Speaker 1: Hey, good morning everybody. It's early in the morning of
July the eighth. I don't have a lot of time.
I've got a busy day, so I may just put
one story in this podcast and throw an archive behind
it to give it a little bit of length and
give you another story that you can enjoy. But let's
get started with the first one. It's a bigfoot story.
I have known about Bigfoot since I could remember. It
was fundamental learning for me, just the same as beware
of strangers. Native Americans are like that. You once made
a comment indicating your interest in how interactions with Bigfoot
have a life changing effect on people, and I would
like to shed some light on that for you and
your listeners. When I was a high school senior, I
had an encounter. I lived in the woods. Everyone in
this area lives along the stretch of road that runs
through it for about three miles on either side of
the road. After that, it has opened wilderness and pine
tree plantations for miles and miles. The brush is thick
everywhere and it's not kept down. As late as the
nineteen eighties, some of the natives still had living habits
from the past. Grandpa used to burn the brush down
about half an acre around us home, creating a visual perimeter.
The old women used to cover their windows at night,
and there was a leftover saying from earlier times for
children who would not go to sleep and who were
loud at night, be quiet, or something is going to
mock you. Once upon a time, we natives had to
implement practical strategies for living amongst our hairy neighbors, which
mainly was not to instigate any reason for any interaction whatsoever.
Move along, nothing to see here, that sort of thing.
But even now, well, if a Native sees a bigfoot,
they will look away and pretend that they didn't see it.
We know that if we leave them alone, they will
leave us alone. It is as if sometime in the
past we achieve some kind of unspoken cohabitation agreement. Natives
very rarely talk openly about bigfoot amongst other people. Personally,
I suspect that a little vanity with natives in that
they are knowing something most other people do not. Back
in high school, I was comfortable walking home late at
night in all weather. I knew the sounds that animals
make at night, and I could tell the difference between
each and every one of them moving through the brush.
I knew the difference between a coyote and a cat.
Cats are hard to hear, more like a breeze when
there is no wind. Animals will pace you as you
walk along the road at night, and I know how
to hear them. One night, I became aware of bipedal
steps pacing me off to the right about fifty feet.
It had happened twice before with no consequences, but it
was unnerving nonetheless, and the sooner it stopped, the better.
I was walking on a paved road approaching a creek
with a bridge crossing a quarter a mile away. The
road was going to turn left and run alongside the creek.
It sloped down, and it turned back to the right
for the bridge crossing. On the first curve, there was
a house that had a dog that always barked at
me every time I walked by. Now this house area
had lights, and I was looking forward to walking by,
as I thought it might shake loose my stalker. As
I walked by, I approached their garden and the steps
became more pronounced. It was announcing its presence by walking louder.
Up until that point, I had not let on that
I knew it was there. It takes a certain amount
of disasan to keep your walking pace casual and to
appear oblivious to your surroundings while at the same time
all of your senses are perking up and you are
beginning to get an adrenaline trickle. But this was not
my first rodeo. I began to scuff my feet a
little on the loose rocks on the road, just to
create more noise, a possible reason for me not hearing
the steps. I heard a vehicle coming from the other
side of the creek, about a half mile away. Then
I considered my options. I could just keep walking along
and hope everything would be okay. I could bolt over
to the house and hope I didn't get shot or
torn up by their dog. Or I could try to
use the vehicle as an opportunity to make a break
for it. But I had to be at the curve.
Just as the vehicle came around, I chose to run
for it. I quickened my walk and heard the car
cross the bridge and make its left turn toward me.
I still a quarter mile away. I was walking on
the left side of the road, and we met right
at the curve, and as soon as the headlights went past,
I bolted. I sprinted that quarter of a mile down
to the next curve and onto the bridge. Halfway across,
I slowed to a fast walk to catch my breath.
I wanted my body ready in case I still needed
to run one hundred feet past the bridge. I thought
about looking back to check my rear, but I was
not brave enough to do that. If I saw something
coming across that bridge after me, I don't think I
could handle it. I walked a little ways more with
thick brush on both sides of the road, and I
didn't hear any crashing or tearing through the brush, so
I gathered the courage to look behind me. I saw
nothing but empty road. And then it happened. The moment
I thought I might be in the clear, I heard
a tree limb break off to my right. It was
a loud, sharp crack, bigger than anything I could crack
with both legs. It had gotten ahead of me and
waited until I came into its position in the brush
about fifty feet from me, and then it made its statement.
