Speaker 1: Here's an interesting story from Indiana. Yep, you can use
my name if you want to call me Kelly, and
that's the name on the email. Hi Cam. This is
a short story, so here it goes. All right, here
we go. I'm telling you this story because it's absolutely true.
It's not a sosquatch story or ghost story, but it's
very strange. Nonetheless, I grew up in southern Indiana in
the late seventies and early eighties. Most people probably think
of corn and beanfields when thinking of Indiana, and that's
mostly true, but southern Indiana has some great rolling hills.
It was nineteen eighty four in the forecast call for
six inches of snow. My buddies and I knew we
wouldn't have school the next day, so we planned on
going out in a friend's four wheel drive Bronco. After
finding someone to get us some liquid refreshments, we headed
out to what we call the virgin roading. This is
when you cruise the back roads and fine roads where
the snow hasn't been driven on. And after hour or
so of riding, we had to take a nature call.
My buddy was on somewhat of a main road out
in the stick, so we pulled off to the side
of the road for some privacy, and after we finished
up our business, we saw tire tracks in the snow
leading down the road. The tires were pretty narrow and
it looked like they were about three feet apart. We
found this was strange, but it was going down this
road just fine. We popped over a small hill and
we found ourselves driving right into a graveyard. There was
no other way out, so we started to turn around,
and it was here that we noticed the tire tracks
had stopped. There was absolutely no way the tire tracks
could follow the exact path back out, and we noticed
that there wasn't a bear spot where a car had
been sitting, or footprints that had gotten out of the
car to leave. There was also no wind, so the
snow couldn't have blown over the spot where it had
been sitting or the footprints covered up. Yes, we had
been drinking, but we were not out of our minds drunk.
Yet no one said anything. As we drove out. My
friend's tire tracks were outside of the smaller vehicles tracks.
We looked closely and it was definitely a one way trip.
I finally asked when we got back on the main road.
If anybody was screwing with me. Everybody said no. We
headed back to town. I tried to find this road
later in life, but I couldn't locate it. Everything looks
different in the snow. You can use my name if
you want. My name is Kelly, And everything looks different
when you're sober to Kelly, when you're not full of beer. Yeah,
that's kind of a creepy, interesting story. I don't know
what to think about that. These two tire tracks. What
do you think that could have been? I don't know
what has small tires and the wheels are just three
feet apart, but they go up in the graveyard and
they just stop in the middle of a snowstorm and
they just vanish. That's pretty odd, But that was an
interesting story. I thought i'd share it with you guys.
I grew up in eastern Washington in a hunting gathering
kind of family, and by the time I was fourteen,
my friends and I would regularly gather twenty two's and
go off camping not far from home. All my friends
also came from hunting families, and we had skinned and
eaten every legal prey we could harvest. You sure you're
not from Louisiana, sounds like you're a Cajun. One warm
afternoon in the nineteen seventies, while hiking out a canyon
from an overnight stay, we found something in a small
drainage that scared me and my buddies to the point
that we never spoke of it again. There in the
drainage lade what appeared to be a bloody, skinned out
monkey or ape. It had been perfectly skinned, as if
someone had removed the hide for tanning. The creature was
only the size of a small child. It wasn't a bear,
though a skinned out bear, we had learned earlier in life,
does have a human look to them. After the sight
of this creature, we walked home a bit scared and
in disbelief, and to this day we have never brought
it up again. So a short story and maybe nothing,
but monkeys or apes are not found in eastern Washington,
nor did we know anyone who owned them. There was
not even a zoo nearby, which makes it all the scarier.
Thank you again for your time in sharing these incredible stories.
I still hunt now near our home in western Montana.
Other than a few hunts where not one critter can
be found heard, not even a forest bird. I have
never seen anything like others have, and thank God for
that too. I do believe they're around here, but maybe
they have no care about me and they stay clear,
or maybe they know I carry much more than a
bow and an arrow. They're pretty smart critters. I think
he signs off Randy Yep. Apparently from these reports, they
know what a gun is, and I don't know. Maybe
they know I don't. Maybe they're scared of guns. Who knows.
