Speaker 1: I had an experience two years ago that really warped
Speaker 1: my brain, and I think that the time has finally
Speaker 1: come where I can talk about it. I'm so thankful
Speaker 1: that you provide a safe place where I and others
Speaker 1: like me can feel comfortable telling our stories. Thank you
Speaker 1: for that. I live in northern Ontario, in Canada. I
Speaker 1: heard you joking recently that we here in the Great
Speaker 1: White North should choose names of places that are easy
Speaker 1: to say. Well, not to worry, my friend, I will
Speaker 1: not burden you with any difficult words today. Anyway. As
Speaker 1: I said, two years ago, I decided to do a
Speaker 1: little late season camping. It was the end of October
Speaker 1: and the rain and the wind were wreaking havoc. I
Speaker 1: don't know what the temperature was, but it was cold,
Speaker 1: and I know that I could see my breath When
Speaker 1: I go out, I like to be as far away
Speaker 1: from people as I can get. I have a habit
Speaker 1: of following remote roads until I can't go any further,
Speaker 1: and then I look for a suitable camp site nearby.
Speaker 1: On this day, I had followed an old logging road
Speaker 1: about thirty five kilometers until I came across a very
Speaker 1: deep and wide wash out across the road. On the
Speaker 1: other side of the wash out was a bridge that
Speaker 1: passed over the river, and it fed an adjoining lake.
Speaker 1: I remember thinking that it was odd that the road
Speaker 1: would wash out next to the bridge, where the water
Speaker 1: could travel freely under. But nature will do what she wants.
Speaker 1: I guess. It was impossible for me to proceed any further,
Speaker 1: and as luck would have it, I had stopped next
Speaker 1: to a really nice camping area right on the shoreline
Speaker 1: of that beautiful lake. I wheeled into that spot and
Speaker 1: proceeded to set up camp. The wind and the rain
Speaker 1: were still blowing, but I knew that the weather was
Speaker 1: expected to let up late in the afternoon. A few
Speaker 1: hours let the weather did not let up as promised,
Speaker 1: and the sun started to set. I decided to turn
Speaker 1: in early that night, as the weather made it impossible
Speaker 1: to take my canoe out for an evening of fishing.
Speaker 1: Being alone in a canoe and strong winds as a
Speaker 1: losing battle, so I conceded to simply retire to my
Speaker 1: tent and try to get an early start the next morning.
Speaker 1: The cold and the noise of the wind, however, did
Speaker 1: their best to ruin that plan and kept me from
Speaker 1: falling into anything more than a half sleep. Laying in
Speaker 1: my tent for a few hours. In that half day's slumber,
Speaker 1: I could hear the blustering winds slowly easing up, and
Speaker 1: after a while it had slipped into a complete utter silence.
Speaker 1: There was not a sound to be heard. The silence,
Speaker 1: as they say, was deafening. It was almost surreal. I
Speaker 1: had awakened enough at this point to pay attention to
Speaker 1: the silence. It was so odd that I was on
Speaker 1: guard and was a little nervous because I had never
Speaker 1: experienced such perfect silence while camping. That did, however, change
Speaker 1: in a big hurry. That silence that was so disturbing
Speaker 1: a second ago, was dramatically broken by a near deafening
Speaker 1: crack and directly followed by a deep, resonating splash. The
Speaker 1: very loud crack was at first interrupted by my brain
Speaker 1: as a rifle shot, but I quickly realized it was
Speaker 1: a large stone striking a rock face behind my tent
Speaker 1: and then bouncing into the lake. The rock face was
Speaker 1: a mere ten or fifteen meters behind me. I was
Speaker 1: on high alert now. I listened for any other sounds
Speaker 1: that would help me identify what was going on, but
Speaker 1: I heard nothing in that perfect silence, no footfalls, no grunts,
Speaker 1: no sounds at all. I was racing through scenarios. Was
Speaker 1: in an animal that knocked the stone off the overhead?
Speaker 1: Was it a bear overturning rocks looking for food along
Speaker 1: the shoreline. As my brain was trying to interpret this situation,
Speaker 1: a second large stone fell directly into the water. It was,
Speaker 1: by my estimate, a larger stone than the first one,
Speaker 1: because it created a much deeper thud as it broke
Speaker 1: the surface of the water. I was up on my
Speaker 1: feet now in my tent, deciding if I should investigate
Speaker 1: or at least be at the ready if things took
Speaker 1: a turn for the worst. And then another large stone
Speaker 1: fell directly into the water with a resounding thump splash.
