Speaker 1: My cousin is a nurse in Rushton, Louisiana, although at
the time she lived just outside the city and the
little town of Children. She lived in a trailer on
her mother's property, several hundred yards away from the main house.
They have an acreage property set back in the woods,
not too far from the train tracks that run through
the area. One night, my cousin had just finished her
graveyard shift at the hospital in Rushton. She was tired
after the long shift and was returning home to child
around three am. There been several accidents on the road
near her home, where it comes across the train tracks,
and the bushes and the woods near the tracks, and
the odd bend in the road can make it treacherous
if drivers don't pay close attention. There are no railroad
crossing signals on the road, and if you have your
music to loud, you might not hear the train. More
than one car has smacked into the train, which is
always a losing proposition. She approached the tracks, and although
she was exhausted, she was careful to come to a
stop and crack her window a bit to listen for
the train. There were no lights coming or train sounds
coming down the tracks, and with her window crack, she
took the opportunity to light a cigarette while she stopped.
As she put the cigarette into her mouth and fished
around in her purse for a lighter, a huge, hairy
hand with a massive hairy forearm smacked palm first onto
the driver's side area of the windshield, mere inches from
her face. She let out a startled scream of terror.
The darkness outside prevented her from seeing anything approach her car,
and the darkness outside and the lights from the dash
inside also prevented her from getting a good look at
her attacker. In any case, she didn't stick around to
find out who or what it was. She mashed her
foot on the gas and blasted down the road. She
got home in no time and ran for the safety
of her trailer. She concedes that she didn't see what
smacked her window, only that it was a giant and
the arm was covered in thick, dark hair. It could
have been a man out near the train tracks in
the woods at three am in the dark, but she's
convinced that it was a bugger. We have spent many
evenings on the porch playing cards at the main house,
and her terrible screams come from the woods beyond the pond.
All my cousins tell me it's a black panther they
sometimes see in the area, and it certainly sounds like
the scream of a big cap the kind that sounds
like the blood curdling scream of a woman that ends
in a roar. But now I'm not so sure it
is a panther. If your show has taught me anything,
it's that boogers and bigfoot can make those same sounds.
Either way. Next time we visit, I won't be out
walking around outside in the dark by myself. Thank you
for your time. Keep up the great work. I love
the Steve Lily stories. Keep them coming, dude, I love
writing them. You and I talked about Steve Lily over
the phone. Some people say he's my alter ego. No
he's not. Steve Lily is just a character. He's like
I put ten or twenty guys I've known in my
life together and I just stuffed them all in Steve
Lily and that's how he got to be how he is.
But working on Steve Lily Number ten now, I hope
to have it out in the next week or two,
so I keep getting emails and comments, and you know
that's very flattering. I don't say those things like I'm bragging.
I say those things in all that people actually like
those stories. To me, they're so silly, but and I
love writing them because it's like I feel like a
little kid when I'm writing them. When I tell you
that there's I get a lot of emails and comments
on them. I'm saying that in what's the word, I'm
looking for appreciation, gratitude, and thankfulness that you all enjoy
those stories, and that the man who wrote this story
that I just read, he's a screenwriter. When you have
somebody read or hear your story and they like it,
that's better than one hundred dollars bill. I guarantee you,
to someone who wrote it, it's better than one hundred
dollars bill. So thank you all for enjoying Steve Lily,
I'm going to have another one out pretty soon. Anyway,
let's move on to another story. Okay, this is a
really interesting story. And at the beginning of his email,
he gives me I almost narrated this. I'm glad I didn't,
because he said, let me tell you a bit about
myself in confidence he wants to remain anonymous for several reasons,
but I will tell you this. He's sixty five years old.
It's a man. He's got an extensive education background, bachelor's
degrees and leadership and ministries, and a master's degree in
the science of counseling. And he says, I hate to
talk about myself. I was taught not to brag, but
I did graduate at the top of my class, and
people say that I helped them make good decisions. I'm
only telling you this to give these stories a little credibility. So,
in other words, he's not from the trailer park like me.