That's pretty interesting, you know, I don't know. When I
read these stories from people and they are recounting events
from their childhood, I remember seeing weird things in my childhood.
Like now, this is going to be kind of off topic,
but for some reason, this just popped in my head.
I remember some buddies and I were We used to
ride ditches in Memphis. We'd get out in these ditches.
They'd go for miles and miles and you'd find all
kind of stuff in these ditches, old bicycles, probably stolen bicycles,
old radios and things like that. And one time we
came up on it looked like just a magazine sitting there,
and it wound up being a girly magazine. I think
it was a Playboy, and of course we all grabbed it.
We were looking through the pages, and that was interesting,
you know, as a young teenager to look at those pictures.
I mean, we were boys, but I have never forgotten
the thought, and I always think about who takes who
looks at those magazines in a ditch? I mean, how
did that thing get there? I don't know. I don't
of course, none of the other guys were thinking that,
but I'm asking the whole time, how the hell did
this thing getting down here? Who threw this thing in here?
And I thought through the years, probably some other teenage
boy who who was afraid his mother would find it
in his bedroom or something chum from his backyard end
of the ditch. I don't know why that popped in
my head, but the story's kind of about finding something
odd on the side of the road, and they found
a skinned out monkey. Now that's a lot weirder than
finding a girly magazine. But I thought that was very interesting,
and yeah, let's move along. Hopefully I don't get distracted
too much again. Twelve years ago, I found myself suddenly
a single father with an amazing eight year old daughter.
After her mother left our lives, I had to become
both father and mother overnight and raise our beautiful daughter alone.
I was lucky to secure a beautiful property north of
Brisbane in Queensland, Australia, and we began to heal. This
was an amazing old property around ten acres on the
outskirts of a smaller township. The house was old, but
the land had an amazing combination of old trees, small
cleared paddocks for our horse, old tropical gardens, and a
series of creeks that ran down one boundary to form
a billabong. This was the place my daughter and I needed.
Our horse was our buckskin lawnmower. He was like a
puppy and he followed us around when we went on bushwalks.
Given the size of the land, my daughter was also
able to keep chickens and ducks. She would be their
little mother. They all had names and would come to
her for hugs and cuddles. We had no cats or dogs,
so wildlife was abundant. We had black cockatoos and cuker burrows, possums,
brilliant kingfishers at the creeks, and hundreds of lorikeets. One morning,
I went out back of the house and discovered chicken
feathers scattered in the backyard. I followed a trail which
led to the far side boundary near the creek, and
found a larger pile of feathers. I assumed that a
fox had come in and taken one of my daughter's birds.
During the night, I cleaned up all the feathers and
later told my daughter what I had found. She asked
if it could have put up a fight and gotten away.
It was possible I had only found the feathers. We
made sure the chickens were locked up tight that night. Onward,
they were free range during the day. One weekend, we
went away to go swimming at the beach, and when
we got back we quickly realized that more chickens and
ducks had been taken. The trail of feathers once again
led us to the forest near the creek. Still we
found nothing but feathers. A few weeks later, winter had
set in. It does get cold here in Australia, but
only for a few weeks. During that short time, we
enjoyed fires outside. It was a good time on those
chilly nights. Because the property was so big with lots
of trees, I never had to buy firewood. I would
just gather pine cones and branches from the property to burn.
Some nights, I would take a large old washing basket
and a torch and go stick picking around the property
to gather something to burn. I wouldn't let my daughter
come with me at night, but she would stand on
the front veranda and watch me go around with a torch.
I didn't want her to follow in case of snakes
or spiders. We have some big ones here and I
never traveled out of her sight. One such night, I
had filled the basket with sticks and pine cones and
was walking back up the long driveway back to the house.
I had the torch in front of me and I
walked alongside the driveway fence, which was about four feet high.