Speaker 1: That was it for me. I had no intention to
Speaker 1: be going head to head with any forest critter that
Speaker 1: could throw boulders. The last thing I wanted at that
Speaker 1: point was to be inside that tent in the dark
Speaker 1: and having boulders falling on me. Whatever it was it
Speaker 1: was trying to send me a message, and I received
Speaker 1: that memo loud and clear. I promptly unzipped the tent
Speaker 1: flap and made a dash for my truck, started it up,
Speaker 1: and I removed myself from that place as quickly as
Speaker 1: that old beat up logging road would allow. I spent
Speaker 1: the night in my truck some distance from there, and
Speaker 1: everything was uneventful. When the sun came up the next morning,
Speaker 1: I returned to the camp site so that I could
Speaker 1: retrieve my canoe and camping gear. I looked around the
Speaker 1: area and I took some photos with my phone for reference.
Speaker 1: The rear of the camp site had a row of
Speaker 1: scrub brush and trees about three meters deep, and directly
Speaker 1: behind that was the rock face from where the rocks
Speaker 1: were being thrown, and yes, they were being thrown. I
Speaker 1: paddled out onto the lake to check out that rock
Speaker 1: face with my canoe, and there was no way those
Speaker 1: rocks could have rolled down on their own. It was
Speaker 1: just too shallow of an angle for that to happen,
Speaker 1: and there were ledges with brush on them. Even if
Speaker 1: the rocks had found their way rolling down, the ledges
Speaker 1: would have made their journey very difficult. Gravity alone could
Speaker 1: not drag them through those brush filled ledges. Not to mention,
Speaker 1: I would have heard them crashing down that rock face
Speaker 1: to the water, I packed my gear up and I left.
Speaker 1: I mentioned my experience to a few friends and learned
Speaker 1: that talking about such things is most definitely the wrong
Speaker 1: thing to do, unless you like a ridicule in being
Speaker 1: the butt of never ending sisquatch jokes. Yes, I do
Speaker 1: believe that it was a sasquatch throwing those rocks. There's
Speaker 1: nothing that I know of in these parts that can
Speaker 1: throw a stone except a human being. I'm convinced it
Speaker 1: was not a person up on that bluff that night,
Speaker 1: as they would have had to approach my campsite on
Speaker 1: foot in the wind and rain earlier in the day
Speaker 1: through many kilometers of brush, can wait there until night fall,
Speaker 1: in perfect silence, just a few stones into the water
Speaker 1: to scare me. I know that no one came up
Speaker 1: the road before or after me, because I looked for
Speaker 1: fresh tired tracks when I left that day, and my
Speaker 1: tires were the only ones that passed over that road
Speaker 1: for quite a while. Now here's where my story gets weird,
Speaker 1: and I come to the part that messes with my
Speaker 1: brain in a way that I could never have expected.
Speaker 1: All winter, I was bothered by this experience. I desperately
Speaker 1: wanted to go back there and look up on that
Speaker 1: bluff and check out the area and look for some
Speaker 1: kind of proof either for or against my experience as
Speaker 1: being authentic. I was obsessed with just knowing one way
Speaker 1: or the other whether that was a Sasquatch experience or not.
Speaker 1: Spring finally came and around the end of March I
Speaker 1: was finally able to venture into that spot again and investigate.
Speaker 1: Remember earlier that I said I was there at the
Speaker 1: end of October on the previous fall. That time of
Speaker 1: the year is very close to the time when snow
Speaker 1: starts rolling in, and when the snow starts around here,
Speaker 1: it's relentless. The weather coming off Lake Superior ensures that
Speaker 1: the snow accumulates fast early in November, and it is
Speaker 1: not uncommon to have a meter of snow on the
Speaker 1: ground in this area by Christmas. When I did arrive
Speaker 1: at the bridge, I was astounded to see that the
Speaker 1: wash shout that was their last fall was now gone.
Speaker 1: The road was completely normal and intact. My first reaction
Speaker 1: was that it must have been repaired, but when and
Speaker 1: how There was no logging in the area, so a
Speaker 1: logging company could not have done it without good reason.
Speaker 1: There were no properties or cottages in the area. I
Speaker 1: look for a spot where a large amount of material
Speaker 1: would have been taken for PHIL, but there was none.
