Speaker 1: Here is a story from Katie from West Virginia. This
is a paranormal case or it's a series of paranormal
stories that I really got a kick out of. And
she writes, I've seen that you have other stories on
your channel, and I thought these might be interesting to you,
So even if you don't read them on the podcast,
please enjoy. I grew up in the mountains of West Virginia.
My grandpa was great at recounting stories from his childhood,
and it was a family pastime to sit on the
front porch or by the coal fire in the winter
and hear him tell a tale or two. These two
stories happened in Webster, West Virginia. It's a tiny area
just outside of Grafton where a lot of coal miners
and railway workers used to stay. It was between Grafton
and Philippi. When my grandma Paul was younger, he and
his brother slept in what was a large walk in
closet situated near the front of their house. He said
the wall next to their heads backed up to the
front porch. From as far back as he could remember,
he and his brother Junior would hear footsteps on the
porch at night he said it sounded like a lady
wearing high heels, pacing back and forth. As they got older,
they started playing around with it, and they were shouting
and knocking on the wall, yelling at it. And one night,
he said, his dad came in there and shouted, now,
you boys, settled down to leave that alone. That thing
has been here for as long as I have, and
it's never heard anyone. My grandpa always thought it was
a ghost of some description, and from then on they'd
lay there quietly and listened for it every night, because
nobody messed with his dad. My grandpa had an aunt
named Izzy. Izzy ran a boarding house for coal miners
not far from where we grew up in Webster. Izzy
was known to have a bit of a foul mouth
and was afraid of nothing. The big burly guys from
the coal mines never gave her a bit of trouble,
but she started getting annoyed with them when she found
that there was one room none of them wanted to
sleep in. She finally got out of them that the
covers would not stay on the bed at night, and
they would frequently leave the room in the middle of
the night to go sleep elsewhere. I remember finding that fascinating.
Since these guys had to have heard and seen some
pretty scary stuff down in those coal mines, Izzy would
have none of it. She decided she'd go sleep in
that room and show them a thing or two. After
a few nights of the covers coming off the beds,
she tucked them in under the mattress, and they'd still
fly off in the middle of the night, so she
decided to take safety pins and pin them to the mattress.
Still in the middle of the night, all the pins
had come undone and the covers were on the floor.
The boys staying there said that they could hear her
cussing whatever it was, you damn sons of bitches. She
wasn't afraid of nothing. And I don't know whatever happened
after that, but I've always wished I had known old
Aunt Izzie. And finally, having moved away from West Virginia
a long time ago, I now live in Scotland. My
friends and I like to watch podcasts like yours and
freak ourselves out from time to time. My friend Jen
recounted a story from a man in her village near Pennicook.
She said many years ago when he was a young man,
he would walk home around midnight from a local pub
up on an old country lane, and on occasion he
would see a big black dog with red eyes sitting
on one of the rock walls in the area. He
said he never paid it any mine, because the legend
had it that the dog would show up to protect you.
As creepy as that was. Once we all finished shuddering
at the thought of a spectral dog in the middle
of nowhere in Scotland, we looked at each other and
we said, what on earth is that dog protecting you from?
And I hope I'll never find out anyway, there you go.
I hope I've provided some good fodder and I love
your podcast and the interviews you've done. Keep them coming.
Signed Katie, Katie, that was so such a good little
series of stories. I really appreciate you saying that I've
had this for a long time and I've neglected some
of these paranormal stories, but they are so good and
I'm just going to do them on this channel like
it or not. Paranormal stories are just as good as
bigfoot stories. Thank you, Katie. Okay, this is a story.
This is a little bit of a non typical story.
There's no huge theme here or any kind of point
climax in the story that will shock you. But it's
a really fun email from a gentleman in Atlanta that
I read a couple of weeks ago, and I thought,
I'm gonna put this in a podcast because it's really
kind of fun. It's serious, but it's kind of fun.
So let me just read it and let's see if
you enjoyed as much as I did. Let's see the
man rights. Welcome to my first night on Battlefield Avenue.