As I got within around fifty meters of the front
of the house, the front spotlights were on from the
roof and I could see my daughter waving. Out of
the corner of my eye, I saw a large black
cat like creature run between me and the fence towards
the house. It was fast, but very close, within two
meters to my left. I turned the torch onto it,
and I watched it loop forward until it got to
a large, overgrown hibiscus that grew beside the car port.
These gardens were old. The original plants had grown to
enormous sizes over the years. The hibiscus had grown to
a large, dome shaped mass of thicket and branches, but
it was hollow inside. The chickens often nestled in there.
My daughter saw the creature run past me, and then
she asked what it was. I wasn't sure and still
had the torch on it, and I saw it enter
into the big hibiscus. I wasn't sure if it was
still there or had gone out the back into the forest.
I told my daughter to stay where she was at
the front door, and I approached the big shrub, expecting
to find nothing. I shown the torch into the bush,
and staring back in the torch light was the biggest
set of bright neon green eyes. The creature was so
black that even the torch light was not picking up
the detail. The eyes were really big. They were the
size of golf balls and spaced it twenty five centimeters apart.
There was no sound, but I could see its nose
wrinkle up in snarls. It exposed a huge mouth with big, white,
sharp teeth and whiskers. The eyes were wide open, but
I could see its brow furrow down in anger. The
thing that hit me was its wildness. This thing was powerful,
large and foreign. Australia has no official big cats. But
I could see from its eyes and their reaction that
it was pissed and defensive. I've seen pictures of tigers
with their ears laid back and snarling, nose wrinkled up
with full fury, and this was exactly what I saw.
I told my daughter to go straight back into the
house and I backed away, slowly, keeping the torch on
this creature's face. It kept shutting its mouth and then
burying its teeth, but no noise ever came out of
this thing. I backed away and made it to the
house and I shut the door. A week later, I
saw a council vehicle pulling up at our front gate.
I walked down to the property entry, and the officer
asked me about our buckskin horse. They had found one
down the road an hour earlier and thought that it
might be mine. I looked around the property and called
out for him, but no sign of the horse. We
walked the fence and found a spot where the fence
had been crushed to the ground, obviously where the horse
had escaped. This was unusual, as he was a real
house pet, never flighty or spook. He was so docile
that he was more like a dog than a horse.
The council officer said it looked like he had been
herded into a panic in the corner and pushed the
fence down and then ran through. His guest was a
pack of dogs had run the horse out. I didn't
say anything about the recent encounter, feeling I would be
seen as a nutter. The officer radio to his other
council workers said it was our horse, and a few
minutes later they came up the road leading him back.
The horse was worried about the property, kept looking over
all the areas, nostrils wide open and ears up and
flicking around. I let him onto the property and he
slowly calmed down, but he hung around me like a shadow.
We noticed some big scratch marks down his left flank,
four big scratch marks in a row from the middle
of his back, down his leg, and around his backside.
Each scratch was around three centimeters apart. They had broken
the skin, but he would not need that treatment. One
of the officers said it might have been by the
fence when he got through. The other officer said it
looked like a big cat, only to be shot down
quickly by his superior, saying it was a fence injury.
There have been many sightings of big cat encounters in
Australia for many but the media and the public in
general dismissed these as fantasy. I've never publicly admitted this
encounter to anyone, and we have moved away from the property.
All right, here's a story from a woman in Ohio,
and she wants to keep her name out of it.
She'll tell us why at the end, but this is
really an interesting story. So here's what she writes. I
was listening to your March four, twenty nineteen YouTube video
and I thought I would share this experience with you. First, though,
I wanted to tell you how much, okay, how much
I enjoy your channel. It's great. It's a wonderful mix
of music and storytelling and information. It's nothing better than
a good story, y'all. I normally I'm reading these cold.
I don't usually I edit that stuff out when people say, oh,
we love your channel, and because that's really not pertinent
to the story, but I appreciate people writing it. I'm
trying to stick to the point here, but thank you,
ma'am for saying that, she writes. I grew up on
a big farm in southern Ohio, in between Cincinnati and Dayton.