Speaker 1: I looked up and down the road and saw no
Speaker 1: evidence that any heavy equipment had been in there. In fact,
Speaker 1: the road ended the place was so bad for a
Speaker 1: five hundred meters stretch just before the lake that I
Speaker 1: had a difficult time getting in there with my four
Speaker 1: wheel drive. I inspected the road where the washout was located,
Speaker 1: and it had grass and shrubs that were there from
Speaker 1: the previous years. It was as if there was never
Speaker 1: any wash out at all. The ground had not been
Speaker 1: disturbed in any way that I could see. In addition
Speaker 1: to that between November and when I was there in
Speaker 1: the spring would have made it impossible to repair the road.
Speaker 1: Because of the snow, there would have been no access
Speaker 1: to that location. I parked in the campsite and I
Speaker 1: looked around. There were elements of that spot that were different. Also,
Speaker 1: the line of shrub brush and trees that bordered the
Speaker 1: rear of the campsite were all gone the previous fall.
Speaker 1: While I packed up camp and left check that line
Speaker 1: of scrub it was thick enough that I had a
Speaker 1: moderate amount of difficulty to get through it to see
Speaker 1: the bluff behind it. Now it was all gone trees
Speaker 1: and all no stumps, no debris, nothing but mud where
Speaker 1: a substantial amount of trees and shrubbery had previously stood.
Speaker 1: The photos that I had taken were unfortunately gone. Also,
Speaker 1: the phone on which I had taken the pictures had
Speaker 1: been stolen during the winter. I don't have any explanation
Speaker 1: for any of this. I just know that this event
Speaker 1: fundamentally changed my view of the world around me. The
Speaker 1: roight throwing was one thing, but the change landscape made
Speaker 1: no sense to me at all. And my poor brain
Speaker 1: just did not know how to process this information. And
Speaker 1: I still don't know what to do with it. I
Speaker 1: think about this often, I think about it daily, but
Speaker 1: I'm not able to reconcile what I know was there
Speaker 1: in the fall and what I saw in the spring.
Speaker 1: Well that's my story. I'm no longer looking for answers
Speaker 1: because I'm afraid this will just get more weird. I'm
Speaker 1: smart enough to know when i'm beat, and the Maasthma
Speaker 1: just does not want me to know the answer to
Speaker 1: this one right now. And I'm okay with that. My
Speaker 1: story isn't about a specific encounter, but more where my
Speaker 1: fascination for the creature comes from. My father was a
Speaker 1: man's man. He was a World War II veteran and
Speaker 1: an avid outdoorsman. He worked in the old Fields of
Speaker 1: America and drove a truck, and he was generally a
Speaker 1: tough guy. He taught me and my brothers, all six
Speaker 1: of us, about hunting and fishing, among other life lessons.
Speaker 1: He grew up in great Depression America and knew how
Speaker 1: to make the most out of very little. He was
Speaker 1: all in all a good man. In the nineteen eighties,
Speaker 1: he was working for an oil company checking wells in
Speaker 1: southwest Oklahoma. This region isn't known for bigfoot sidings or encounters.
Speaker 1: It was just becoming knowledgeable that eastern Oklahoma may have
Speaker 1: bigfoot type creatures. Dad had come home one afternoon excited
Speaker 1: and began telling us about what he found. He had
Speaker 1: had extra time on his hands and was going to
Speaker 1: check out a pond near one of the oil leases
Speaker 1: he had been given permission to fish there. While walking
Speaker 1: the bank of the pond, he found a log that
Speaker 1: had been ravaged by something. Dad said the log was
Speaker 1: hollow and it looked like a rabbit or a critter
Speaker 1: had made the log its home. But what excited Dad
Speaker 1: was the log being destroyed the way it was. He said,
Speaker 1: the log was completely torn apart and inside was a
Speaker 1: pile of fur from what he could only assume was
Speaker 1: a rabbit. Investigating the log, he also found a few
Speaker 1: strands of coarse, long hair. My father was a rational man,
Speaker 1: and he knew a code. He would not have destroyed
Speaker 1: a log like that. There were no significant tracks around
Speaker 1: the log, even in the soft dirt. He told us
Speaker 1: and most anyone who would listen about this. The story
Speaker 1: never changed each time he told it. He was known
Speaker 1: to tell a tall tailor too usually for a life,
Speaker 1: and you could always tell when my father was joking.