I'm just kidding, man, I'm just kidding. So here's what
he writes. My sister and I are the only ones
living from our immediate family now. My mom and dad
and three older brothers have passed away, so I really
don't have anybody to ask about the things that I'm
going to tell you. But there's just a lot of
strange things that happened as I was growing up that
never had a resolution. And I suppose it was because
they happened to me at such a young age that
I didn't question them or fully dwell on them. I'm
writing to you because of your non judgmental approach to
the subject of the unknown. I enjoy your style of
telling about these experiences, and I check your channel to
make sure I haven't missed any of them. That always
makes me so happy when people say that. You know,
people think this is a successful YouTube channel. It's a
small channel in the scope of YouTube, and I still
get giddy when I hear people say, Oh, I like
to hear you read a story, and you know, if
I don't know, I'm just going on here. Let me
keep going. So he writes. All three of these events
that I will tell you are true. They're not fiction.
You may use them on your channel, which I enjoy
very much, or just read for your own pleasure if
you want. All I ask is that you mask both
names in specific places. We grew up in Knoxville, Tennessee.
We lived in a law large ranch style home with
a big, full basement and a main level and an upstairs.
It faced the highway and on the other three sides
it was surrounded by woods. And he sent some photos,
but I don't show photos, so we're not going down
that road. We rented it from the cement plant. My
dad worked for. I recently tried to find out how
many acres the plant owned, but I couldn't. I did
find out the manufacturing and packing plant itself is thirty
two acres, so it stands to reason that there's at
least seventy five acres or so of fairly dense woods
that were talking about. I always loved to play in
those woods. It was a southern boy's dream. We moved
to the house when I was six years old, and
I lived there until I was eighteen. There was one
house next to iris when we moved in, but it
was vacant and torn down shortly after. There were no
other homes around at all after that, and I would
estimate the closest would be a mile or two in
either direction, with only the woods and the plant behind it.
I would always go through those woods to the left
of our home, which was a quarter a mile of
dense hardwood, and then i'd crossed a small fence that
opened out into a large field. Across that field, I
could go play in a small creek, and that was
always a fun track. Sometimes I would go to the
right of the house into those woods. We would always
throw our leftover food or spoiled food over the fence
on that side. I would go about a quarter mile
in that direction until it opened up into a clay
clearing that was totally surrounded by large pine and evergreens.
It had a big deposit of slate rocks, and I
can remember grabbing a rock and riding my name on
the other rocks around there. It was like a chalkboard.
That clearing was one place I always felt like someone
was watching me, though I never went any further than
that to the right, even though the river was only
a half mile further. If I were to walk straight
back towards the center of the woods for miles and miles,
I would eventually get to the plant my father worked at.
But we never went toward the center of those woods.
For some reason, there seemed to be unspoken boundaries. Even
when I went out with my older brother's hunting, I
was always told not to go that way because the
plant would blast rocks back there with dynamite. There were
plenty of no trespassing signs, no hunting signs, all riddled
with bullet holes, and oddly enough, some danger quicksand signs
really quicksand in East Tennessee, or was that a sign
to just scare people. We always had dogs that we
kept outside. Now it seems to me like they always
disappeared or died on a regular basis, and I never
understood why. And in my family, a good Southern family,
if you do not talk about it's like it never happened.
Oh man, isn't that a weird thing about us Southern people?
We just don't. I do. I talk. I like to
talk about things. Sometimes I need to talk things out,
but mostly I'm quiet. I'm not a bliber mouth, but
some things I need to. Okay. For some reason, this
story is making me yack. I'm gonna quit doing that.
We usually kept one or two hunting dogs like beagles,
and at least two big German shepherds. My dad always
put the dogs up in a strange way. He stationed
them directly behind our house, one to the right side
of the woods and one towards the center of the woods,
and one to the left. We had a large pin
that spanned the entire half of our yard that was
made from fencing at least six feet tall. On the
front of the large pin was a house made from
ten and it was big enough to shelter a pony
we had for a while. Why didn't they just put
the dog and that instead of letting it sent empty?