It was a great place to be as a kid.
The first time I saw this craft was in the
early nineteen seventies. It was on a ridge above a
half mile training track, and it was longer than one
side stretch of the track that would make it six
hundred plus feet long. It was a long, cigar shaped
object and glowed a soft pink lavender like an old
Neon sign. It appeared to be floating or moving in
the pink colored mist. The weather was warm and the
mist was just short of boiling. Under the craft. I
could feel it deep in my body. It vibrated the air,
but it never made a sound. I was barefoot, and
I could feel the vibration even in the ground. It
had portals the whole length of the craft, and the
craft was close enough that you could see that it
was lit up inside. It was a summer morning, and
there were already lots of people at the farm. It
was a commercial horse training and breeding facility. I remember
thinking the craft was so amazing, but being even more
amazed that no one else appeared to even notice there
was something taking up most of the sky. And then
it was gone. I moved to Florida, and in the
nineteen nineties I saw it again. I was driving down
a major four lane highway in North Florida. It was
a beautiful spring day and I was driving with the
windows down. I felt it before I saw it, and
I was surprised by the emotional response to the memory.
The craft was right above the telephone power poles and
just as big and pink as before. Everything was the same,
except this was on a busy highway and no one
else was even hitting their brakes. Cam This thing was
a couple of football fields long, and it vibrated in
the air so much that it hurt your heart. But
it didn't make a noise. It was absolutely silent. I
pulled over into a ditch and sat there watching the
cars driving by, and the craft was barely moving. And
then it sped up to tad and then it was gone.
It didn't zip up into the sky or take a
real fast approach. It was just gone. There was nothing
in the news and no local gossip. Fifty plus cars
passed it, and not one car hit their brake, swerved,
or appeared to even notice something the size of an
aircraft carrier a few feet above the power pole lines.
I wondered if maybe the reality was that they couldn't
see it, and not that they hadn't seen it, they
just couldn't see it for some reason. Yes, I know
I'm probably not completely right in my head and I've
had too many rather strange experiences in my life. However,
if you set that aside, I want you to know
that I am a professional, I'm a responsible, educated person.
I have a family, and I have no desire to
be considered a looney tune looney been worthy fodder. I'm
sharing this with you, and I would prefer to remain anonymous,
and you there's no problem with that, man. But I
love this story. And here's the thing. You know, these
bigfoot stories, some people say, well, you have to kind
of be chosen to see one. Could that be the
same with some of these strange crafts that people see?
Because this is one of probably two or three I've
read where people see these things in the sky. They're
in a crowded area and they're the only ones that
see them. Nobody else is looking up. This thing, especially
on the four lane highway, must have been very obvious,
would have been very obvious to anybody driving down the
highway because she couldn't miss it. Nobody else sees it.
What a weird deal. Now, there are some stories I
read where people see these strange crafts floating or flying
in the sky and everybody sees it. Everybody around them
sees it, and they're all gathered around looking at it.
I always refer back to Close Encounters of the Third kind,
and it reminds me of that scene where everybody is
all these people, it's night. All these people are gathered
on the side of this hill, around the curve of
this highway and they know these things are coming, and
sure enough they come flying through and around the highway
and the police are chasing them. Do you all remember
that one of the police cars flies off through the
rail and down a ravine. So I don't know. It
just kind of reminded me of that. But I just
love this stuff. It's kind of I don't know. It
just sparks your imagination and it makes you kind of
dreamy and wonder filled with wonder and that's what I
love about these stories. So thank you man for sending this.
I know you think you're not right in the head,
but I think you are, and I think you saw
what you say you saw. And maybe the rest of
us just don't have the insight to see those things,
or maybe we're too busy to notice. Who knows, but
I'm always looking for stuff like that. Anyway, thank you
for the story. It was wonderful. In September in nineteen
seventy four, my wife and I were living on a
farm west of the small town of Leveland, Texas. Leveland
is twenty five miles west of Lobock. I guess that
part of Texas just about as flat as land can be.
