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Speaker 1: What happens if you walk into a swamp at night

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and say three times, we have your baby. If you

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do that in the Bare Creek Swamp in Pratful, Alabama,

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you might not like the answer. Legend has it that

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a woman lost her child in that swamp and spent

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the rest of her life trying to find it. It

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isn't clear how the child disappeared. Maybe it wandered off,

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or there are those who say it was taken by

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a war party of the Native Americans. We don't even

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know for sure if the child was a boy or

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a girl. But what we do know is that death

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wasn't enough of a deterrent to make the woman stop looking.

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Imagine how it must have been for that poor woman.

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It probably started like any day she was going about

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doing her chores. It was a long time ago when

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different chores required a whole day's work just to complete

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one task. Maybe it was laundry day. She was busy

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boiling water and shaving strips of soap into it from

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a homemade bar. She would have been bent over while

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scrubbing the bedding and clothes on a washboard before passing

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them through another tub of water to rentse away the

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excess soap and finally hang them out to dry. While

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Mama worked diligently at her burden, the child let's assume

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it was a girl and let's call her Sarah, played

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with her doll in the grass nearby. Mama didn't have

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much time to give little Sarah much attention. She had

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to rely on the child to play contently and stay close.

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Mama probably didn't think much of it. The first time

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she stepped around from behind a freshly hung sheet to

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see her daughter wasn't in her place on the ground, Sarah.

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She most likely called, putting just enough of an edge

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on her voice to warn her daughter to come back

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to her spot. Then she picked up the next sheet

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and hung it. When she stepped around from behind the

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laundry again, her daughter was still nowhere in sight, Sarah.

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She called again, this time with a little more authority.

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A third trip to the clothes line occupied Mamma for

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a few more minutes. When little Sara still wasn't back

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in her place, she probably muttered something like where is

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that child off to As she walked around to the

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side of the house. Sarah wasn't there. She looked around

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and listened for a moment, hoping to hear her little

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girl's laughter. She heard nothing. Mamma continued around to the

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back of the house and then to the other side.

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By the time she'd made her way back to the front,

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she was beginning to worry Sarah. She called out loudly

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and then stopped to listen. A cool breeze rattled the

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budding leaves on the trees, but no child's voice could

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be heard. Panicked now, she left the house yard and

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went down to the barn, scattering the hens that pecked

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at the dirt in her path as she passed. Sarah,

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where are you, she repeatedly called. As she swung open

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the door, the contrast of light and dark temporarily blinded her.

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She stood there for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust.

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In focus, Sarah, she called out again. A bird took

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flight as she ducked as it swooped low over her

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head to escape through the open door, and silence followed. Slowly,

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With terrified eyes, the woman turned and gazed into the

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swamp that bordered their little house to the south and east. Sarah,

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she whispered, as thoughts of the child wandering in such

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a danger's place filled her mind. She imagined cotton mouths

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and copper heads singing their fangs into the little girl's legs,

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and calculated how quickly she would succumb to such a

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bite without someone there to help. She had visions of

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alligators dragging her precious child into the water and tearing

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her to pieces, and her mind raced through scenarios where

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predators clamped down on the back of the baby's neck

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and dragged her deep into the swamp to gnaw on

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her tiny bones. Dear God know, she managed to cry.

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She raced into the thick briars, mindless of the thorns

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that tore at her own clothes. She had to find

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her baby, she swore, as she'd never stop looking until

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she did. Hours later, her husband came in from the

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fields and found the cabin empty. He called to his wife,

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but she didn't answer. She hadn't started supper, and he

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couldn't help but notice the half finished laundry out in

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the yard. Where was she? He stepped back outside and

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called her name, and then he listened. Sarah. He heard

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somewhere in the distance Sarah. Was she lost? Was his

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wife out looking for her? He followed his wife's path

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into the swamp, calling to her as he went. Sometimes

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he'd stop and listen, and again and again he heard

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his wife's voice calling Sarah. But no matter how hard

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he searched, he couldn't pinpoint the location of the sound.

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Night fell on the swamp, crushing the light and his

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hopes of finding either his wife or his child with it.

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The next morning, he saddled a horse and went to town.

