Speaker 1: I lived in a ranch house about ten miles south
of Eldorado, Texas, or As at Elderado, Texas. Eldorado, Eldoredo,
who knows. My wife and I liked sitting on a
screened in porch at night. One night we were out
there when my wife said she saw something move across
the driveway in a bank of trees. There were two shadows,
both eight feet tall. They were moving around a mountain.
Lion had been spotted near us, so I always carried
a forty caliber pistol with me. I turned on my
tactical light and pointed my gun toward the figures, but
it still couldn't make out what it was. I thought
about shooting into the trees to spook them into the open,
but something told me not to. We went to bed
not long after that, and I wondered what it had been.
A week or two later, I woke up one morning
and happened to look out my bedroom window toward a
chicken coop. There, standing in the broad daylight was a creature.
He had the outline of Chewbacca, and he stood eight
feet tall, with long hair from head to toe. He
was staring right at me like he'd been waiting for
me to wake up and see him, wanting me to
know that he was there. My friends and family think
I'm crazy, but there was no mistaking what I saw.
We moved from that house, not because of Bigfoot, and
I left there a believer. Okay, a little short story
to kick this podcast off. Thank you guys for joining me.
Just an announcement. I uploaded a new Steve Lily story.
There will be a link in the description if you
want to listen to it. It's about an hour or
a little bit over an hour long. I thought it
was a pretty decent story, but I haven't done with
Steve Lily in over a year and I needed to
get one out. So I spent the last week kind
of polishing up a story I'd been working on for
six months. Could never get it right, and it's probably
still not right, but it's the best I got. So
new Steve Lily ouse, Steve Lilly Number nineteen is out,
and if you're not familiar with that series, it's on
another channel called the Steve Lily Journals. It's just fiction,
fun fiction, lot of humor, story about bigfoot hunters who
are hired by the government to exterminate the Bigfoot all
over North America. They're mainly focused in the South. But
it's just a fun thing to write, so that's all
it is. So if you get a chance, go over
and look at it. Otherwise, let's move on with this podcast.
I really appreciate you being here. All right, here we go.
I am a retired US Army chaplain and I was
based in Fort Bragg, North Carolina. I owned six acres
of mountain property in Spring Cree, just south of Hot Springs.
It was off a road near a place called Dave's
two O nine Highway. Too. O nine was known as
the Rattler by local MC riders because of its many
twists and turns through the Pisca National Forest. This area
is known for paranormal phenomenon, the brown lights, the UFOs,
the ghostly events, and of course, Bigfoot paraphernalia is available
in the local shops. I had built a twenty four
foot diameter yert on my property, perfect for getting away
from Bragg and all the ministry work. Every week. I
had a little wire table where I could nestle pretty
stones and crystals so they would not fall out or
blow away. Every time I was up there usually about
once a month. I'd place objects on that table, pebbles
and sparkly crystals and things of that nature. This way
they would not blow away while I was gone. When
I came back on the next visit, the items would
be gone, and in their place I would see new
pebbles and stones. This might have been a teenager tramping
over the land in my absence, because I doubt they
leave any rocks for me. Around the property, i'd find
interesting tree structures, such as two thirty foot long trees
twisted and wound together and wedged horizontally between two trees
twenty feet apart. It all looked so intentional. I half
expected to find a swing hanging from it. Not far
from there, something had built a teepee like structure out
of broken branches. I made sure to keep my distance,
and I continued to enjoy my polite company firm Afar,
and I hope that they did too. On my last
trip to the property before I sold it, someone or
something had left me a large blue glass marble. It
was an inch and a half in diameter, and it
was sitting on that wire table. I love that. In
twenty fourteen, I was dog sitting for a friend of mine,
having a beer on the porch on the summer solstice.
It was around midnight and the dogs were snoozing beside me.
The house sent on fifteen acres, and halfway to the road.
The three acres from the house stood a street light.
I was gazing out at the grass under that light,
enjoying the peaceful night, the clear sky, in the great weather,
when a black panther, plain as day meandered slowly through
the light. I was stunned. I'm a biologist and I
know my cats. It was a panther. There was no
mistaking that I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The
dogs quickly got the scent of it and took off
in pursuit, so I knew I wasn't making it up.