My stories don't have anything to do with bigfoot. I've
never had that experience. But the stories about my house
are true events that I have experienced. My friend Raj
owns this house and he's from India. He raised his
son's here and when I told him about the spirits
that live here, he just laughed at me laughter. A
few minutes he ask if it bothered me. I had
to say, no, haven't had any negative experiences. So let
me jump in and tell you a little bit about them.
My name is of no concern to the readers or listeners.
My house is in such a geographically specific place that
it is easy to find if you research any history
about General McPherson and his death, you will find a
treasure trove of information. This is the history of Battlefield Avenue.
It's only three blocks long now. When I twenty plowed
through Atlanta, my street was significantly shortened. I live here
by myself with two crazy cats, and I have lots
of work to do on this old house, and I
don't get lonely. I'm retired from the movie industry. Now
get a check from Social Security, and I try to
get to the end of each month. I was a
special effects fabricator, so if you drive down my streets,
you'll see my cats and my work in the front
of the house. I never call it my house. I'm
not here alone, and the spirits that call this home
have been here, and we'll be here after I'm gone.
The work is never ending here. There's not a single
miter joint in the whole house. Nothing is up to code.
The first time I took the cover off the electrical panel,
I thought I was going to die. There were ground
wires that were barely attached, and everything had the appearance
of being hand tightened or just in place, ready to
be locked down and tightened from the installation. There was
no master breaker either, so I put on my rubber
gloves and grab what I hoped was a well insulated screwdriver.
Needless to say, I learned something about electrons when I
was younger, so a lot of my mystery circuits started
working a whole lot better. There's an LED strip over
my couch, and it still didn't work. It has two switches,
one by the door for a light and a separate
switch for the ceiling fan that I wanted to put in.
I took the ghost lights down and I tossed them,
and when I came in from the trash, the kitchen
lights blinked. And when I say blinked, I should say
strove like a disco. I thought the door closing might
have just helped me find another loose wiring problem. So
I slammed the door several times, but it didn't blink anymore,
and I replaced the bulb with a new one, and
I went back to work. My cats are so funny.
One is black. His name is Merlin because he thinks
he's invisible. He is most of the time when I'm
not wearing my glasses asleep in my black chair. His
brother's name is Mervin. Mervin. Mervin is huge and he
weighs fourteen pounds and has weird spots on his back
like a bobcat. His tail is like a small chain
which he uses to clear off my desk when it thunders.
I call it my accessory. It doesn't matter what you
name your cats. They only come to you when they
want something. They are part of this eyewitness story. One afternoon,
I was about to climb up on the roof from
the back patio and I heard a lady's voice and
she plainly called my name. Well, I was shocked, and
I turned and I expected to see someone on the porch,
and there was no one there. The hair stood up
on my arms when these things happened, and I have
that feeling now as I type this into my computer.
It's like electricity or static. I don't know how to
describe it. I just go with the energy. The lady
is plainly only one of my roommates, unless she also
pulls on my shirt. One afternoon, I was working on
a guitar and I felt a tug on my sleeve.
I turned, expecting to see Merlin on the arm of
my chair, and there he was asleep on the chair
behind me. Mervin likes to climb up to the highest
point in the room, so he was on the the
arm wy. He says he doesn't know how to spell it.
I don't know how to smell that either. I think
it's a RMS maybe anyway, armoy and he was fast
asleep again. The hairs on my arms stood up once.
When I tried to get up from the chair. I
felt like my shirt was caught on something right behind
my back, like a hand pulling me back down or
a bungee cord. The shirt tug was just the beginning
of a lot of physical manifestations. Also have a big
attict tin roof and a fireplace that heats the kitchen
in the bedroom. I've heard a lot of noise from
the attic, mostly squirrels. One day I was in the kitchen,
Merlin was laying in the exact middle of the room
licking his butt. Sorry, that's what cats do when they're bored.
They always have to be right in the center of
my way. Well, I heard footsteps from the attic, and
it was no mistake. Someone was walking just above my head.