Speaker 1: When he told this story. He never varied or changed
Speaker 1: his tone. It was always exactly the same. A few
Speaker 1: months later, he took me out to the pond to
Speaker 1: look at the site of the log and to look
Speaker 1: at the pond again for the best fishing spots. It
Speaker 1: was February or March. I was fourteen years old. Dad
Speaker 1: pointed out where the log had been, and he told
Speaker 1: me to go check it out look for Prince. While
Speaker 1: he finished checking the level on the tank battery or
Speaker 1: whatever he did on those wells. It was two hundred
Speaker 1: yards from the truck, and I held no fear of
Speaker 1: woodland creatures. Especially in the middle of the day. While
Speaker 1: I was down by the pond near the spot, I
Speaker 1: kept getting the feeling that I was being watched. It
Speaker 1: wasn't a foreboding sense of danger, just a feeling that
Speaker 1: I was being observed. There were no forest sounds except
Speaker 1: for the wind, and now I chalk that up to
Speaker 1: being late winter. Therefore, there wasn't a lot of creatures
Speaker 1: about to make noise. Dad later found in search of
Speaker 1: episodes and we watched them every time they came on.
Speaker 1: There weren't a lot of documentaries about Bigfoot on television,
Speaker 1: but when a story came on about the creature, he
Speaker 1: would watch it, and that was much to the aggravation
Speaker 1: of my mother. This is where my fascination about cryptid
Speaker 1: creatures comes from. He believed they were real, and he
Speaker 1: was riddy. Or people just thought old Allen was bsing
Speaker 1: them again. But I never questioned my dad. He knew
Speaker 1: that the creature passed through the area, and that was
Speaker 1: good enough for me. Were he alive today, he would
Speaker 1: be listening to every podcast he could find, every story
Speaker 1: he could listen to about Bigfoot. He definitely would enjoy
Speaker 1: Dixie Cryptid. I know this isn't much of a Bigfoot encounter,
Speaker 1: but this was the beginning of my journey down the
Speaker 1: Cryptid rabbit hole and one small bond I held with
Speaker 1: my dad. I believe that Dad saw or hurt something
Speaker 1: more than that log that day. He just never told
Speaker 1: anyone about it. Back in the nineteen eighties and early nineties,
Speaker 1: I lived in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Like many
Speaker 1: of the people who live up there, I was a hunter.
Speaker 1: When I was seventeen, I built a deer blind on
Speaker 1: the top of a ridge about a half mile from
Speaker 1: my home. Also had a bait pile consisting of apples
Speaker 1: and corn that the local wildlife always picked at. I
Speaker 1: was up there a lot. Never once felt uncomfortable or afraid.
Speaker 1: I never felt like anything was watching me or like
Speaker 1: I should leave unless the season was opened. I was
Speaker 1: generally up there armed only with my hunting knife, but
Speaker 1: I never felt a reason to carry anything bigger or
Speaker 1: more powerful. On the sixth day of the fourteen day season,
Speaker 1: I quickly finished my after school chores and headed too
Speaker 1: my blind. I'd been seeing a nice buck, but it
Speaker 1: was always after legal shooting hours. I had hopes that
Speaker 1: one day he would come in early and I'd get
Speaker 1: a shot at him. That was my main thought as
Speaker 1: I settled onto my stool inside the blind. After twenty minutes,
Speaker 1: my thoughts were drawn away from that buck when it
Speaker 1: occurred to me the woods were incredibly quiet. None of
Speaker 1: the little critters who normally feasted on the bait pile
Speaker 1: were around. There were no birds flying around trying to
Speaker 1: get their share. Not even the wind was blowing. That
Speaker 1: was when a feeling of utter terror came over me.
Speaker 1: When the woods are abnormally quiet, it usually means there's
Speaker 1: a predator close by. My head was turning on a swivel,
Speaker 1: and I began looking all around me for whatever had
Speaker 1: caused everything to go quiet, and for whatever had put
Speaker 1: that awful fear in my gut. My dad and our
Speaker 1: neighbor didn't get along. They had even come to blows
Speaker 1: at a local grocery store, which got them both banned
Speaker 1: for six months. Despite this, the neighbor had recently come
Speaker 1: to our house, risking life and limb to let my
Speaker 1: dad know he'd seen a lynx in the vicinity. Considering
Speaker 1: their intense dislike for each other, it must have taken
Speaker 1: quite a bit of courage for that man to come
Speaker 1: up and warn my dad of possible danger to our livestock.