We humans are energetic beings. We send out and receive
energy to and from each other. For example, you could
be in another room and if your mother or father
or spouse come home, you could know what kind of
mood they were in through your sense of perception before
you ever spoke to them. Now, this is to say
that you are receiving the energy that they are putting out,
and you can identify what kind of energy they have. Also,
you can look at a stranger and that stranger will
sense that and look right at you, and they will
know in what manner you were looking at them. Bigfoot
does the same thing. When Bigfoot is looking at you,
you can sense it, and you can sense in what
manner the attention is given to you. Perception is a skill,
and the more you consciously use it, the better you
become at it. Now, we humans communicate with each other constantly,
combining thoughts with actions. We can slam things around, letting
everyone know to leave us alone right now. Or we
can smile and radiate friendliness that will cause a stranger
to nod and smile back. And Bigfoot does this too.
When the tree limb was broken, it was a statement
I was being informed that it was only by its
grace that I was allowed to go freely on their turf.
I was being told that within their element, they are
superior to me in every way. I was being told
that it would be the same as a worm fighting
an eagle. Whenever I talk about Bigfoot to people, I
use a gang turf analogy. Imagine that you were in
the inner city gang zone and you have to walk
through it. You may walk through just fine with no
incidents at all, but it was not because they did
not see you. Well, they saw you. They just decided
not to mess with you that day. When you go
into the woods, Bigfoot sees you. When you were on
their turf. You may not see them, and you may
not even know that they are there, but understand that
they are choosing not to mess with you every single
time you were within their territory. After the tree lamb break,
I walked home without incident. I had to turn off
the paved road onto the single lane dirt road which
ran through the woods to the house with thick brush
and trees on both sides and a dark canopy overhead.
Bigfoot just wanted to make a point, that was all,
and was probably smiling as I walked away. It was
the most intimidating thing to ever happen to me. I
remember an older Indian speaking out at a party about
how in the those moments you would actually prefer to
have an encounter with a bear or a wolf or
a cat. That is absolutely the truth. At least that way,
the odds are considerably better. I want to thank the
native person who wrote this and sent it. I've had
it for a long time. I don't shove these to
the side for a long length of time on purpose.
I get to them when I come to them. And
a lot of these stories that I read that are old,
I wonder if the people are still even listening and
know that I read their story on the channel. But
it's just the way things have turned out. I told
you all the other day. I have over a thousand,
probably closer to twelve fifteen hundred emails that I haven't
even looked at yet. I got so many at one time.
I've got enough material to do this for years, and
so you don't think about that stuff when you announce, Hey,
send me your story. I'll read your story on the podcast.
I'm not really sure what I'm saying, but I think
people think that I've forgotten them or not done their story.
But I'm going to get to it. If it's legible
at all, I'm going to get to your story. It's
just that there's so many, so many hours in the day,
so many stories to do, and I can only do
one at a time, and I put two or three
or four in a podcast, putting one in this podcast.
But I just want to let you know that I've
got them all. They're all in my inbox, they're safe,
it's on it's a Gmail account, so those accounts just
stay current. And I'm really lucky to have all this
material to read to you guys. I'm thanking you, and
I'm letting you know that I am getting to your
story if I haven't gotten to it yet. So I
appreciate you and hope you enjoy. Let's jump over to
an older story I released probably four years ago. I
think you guys will enjoy this. Thanks for joining me
on this podcast. Now for an archive story. It was
an early spring Saturday morning in Vicksburg, Mississippi, and I
was living in the Pleasant Valley subdivision east of Highway
sixty one south, roughly a mile from the Mississippi River.
They have since built two schools west of the location
of my first incident. This part of the state is
mostly rolling hills hollows, and it's covered with many trees
plus greenery as far as the eye can see. I
was looking forward to taking each child out for a
go kart ride that day because it was spring break
for them. My two sons from my first marriage had
come to live with us last summer, and I also
have two step daughters that are also close to them
in their ages, plus a newborn son. My plan was
to start out with my oldest son, since he had
missed out on a few years with me. On this day,
instead of just going down to the end of the
cul de sac like I would normally do, with them
to the edge of the woods, where I would spend
a few donuts in the dirt, and then let them
drive back to the yard for the next driver, I
decided to take my son out of the subdivision a
few hundred yards back down the main road. I had
seen a gated path overgrown with weeds and shrubbery leading
into the thick forest, and I figured this would be
a nice place to check it out with him, allowing
us an extended ride together, and from there we could
drive all the way back. I headed out on to
Dana Road, driving west along the gravel shoulder to go
around this locked gate giving us access to this closed road.