Above the kitchen. The roof is low, there's no way
to walk, not upright on two feet. I looked down
at Merlin and he had stopped licking his blood, and
he was staring at the ceiling, just like I had been.
That's when I realized I wasn't hearing things. The light
flicker is my other roommate. He rings the doorbell and
makes me think I have a bad bub by making
it get dim or flash. He seems to be the
one with a sense of humor. It's funny as hell
to turn off or just flash the bathroom light when
it's dark and I'm in the shower. Does it all
the time. Sometimes I think he's acting like a little kid.
Now I wonder if this is also the middle of
the night doorknocker too. Oh yeah. I have two doors
in the front. The patio has tools in my solar
system battery, so I keep the outside door locked at night.
The doorbell is also on the inside door. Usually the
knocker comes around four am. Sometimes it's three soft knocks
and that's all. But a couple of times it's been
followed by five or six loud bangs. And one time
the doorbell wouldn't stop and the alarm system went off. Well,
that would be okay, but the alarm system is not
wired up and it does not work. So I'm glad
my life is filled with the knowledge that when my
physical shell is gone, I can come back and mess
with a living There's more to come from Battlefield Avenue.
That was just a short email, and I thought it
was kind of comical, and this man has a great
attitude towards this stuff and he's having fun with it.
And you know, we always tend to be afraid of
these things, and maybe sometimes we don't need to be.
Maybe sometimes we just need to keep a good light
attitude toward the things like this gentleman on Battlefield Avenue
is going through and just kind of roll with it
and have fun with it and just assume these things
are not evil or not assumed that they're evil, and
just kind of wiged him out. And he seems to
have found out that these things aren't evil or bent
on hurting him yet he hasn't figured that out yet,
or hasn't discovered that yet. So I thought it was
a great story and I wanted to share it with you.
All right, Here is a story from my friend Gerald.
Gerald has sent I bet he sent me a half
a dozen stories and he takes. I've never talked to Gerald,
but we just kind of communicate via email, and he
writes stories about his local area and a lot of
folklore and things that are true, things he's heard. I
guess through the years or has researched Gerald. If I'm wrong,
you can email me and tell But he was a
good writer, and he recounts stories that he knows about.
This one is called I can't remember the name of it.
I can't remember what he called it in the email,
but I'm just going to read it. It was a
breathless day and Walnut Run, Iowa. Sunlight fell like a
golden lance. Bud de Young jounced up and down in
the tractor's hard seat. That's the only thing wrong with
this John Deere forty twenty. He thought, this open cab,
he ran a brown arm over his forehead. Damn this
dusty work, he thought. Behind him, the plow blades turned
over thick scabs of earth, and he steered deeper into
the mound. De Young had bought his land last autumn
from Irwin Path. As the old timer began disposing of
his life, cancer would kill him. In December, Path was
reduced to his holdings so as to have something to
leave his wife and children. His son was in an
accountant in Des Moines, and his daughter had married a
young dentist and moved to Colorado with him, and neither
was interested in taking over the large farm. De Young
felt a small pang of guilt for having driven such
a ho bargain with old Path, but only a small pang.
Path was one of the old timers, the old fogiese
who sat in their ways and so superstitious about farming.
It was nineteen seventy one, the twentieth century. Farming was
now scientific, and there's no room for sentimental worries of
an old man. Agriculture Secretary Earl Butts was advocating all
out fence post to fence post cultivation. De Young had
never understood why Path had let this fat land lie fallow.
There was a lush, loamy soul under the grasses and
wildflowers pay dirt Iowa stall. Incredibly, the young Path had
cautioned him that mound over there by Walnut Creek, that's
an old one, that mound. Searching lee Path had looked
up into the younger man's face. That's from the Kahokia
people before the Mandans before the pawn. Who knows what
lies under that mound. It's best just to leave it alone, sun,
he said. De Youong smirked at the thought. What an
old goat good land like that, just wasting it. You
find those airheads and bits of pottery every spring, cast
up by the winter frost, and they don't mean anything.