Speaker 1: A few days later, one of our horses came in
Speaker 1: with read deep, parallel slashes on her right shoulder. The
Speaker 1: vat who came out to stitch her up said they
Speaker 1: looked like they'd been done by a large cat. They
Speaker 1: were each at least an inch to an inch and
Speaker 1: a half deep. There was a fourth wound, but it
Speaker 1: was just a bloody scratch. Knowing this when the fear
Speaker 1: hit me, I was looking for a lynx. I couldn't
Speaker 1: hear her, see anything, but I couldn't shake that feeling.
Speaker 1: I was scared out of my mind, but I didn't
Speaker 1: understand why. And all the time I'd spent up there
Speaker 1: with nothing but my hunting knife, I had never felt afraid.
Speaker 1: One day. I even found bear tracks around my bait
Speaker 1: pile and bear scat near my blind and I never
Speaker 1: felt as terrified as I did that moment. Suddenly it
Speaker 1: was like someone was telling me to leave, as if
Speaker 1: someone had put that fault in my head. I don't
Speaker 1: believe I thought it because I was too busy looking
Speaker 1: around and being unbelievably scared. A few minutes passed, and
Speaker 1: my fear was only getting worse when I heard a
Speaker 1: noise off to my left. Leaves rustled to the south
Speaker 1: of my blind, followed by a tremendous crack that was
Speaker 1: as loud as a rifle shot. I nearly unloaded my
Speaker 1: bowels into my camouflage pants. Woo, good thing you didn't
Speaker 1: Roy before I had time to react. To perfectly healthy,
Speaker 1: eight inch in diameter tree fell and landed right next
Speaker 1: to my blind. Some of the branches took out the
Speaker 1: side of it and left scratches on my face and neck.
Speaker 1: And all this happened with no wind. The tree was
Speaker 1: broken off at about eight to nine feet above the ground.
Speaker 1: It had been snapped in two. If whatever made that
Speaker 1: tree fall wanted to hurt me really bad, it could
Speaker 1: have dropped the tree on me instead of next to
Speaker 1: my blind. And if it wanted to kill me, there
Speaker 1: was nothing I could do about it. I know for
Speaker 1: a fact that no black bear could have broken that
Speaker 1: tree like that. My guess is that my stool is
Speaker 1: still up there on that ridge, and I've never been back.
Speaker 1: Many years later, I was out with a couple of
Speaker 1: buddies tipping a few at the local watering hole one
Speaker 1: night after closing time. We were on our way home
Speaker 1: in my nineteen seventy four Chevy Love pickup when I
Speaker 1: spilled my beer, which led to my truck being in
Speaker 1: the ditch in the middle of nowhere. We stood on
Speaker 1: the road for several minutes, deciding whether to walk to
Speaker 1: a nearby house or call for help, or walk two
Speaker 1: miles to my friend's house and get his truck to
Speaker 1: pull it out. All the conversation came to a halt
Speaker 1: when we heard something that sounded like chattering teeth in
Speaker 1: the woods behind us. We thought maybe we woke up
Speaker 1: an angry squirrel who was telling us off. A big,
Speaker 1: really big, big, big angry squirrel. I don't know. That's
Speaker 1: settled it. We decided to walk back to my friend's house.
Speaker 1: As soon as we started walking, we realized something was
Speaker 1: keeping pace with us just beyond the tree line and
Speaker 1: the woods on the north side of the road. When
Speaker 1: we walked, it walked with us. When we stopped to listen,
Speaker 1: it would maybe take another step and then stop too.
Speaker 1: We all three got sober really quick as it continued
Speaker 1: to keep pace with us, walking when we walked, and
Speaker 1: stopping when we stopped. We came to the conclusion that
Speaker 1: it must be a big man walking in the woods.
Speaker 1: We even tried talking to him, but we never got
Speaker 1: a reply. As hunters, we knew it wasn't a deer
Speaker 1: or any other four legged animal. It was definitely by peedle,
Speaker 1: so we ran. It ran right along with us when
Speaker 1: we stop. It stopped within one or two steps after us.
