Speaker 1: In nineteen sixty four, my grandfather and my uncle went
on a camping trip in the Appalachian Mountains, which they
had done countless times before. They hiked for about half
a day until they reached the place we called the
Devil's bowlt In the Devil's Bowl, regardless of the time
or day or night, it is darker than any part
of the forest, no matter what season you passed through.
There is no wildlife and no sound. It's a dead
section of the woods, and when possible, they tried to
avoid it, but they were losing daylight quickly. To make
it to their destination before nightfall, they took a shortcut
through the Devil's Bowl, a decision they would regret. They
began to hear noises almost immediately, a branch breaking here,
or rustling in the leaves there, and a clacking of rocks.
By the time they reached the Devil's Bowl, surrounded by
the dark forest that enveloped them like a blanket, they
heard something pacing them step first step. My grandfather thought
it was an old holler boy pretending to be a woodburgger,
trying to divert them away from their moonshine or marijuana grow,
and he didn't pay it much mine. But the further
they got, the louder and closer the noises became. First,
little pebbles started bouncing off their rocksacks, and then the
pebbles turned into larger rocks, big enough to hurt if
they got you in the right spot. At that point,
they could see the outlines of something moving all around them.
My grandfather pulled his pistol and chambered around, counting at
least five of what he thought were people. As he
watched them circling, he saw a big rock flying through
the air, heading for my uncle's head. He pushed him
out of the way and raised his pistol and he shouted,
we're just passing through. We don't mean any harm. Before
he even finished his sentence, a growl echoed through the
ball so loud it forced the air out of their lungs.
These were no moonshiners, he realized. He looked at my uncle,
who was pale as a sheet, and his eyes fixed
over my grandfather's shoulder. He spun around, ready to take
on whatever troublemaker was out there, but he was not
prepared for what he saw ten yards away was a
creature eight feet tall, built like a linebacker in a
gilly suit, only three times bigger. He had knotted black
hair dangling off his body in dark, piercing eyes that
shone in the dim light and ripped through my grandfather's soul.
His hands were all the way down about its knees,
and he was swaying side to side, and his teeth
were out like an angry dog. My grandfather yelled out again,
we don't mean you any harm. Were just passing through.
He and my uncle locked arms and they tried to leave.
My grandfather trained his pistol on the beast in front
of them. He began walking. The beast roared again, a
deafening cross between a wampus cat and a grizzly bear.
In Mama's howls when she was pissed off. My grandfather
thought on his feet and he roared back. Now this
was a big mistake. It only infuriated the creature, which
began moving toward them. As my grandfather and uncle crested
the rim of the bowl and reached the top, they
realized they had walked into this creature's front yard. There
was an igloo like structure made of tree limbs and
logs and sticks and leaves, and several sets of eyes
were peering out. The creature started charging them, but my
grandfather didn't want to shoot because it looked too much
like a man. Instead, he shot above its head, but
it only raided the beast even more. It ran straight
into them, sending them both flying, and when they landed,
my grandfather jumped to his feet and ran over to
cover my uncle, who was reaching for his pistol. He
yelled at him not to shoot, but his words fell
on deaf ears. My uncle rattled off six shots, the
rounds tearing through the center of the beast, all six
shots finding their mark. The click of the pistols hammer
slapping the backs of the spent rounds as my uncle
frantically squeezed the trigger over and over. The creature collapsed
and all hell broke loose. There were creatures coming from
every direction, running full force at them. The earth sh
the roars and screams and bellows cracked through the forest,
setting off alarm bells to any other creature in the valley.
My grandfather fired a shot in the air over another
beast's head that was down on all fours, running straight
forward them. The animal veered off to the right down
over the hill. My grandfather spun around and saw another
one charging It knocked him off his feet before he
could react, and broke his ribs as it collided with him.
He hit the ground and then staggered over to my uncle,
who was covered in blood and slash marks on his
face and chest. They made it to their feet again
as the beasts started to surround them. One of them
charged my grandfather, sending him crashing to the ground. Another
slammed into my uncle, sending him flying in the opposite direction.