They came back thankfully ten minutes later, exhausted and very
proud of themselves. Black panther sightings might not sound impressive,
but the way their existence in America is denied by authorities,
you're led to believe you'll see a bigfoot before you'll
see a black panther. Thanks for your channel and for
hearing my very gentle stories. And he signs the rev
army chaplain. That's pretty cool. I've never met an army chaplain.
I wonder what that job is like. I wonder what
that job is like in the military. My son was
in the Marine Corps. He never mentioned the chaplain I know,
I know he ran into some but I've always been
curious what those guys actually do. What do they do
all day? I don't know. But anyway, this is a
great story. He had an episode of gifting that he
thinks could possibly be a bigfoot. He didn't say that,
but I think that's what he's alluding to. Very interesting.
And then the black panther sighting. Everybody sees a black panther,
I believe they're here. I think I tend more to
believe that black panthers are here more than I would
say bigfooter here, at least around my proper because I
see big tracks. I can tell a cat of a
feline track over a canine track. The lobes in the
back of the foot are a little different, and the
way their tracks look her different. I actually looked it
up one time. I looked it up because I had
a friend of mine who In this Steve Lily story,
there is a seventy nine year old man who lies
all the time. He's just kind of a fun character,
I added to the story. But this person I saw
her posting. She lives out in the country, posting stuff
on Facebook, and she is a big liar. She lies
about everything. I've known her for years and years and years,
and I like her. She's fine. She just tries to
make a huge deal lot of everything she sees. And
she puts some pictures of tracks on I think it
was Facebook, and she was saying it was a mountain lion.
Well I looked at them. They were dog tracks. I
didn't know that at first, but looked up the difference
between dog and cat tracks and it was absolutely a
dog track. So that's how I know. And I never
confronted her whether it just confirm what I know that
she's just a big liar, she's an attention hog. We're
still friends. Everything's fine. But that's the way some people are. Anyway.
Let's move on to a next story. Okay, here's a
short little story about a Mexican bigfoot. Twenty five years ago,
the youth group of the church I attended went on
a retreat to Busta Monte Nuevo Leon in Mexico. Bust
de Monte has a spring in the canyon. It has
several pools and lots of nature to enjoy. It's also
known for its legends and tales about witches and goblins.
One day, I went with a group of girls for
a height and we took our time ascending the trail,
taking breaks often and in no real hurry. At one point,
I want I need to catch up with a different
group that had left us behind, So while the girls
sat and drank water, I ran ahead, promising that I
would wait for them further up the trail. I climbed
and kept an ole on where my group was for
as long as I could, and after a while I
stopped looking back and kept moving until I reached the
side of the canyon. In the distance, I saw my
group still talking and hydrating, so I kept going. Not
long after that, I reached a point that jutted out
over a hill to one side. I walked a few
meters out to the point and I heard something loosely
resembling laughter in women's voices. I figured it was my group,
who had somehow managed to catch up with me in
a short time, so I shouted out that I heard
them and that I wasn't far away, and when I
turned to walk back on the trail, I saw a
figure on the other side of the rock that I
had passed. It had a round head and bulb like shoulder,
and it was covered in thick red hair and was
at least two meters tall. I stayed silent. I turned
my back on it, and I felt a chill. I
didn't know what to do besides slowly backing out. The
strange women's voices and laughter stopped, and when I turned
to steal another glance, the figure was gone. A couple
of minutes later, I heard the distant sound of my
group catching up to me. I didn't know what to think.
I'd like to say that it was bigfoot, but I
haven't heard reports of them in Mexico. It couldn't have
been a bear because the shape of its head and
shoulders was all wrong, and the sound it made it
was totally unnatural. And whenever I talk about it, even now,
even writing about it now, I get chills. Oh man,
that's cool. That's one of those brief moments that people
have when they're all alone out in the wilderness and
they see something they know, they see something they know,
they didn't imagine it. They turn around and it's gone.
There are so many stories like this, and it really
intrigues me because I can't think of anything in particular
like that that's happened to me, but I know it has.