Speaker 1: Then we walked back towards my truck, and it turned
Speaker 1: around and kept pace. Two of us had been in
Speaker 1: the military, so I quietly said, we're going to do
Speaker 1: an about face. We put the non military friend in
Speaker 1: the middle and told him to follow our moods. The
Speaker 1: moon was just broad enough that we could see each
Speaker 1: other about face, I whispered. We performed the move perfectly.
Speaker 1: After three steps, we stopped over in the woods. We
Speaker 1: clearly heard it turn around and then stop and wait
Speaker 1: for our next move. This thing paralleled us inside the
Speaker 1: tree line until we finally came to a house with
Speaker 1: a yard mowed up to the woods. I guess it
Speaker 1: didn't want to show itself because once we rounded the corner,
Speaker 1: we never heard it again. When we got back to
Speaker 1: my truck, there were rocks laying all over the flatbed
Speaker 1: that weren't there when we left. We yanked my truck
Speaker 1: out of that ditch in record time and got the
Speaker 1: hell out of there. There was one other time it
Speaker 1: happened before the night I put my truck in the ditch,
Speaker 1: but well after I had the incident with the deer blind.
Speaker 1: I saved it for last because it's the experience that
Speaker 1: made me a knower. After that, I lost every doubt
Speaker 1: that these sasquatch really do exist. I had gone up
Speaker 1: to the up to get some poles to make a
Speaker 1: fork for my young sons. We didn't have any trees
Speaker 1: big enough, so I cut some sixteen foot cedar poles
Speaker 1: and strapped them to the top of my nineteen eighty
Speaker 1: eight Dodge caravan to bring home. I got up to
Speaker 1: my buddy's place on Friday night. Since he was in
Speaker 1: college and living in the dorm, he wasn't going to
Speaker 1: arrive until Saturday morning. It was about ten PM when
Speaker 1: I got there, so I rolled out my sleeping bag
Speaker 1: in the back of the van and watched the stars
Speaker 1: through the sun roof until I fell asleep. I don't
Speaker 1: know what woke me, but around one point thirty I
Speaker 1: was suddenly wide awake. I could see out of most
Speaker 1: of the windows. The moon was bright, but I couldn't
Speaker 1: see the stars through the sun roof. My friend lived primitively.
Speaker 1: He had no electricity on the place. The nearest street light,
Speaker 1: along with the nearest neighbor, was a good three miles away.
Speaker 1: Light pollution was not an issue. That's when I noticed
Speaker 1: the face. It was looking down at me through the
Speaker 1: sun roof. It looked like a giant human, but a
Speaker 1: lot harrier. It had dark hair all around its face.
Speaker 1: By three point fifty seven, magnum was under my pillow.
Speaker 1: I wanted to feel it in my hand, but it
Speaker 1: felt like something was holding me down. I couldn't move.
Speaker 1: I thought immediately of an accident i'd had while I
Speaker 1: was in the Navy that left me temporarily paralyzed. My
Speaker 1: brain was telling my arms to get the gun, but
Speaker 1: my body would not obey. Finally, the face pulled back
Speaker 1: and disappeared from my view. I watched as a large,
Speaker 1: hairy torso past the side windows of the van. It
Speaker 1: walked across the driveway behind me and disappeared into the woods.
Speaker 1: As soon as it was gone, I could move again.
Speaker 1: I unzipped my sleepy bag, grabbed my gun, opened the
Speaker 1: side door, and shine my spotlight all around, but I
Speaker 1: never saw anything. I figured it was safe to crawl
Speaker 1: out of the van and relieve myself. But I listened
Speaker 1: closely as I did so, I couldn't hear anything. The
Speaker 1: woods were completely silent. I don't even think the mosquitoes
Speaker 1: were buzzing. My hair was standing on in but there
Speaker 1: wasn't much else I could do, so I crawled back
Speaker 1: into my sleeping bag, and I started thinking about what
Speaker 1: had just happened. For a long time, I tried to
Speaker 1: convince myself it was just a nightmare. But the next
Speaker 1: morning I could see where something had leaned up against
Speaker 1: my van and left an imprint in the dust. There
Speaker 1: were other places where the dust had been brushed off
Speaker 1: all down the side. It had also left a trail
Speaker 1: through the dew and the grass and the weeds leading
Speaker 1: to the woods. I can still see that face in
Speaker 1: my mind's eye like it was yesterday. I now know
Speaker 1: there is something out there. It's big, it's Harry, and
Speaker 1: it'll scare the crap out of you if you ever
Speaker 1: get to see one.