Speaker 1: Hi, everyone, Thanks for clicking on this podcast. I'm so
glad that you're here. Before I get into this story,
matter of fact, this story coming up is pretty good.
It has to do with a bigfoot and a chupacabra.
It's a wild story. But I wanted to talk about
a couple of things. First, thank you to all the
people who followed me over to the podcast Universe from
YouTube after YouTube changed the rules and my channel did
not fit the rules. And that's fine. I'm not upset
about that, but I wanted to thank you for coming over.
It's really helping me out. It's keeping me encouraged to
keep doing these podcasts. And I want to let you
know there are about twenty or thirty people who have
joined my Supporters Club. If you've joined that club and
you're paying for nine a month, I want I've said
this before on this podcast, but I want you to
know I cannot guarantee that I'll be putting a lot
of exclusive content up. So if you want to discontinue
your subscription, please feel free to do that because Spreaker
asks that we do that, that we start the supporters
Membership Club. I've always not liked I've never liked that,
never liked it on YouTube. I don't like Patreon. I
don't know if I could generate any income off Patreon.
I'm just I just don't feel like I need to
try it, because I think that the stories that I
deliver and that you hear on this podcast are good
enough that I can generate income off of ad revenue.
So I just want to let you know that if
you'd like to discontinue that, please feel free. If I
see your name come off of it, it does not
hurt my feelings one bit. Look, I wouldn't do it.
I wouldn't do it for it just some random redneck
podcast out here of some guy I don't know trying
to scrounge change up. It just doesn't make sense and
it's not good use of your money. You could spend
that money. That's about half of what subscriptions are to
major movie platforms like Netflix. I don't know. Netflix is
about twenty or twenty five dollars a month now, but
you get my point. That's a big chunk of money
for a bunch of nothing, really, So if you'd like
to leave, just feel free to do that. It won't
hurt my feelings. A bit. The other thing i'd like
to say is I am working on a new YouTube channel.
I'm only announcing that here because there's a real small
audience with this. I get about one hundred and fifty
thousand downloads a month to wear on YouTube, I was
getting close to half a million views per month, and
I'm fine with that. It's not a big deal. Well,
but i'd like to just announce it, and I will
announce it. I'm not actually announcing it. I'm just kind
of letting you know. I'm working on a different way
to deliver these stories that I think will be more
fun for me and it will be interesting for the audience.
And I don't think it'll be anything revolutionary, but I'm
just going to just bring you the stories in a
different way. There'll be a different type of story. There'll
still be cryptids, of course, because people actually have encounters
with cryptids they claim, and I love reading those stories,
and you know me, I'm all about the story. As
long as it's a good story, I'm all about it.
So I wanted to just let you know that, thank
you for coming over. Drop the Supporters Club if you want.
No big deal. I'm working on a new YouTube channel,
and I hope to have it up and maybe about
thirty days. And I'm kind of having fun planning it.
And I've bought I don't have to buy much gear.
I bought a pretty cool microphone, it's about one hundred bucks,
and a couple other things that I think will help.
Just those three things I wanted to convey to you.
All right, thank you. Let's get into the story that
this man sent from Oklahoma about a bigfoot and cupocabra.
Should be interesting. All right. Here we go. Growing up
dirt poor in the sticks of Oklahoma, I spent a
great deal of time in the woods, often alone, often
in the dark, and hunting first arrival. Batteries cost money,
so a flashlight was not a common accessory. It was
generally just me at either a twelve gage or an
old lever Action thirty thirty, and I could not skap
out of the air with both of them. I've encountered
more critters in the dark that I can recount, including
big cats. I'm not easily fooled or spoof even in
the dark, even in the middle of nowhere. Aside from that,
I'm nearly seven feet tall and it takes a lot
to make me feel threatened seven feet tall. What twenty fifteen,
I was living in de Witt County, Texas. There had
been a rash of reports of chupacabra, including the remain
sent to A and M University for studies from that area.