These Indians had this land for a long time. They
just wasted it. Yeah. He concentrated on plowing down the
distinctive mound, and in the distance a small plane was
silhouetted against the sun. Was too early for crop dusting,
he thought, must be just general aviation. It's a perfect
day for flying. Three passes later, the mound was no more,
and approvingly, Deyong looked back over his shoulder at the
rutted furrows corn. He decided, this whole section will be
in corn. He was trying to compute what his potential
return on the investment might be when a dark shadow
crossed over him. He peered up, but there was nothing there,
and then in the distance he saw it. It was
a small plane canted at an impossible angle, and then
it banked upward. He stared, and the plane flapped its wings.
Bud de Young break the tractor to a halt, and
he blinked. It was so far and so high now
that it was difficult to see. But the plane soared
lazily against the sun again. Its wings flapped two, three,
four times. And it wasn't an aircraft. It was a bird,
some fantastic bird. What the hell? De Young thought as
he watched the giant bird turn toward him. Its wingspan
was easily thirty feet tip to tip, maybe longer. The
improbable bird was larger than the cessnas, than pipers to
Young had seen in the Elewa sky all this life,
and now the bird was diving toward him at an
incredible speed. Clean sunlight illuminated brilliant red and gold coloration,
and the bird's beat gleamed like a gemstone. De Youong
ducked involuntarily as the impossibly huge bird careened toward him,
and it passed just missing him. And in his peripheral
vision he saw intensely dark hooded eyes. There was no grace,
no mercy in those black eyes. Distracted and alarmed, he
had lost concentration in driven the deer out of the
field and down the creek bank. The diesel engine chugged
and barked and restarted, but the tractor wheels were firmly
mired in the sodden ground. De Young shifted into reverse,
but the heavy plow behind him had bitten deep into
the earth and it was lodged, and he couldn't go
forward or back. Distantly, he could see the bird turn
and again another plummet toward him. Seperately, he shook the
steering wheel from side to side, but to no avail.
He was stuck. De Young jumped down from the tractor
and scrambled up the creek bank and began to run
for his life. The bird was closing quickly. He looked
up in time to see the bird swooping toward him
at astonishing speed and so large it blocked the sun
and all possibilities of escape. Its huge talons opened wide
like gutting knives, leveled out toward him, and he opened
his mouth to scream. This was written by Gerald Gustafson,
October twenty twenty one. Great story, Gerald, I'd be curious
to know if this is folklore around that area in Iowa,
or if it's some piece of fiction you made up.
But it's a really good story. I loved it when
a writer can take a thought and an action and
condense it down to a story like this and tell
the whole story and and have an impact on the
listener or the reader. He's done a good job in
Gerald's a great writer. Thanks Gerald. So I'm a hunter,
gatherer and all around out dorseman. I decided to head
out to a state forest here in southern New Jersey
to hunt for some mushrooms after a few days removed
from heavy rains. It was a large track of land
and it's known as the Pine Barrens, and it's over
a million acres of pine forests and plenty of wetlands
that snake their way through the sandy barren land. It's
a rich ecosystem nestled in the southern part of the
most heavily populated state per square mile in the Union.
The recent rains gave the forests a renewed green as
autumn approached, and this was certainly one of the last
real humid, warm days before the cold weather arrived. And
I pulled my truck over to a sandy shoulder on
a sugar sand road, and I began to search the
sandy ridges and road banks that the mushrooms grew on
the day went on, and my bag got heavier and heavier,
with shan trails, black trumpets, and I even scored some
chicken of the woods on an old oak tree. We
cut that off an oak tree right behind this office.
We get a big slab of it every year, and
we eat every bit of it. It's good stuff. I
had plenty for supper and much more, but I wanted
to enjoy the perfect day a little longer, so I
took a hike down an old indoor bike trail that
spit me out at the headwaters of an old bog.