I wonder if they were put up like this to
guard our yard. Dad always kept a loaded shotgun handy
as well. Mom would always warn me that the boogerman
was in the woods and that I shouldn't let it
get me. She would have probably freaked out if she
knew I went in there to play as much as
I did. Later on, my dad would explain that screams
we heard a few times in those woods originated from
bowampus cat, a large mountain lion type creature we used
to talk about. Did he tell me this because I
would be more accepting of a large cat in those
woods rather than well, something else. I think the subject
of these stories is more than land we lived on
rather than anything else. Or maybe because I believe in
the supernatural, I was more sensitive to these events. Or
maybe they happened to me just because with a randomness
that can be ironic. Well, let me get to the
first event. I did not usually take my little sister
with me in those woods to play when I went,
but one day we decided to play in that fenced
in lot I mentioned earlier. We played in the tin
house next to the only entrance and exit until close
to dusk, and we decided to venture out to the
other end, which was grown up now into tall grass.
As we got closer to the end of the pen,
both of us stopped for some reason as we looked down.
Near our feet on the ground lay a jawbone from
I don't know what, maybe some animal, including gums and teeth.
It was fresh, because I distinctly remembered that the gums
were not dried out but had to shine to them
like they were still moist, and the teeth were all intact,
like the entire jaw was carefully extracted. It could have
been a canine. I really don't know. That frightened both
of us, so I didn't pick it up to examine it.
I left and on the side of the pen where
those center woods were, and the six foot fence had
been pushed down and was two feet from the ground
in one section. It had not fallen down. It was
purposely mashed down for something to gain access into the
pen undetected. And then we heard a long guttural growl
coming from something crouched down in the tall grass and
weeds about fifteen feet in front of us. We both
knew we had to get out of there, and we
backed out and we ran to the house. We told
our parents and they thought we were just playing. Well.
I went back the next day and the jaw was gone. Finally,
my parents told us both to stay out of that house.
There were fleas from the dogs in there, and we
would get them, even though we never kept dogs in
that ten house. Well, what do I think happened? I
think there were sasquats living deep in those woods, but
at that time knew nothing about them. This happened to
us in nineteen sixty six. The sisquatch probably thought I
was harmless and they never bothered me when I played
back there. I think one pushed down that fence in
the back of the pen where it couldn't be seen
and had easy access from the center woods. And I
believe that it had killed something, maybe a dog or
a coyote, and brought it in there to eat, and
us goofy kids walked up on it and it felt threatened,
so it growled. After that, I heard more stories of
the wild man in our area, and we became careful,
especially at night. In fact, when my sister was older
and she was left alone in the house, she was
so afraid that she would sit under the kitchen table
with chairs pulled in around her until somebody got home.
Even when I grew to a teenager and would come
in at night from work or a date, I would
never hang around outside. It was so dark from the
woods in our yard, and the dogs would regularly bark
into the woods and we would hear movement in there,
but we never saw anything. And our usual routine for
being tucked into the house would include making sure the
garage light was turned on, the door to the screen
porch was locked, the door to the kitchen right off
the screen porch was locked and dead bolted, and the
living room door going out to the front porch was
locked and the inside chain lightched, and the outside entrance
to the basement would be locked, and the entrance into
the main floor from the basement was bolted shut. On
November fourth, nineteen sixty five, my grandfather died. I was
ten years old then and my sister was seven. He
was never a warm and fuzzy type grandfather. He would
always sit out in the yard with his metal lawn
chair and smoke cigarettes. He was a slim man with
a ring of white hair around his head. He always
had on his Liberty overalls, a sport coat, a stetson hat,
and broke in boots. I felt bad for my father
that Paul, that's what we called him, had died, but
I didn't feel the loss as much since he was
not an overly affectionate kind of a man. Two weeks later,
Mom and Dad had to go somewhere and left my
sister and I alone for a while. We were goofing
around on the porch and something got my attention about
halfway up the driveway. It was Paul walking up the
driveway and his overalls and his sport coat and hat
and his brokens. Both of us scurried into the house
and locked the kitchen door. We didn't have time to
lock the screen in the porch door, so my grandfather
walked in and began to knock on the kitchen door.