That's when he realized only then that there was no
possible way to make it out without fighting back, and
he got up and found my uncle, thinking he was dead,
dodging rocks and branches flying through the air as he
reached him. My uncle wasn't moving, he was bloody and battered,
and then ignited something in my grandfather, who spun around
and fired around right into the head of the creature
closest to him. The howling and screaming intensified. My grandfather
started dragging my uncle to the base of an old
hickory tree, smacking him, trying to bring him around while
digging through his pockets for his handkerchief. He tied it
around the deep cut in my uncle's forearm, and then
checked how much ammunition he had, knowing he would have
to shoot his way out. Another one of the beasts
charged him. My grandfather fired at it, making it fall
and crumble into a ball at the base of a tree.
Two more creatures charged from opposite directions, dropping down to
all fours and springing from side to side. They were
closing fast. My grandfather was all adrenaline at the moment.
He squeezed the trigger, whipped around, and shot again, neutralizing
both threats. The forest went quiet. If there were more beasts,
they weren't making themselves known. He began to drag my
uncle to his feet, his ribs searing with pain, and
thinking to himself that he had killed the entire group
and that he could be responsible for wiping out an
entire species. They managed to make it back to the house,
where my grandmother tended to their wounds. I could still
remember the pain and sorrow in my grandfather's eyes as
he recalled his encounter to me. He said he wanted
to return to that area to apologize and see if
the species had lived on, but he knew that was
not an option. If any of them were still alive,
they would have certainly killed him for what he did.
My uncle never talked about it, had scars on his chest,
and he rarely wore a short sleeved shirt. My father
told me not to ask him about it and said
it happened in the war. He passed away when I
was twelve years old, after battling a lifelong alcohol and
a drug addiction. I don't know whether he was trying
to escape the events of the Devil's Bowl or for
another reason. My grandfather died when I was eighteen. He
was an honest man. He fought in the Korean War,
and he worked in the coal mines for forty seven years.
He never missed a day's work and was always busy
fixing things up or finishing projects that couldn't wait for tomorrow.
He was a true mountain of a man and one
of the best men that I've ever known in my life.
In October of twenty nineteen, I had just finished my
shift at a local with over one hundred and fifty
milking cows. When I was done, I locked up the
place and I headed for my car. I was annoyed,
knowing I would have to lock the chickens away in
their coops in the darkness. We kept them on the
field across the road from our house, which was fine
in spacious during the day, but at night it could
be difficult because there were no lights. I climbed in
my car and I rang my mother to let her
know that I was on the way home. I set off,
driving through the rural villages, all of their lights glowing
from behind closed curtains. I turned onto a long, straight,
but bumpy road and slammed on my brakes. A large
black animal darted in front of my car, and it
leapt across a small ditch, and it vanished into the night.
It had a round head that had green eyes and
a long, slender tail. I got out and used the
flashlight on my phone to see over of the ditch,
hoping to get a look at it, but the woods
were dark and silent. The creature was long gone. My
mind started racing, and I rushed back to my car
and I locked the door and I sat there for
a few minutes, trying to figure out what I had seen.
I ruled out the badgers and the foxes and deer
and wild boars and any other animal I could come
up with, and I knew it was far too long
and tall to be a dog. I started thinking of
some British cryptids I had heard about, and I realized
I had seen the beast of x Moore. I had
heard stories of these large felines said to roam the
country killing livestock. I remembered seeing some rather blurry photos,
but I had never given them any serious thought until
that moment. I rang my mother immediately and I told
her what I saw. She was shocked, and she asked
if I was okay. My dad wasn't quite convinced, nor
was my little sister. When I got home, I locked
the chickens up as fast as I could, worried the
beast was out there watching me. The next morning, at work,
I mentioned it to my boss and some of my
fellow workers, who looked at me like I was losing it.
I knew then how most bigfoot witnesses must feel. I
kept the story to myself for a while after that,
but I'm sharing it now because who cares what anybody thinks.
You don't know me anyway. I know what I saw,
and no one can tell me different. If I ever
make it over to the United States and I see
a bigfoot, I'll let only you know. Thank you for
joining me on this podcast. Once again, I really appreciate
everyone who's listening this far. I'll be putting out another
podcast early next week, so until then, hope you guys
have a good week, hope you've had a good Thanksgiving weekend,
and we'll see on the next week. Thank you.