Speaker 1: When my father was young, his grandfather took him to
work on his day off so that the boy could
see what he did for a living. He worked in
the logging industry near Eureka, California. They arrived not long
after daylight, and they walked on a newly cut logging road.
The road was soft and dusty. My father was overwhelmed
by the size of the trees and the vastness of
the place where his grandfather worked. As they walked, they
approached the dozer that had cut the road in the
day before. Again, my father was amazed at the piece
of equipment that could be this big. His grandfather noticed
tracks in the dusty road. They exited the forest, made
a circle around the dozer, and went back into the forest.
My father was young then, so by the time he
told us the story, he could only remember vaguely what
he saw. He remembered vividly that the tracks looked human
and that the person who left them wore no shoes,
but the tracks were too big to be human, and
he also remembered his grandfather saying that someone left these
tracks as a joke. They weren't real tracks. A local
newspaper did a story on it. We later researched the story,
but couldn't find the story archived in the library nor
on the internet. When we would question my father about
the incident, he would become agitated and he would change
the subject. Years later, he was with a group in
California hunting black tailed deer. They camped and hunted for
several days. Sometime after dark, when the fire was low,
they were startled by the sounds of monkey type screams
coming from all directions around the camp. They stoked the
fire to add more light to the area, but they
saw nothing. The next day, they packed up and left.
When I was eight, we lived a few miles west
of Weaverville in a place called Slaughtery Pond. The mobile
home was situated way back off the pond and behind
the house was nothing but wilderness. The landlord told us
that black bears would sometimes venture into the area and
cause trouble and that we should be cautious. While we
lived there, we heard screams coming from those woods that
sounded like a woman being assaulted. My mother's eyes would
water up and tell my dad that a woman needed help.
Dad blamed the sounds on foxes or big cats, but
we all knew the screams were too loud for those critters.
My fifteen year old brother came running in the house
excitedly one day, telling my mom about a series of
manlike tracks that he found while exploring. His face showed fear,
and he wouldn't accept our mother's explanation that it was
a bear stepping in its own tracks. He said the
tracks were too far apart and they looked like it
walked on two legs. He also motioned with his hands
how large each track was. His hands were eighteen inches apart.
About a month later, I laid in bed awake next
to my brother. We had a batch of kittens that
stayed in our room. While laying there, playing with a kitten,
I noticed some kittens in the windows, still looking outward.
All of them were in the typical Halloween cat arched
back posture, their heads moving together watching something outside. Footsteps
came towards the house, and I could feel the bed
vibrate with each step. The whole house shuddered, and I
heard a cracking sound come from across the hallway. I
slinked out of bed and walked to the door and
slowly turned the doorknob. The knob made a slight click,
and I heard this thing run away. I assumed it
was gone into my parents' room, and I woke them,
explaining what I had heard. My mother said it was
cats fighting outside, but I knew better. I returned to
my room and I went to sleep. The next day
at school, my brother asked if I remembered what happened
last night. How could I have forgotten that? I said.
He then told me to wait until we got home,
that he had something really cool to show us. That evening,
he led the whole family around to the backside of
the trailer, all eight of us, our parents and six kids.
There was an exit on the rear of the trailer
that had been covered with plywood. Inside the door was
my mother's pantry. The trailers sat on sloping ground, and
we stood on the low side. The threshold of the
door was two or three feet above my head. There
were no stairs. At the top of the plywood, there
were claw marks made by some animal. The plywood was
caved inward and almost broken. The noise I heard the
night before was not cats fighting. Something tried to break
into the house while we slept. We moved from there
to some property that we bought near Trinity Lake. I
was ten years old at this time. We were way
out in the country and our closest neighbors were friendly,
but they were a little different. They used to tell
us how they fed a family of sisquatch off their
deck every night. They told us that there were three
in this family, a male, a female, and a young bigfoot.
We acted like we believed them, but we really didn't.
I slept in a hideaway bed in the living room
with my younger brother. One night, I woke up feeling
like I had been choked and I could barely breathe.
I again went into my mom and dad's room. Mom
let me slip in with them and they dozed back off.