There was also a dash can video from a sheriff's
deputy of a creature running down a gravel road. One
day in mid July, I had driven a couple of
miles south of town to my in laws their old
family farm to turn off the irrigation. My six year
old son and my four year old daughter were with me. Well.
We pulled out of the driveway and headed west on
a gravel road toward the highway some two miles away.
It was around six pm. The summer sun was still
high in the western sky, not yet low and en
enough to affect my vision. I never drive fast on
roads like that, and out there I would let the
kids forego their seat belts until we neared the highway.
If you encounter any traffic, it's usually an old farmer
checking as cows or moving a tractor. We drove about
a quarter mile with a plowed farm land on each
side of the road until we approached a small creek
that was densely overgrown in a wide swath on each bank.
The county hadn't been out to mo since spring, and
wild grass was nearly five feet tall in the bar
ditches forty yards ahead of us. Something exited the grass
on the right side of the road. The closest thing
I could compare the creature to is a kangaroo with
a mange. The bottom of its head was about the
same height as a hood of my suv. It was splotchy,
mottled gray, and covered with sparse, bristly hair. It reminded
me of a wild dog's skin and hair, and overawed
had a color similar to an elephant. The head was
like that of a kangaroo with a long snout. It
was tall, elliptical ears and dark round eyes, and it
was bipedal and had very short arms that it held
close to its body, almost like a t rex. Its
gait was probably the most perplexing. That had an awkward
locomotion like I've never seen, and it looked like the
little wooden toy dogs with different sized wheels that childs
would pull on a string and making them appear to walk.
It wabbled in the least graceful fashion I'd ever seen,
moving slowly as it ambles, scarcely lifting its feet across
the road, and never looking in our direction or acknowledging
that we were there. Both of my children began yelling wildly, Daddy,
what is that? What is that? I mumbled, I'm not
sure what that is. I slid up even to where
it had disappeared, and I watched the grass waving to
and fro as it continued at a relaxed pace. I
reached under the seat and grabbed my smith and Western
forty caliber pistol, and I bailed out of the vehicle
into the grass behind it. I had only taken a
couple of steps into the ditch before the reality of
the situation set in. I was in shorts and flip flops,
and I had two children in the car sitting in
the middle of the road. And beyond that, I had
absolutely no clue what this thing was, if it was aggressive,
or what it might do if I cornered it. I
had no intention of harming it. I simply wanted a
better look at the creature and maybe get a photo
with my phone. I let my better judgment rustle me
from my mission, and I stood silently watching the swaying
grass until it disappeared into the tree line along the creek.
I turned to the car and two silent, wide eyed kids.
I told them, well, y'all saw what I did, and
you know about as much as I do. I don't
know if this was a true cryptid, some strange mutation,
or a cross breed or what. There are many exotic
game ranches around South Texas. I have wondered if something
just escaped and got into and bred with something it
shouldn't have. But whatever it was, it was undoubtedly a
flesh and blood creature, and it seemed neither scared nor
aggressive to me. It looked poorly adapted to its surroundings,
but it's possible its gait was the product of some injury.
Whatever it was, I think its population is growing in
addition to being displaced by the oil boom. They're in
the eagle Ford Shale. I'm a musician who has toured
and recorded with many of the bigger names in country music,
and I've traveled the world extensively since the age of sixteen,
including USO tours to Iraq and Afghanistan, and as a musician,
I frequently find myself on lonely stretches of highway around
Texas and the Southwest. I'm often on a bus, but
I've done more than my share of driving all night alone.
I've seen plenty of roadside tragedy, death, and high strangeness.
On Valentine's Weekend of twenty nineteen, I played an event
called the Love End at the old Lukenbach dance Hall
near Fredericksburg, Texas. That would be the same Lukingbok that
Willie and Whalin immortalized. There is no actual town there.