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A search party was formed, and every inch of the

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swamp that could be accessed was searched. There was no

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sign of the man, wife, and child. Once in a while,

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everyone would stop and listen, Sarah. They heard deepen the

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by you, Sarah, but they couldn't tell where it was

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coming from. After several days of looking, they gave up. Eventually,

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the man packed up and moved away. Living so close

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to the place that had swallowed up everything that meant

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anything to him was more than he could stand. No

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one knows whatever happened to him. I'd like to think

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he found happiness somewhere else. As for his wife, they

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say she is still out there searching. So what happens

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if you step into Bear Creek Swamp and say three

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times we've got your baby? Her mother will appear and

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attack you, and if you escape, more power to you.

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But if she catches you, you'll wind up up like

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little Sarah. No one will ever find you. This isn't

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the only story about Bear Creek Swamp. There are tales

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of mysterious lights that appear in the road ahead. The

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ghost of the Alibaimu Indians are often reported drifting in

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and out of the fog and then disappearing altogether. It

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is even said that a civil war battle plays itself

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out over and over again on the breeze at night.

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You'll never find the source, they say, but you will

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hear cannons or is that just someone's still blowing up.

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Aside from these frightening paranormal stories, there's one true and

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verified incident that happened just a few short years ago.

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While on patrol on dirt Road three through the swamp,

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an officer happened to glance over and see a porcelain

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doll sticking up out of the muddy waters. At that time,

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he thought, well, that's odd, but didn't give it much

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more thought until over the next few days, dozens of

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reports came in of a doll's head seen in the swamp.

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The police went out to investigate and discovered a total

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of twenty one dolls impaled on bamboo poles and stuck

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down in the mire. It was a veritable dull graveyard.

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Some of their faces were painted white, further enhancing an

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already grim scene. I don't know who the prankster was

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or who took the time to place all those dolls

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out there, but kudos to you. You succeeded in creating

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one of the creepiest practical jokes I have ever known of.

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All swamps contain an air of mystery, a feeling of

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being otherworldly, whether you feel like you've stepped through some

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kind of a time warp, landed on another planet, or

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passed through the vales that separate life from after life.

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All swamps at some point will impose uncomfortable emotions on

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the bravest of men. When that swamp bears the name Hackemack,

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which means the place where spirits dwell and was originally

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called the devil Swamp by white settlers, those feelings are

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likely to come more frequently and with greater intensity. While

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we tend to think of swamps as being a Southern landscape,

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they're not Hakamack is located in southeastern Massachusetts, square in

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the middle of the legendary Bridgewater Triangle. Stories have poured

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out of that region of weird creatures, ghostly apparitions, and

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unexplainable disappearances for generations. Places like a Sonnet Ledge, where

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even the happiest of souls fell the suicidal urge to

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throw themselves into the waters below, and Easton's Mill Pond,

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where satanic imps were said to be employed by Nathan Seleah,

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a wizard to run the mill at night, can be

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found within the triangle. It seems that everywhere within the

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triangle hides one legend or another, but within the swamp

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there are many. Early one morning, a fisherman was quietly

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running his boat along the banks of the non Catessit River,

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moving into the swamp through a heavy fog, when he

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heard what sounded like a distant drum beeat. It only

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lasted a moment, but it got his attention. He glanced around,

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but the mists were too thick and the sound had stopped,

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so he continued on his journey with nothing more than

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a gentle whirring of his trolling motor to break the silence.

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When he heard it again, and again he stopped and listened.

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The slapping clunk of waves lapping at his boat echoed

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around him, and somewhere a bird called for its mate.

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The wind rustled in the trees, and the occasional raindrop

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fell with a splat against the aluminum seat at the bow.

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The drums he thought he heard were gone, and again

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the warring trolling motor kicked up, and he moved on.

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Now on the edge, the fishermen began to feel as

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though he were being watched. His natural response was to

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watch back, except he didn't know what he was looking for.

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And then he saw it. It was nothing more than

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a patch of fog that seemed a little denser than

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the rest, but it was moving rhythmically. The fisherman cocked

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his head to listen, and there were no drumbeats now,

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just the even gentle, trickling woosh of a paddle being

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swept through the water, over and over as it propelled

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a boat forward. The fisherman craned his eyes hard on

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that point, and the haze was spinning and dissolving and reforming.

