and gathered myself before going inside.
As I sat there in the rocking chair, enjoying my Marlborough,
I got an eerie feeling of being watched. I leaned
forward in the rocking chair and I turned my head
towards the sky, hoping to see another orb. But before
my eyes could reach the stars, something else caught my attention.
Near the tops of the trees in our front yard,
I saw four hovering figures, unmistakable figures that were darker
than almost a full moonlit night, wearing dark hoods that
covered their faces. It's difficult to express what I felt
as I stood there looking at them and them looking
at me. Now, I wasn't scared, I was in complete
alle I closed my eyes and I opened them, but
they were still there and still staring at me. They
were the size of an average man, maybe a little shorter,
and they stood out brilliantly on the bright night. I
stood there for maybe a minute longer, and finally a
feeling came over me, as if I'd seen too much
and it was time for me to leave. So I
took one last drag from my cigarette and I shoved
it into the old sand bucket beside the rocking chair.
I stood up and turned my back to them, and
I walked into the cabin, where I opted out of
the shower and I went straight to bed. I've never
spoken of it since then, but what I saw that
night is seared into my memory. I know the orb
and the figures are related, but how and why where
they're from? Well, your guess is as good as mine.
The red Orb incident is a true story, and the
photos are completely real, and to this day I am
no closer to knowing what it was. I may be
in the dark about what I saw, but one thing
is completely clear to me. We are not alone. One time,
a few friends and I traveled to a bothy, which
is like an emergency shelter for hikers. We'd like to
find new ones and stay there often. We went to
I can't pronounce this smith Hup Bothy in the border
region of England and Scotland. We got there and chopped
wood and did everything you needed to do. Upon arrival,
we had a couple of drinks and we got settled
in and just when it got dark, I looked out
the door of the bothie and I could see what
looked like headlights coming from about a half a mile away.
We hid because we didn't want to be found, and
when we looked out again, the headlights joined into a
single orb and began bobbing up and down. Then it
zipped right up into the valley toward us, and we
saw it had many different colors, sort of like a
pie chart. We stood watching in amazement and trying to
guess what it was. It moved quickly in a pattern
of constant triangles, and it stayed there for a couple
of hours. Now I know this sounds stupid, but we
were actually bored looking at it. We all saw it,
but only two of us wanted to talk about it.
We listened to a football match on the radio, and
we all fell asleep early. And when we woke up
the next day, the grass in the valley had been
flattened where the ORB had been. I like your show
and I like to listen to it a lot. I
noticed you have a few UFO and ORB stories for
my part of the world, so I thought I would
write to you until you mine. Well. Thank you for
doing that. Yeah, well, I love UFO stories and ORB
stories and alien abduction stories. Send them on. Okay, listen
the podcast with a Bigfoot story. Someone left comment in
the comment section the other day said why do you
keep doing all these bigfoot stories? Want you do other stuff?
And I thought, man, that's the first time anybody has
ever said that, I do get burned out on these
Bigfoot stories. But I get it because that's kind of
how the channel originally started telling Bigfoot stories. But I
did get I did get to one to read some
some different type things, hauntings and you know other things UFOs.
We've had a couple of those in this podcast, and
I've never had anybody say that. I thought that was
pretty cool. I wonder how many people will feel that way.
You guys get burned out on Bigfoot. I do. I
like doing them, but sometimes if I can just take
a break for a podcast or two and a different story,
it kind of revives me a little bit going back
to Bigfoot. So anyway, let's end this up with a
Bigfoot story. In the mid nineteen eighties, I joined a
group of people on a hunting trip. The first morning,
we didn't get out to our hunting location until seven
point thirty, way after daylight. The location was a plateau
above miles of timber and a waterway. Several other vehicles
were already there when we arrived, and the last thing
I was going to do was walk into another hunter's
location during the daylight. The other three headed west for
the timber, and I went north as there were no
tracks in the snow headed that way. One of the
other guys warned me that I would be going into
a forty square miles of timber and swamp land, and
it was easy to get lost there perfect I told him.