You leave the highway and travel a few miles down
a curvy road past an old one room prairie school
house and a few scattered farmhouses. That night, I departed
around two am. After visiting with fans, I loaded out
and settled up. The crowd had all left by that
point and the area was deserted. I departed, beginning my
two hours sojourn home, and I was getting settled in
as I passed to school and entered the general curving road,
and as I rounded to my left, my headlights illuminated
the tree line running in a narrow fringe between the
road and the creek and I saw two large, pale
yellow eyes ten feet above the road. My immediate thought
was that it was an owl, and then it moved
and its form became clear, and those eyes were unlike
anything I had ever seen. They looked massive. Even more disturbing,
they appeared to be wider apart than my head, And
as the eyes began moving toward the ground, I got
to look at its figure. It was a massive humanoid
with no neck, disproportionately long arms, and it was covered
in dark well. The form dropped and its eyes glowing
through the underbrush a couple of feet off the ground,
and I continued on without speeding up or slowing down,
fearing that any change in speed or engine timber might
cause it to stand up and prepare to fight. So
I anxiously passed the eyes at an agonizing thirty miles
per hour, only a few feet from where the beast
lay and where it was peering back at me. With
arms like that it could have reached out and smacked
the car as I passed. I climbed over a gentle hill,
my eyes checking the rear view the whole time, and
once the road evened out, I stepped on it. Putting
as much space between the beast and me as I could. Now,
I've been back there since, arriving early enough to investigate
that area in the daylight, hoping to get a better
sense of the scale and the understanding of what I saw. Unfortunately,
there was absolutely nothing else to it explain about what
I witnessed that night. I really appreciate your podcasts, and
I'm a longtime listener. My encounters are beyond my explanation.
I simply saw what I saw, and it is what
it is. I want to thank the writer for taking
the time to write this. He didn't say whether or
not to use his name, so I just won't. I
think there's a lot of cryptid sightings down in Texas,
and you know, maybe some of that is some of
that exotic animal maybe exotic animals escaping. I don't know.
I don't know what it is. But the stories that
come out of Texas are usually kind of different there,
and the people down there write them different. They it's
more kind of like a matter of fact. They're just believable.
The way they write them isbelievable, and that's all I
wanted to say. Okay, it's Saturday morning. I got to
get out here and cut grass and pick up limbs
from this blasted eye storm we had back this. So
I'm gonna drop a couple of archived podcasts from the vault.
Some newer listeners may not have heard them, and if
you've even been around a year or so, you may
not have heard some of these because I've been doing
this podcast for going on nine years now, and almost
every story I've ever done I thought was very interesting.
So if you haven't heard it, stick around and listen.
But I appreciate you clicking on this podcasts. Been a
pleasure doing it today, and I will be back early
next week with another podcast. I appreciate you. We'll see
on the next one. Here come the archived podcast. Here
we go. I live in andover in the United Kingdom.
Now I have a story for you that I have
only told just two other people, and I don't think
they believe me. I moved into my bungalow four years
ago and I've been complaining that someone's been coming into
my garden at night. I can hear footsteps, thinking it
was one of my neighbors for O, an ex boyfriend.
I put a lock on my gate. I don't sleep well,
and I'm up most nights when everyone else here seems
to be in bed by ten pm. Here in the UK,
the local council turns the street lights on and off
as a cost cutting measure on the housing estate. I
have a strange, unavoidable feeling someone has been watching me.
I put up a blanket on my kitchen window so
I wouldn't feel uncomfortable. My friend, who lives twenty feet
away from my front door, got curious and asked me why.
I was honest with her, but it was awkward. I
didn't want her to think I was blaming her or
her husband, so I reluctantly took down the blanket. It
was a few months later, deep into December, and as usual,
I was awake in the middle of the night because
I couldn't sleep. There was a full moon and it
was a little windy outside. I walked into my kitchen
to make myself a drink when I spotted something that
rendered me speechless. Across the way, peering into the window
of my next door neighbor's kitchen, there was some sort
of a small gray being with a faint shimmering light
around it. The stream whistling from my kettle must have
startled it. The being turned and it looked at me
and proceeded to conceal itself inside the bush next to
the fence that separated our properties. I lost sight of
it when the street light went off. The bushes were rustling,
as if a wild animal had gotten itself tangled up
within its branches. The street light came back on, and
I swear I spotted this thing struggling to get free,
when suddenly it vanished from view, as if it had
turned invisible. It ripped the bush right out of the
ground and carried it along, scurrying right over the fence,
still entangled. Well. The next morning, I followed the trail
of dirt out of my and found the bush blowing
around in the alleyway. I started to pick it up,
thinking I could replant it, but thought better of it.