We both hid in the living room until we were
sure he was gone. Both of us saw him and
recognized him. There was no mistake about that, but the
way he was dressed and the way he walked were
just the same. Now, I cannot explain that to this day,
and my mom just said it could not have been
him and we were mistaken. The next story I have
takes place a couple of years later. My older brother
and I were home alone one night and for some reason,
we went outside. As we stood there, right outside the
detached garage, we both looked into the sky. It was
dark and clear, with the stars shining all around. At
this time, it was nineteen sixty eight. The area was
still undeveloped as far as business goes, so there weren't
any lights from buildings or signs. As we looked up,
it seemed as one of the stars was becoming brighter
than the rest. It was becoming brighter because it was
getting closer. In a matter of seconds, we understood that
it wasn't a star. Yes, they're hovering above us, was
a flying saucer. Its appearance was similar to the classic
nineteen fifties sci fi movies. It was round with lights
that rotated all around it, and it looked bigger than
our two story house and it just hung there, making
little noise as we stared back at it and shot. Finally,
my brother told me to get in the corner of
the garage and stay there I did, and he ran
into the house and got the Trusty twelve gage shotgun.
I heard him come out and I stepped out too,
and just as he shouldered the J. C. Higgins twelve gage,
the object disappeared. We both stood there and shocked for
a while. Never spoke of it again, but I always
felt protected and glad my brother was around. Isn't that weird?
I have absolutely no idea what this was. All I
truly know is that it was an unidentified flying object
that scared us both to death. And Now for my
fourth story, this occurred when I I was seventeen. I
had the entire upstairs to myself. My sister was always
afraid to have her room up there for some reason.
Maybe it was because you could hear footsteps up there
when we were all downstairs. My parents said the house
was just settling, and I always left a light on
in the hall bathroom and the door cracked about halfway.
If I knew it would be dark before I went
upstairs to my room, I would leave a light on
all day so the area would be illuminated for me
when I walked up those stairs. As I went to bed.
One night, I took my glasses off and I placed
them on the bedside table. I have poor vision and
I could see nothing without them. And I woke up
sometime in the wee hours of the morning and I
turned my head to the side. That's when I saw it,
or I saw him. I was standing in my hallway,
right outside of my room what appeared to be a
Civil War soldier. He had a uniform, one that looked
like a Confederate officer's attire with fancy braids and buttons.
Before I could even react or think, he was straddling
me on the bed, making the mattress in springs underneath
me conformed to a U shape. I sunk into the
middle of the bed. I had been scared before, but
this was stark terror. And as quickly as he appeared,
he disappeared, and the mattress, the springs, and me returned
to their original position. I immediately sat up straight in the bed,
and I took a deep breath, and I screamed. Yes,
I screamed, but no sound came out. I took a
deep breath to scream again, but no sound, just my breath.
I have since read that if you're terrified, your body
may go into shock. It temporarily freeze up and it
will not function. But the third attempt came with a
blood curdling scream, and I ran downstairs and I told
my mom, who met me at the bottom of the stairs,
that I had a nightmare. She suggested that I sleep
on the couch in the downstairs living room that night,
and that's what I did for a week. Was it
a nightmare? Really? Was it a familiar spirit, maybe taking
the form of a soldier who fought in the area.
How could I see in such detail without the aid
of my glasses? I will never know. Shortly after I
moved out got married, my sister did as well. Mom
and Dad moved to a house they built on a lake.
The old house was torn down by the plant. It
was not in bad shade. And why they decided to
tear it down instead of renting it or selling it,
I'll never know. Again. All these events are all true,
and I'm sure no one would believe me. I've never
shared all three events. Actually there were four events with
anyone else, but they really did happen. Feel free to
use these stories if you wish. You may call me
to verify if you want. If I'm busy, leave a
voicemail and I'll call you back. Thank you for all
you do in the wonderful stories you tell, and then
he signs off. I'm telling I'm gonna be straight up
with y'all. I read this story cold because I thought
it was a Bigfoot story, but then it got into
UFOs and it got into ghosts. They saw their grandpa
walk up to the house. You know, I love these
stories just as much as Bigfoot stories. They're all great.
We all love to hear them, and this man was
so nice to sit down and write all this stuff
down for us to enjoy. So this is the story
that's at the end of the video. I know everybody
expects me to do Bigfoot. I really like doing these
UFO ghost stories. We do those on the what if
it's true? This one kind of snuck in. I'm gonna
leave it in because it's just damn good. That's all
there is to it. Confuct In, Pug need be distrust