I let him know I'd be hunting until dusk and
not to leave without me. I walked downhill on a
game trail for one hundred and fifty yards, and to
my right side was an entanglement of brier bushes at
least six feet high with massive thorns. It stretched from
the top of the hill, just short of the park vehicles,
all the way to the bottom of the hill. No
one in their right mind would attempt to walk through
those heavily intertwined briars, because even the heaviest protective honting
clothes would be ripped to shreds. Once I reached the
bottom of the long hill, I had a thirty foot
wide waterway to cross. Luckily, a falling tree allowed access
to the other side, but halfway across a tree branch
broke and I fell in. I managed to throw the
sling of my thirty thirty over a branch and pull
myself back up onto the log before my feet sunk
anymore into the silt in the river bottom. I made
it to the bank and I dumped the water out
of my boots and I started walking to dry myself
off on dry land again. I looked for track in
the snow, but I didn't see any. I headed for
high ground for a panoramic view, and I saw that
in the area where I crossed the log were fresh
tracks right next to me. Now, at first glance, they
appeared to be black bear tracks. It must have seen
me fall in the water and figured that it would
check me out just in case I was an easy meal.
I was wary, but I kept on high ground to
keep an eye on my surroundings. I saw some deer
heading east in front of me, but I didn't have
a good shot. After hours of little to no action,
I went back toward the water to head toward the
vehicles and my ride back. At that point in the day,
the cloud cover had become thick and the snowfall was heavy.
It was getting close to dusk, so I quickened my
pace towards the vehicles. By the time I reached the
fallen log across the waterway. The snow had turned into
a blizzard, and thankfully this time I crossed the water
without issue, though it was pitch dark at that point
with very limited visibility. When I finally made it up
the hill and passed the wall of briars to the
spot where the vehicles were parked, I realized everyone had
left without me. I was stranded in the middle of
nowhere in a blizzard. I waited for twenty minutes when
I heard a noise come from downhill. I thought it
must be another hunter from the area, but the visibility
was near zero, so I couldn't see him. I yelled
down to him, thinking it might help him find his
way up the hill, but there was no reply, so
I yelled down again. Still I got no response, but
I could hear him heading uphill toward me. He wasn't
going along the snow covered game trail, though he was
coming up through the briar patch. Now there was no
way a human could have traveled through it. Even a
bear would have avoided it. But there I stood, listening
to the briars crunching snipe under this thing's feet. Is
it took one step after another going through this impenetrable
briar patch with little effort, the way a regular person
would get through knee high grass. I yelled down again
to whatever it was, convinced at this point that I
was not dealing with a human. I got no reply,
but I did hear it stopped for a few seconds
before continuing through the briers and closer to me. I
had an experience with three bigfoot on a fishing trip once.
They were eight feet in height, totally black, but they
were friendly. But this time felt different. I was scared.
All I had was a thirty thirty, which wasn't enough
to stop a bigfoot. At best, I would be able
to fire a warning shot to hopefully change his mind
from coming in my direction. I yelled down one more time,
letting it know that I would be forced to fire
if it came any closer. Still, there was no response.
I heard it stop and then start toward me again.
I fired around near his location and listened to the
silence for a few seconds. After that, then I heard
it getting closer again. I fired another round in the
same location, and I listened to the silence again, and
then I heard the sound of it approaching once more.
If this beast was mad before, it had to be
really pissed by now. I realized my option at that
point would be to fire a headshot when it came
into view, and I backed up a few feet and
readied myself for a split second shot, listening to this
thing get closer and closer. Just then I heard something
to my right. It was a pickup truck, and it
came to a stop and I jumped in. The guy
in the back seat asked why I didn't unload my
rifle when I was supposed to, and all I could
say was, you do not want to know the answer
to that question. Lord knows what would have happened if
that pickup had not return when it did a few
seconds later, and this story would have ended a whole
lot differently. Oh, man, I bet it would have. That's
a cool story. This guy had experiences with Bigfoot before,
so apparently he knew what he was dealing with, since
this thing wasn't answering him, and he knew what it
sounded like coming through that big, thick briar patch. But
this was exciting, great story. Oh just imagine this happening
to you. It would just scare me to death. Scare
me to death, but I'm sure glad he sent the
story to us so we could all enjoy it. Hey, y'all,
thanks for listening to a podcast. Wasn't very long, but
I had a few minutes this afternoon waiting on some
answers on some questions I have on a job I'm
working on. I thought, well, I'll just keep being productive
and record a podcast. So I recorded this real quick,
edited it, and got it up for everyone to enjoy.
Me included all right, I appreciate y'all, and we'll see
you on the next one. Thanks Older added