I was swerving back and forth on the narrow path,
all the while enjoying watching the excitement in my son's
eyes as he was scanning the surrounding trees. We were
heading deeper into the dense forest, and after several minutes
I could see a clearing up ahead which looked like
wide enough for me to do a doughnut, and this
was where I could let him drive. As I performed
a three sixty, the go cart stalled out, as it
would do sometimes when I would turn too fast, causing
the motor to flood. Once the sound of the cart
engine stopped, I noticed in airy quiet stillness as the
dust was settling in the slight breeze that was blowing
into our faces. I didn't think much about quietness because
we're all about a half mile southwest of my subdivision.
I got off the cart, instructing my son to take
the driver's seat while I prepared to start the engine
back up and head home. The wind shifted and coming
at us from the south. Oh my god, this wind
is carrying an awful odor, funky wet dog smell that
is mixed with a hog pen scent. I'm sorry, these smells,
just the description of these smells just gets me. The
wind shifted coming at us from the south. Oh my god,
this wind is carrying an awful sour, funky wet dog
smell that is mixed with a hog pens scent you
will get on a human summer day, which will burn
your nostrils. Do you smell that? I ask? I asked
my son, while turning to see if he was getting
into the driver's seat, But he was not moved, and
his eyes were transfixed on something in the general direction
of where the smell was coming from. He was looking
at the thick tree line where it was hard to
make out anything. Now shouted to him, do you smell that? Mess?
I glanced in the direction of his gaze, but I
saw nothing, And he turned to me, and I can
see his eyes were glossed over and he has a
look of fear, as if if he has seen a
ghost or something. Yeah, I smell it, he said. Instantly,
A chill overtook my body, making every single strand of
hair stand on in I was feeling a real sense
of dread. Now I don't know why. My heart started
pounding uncontrollably fast, as if it was trying to escape
the cavity walls of my chest. There was immediate fear
upon us, both, with my concern being my son's safety.
Yet my mind was racing, with many questions flashing through
my head. Within a millisecond, it was as if I
was frozen in a state of temporary shock. Why the
hell did I bring him all the way back here
in these damn woods, is what I was asking myself.
And what in the world is causing this rotten smell?
Are we in some type of danger? Do we need
to get out of here now? My next thought was
the same as my last, and I quickly pulled the
string on the go cart so hard that I was
surprised it didn't snap, but the engine luckily fired back
to life. I jumped in the driver's seat without putting
on my seat belt, and I jerked the steering wheel
in the direction from which we had come. Before I
knew it, I was throwing dirt grass behind the brigs
and Stratton engine was blowing smoke, straining hard to move
this cart. I never looked back. I was desperately hoping
to see that yellow locked gate come back into my
view so we could go back around it. I turned
on to Pleasant Valley Drive and I pulled to the shoulder.
I was still shaking, but my adrenaline was starting to subside,
allowing me to feel a little safer by being back
on the street near the houses of my neighborhood. I
took this time to ask my son if he had
seen anything, and his reply was, Dad, there were big, dark,
scary looking eyes staring right at us from in the
tree branches, but I couldn't see anything else but the eyes.
I thought something had moved when I first started smelling that,
so I was trying to see what it was, but
only saw those eyes, and they just disappeared while I
was looking at them. That's what scared me. My son
assured me that the eyes just vanished into the shadows
of the branches. I made sure he was calm, and
then had him promised me that he would not tell
my wife, nor his brother or sisters, because I knew
I would not hear the end of it. I can't
honestly say what was in the trees because I didn't
really see anything. I did get a sense of imminent
danger though, But my son, on the other hand, saw
a set of eyes, and I had no reason not
to believe him. The fear on his face was enough
for me to know that we needed to get out
of the woods. My second account was with an uncle,
and it would happen late in the summer of the
same year. We had decided to go pick berries. My
uncle said they probably still grew wild everywhere out there
near this Soul farm where we lived back in the sixties.
I was all excited to hear this, knowing that it
had been years since I set eyes on this place.