I was overheated from the ninety plus degree weather, so
I decided to hike into the dark throes of a
cedar swamp just below the bog. After wrestling with tangles
of briar and thorns and stickers, I finally stumbled into
a dark swamp and began to saunter my way along
the tann extream. I felt my boots sinking the moss,
and I listened to the birds and the tree frogs
and the distant gun and cannon fire at a nearby
bombing range. And I gazed over the forest floor, looking
for any sign of orchids. I know of a few
types that bloom this type of year, and I wanted
to see if I could get a photograph my days
from my senses coming together in harmony that put me
in a spiritual nirvana that was interrupted by a low,
guttural growl that cut through me. My heart dropped to
my belly like a bobber dropping into a lake, and
at the same moment, a stench filled the air that
I can only describe as I can only describe as
stew of chicken livers left out in the sun for weeks,
a truck stopped bathroom, and a sprinkle of burning tires
for good measure. I was tearing up and gagging at
the smell, and I began to lurch backward the way
I came, knowing whatever growled at me from the bushes
wasn't how happy to see me. I stumbled my way
across the swampy landscape, while at the same time hearing
large limbs breaking behind me as someone or something pursued me.
My boots were concrete as I continued to sink into
the muck. As the light from the surrounding pitch pine
forest grew larger. I didn't dare look back behind me,
as I knew that would probably slow me down. I
burst through the opening like a sprinter running through the
finish line, and I high tailed it out to my truck.
I knew the thing was not far behind me, so
I got in and I peeled off, leaving a rut
from skidding off that's still there today. As I drove off,
a loud screech that sounded like a woman being murdered
filled the air. As I flew down the trail to
the main route that cuts through the pines, I believe
I may have encountered the Jersey Devil that day. To
this day, I've only been back a few times to
my little gathering spot. Each time I go back, I
always remember not to walk far from the truck. Also,
I always try to bring along someone for extra safety.
If there's anything that I've learned over the past few
years is that there's much more out in the woods
than we think. I was a skeptic for years, and
I would laugh at people if they had any sort
of weird encounters. But now I completely know what's out there.
Woop man, what a good story. This thing chased him
out of the Pine Barons. That's what it's called. My
friend Eric, who does a ssquatch podcast, He's done a
lot of expeditions in the pine barns, and that Jersey
Devil story seems to whole some water. I mean, tons
of people see that stuff. Okay, here's another email that
I think you guys will find interesting. The writer doesn't
want her name revealed. Thank you for letting me share
these encounters that I'll never forget. I'd like to keep
my name anonymous due to the risk of being ridiculed
or being made fun of. My first encounter occurred in
the summer of two thousand and two in central Indiana.
I grew up with my mother being interested in Bigfoot,
but it was always a joke in my family and
not considered to be a real creature. My beliefs quickly
changed in just a moment with an unexpected encounter. My
older sister and I often enjoyed going to youth group
that met midweek about an hour from our home. Our
parents let us go, but we were told always to
get home before dark. That particular night, the service lasted
longer than normal, causing us to be traveling home in
the dark. And my parents lived on a dead end
road fairly remote with an additional quarter mile driveway. We
rounded the curve of the dead end road and standing
in the middle of the road was a large, dark
figure with glowing red eyes. My sister was driving and
quickly stopped the car in the road. The figure just
stood there staring at us, and we stared at it.
I know it only stood there for a very short time,
but it felt like it was several minutes, and then
the creature quickly walked off the road and into the woods.
I don't remember feeling fear, but more absolute shock. My
sister quickly went down the driveway to the safety of
our parents' home. The picture of those glowing red eyes
has never left my mind. I can see it in
my mind just like it was yesterday. Twelve years later,
and I was married and living with my husband on
almost a two hundred acre horse ranch that was shared
by his family. I told my husband my previous experience,
but he never acted like he believed me. One night,
we decided we wanted to camp out, and we pitched
a tent in the woods where we lived and enjoyed
the evening around the campfire. We climbed in our tent
to go to sleep, and at the same time we
both had this overwhelming feeling of dread and danger close by.