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White particles of water disintegrated into darkness and then reformed

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in shades of buff and brown. Tendrils that trailed into

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space solidified into arms, and a spherical object that once

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floated aimlessly, became a human head. Before the fisherman's eyes.

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A Native American slid out of the void and appeared

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to be paddling his canoe toward him. Too stunned to move,

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the fisherman grasped the sides of his boat and waited

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for impact. He was sure this strange man in the

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traditional apparel of the Wampanawag people was going to steer

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his canoe right into him. Seconds before he would have

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done just that, the strange man turned the canoe slightly

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and glided silently past. He was so close that the

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fisherman could have reached out and touched him. The fisherman

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never took his eyes off the bazaar site. As the

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canoe passed, he turned his head to follow, and just

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as it had materialized into existence, it dissolved out of it.

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Not once did the man in the canoe acknowledge the fisherman.

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Seconds after the apparition disappeared, the distant sounds of a

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drum could be heard. One last time. The fisherman might

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have counted himself lucky. That day, another man, this one

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outlaying muskrat lines, had a similar experience. It wasn't drums

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that he heard that morning, but a loud crash startled The

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man looked up to see a massive, hairy beast to

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break through the trees and slog down into the waters

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of the swamp. It growled with a low, menacing rumble

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before passing within a few yards of the terrified man.

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I knew it wasn't a man because it smelled when

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it passed. He would later say it smelled like a skump,

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musky and dirty. Aside from ghostly apparitions and unknown beast,

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Hackamack Swamp has a reputation for another phenomenon. In nineteen

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oh eight, two undertakers were traveling between West Bridgewater and

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Bridgewater when they spotted something in the sky that looked

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to them like a giant lantern. The two men stopped

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and watched the peculiar light while it hovered in place

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for nearly forty minutes. In nineteen oh eight, there were

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no blaming experimental military aircraft for what the undertaker saw.

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Granted Orville and wilbur Wright first achieved flight just south

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of Kittyhawk North Carolina in nineteen oh three, but craft

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capable of hovering in nineteen oh eight I was still

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getting no more than a few feet off the ground

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and never managing to stay in the air for more

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than a few minutes. The first practical helicopter wouldn't come

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into existence until nineteen thirty nine. Even if it were

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possible that the inventors working diligently to give wings to

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man just happened to fly those machines over Hackamack's Swamp

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on the same night that two undertakers happened to be

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traveling past, it doesn't explain the first documented UFO sighting

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ever recorded there. John Winthrop was a lawyer and a Puritan.

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In sixteen thirty he helped establish the Massachusetts Bay Colony,

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the second settlement in New England after the Plymouth Colony.

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For twelve years, he served as governor. During that time,

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he kept an extensive diary of the trials and triumphs

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of his fellow Puritans. One entry in particular is now

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referred to as the first documented u FO siding in

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American history. In his March first, sixteen thirty nine entry,

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Winthrop told the story of John Everell and two others.

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He declared Everell to be a man of good reputation, activity,

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and estate in Boston. The following is an excerpt from

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the diary. In this year, one James Everell, a sober,

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discreet man, and two others saw a great light in

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the night at Muddy River. When it stood still, it

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flamed up and was about three yards square, and when

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it ran, it was contracted into the figure of a swine.

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It ran as swift as an arrow towards Charleston, and

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so up and down for about two or three hours.

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They were come down in their lighter about a mile,

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and when it was over they found themselves carried quite

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back against the tide to the place they came from.

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Diverse other credible persons saw the same light after about

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the same place. These men in good standing with the Governor,

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along with several others, saw these lights over the course

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of three hours. They hovered and darted and shot back

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and forth as these men watched, And when it was

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over they found themselves a full mile upstream from where

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they'd been when they first spotted the lights. Upstream? Were

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these men also the first alien abductees? UFO reports continued

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to come out of this region today. In nineteen ninety nine,

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a woman saw lights while she was at a cookout.

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She says they too darted around. At one point, she says,

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they looked as if they were heading right for the

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house where the cookout was being held. What makes her

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story so fascinating is that once the lights disappeared, helicopters

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swarmed the area where they'd been, as if they were

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looking for something. Was our government searching for something? Or

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had they just missed a rendezvous