The farm is in Yokina, Mississippi, and it's not far
from the Big Black River, the exact location where Campbell
Swamp Road runs into a dead end dirt road named
Chirrard Drive. We made our way out to the property,
arriving at nine am. It was deep in the backwoods
of Warren County where there are neither street lights nor
electricity lines. We arrived and I had to stop at
the locked gate to look down on the property from
the road, which dead ends at the bottom. The house
was long gone, but I could clearly see the old
chimney still standing in the middle of what is now
a small lake formed by years of the Big Black
River flooding. This road has a drainage ditch, and that
led to our search in the area for musky dines.
I could see from the car that this hollow was
no more than fifty yards away, and I was noticing
how the foliage was super thick, with these long vine
straped and tangled over the oaks, dogwoods, and magnolia trees.
After the nostalgia of admiring the beauty of my childhood's
stomping grounds, we stepped toward the shallow ditch. I heard
rustling of leaves in the forest floor, crickets chirping, plus
this faint sound of a woodpecker knocking off in the distance.
Once in the ditch, we saw a large cave dug
deep into the ground of the embankment, and it caused
me to pause. My uncle was joking with me, telling
me that it was a big black bear's den, and
he said, I hope you brought a pistol with you
just in case we come across one out here, and
he laughed at me. Of course, I wasn't finding this
to be funny at all, but I did have a
twenty five pistol in my pocket. Now I was scanning
the ground for bear prints more than I was looking
for musky dyes. My uncle was tickled pink, seeing me
a little scared. I asked him to quit laughing at me,
because he was laughing so loud it was getting me
out of my comfort zone. But it would only be
a few seconds later when he would become just as
afraid as I was. I took a few more steps
than there. It was some kind of huge animal track
in the semi damp ground. Hey, check this track out.
Look how big it is? And he stepped over to
see with his own eyes, because he obviously was thinking
I was pulling his leg. I put my size twelfth
shoe next to the track to do a comparison. What
the hell, he said, This ain't no damn bear boy.
Look how wide across the toe that is. I don't
see any claw marks either. Looks more like a barefoot
man track. But that's impossible for a man's foot to
be this big. Something ain't right here. This is no
swamp cat either. This can't be real. Yeah, he was
scared now. Not ten seconds after his loud reaction to
seeing this weird track is when we both noticed the silence.
There were no sounds at all, and then suddenly we
heard it. I guess the best way to describe it
was to say, a powerful, long roar. The sound resonated
through my whole body, echoing twice throughout the valley. The
feeling I got was similar to standing close to a
train as a horn blows. Whatever made that noise seem
to be coming towards us. The vines in the trees
were now beginning to swing, and we could tell something
was coming at us walking upright because these sounds of
heavy footfalls were hitting the ground, one powerful boom after another,
and it was coming fast. I didn't have time to
say let's go. My uncle had already took the first
frantic step back to my car before I could even
think about it. By the time he reached the car,
I was there, unlocking the passenger side so he could
get in. I started the car and put it in
gear and was trying to peel off, but the dirt
had my car sliding side to side in slow motion.
And at the same time I was looking over in
the direction of a holler and there she was. Yes,
I could see one of her breasts. The beast was
partially hidden behind a large tree, just standing there watching us,
with her top lip rolled back, and she was making
a terrifyingly menacing frown, showing her large, dirty horse teeth,
which were flanked by long canines. I noticed her skin
had a look of smoke gray in color, at least
the part I could see through the long, black, stringy
looking hair which was circled around her face. Large fingers
were visible as she gripped the tree. My head was
hurting because of seeing this myth, a cool boogeyman that
they had been telling me about years ago when I
was a little boy. I had grown to believe that
it was an old tale just to make the kids
scared at night. Man, was I ever wrong. My tires
caught traction, although the car was already fishtailing before I realized.
My uncle was telling me to slow down. He didn't
know how I knew it was a female anyway, he said, emphatically,
how did you know that? He then let me a
cigarette and told me to relax so I could tell
him exactly what I saw. I started to settle down
and was far enough from the area, and we began
laughing about the experience. We both chained smoked all the
way back to civilization, vowing to tell everyone what we
went through. This would be a big mistake and a
waste of our breaths. Our family members thought we had
been getting stoned and then made the whole story up.
They laughed in our faces. It was okay, though, because
I don't think I would have believed it even if
I had not seen it for myself. People can think
these creatures aren't real if they want to, but I
know what I saw. I will never feel alone in
the deep woods ever again. Needless to say, our Musky
dyne hunt lasted no more than five minutes total, and
I have never been back out that way again. To Yokina, Mississippi.