We didn't see anything, but felt like we immediately had
to get out of there, and we grabbed our phones
and flashlights and we took off on the four wheeler
to go back to our home. A few weeks later,
my husband decided to take our two dogs on a
late night four wheeler ride in the hayfield behind the
large wooded area. He wanted to see what wildlife was
out there at night. The dogs were excited to go
and joyfully ran ahead of the four wheeler like they
usually do. My husband got to the hayfield and he
shut the four wheeler off, taking advantage of the moonlight. Suddenly,
the dogs came back crying and tried to climb onto
the fore wheeler with him. My husband was trying to
figure out what had our dogs so scared, and he
shined us light across the field, and across the field,
his light hit a large black figure with glowing red eyes.
He said. The creature quickly started walking away into the field,
but kept its eye on him. He started the four
We learned and came back to the house with our dogs.
He came inside and his face was completely pale, as
if the blood had drained from his face. He told
me what he had seen. We didn't get much sleep
that night, and our dogs slept inside with us. I
haven't seen anything out of the ordinary since then. I
started to get scared to go out in the woods,
but have since decided that the woods are God's creation
and I'm going to enjoy them. Good for you. I
don't know the origins of Bigfoot, but I know they're real.
Thank you, and God blessed well. God bless you, ma'am.
That was a great story. I really appreciate it. I
think it might be kind of unusual for one person
to have an experience when they're younger, and then they
get married in their spouse years later has almost an
identical experience. That's kind of unusual, but it sure, you know,
it kind of justifies everything you told him all up
until that date. But it's just a wonderful story. I
really appreciate it, and I know it's scary, but we
all loved it, so thanks for sending it. I don't
know who this is from, but it's a good one.
At some point anyway I'm reading it, Cole I have.
I've just kind of breezed through it, so I'm going
to stumble through it. Hey, Cam, I found your YouTube
channel a week or so ago, and I enjoy all
the stories you share from all the people that have encounters.
I'd like to share my encounters with you. My first
encounter happened when I was nine years old. I was
fishing with my brother and my stepdad on a remote
part of the river in Edwards, New York. We were
about two miles back in the woods from any main
road or house. I was fishing by myself in a
section of the river when all of a sudden, I
had a sense of fear come over me. I was
scared like any nine year old boy would be, when
all of a sudden, on the other side of the river,
a forty foot tall dead pine was pushed over thirty
yards inside of the woodline, right in front of me.
There was no breeze this day, and no black bear
was going to knock over such a huge tree. It
scared me to my core, and being a clueless kid,
I ran to find my stepdad at the time, just
for a sense of safety. My second encounter happened in
a small town in western Vermont, where I have lived
my entire life, and I was heading to a job
site early that morning. When driving down a two lane
country road which I had traveled a thousand times, I
came around the corner in the road and a figure
stepped out from behind a tree for a few seconds.
As I caught it in the high beams of my
lifted Chevy pickup truck, I was at a loss for
words when my brother said from the passenger seat, did
you see that too? Judging by the hood of my truck,
this thing was all of seven feet tall that had
yellow eyes shine. Although the sighting was one of only
a few seconds, but I knew what I had seen,
and my brother was there too to witness it with
me for verification. My third encounter happened in November of
twenty twenty. I was deer hunting in northern Vermont. I
was hunting with my brother on an eleven thousand acre
parcel of state land around ten in the morning, and
I had not seen a thing, when all of a sudden,
I had an overwhelming sense of fearing something was watching
me in the woods, and everything went quiet. And I
couldn't help but fixate on a strange looking stump one
hundred and twenty yards out through the hard woods, and
it didn't look right. Many people have the experience of
mind speak from these creatures. I knew what was in
the area, and I simply said in my mind that
I was only here for one deer, and I meant
him no harm, would he please leave me alone? Although
I didn't get a response, after five minutes or so,
the feelings went away and the stump I was fixated
on was gone. I've had many odd things happened to
me in the woods in my twenty one years of honting.
These times are definitely the weirdest. I hope to hear
my experiences on your channel, and thank you for the
outlet to provide so many people. I wish to keep
my name anonymous because I live in a small town
in rue Vermont and where everyone knows everyone. There You go, man,
you got to hear your story on the channel, and
I didn't say your name, so I read this cold.
If you'd had your name up top, i'd had to
go back and edit it out. This is really interesting
and I appreciate the story