What if there was some sort of alien residue on
the leaves, And if there was, I didn't want any
on my clothes or my skin. I left the bush
for the rubbish men in their gloved hands. My next
door neighbor's front door has a motion sensor next to it.
They owned two massive dogs. But on that night, when
I saw whatever I saw, they didn't bark, and the
motion sensors didn't come on. I'd clearly seen something, but
I didn't know what to do. If I called the police,
what would I say. I went on the Internet and
first reported it to the mutual UFO network in the
States and then the British equivalent, but no one ever
got back to me. In the interim, I developed a
phobia about entering my kitchen after dark, and for six
months I couldn't go to sleep at night. It might
have happened again a couple of months later, when I
heard something scamper across the roof. I have never been
afraid of the dark, but now I keep a night
light on. I'm so full of anxiety these days that
it's hard to cope. Am I excited to have possibly
seen something alien? Believing in them and watching UFO movies
and documentaries and hearing all the stories and viewing the
odd UFO flying over a pasture is all well and good.
But seeing a day glow being in real life just
inches from your unlocked door is a different thing altogether. Oh, ma'am,
I this thing didn't hurt you. I hope you're I
hope you've let go of your anxiety. I don't remember
when I got this story, but I kind of feel
bad for folks like this because they're just scared to death.
You know, the things showed no aggression towards you or
your neighbors, and if it is something from space or
some whatever, who knows what it could be, it's obviously
not after you, so I would just I would let
it go. Sorry to comment on that story, but I
just kind of felt sorry for this lady. But thanks
for the story. My husband and I were house sitting
for some friends while they took off for Florida. It
was kind of a test run to see if they
liked living down there before deciding if they would sell
their home and make a permanent move to the Sunshine State.
They left us one key and it was given to
my husband, who worked until midnight. The kids and I
would usually be asleep by the time he got home.
Late one afternoon, my mom wanted us to go with
her to the department store. I left the door unlocked
while we were gone, and by the time we got
back it was already dark. It was kind of a
gingerbread neighborhood where you knew your neighbors. My mother helped
me get the kids to bed. There were ages four
and one at the time, so it took a little
bit to get them settled. After she went home, I
started to clean the house and remembered I had laundry downstairs.
I went to the basement to gather up the clothes,
but as I was removing them from the dryer, something
caught my eye. Now, mind you, I've always felt creeped
out in that grubby basement. Whenever I had to tend
to the laundry, I would rush through it as quick
as a whip, before heading to the safety of the
well lit upstairs. I turned my head really slow, and
I looked toward the wall, at the hole in the
cement blocks. At one time, our friends thought that they
would make a basement bigger, so they dug it into
solid earth until they hit some really big boulders and
they couldn't finish the job. I stared into the hole
and I saw a shadow like something was hiding in there.
I grabbed the laundry basket and I tailed it back
up the stairs, stopping just long enough to latch the
basement door behind me. That little eyron hook wasn't going
to discourage anyone or anything from busting through, but it
gave me a peace of mind. Well, I phoned my
mom and I begged her to come back for us. Now.