It's five and a half million acres of flat farmland
sitting on the largest sand sheet on Earth. There are
no trees except in towns and around farm homes. Otherwise
it's just a wide open space. The local joke goes
that you can stand on your front porch and watch
your dog run away for three days. That's a good one.
You may laugh, but that's pretty accurate. Oh, that is
so good. On the weekend of the fifteenth, we had
traveled to my wife's parents' house, one hundred and fifty
miles northeast of us. We'd gone for a visit and
to get her dog. He was a half rat terrier
and half gaiter. He was a great watchdog and an
even at her guard dog. We left to make the
three hour drive home late on Sunday evening. The moon
was bright that night and there wasn't a cloud in
the sky. We pulled into the driveway at eleven PM
and quickly unloaded the truck, and we showered, and we
went to bed with Gator Dog curled up on my jeans.
I was almost asleep when my wife elbowed me and
asked if I quote heard that. Well, I didn't hear anything. No,
I said, go to sleep. Two or three minutes went by,
just enough time for me to drift back into that
place between being awake and sleeping soundly. When she elbowed
me again. Something's on the roof, she insisted, you must
be tired. I grumbled, go to sleep. She sat bolt
upright and said, there's someone on the roof. Wh I
didn't hear a thing, but I knew I wasn't going
to get any sleep until I got up and checked
it out. I walked out to the living room mumble
to myself. That's when I heard it. Someone was walking
across our roof. It sounded like size twelve boots up
there stomping around and chris crossing the roof from front
to back. I swallowed my panic and turned around to
go back to the bedroom, and I found my wife
standing right behind me. And after I took another big
gulp of panic, I knew I had to do something,
but what. I put my boots on and grabbed my
shotgun and I took a long, hard look at Gator Dog,
who was sleeping soundly. The shotgun was all I had,
so it was going to have to do. We went
to the back door and listened, and the footsteps continued
back and forth across the roof from one end of
the house to the other. Whatever it was, it was huge,
and it definitely was not trying to hide its presence.
When the steps got just above the door we were
standing at, it turned and walked back to the other
side of the house and I used the opportunity to
sprint out of the door. With my gun in my hand,
I hugged the side of the house and I listened
intently until I heard it directly overhead, and when it turned,
my blood ran cold. I heard the rough surface of
the shingles rub as it turned. It ground the asphalt
as if it was wearing leather soles of a boot.
I thought for a minute I was going to pass out.
As it walked back over to the crown of the roof,
I bolted for the other side of my truck that
was part close by, and from there I could see
the entire roof and I could see the roof jiggle
as it stepped. We could both hear it clearly. Gaiter
Dog snored in his sleep. When it walked back to
the side of the house, I could see the roof
shake and I heard everything, but nothing was there. I
motioned for my wife to come out. Timidly, she stepped outside,
and we both looked and listened for fifteen minutes as
it continued. Once did we see anything. Gator Dog got
a good night's sleep. We finally went back inside. My
wife went to bed, and I sat in my chair
with my gun in my hand until dawn. The marching
continued on until daylight. I became a praying man that night,
and I still am to this day. My wife went
to work and I went to get my farming done.
The elderly gentleman I was working for came out and
noticed I was having a hard day. When I told
him about our night, he just laughed. It's still going on,
I said, and he laughed again. When I asked if
he wanted to see it for himself, he agreed, and
we walked through the pasture to the house. It was
nine am, and that thing was still marching, as invisible
as ever, back and forth across the house, shaking the
roof and making as much racket as it was the
night before. The old gentleman saw it and heard it,
turned and ran home like a little girl. I stayed
at the house until noon and it never did stop.
At one PM, I gave up and I went back
to work, and when we got home at six that night,
the noise was gone. I could never get my employer
to discuss it with me. My wife and I talked
about it briefly, but we never figured out what it was.
I still work in the area and From time to
time we drive by just to sea. Fifty years later,
the house is still standing there, just like we walked
out of it yesterday