It's like you look, you look, you see a deer,
You think you see a deer, You see a deer,
You see a deer, You turn your heads, you look
back in just a fraction of a second, and the
deer's not there. Or a turkey or a skunk, or
an armadilla or a raccoon, doesn't matter. That's happened to
me before. So why couldn't that happen, Whether cryptid like
a bigfoot or some other creature, I don't know. This
story was just interesting me. I thought it was great. Okay,
this story is a little bit strange, a little bit strange,
but I think you're gonna enjoy it. So let's go.
Let's go. Let's get on with the story. I was
in Dougway, the High Plains desert of Utah and the
spring of next year. It was late and I had
just gotten off work and I was headed to my
vehicle for the long drive home. I noticed it was
a new moon, so i'd need my brights to see
the road out there. It got even darker as I
pulled away from the work site. I drove carefully, my
eyes peeled to avoid hitting any local wildlife. As the
lights faded behind me, I saw a figure rise through
the road's surface at the edge of my high beams.
I blinked and I shook my head. I had to
be seen things. It didn't come from either side of
the road. It just rose straight up from the asphalt.
It startled me enough to slam on the brakes and
veer into the oncoming lane to avoid hitting it. I
caught it silhouette as I drove past. It looked like
a pale, fleshy, large and naked person sitting on its heels,
hugging its legs with its head resting on its knees.
As if that weren't disturbing enough. In the three seconds
it took me to drive past, I watched it morph
into a large canine and disappear again, right back into
the asphalt. Well. I chalked it up as weird, though
not the weirdest thing I've experienced out there, not long
after this, my headlights lit up in adolescent coyote next
to the guard rail on the side of the road.
I slowed down in case it darted in front of me,
but it stayed put, staring at my car as I passed.
Its mouth stretched open as wide as it could go.
It looked like there was an invisible stick prying its
jaw open, or like I'd caught it in mid yawn,
jaw stretched wide and unmoving, except theyng did not end.
Its mouth just stayed wide open, unnaturally so, and its
eyes were fixed on me the whole time. There was
nothing I could do besides keep driving, so I chalked
it up as another weird thing and I kept going.
But the night wasn't done with me yet. A little
while later I saw another codey on the side of
the road, and it's jaws stretched open as white as
they could go, just like the first one, and its
eyes were fixed on me as I slowly drove past.
I made it home okay that night, but I'll never
forget those images and get them out of my head.
Oh man, I bet you won't get those images out
of your head. That is so cool, That is Oh
that story just good. I could just see all that
happening as I'm reading it. I can see it. I
don't know, it's just that's creepy. What a great story,
great story, thanks for sending it. The other day, I
was on the front porch listening to your podcast when
my great grandfather Elijah walked by. He heard you talking
about Bigfoot, sat down in the rocker next to me
and listened to the entire story. Our family tends to
get into the late nineties before age catches up with us,
but ninety four, my great granddad is still sharp and
has all his wits about him. After the podcast ended,
he asked me if I believed in Bigfoot. I told
him I had never seen one, and I asked him
the same. He answered me with a tail from his youth,
one I'd never heard before. When great granddad Elijah was
a boy, he was glued at the hip to his
two best friends, Thomas and James. The three of them
had befriended a hermit whom the town nicknamed Crazy Joe,
who lived two miles away near the Swampland. Joe would
occasionally come to town to trade herbs and hides and carvings
that he had made. The boys would make multiple trips
each week to his shack, where he taught them to trap, fish, hunt,
and gather wild plants save to eat. Joe taught them
to tan hides and make Indian buckskins, as well as
some words of a far away native tongue. One day
in the early spring, when all three boys were about
to turn sixteen, Joe disappeared. The door of his shack
was open, the floor was busted up, all the furniture
was pushed against the walls, and his wagon and mule
were gone. Four weeks later, a man rode into town
right up to the inn. His hair and beard were
long and unkempt, but his clothing and his two horses
were top of the line. He asked for the best
room and the largest steak and potato the keeper could
stir up, and when the meal was ready, the stranger
came out of his room, a clean shaven new man.
The next morning, all three boys were sitting on the
steps of the Sheriff's office across the street from the inn,
to catch a glimpse of the stranger. He came out,
and he looked at them, and he walked straight over.