I called my husband at work and I demanded that
he had straight home at that moment. I wasn't going
to set a foot in the place until he gave
it the once over twice. But after a thorough search,
he found nothing. He accused me of overreacting, and I
still couldn't shake the feeling that there was something unusual
going out inside this home. I had a friend of
a friend who was a psychic, and she offered to
go through the house. She took her time walking through
each of the rooms, absorbing what she called the vibrations
left behind by previous occupants. She suspected that a murder
of some kind had taken place, suggesting that a victim
possibly died in a fall after being pushed down the
basement stairs. My husband, not a great believer in the
paranormal or the psychics, scoffed at her conclusions. But I
was ready then and there to leave the premises and
move in with my mother. Our friends had gotten a
great deal on a place. The original owners and their
two children were a text bookcase of dysfunction, mainly due
to the husband's drinking and violent temper. Feeling trapped in
a hopeless situation, the wife chose to leave behind the
husband and her children, and she never came back. A
few months later, the man was driving drunk and was
killed in a single car accident, and with the mother
of the children unable to be located, the orphans went
to live with their grandparents and the house was sold
to our friends. My husband was a carpenter and we
decided to help out with some badly needed upgrades. While
we were digging out some writing timbers around the foundation,
our four year old pulled a bone out from a
dirt pile. Eventually we unearthed a human skull and several
more bones, and through DNA testing, the authorities determined that
the remains were those of the wife the corner, having
confirmed her skull had been fractured, likely by a fall.
The husband had apparently murdered his wife and buried her body,
and then concocted a tale claiming that she had abandoned
him and their children. It was a shadow that caught
my eye that day among the cobwebs of a musty basement,
a glimpse of something that, for whatever reason, filled me
with a dread I couldn't shape. My psychic friend claims
that spirits will reach out from beyond the grave to
redress an injustice done to them while alive on earth.
Think of that the next time your eyes play tricks
on you, or if that sounds you here might be
something other than creaking pipes in the walls of an
old house. You never know what might be lurking just
below the floorboards. This writer doesn't give his name, but
this is Bigfoot related and I think there are several
stories in this account, so get ready to strap in.
This is a collection of true stories that happened to
me when I was growing up in the Las Cosas
area of Tennessee, fifteen miles outside of Murfersboro. From day one,
my grandfather was my favorite person in the world and
my best friend. He didn't officially raise me, but I
spent every summer there, Thanksgiving and Spring and even Christmas break,
as well as weekends at his house. As I got older,
I pretty much knew every inch of the hundred acres
that he owned, as well as the surrounding land of
his neighbors. My grandfather claimed for years that someone was
building a barn and hammering nails somewhere in the woods.
On nights, I heard the sounds of tools striking wood.
The noise seemed to come from different directions. It was
odd because there weren't any lights to be seen through
the trees, and nothing to the naked eye that would
suggest laborers out there hard at work. His advice to
us was that if we ever heard anything that sounded
like a woman screaming in the woods, to get out
of there, because it was probably a bobcat. He thought
all of these unusual occurrences were somehow connected. I spent
a lot of time hunting deer and squirrels in those woods.
His land was split up into two different parcels, the
smaller one he lived on and the larger one that
stretched out to his property line at a mile from
where his home sat. All I chose to haunt on
the parcel he lived on because of its proximity to
the house. I was following a trail from the bottom
of the yard through a large open field, past his
old log barn, and into some thick woods. There was
an access logging trail two hundred yards long that ended
by my grandfather's sage grass field. I would walk the
length of the field to a deerstand. It's not a
good idea to tramp through the area where you're going
to hunt, but I didn't know that at the time.
I had a twenty gauge single shot shotgun with a
quail load, and there was one in the chamber and
two in my pocket. I noticed movement coming out of
the thick woods on my right. I saw the outline
of a very large man, seemingly dressed in all brown boots, gloves,
and coveralls and topped with a toboggan hat. In cased
in all that brown, he resembled a walking hershey bar.
The air around him seemed to shimmer like the rising
heat from a hot tar road. There was a janitor
at my school who was seven foot three inches tall,
and he was the largest man that I had ever seen.
I realized then that the Good Lord made people this big,
but maybe not a lot of them. Well, this man
I was watching walk slow and deliberate, and his enormous
arms stretched almost to his knees, and he swung them
in an exaggerated motion. There was an unusual arch to
his back, and he seemed to almost fall forward with
each step. His necklace head was wedged between his shoulders
like it was a jam dispenser on a liquid soap bottle.