I laid there trying to get back to sleep, lying
on my back with my eyes closed. Through my eye lids,
I could see light flickers, like sitting in front of
a campfire at night with your eyes closed. I thought
I was imagining this, or there was an easy explanation,
But when I opened my eyes, the room was already
turning a reddish color, and I could see the source
moving about through the house. I could see the light
through the walls as it seemed to go from room
to room, and when I sat up to see butter,
a red ball of light came through the wall at
the top of the door. It stopped halfway into the
room and it went still. It made no sound, it
had no odor, and the ball looked like a lava
or plasma. It was a perfect sphere, moving and rolling.
It was the size of a basketball with a purple
aura that was about four feet in diameter. White sparkles
shot from the edge of the red and into the purple.
It reminded me of fireworks that I had seen before,
but there was no fire. It was actually beautiful. I
could see clearly because of the light. So I put
my hand on my mom's hip and I said, Mom,
look at that red light, and I pointed at it
with my right hand. I looked back at the ball
and it was just sitting there. So I again said, Mom,
look at the red light. She raised her head slightly
and I heard her voice tell me your dreaming son,
go back to sleep, but her mouth never moved. I
don't think she's the one who said those words. I
turned to look at the light again, and I think
I blacked out. I was not in my mother's bed
now I was waking up, like from an anesthetic after surgery.
When I could focus on my surroundings, I was looking
out of a glass ceiling. The area was clear and
millions of stars filled my frame of view. Someone was
holding my hand. I assumed it was my mother and
I looked for her. My hand, however, rested in the
hand of a creature. It was a huge black hand
covered in hair, and it was tipped by long, sharp
black nails. Next to this huge creature was another just
like it, but much bigger. I could see the whites
of their eyes and they both had surprised expressions. Another
even larger creature appeared in my view, and I decided
then that this was a family. It was a father,
a mother, and a child. They all looked like your
classic image of sosquatch. I felt like I was fully
awake now and I scanned the area. Standing against the
wall facing us, only a few feet away were two
beings that I can only describe as aliens. They were
both very tall. One had the appearance of a praying
mantis in the face, a bony head with large black
eyes that wrapped around to the side. Its head moved
back and forth as it watched something on the other
side of me. The other being was about the same size.
Its skin was light blue, and its eyes had a
copper sheen to them, as if it was wearing reflector sunglasses,
but it wasn't. On the other side of me was
a smaller alien that was gray in color. It bobbled
its head at the others like it was talking to them,
but I never heard it speak. At some point, everything
faded back to black, and I must have fallen asleep again.
And when I woke, I again felt as if I
was waking from an anesthetic. Keeping my balance was a problem,
but I stumbled down the hall and I saw that
I was in our kitchen. In my ear, I heard
her voice tell me to drink pickle juice. I hated
pickles and pickle juice, and I still do. But I
went straight to the refrigerator and I drank every drop
left and small jar and set the jar back on
the shelf. A few minutes later, I felt normal again.
The sun was coming up over the horizon. I have
reflected on this event for years, and I never felt
fear while I was under their control. There were no
painful tests done on me that I remember after I
was returned, there were no wounds on my body. I
don't remember much else than what I described above, but
I did have a sense of a few things. It
seemed as though the sisquatch in the room were not
there by their free will. They seemed to be captive,
but I could be wrong. Last, whatever room I was
in felt like an enclosed vessel or a spaceship. I
think it was made from glass, but that is just
what it looked like to me. The walls could have
been translucent. There were no doors or evidence that I
could see of an exit, and I do not know
if we were moving. I did not get any sense
of motion while I was in there. Many years later
now and I find it of great interest that our
neighbors talked about the three sisquatch they claim to be feeding.
Not much later, I am abducted on the spaceship. Are
the same family of sisquatch? Again, I think they were
abducted with me. Also of interest is that the famous
Patterson Gimlin film that was shot in nineteen sixty seven
was taken not far from this location. Hundreds of Bigfoot
sightings have been reported in the area, but after this event,
my childhood was normal, and I've adjusted to these experiences.
There was a road we used to drive into the
brackish swamp in eastern Harris County, east of Houston, Texas,
and in the daylight it wasn't the least bit scary.
In fact, it was beautiful. Oak trees dray in Spanish
moss and tall grass and flowers were everywhere we looked.
But at night it was a different story. Those big
oak trees closed in and turned the world to pitch.
As the saying goes, you couldn't see your hand in
front of your face. We like to find people who
had never been on that road and then take them
down at at night. There was a steep drop, and
just before we'd get to the bottom, we'd turn off
the headlights and scare the hell out of them. We
did it many times, never failing to scare the living
crap out of teenage girls, and never once having a problem.