Elijah stood up and greeted him, and then nearly fell
over when the familiar voice of Joe greeted him back,
and good morning to you, boys, Joe said. The boys
made a ruckus and jumped up and celebrated their friend's return.
And then the questions poured out. Where had he gone?
Where did he get the fancy clothes and the horses?
Joe told them to meet him at his shack after
their chores that day, and not to tell anyone about
his return. Later. When they got there, they found him
sitting on the back of a new buckboard wagon, and
in the corral nearby were two large mules and three
more horses, just as striking as the two he'd brought
into town. Joe reached into his saddle bag and tossed
each boy a nugget of gold the size of a thumb.
While they stood around, slack jawed, Joe told them the story.
When he was a younger man, he headed west with
two of his friends in search of gold. When they
made it all the way to Idaho, they walked up
to three on kemped harry trappers and buckskins whipping. A
young Native American male nearby, tied to a wagon wheel
was a young Native female screaming and crying. Without hesitating,
Joe and his companions took the trapper off guard. One
of the trappers was shot, and the other two held
at gunpoint, were tied to the wagon. Joe and the
others freed the captives and led them to safety. That night,
they set up camp, and they cared for the young man,
intended to his wounds. The next morning, they woke up
surrounded by a pack of Native warriors. Just as Joe
and his companions thought their lives were over, a statue
of a man, a great war chief Pocatello, walked forward.
Another man stood behind him. Speaking broken English. He told
them the young man and the woman that they had
saved were the chief's son and bride to be. When
the translators asked why had trespassed on Shoshone land, Joe, Samuel,
and Arthur apologized profusely, explaining that they had no idea
and meant no disrespect, and were just searching for gold.
The chief seemed satisfied by the answer and asked to
be taken to the two remaining trappers. Joe and the
others stood by as the chief and two of his
warriors sliced the trapper's abdomens open, threw a rope around
each of their necks, and then drabbed them off into
the forest. Once the war party had left, the translator
introduced himself as long Tooth and said the chief instructed
him to take them to the valley of the Ancient Ones.
After two days of traveling, Long Tooth led them through
a hidden passage in a mountain side to an open valley,
and while Joe and the others tied up their horses
and gathered wood for a fire, Long Tooth walked to
the center of the valley and began to sing and
dance until well after dark. When he returned, he explained
that he was asking the Ancient Ones for permission to
hunt there and to search for the shiny rocks. They
stayed there for months, chopping down trees for a cabin
and building a corral and a small barn for the
animals They gathered and stored hey for the winter. They
hunted every few days and learned to skin and tan
the animal fur for insulation and heavy coats for the
coming cold months. When spring came, Long Tooth returned to
his people, sure that Joe and the others could manage
in the valley without him. Before he left, he told
them never to harm the ancient one and never to
pursue them, and if they saw one, they were to
turn their eyes away. Long Tooth returned on the next
full moon with several others from the tribe. They brought
along a bull in, three cows, mules, chickens, and other supplies.
The next morning, Joe cooked for the visitors, making sure
to heave a serving of the meal on the rock
where they'd received the elk. The next morning, the food
was gone and three gold nuggets sat on that rock.
Almost every day after that, gold nuggets were left for
them on the rock, a gift exchange that continued for
the next three winters. Long Tooth and the three travelers
became good friends. Joe, Samuel, and Arthur learned to speak
Shoshone and learned the dance Long Tooth performed each time
he returned to the valley. Eventually, the three men said
goodbye to Long Tooth and the valley, promising to return
one day. There were different men on their journey home.
They had become long bearded, weathered trappers. Their goal stored
in the false floor of the wagon covered by a
layer upon layer of furs and buckskin. When they had
reached the Missouri, Arthur grew deathly ill, forcing Joe to
ride to the nearest town to fetch a doctor, and
while Samuel and Author waited for them to return, a
group of men from the Southern States had found them.
When Joe returned with the doctor, he found them both dead,
hanging from a nearby tree, their backs whipt raw. The
murderers had taken the best of the fur Pelts, but
rode off without the wagon or mules. Joe buried his
friends and proceeded on to Tennessee with the wagon, his
world in disarray. He was so depressed he took his
wagon of gold, rode out to the swamplands and buried it.