When he looked up at me, I realized it wasn't
a man at all. It was four o'clock in the afternoon,
and this human like creature was bathed in sunlight. His
hairy body glistened as he stared back at me. His
manner suggested that we could both be passive with each other,
or that we could go to war. Well, I watched
the beast walk across my grandfather's field, and when it
vanished into the horizon, I ran the half back to
my grandfather's house. Oh Junior, my grandfather, Josh. When I
described the man beast in the woods, you just saw
slew foot. I went back to that same field during
deer season. My curiosity was greater than than any fears
that lingered from my initial encounter. This time, I chose
to carry my Marland thirty thirty with one in the
chamber and five more rounds in the magazine. I was
deep in the woods when I heard voices coming from
somewhere ahead of me, and because of the trees in
the distance, I could only make out a few bits
of what sounded like a conversation between two very guttural
sounding males. The dialect wasn't like anything I'd ever heard
in Tennessee. Four years later, when I was sixteen, I
sold my fourteen foot v bottom boat to a neighbor
named Benny. He was thirty, and he was a rugged
out doorsman who wasn't afraid of anything, or so it seemed.
I was more interested in cars and girls than I
was fishing. Benny and I put in the boat below
Guy James Bridge on a chilly night in April, and
we drifted down toward Brown's Mill Dam fishing for smallmouth.
That night, we camped on a gravel bar two miles
away from any roads or houses, and I was familiar
with the police because we used to limb lying for
catfish and stay the night there. My buddy's dad once
hooked something there that suggested an object larger than a fish.
It was late in the evening, Bennie and I were
catfishing with no luck. Now about the time he turned
to me and uttered, sure is quiet out tonight as
if one queue, the biggest splash I ever heard in
my life broke the surface of the water sixty feet
away from us. We sprang to our feet, alive with
the adrenaline coursing through us, and Benny grabbed the flashlight
and I followed him to the end of the gravel bar,
where the rocks along the edge were wet with splash marks.
His flashlight battery was dying and had all the power
of a live firefly with its butt pointed in a
given direction, but we pressed onward. Benny leaned out and
pointed his fading light at something massive in the water.
It looked like the top portion of a half submerged
head with two glowing red eyes the sizes of bicycle reflectors.
Benny started muttering under his breath, it's a monster. It's
a monster. You're crazy. I encountered, that's a cow. The
cow's come down here to get in the water. Well,
it was obvious, judging by the sides of this thing,
that this was no Mama heifer. A shiver went up
my spine as I realized it was turning its enormous
head in our direction and it was checking us out.
I knew that the water surrounding the gravel bar was
eight feet deep. Well, this thing pushed off from the
rocks towards the middle of the river and went downstream
and his zigzag pattern, and it outpaced the current. It
didn't appear to be swimming, but taking measured steps, like
an adult slashing through a kid's waiting pool. Benny had
his twelve gags loaded with buckshot, and he put it
to his shoulder and took aim as the thing duck
beneath the surface of the water. It's got to come
up for air, he whispered, and his hands were shaking.
After fifteen minutes of waiting for the beast to resurface,
Benny suggested that we take turns sleeping at night with
the shotgun. I think could come back up out of
the water and kill us, he said, his eyes nervously
skinning the black river. I slept through my turn at
guard duty, and when I awoke the next morning, Benny
was still holding his shotgun. He was staring at the river.
It never came up for air, was all he muttered.
It was a quiet ride home that day. I'm fifty
three years old now, and I've never had any experiences
quite like what Bennie and I encountered that night. A
friend of mine, heavily into cryptids, played me some audio once,
something he referred to as the Sierra Sounds, and it
reminded me of what I heard when I was a kid,
way back when stalking the deer in the backwoods of
my grandfather's place. Benny was a genuinely good man who
was dealing with a lot of demons. I have no
idea how he chose to process what he saw that
night on the gravel bar. I was sixteen and too
naive to recognize the signs of PTSD, and about a
year and a half later, Bennie took his own life.