One night, my friend Charles decided to take our friend
Jesse down there and scare him. Charles was a few
years older than me. He'd gone to school with my brother,
but when they graduated, my brother joined the Navy. Back
then volunteering for the military meant you had a choice.
If you waited to be drafted, you were usually sent
straight to Vietnam. Well, that night, we were in Charles's
truck and heading down the road. It was a two
lane blacktop called Wallaceville Road that no one lived on.
Charles was driving his F one hundred at fifty five
miles an hour, and Jesse was already a little freaked
out by the speed we were going on that road.
And right at the drop, Charles cut the lights and
Jesse started screaming for him to turn them back on.
I was laughing inside and doing my best not to
do so out loud. And then Charles turned the lights
back on and boom, we hit something. It happened so
fast that we never saw what it was. It was
just a blur. Charles slammed on the brakes and whatever
it was went up into the hood and over the
top of the truck. And we sat there for a minute,
staring at the road, and we were all pretty shaken up.
What did we hit? Jesse asked, his voice was trembling.
We were all looking at each other, but no one answered. Finally,
Charles opened his door and he got out. I exited
the passenger side, but Jesse stayed in the truck. We
walked to the front to survey the damage. There was
a big dent in the bumper, and there was blood
and hair and scratch marks traced the path across the hood,
along with more air and blood. I could feel the
silence closing in on us. At first, I didn't know
if it was my own shock or if everything had
actually gone quiet. I focused on the only sound I
could hear. That was the truck's engine running. Charles pulled
a flashlight out from behind a seat and walked to
the back of the truck and then further up the
road a few yards. He didn't see anything, so we
got back in and we backed up to where we
thought we'd hit whatever this was. Charles positioned the truck
to angle the headlights into the woods. We still didn't
see anything, so we got out, but not Jesse. Though
he wouldn't get out, he begged us not to either.
We could still hear Jesse as we walked down what
looked like a narrow path. We'd made it fifteen yards
past the reach of the headlight when the horn started
honking repeatedly, with a click glance at each other. We
took off at a dead run back up to the truck.
Jesse was inside, and he was covered in sweat and
shaking uncontrollably, with all the windows rolled up. I grabbed
the door handle, but it was locked. Charles found the
door was locked too. We pounded on the windows and
we demanded that Jesse let us in, but he wouldn't
or he couldn't respond. It was several minutes before he
regained control of his senses and unlocked the doors. We
tried to get him to tell us what happened, but
he just sat there, shaking and sweating. We decided it
was better to get out of there, so we left
as fast as we could. We drove back toward the
highway in lights, but Jesse never uttered a word. We
dropped him at his house on north Shore, but again
he never spoke. He climbed out of the truck and
he walked slowly to the front door with his arms
down at his side, like some sort of a funeral march.
We watched him go inside before heading to my house,
where Charles dropped me off. I didn't go in right away.
I sat outside and thought over what had happened, and
a million questions were going through my mind. What had
we hit? And what did Jesse see that shook him
up so badly? And why wouldn't he talk to us?
The next morning, I called Jesse, but he still wasn't talking.
I had to walk the two miles to Charles's apartment
because he didn't have a phone. His truck was sitting
out front and I stopped to look it over and
there were three deep scratches about one inch apart and
five inches long on the hood well. I knocked on
the door and Charles came out to look at the
damage with me. We decided to go over to Jesse's
and talk to him, but his mother met us at
the door and she was furious. What did you do
to Jesse last night? She demanded. He wouldn't tell her,
he wouldn't tell anybody. He wouldn't even come out of
his room. I was thirteen when that happened, Jesse was
sixteen and Charles was eighteen. It was almost two years
before Jesse spoke to me again, and when he finally did,
all I ever got out of him was that something
came out of the woods. After Charles and I went
down the path. It started shaking the truck. He said,
he closed his eyes and he couldn't bring himself to
open them again. He blindly groped for the horn, and
when he found it, he just kept honking it, and
then the shaking stopped when we came back. That was
the first time something weird ever happened to me. There
was a second incident that happened four years later, while
I was fishing near the sand was seen to a
rip in East Harris County, Texas, but I won't tell
you that story now. I lost touch with those boys
over the years, and I wonder if either of them
is still around. I'm sixty two years old now, and
this is the first time I've spoken about this. Maybe
I've blocked it out somehow.