He built a shack on top of it and rarely
spoke to anyone after that. One day he woke up
and decided that he was done grieving. Tennessee no longer
felt like home, and he was going back west, back
to the valley of the ancients. He tore his shack apart,
gathered his gold, and decided to start new. When Joe
finished telling Elijah and the other boys this story, he
made a proposal. He was heading west the next morning,
and he invited them to come. They unanimously agreed, and
they left notes for their families and started the long
journey with Joe. They took a steamboat all the way
to Saint Paul, and then a train to Montana and
horseback there all the way to Fort Hall, which had
become a reservation for the Shoshawone. Shortly after their arrival,
a Shoshone man greeted Joe with hugs and tears of joy.
Joe introduced him to the boys's Long Tooth and told
him he was going to show them the ways of
the valley. The next morning, the five travelers set out
for the Valley of the Ancients, and when they finally
made it, they found the cabin almost as Joe had
left it. While Elijah and the others settled in and
found the wood for a fire, Long Tooth and Joe
went to the center of the valley and began down
and singing, and when dinner was prepared, two of the
boys placed a large portion of meat on the rock
for the ancient ones. The next morning they found several
gold nuggets, and they started a renewed gift exchange with
the ancient Ones. Once, during a hunt with Joe and
Long Toooth, Elijah heard a loud crack of a tree
limb being snapped off and hurled into another tree. It
was followed by tree knocks and screams. Joe told him
to get ready that the ancient Ones had joined the hunt,
and within minutes a herd of elk came barreling toward them.
Joe and Long Toothed down three of them, but only
carried one back to the cabin. The other two, Long
Tooth explained were for the ancient Ones. Over the next
three winters, Elijah and the others lived in the valley,
learning the ways of Long Tooth and occasionally getting short
glimpses of the ancient Ones. They were a giant harry butch,
and they kept their distance, and they weren't aggressive. On
the day that Elijah and the other boys said goodbye,
they saw an entire tribe of Ancient Ones towering over
the corral and gathered to watch them leave. They made
it back to Tennessee, each of them nearly twenty years
old by then, pulling a wagon full of gold and hides.
Looking like weathered mountain men, they split their fortune, and
my great grandfather Elijah used his share to buy land
and become a farmer. James moved to New York and
became a wealthy merchant, and Thomas moved to California to
invest in new gold operations. They never spoke of Joe
or long Tooth, and they never saw each other again.
When my great grandfather finally finished his story, I asked
him if he really expected me to believe him, After all,
I was getting too old to believe in tall tales.
He smiled, and he told me to hold that thought,
and he walked into the house, and he came back
with a small canvas bag and a leather notebook, saying
I was finally old enough to see them. It was
a detailed journal from his travels, The papers worn thin
with age, and the bag was full of gold nuggets.
I read every line of that journal, the details of
his journey, exactly as he had told me, the words
too plain and genuine to have been made up. Our
home is one of the largest private farms in Tennessee
and has been since the eighteen eighties, when my great
grandfather Elijah first bought it. It has been in the
family for six generations. Now. Since then, I've become more
dedicated than ever to spending sundays on the front porch
talking with my elders. I look forward to sitting on
that old rocking chair one day, just like my great granddad,
sharing incredible stories with my children and grandchildren. Thank you
for joining me on this podcast. Hope you enjoyed it.
Don't forget. I've got Steve Lily nineteen up. If you're
look in the description below, there'll be a link to it.
I think I can put it on an end screen.
I'll put it on an end screen right here if
you want to go listen to it. If you go
over there and listen to a Steve Lilly episode. And
I don't ever ask this, but it would help me
if you would subscribe, maybe even leave a comment, even
be critical, you know, constructive criticism for things I write
is happily accepted. And I think about it, I really
think about it. Go over there and take a listen.
If you like good fun fiction. It's probably not for kids.
I know the men enjoy it, but a lot of
women do enjoy it. So anyway, go check it out.
All right, I'm gonna shut up about Steve Lily and
I'm gonna let you guys get back to your date.
Thank you for listening to this podcast, and we'll see
you on the next one. In Need It in cant