Speaker 1: Hey, Cam, I have a pretty unbelievable story for you.
Even I find it hard to believe. And it's my story.
In nineteen seventy four, my family moved from Missouri to
a small town in Kansas. Sometime that summer, the movie
Legend of the Boggy Creek finally came to our town,
and my father took my two older brothers and me
to see it. I was close to eight years old,
and it scared me so much that I remember curling
up with my face pressed into the back of the
seat so I wouldn't have to look at the monster.
A few weeks later, I had a flashback from when
I was a toddler, back when we were still in Missouri,
and I remember sitting up and talking to three little men.
I could see them clearly, even though it was dark
in my bedroom, and I could hear them even though
they weren't moving their mind they talked right into my head,
and that's how I answered them too. They were gray,
they had large, elongated tear drop eyes, and they were
only as tall as the front rail of the bed,
which made them just a few inches taller than I
was at that time. I remember looking from one to
the other as they spoke to me and not being
afraid of them. They visited me a lot, and I
liked them because I knew they were happy to see me.
I didn't like the tall ones. Though they rarely came
into the house anyway, they always came out of the
kitchen right next to my bedroom door. I didn't mind
them coming in, but I hated when I had to
go into the kitchen and out the back door with
them because it went by the basement door, and that
door terrified me. My mother was an alcoholic and was
cata tonic for most of my childhood. One day I
was left on my own wandering around the house looking
for my brothers and sisters. I couldn't find anyone in
the house, so I decided to look in the basement
and I opened the basement door and I leaned on
the wall beside the stairs. It was a long way
to the bottom for such a small child. There was
a window to the left that let them light into
the room, but an inky darkness covered the far end
of the space. There were two large barn doors that
opened out into the backyard to the far right, and
in the darkness was a work bench. I slowly went
down those stairs, scooting down each one on my bottom
because I was so small. The dim light from the
window reflected off the big crank washer that was a
few feet from the bottom of the stairs, but otherwise
it was too dark to see much of anything. I
realized that no one was down there, and that they
must have been outside playing. But I would have to
get my little legs all the way back up those
stairs and out the back door through the kitchen to
get to them. I sat on the bottom stairs, making
up my mind about what I would do. Something by
the work bench, and the darkness caught my attention. I
was too young to have been afraid of much, even
in the darkness, so I got up and walked over
to the bench, and that's when I saw the feet.
There were big feet, maybe bigger than I was at
the time if I had laid down next to them.
And then I saw the brown, hairy legs that went
up and up, and I had to lean my head
back as far as it would go to see the
top of this thing. It was a fuzzy man who
was so tall that his shoulders hit the ceiling and
his head was bent down looking at me. I remember
his huge hands coming at me, and then everything went blank.
I can't tell you what happened next, because fear either
erased that memory or buried it so far down that
I wouldn't have to relive it. I had always wondered
where my fear of heights came from, and now I
think I know it came from the beast in the
basement picking me up. My oldest brother came back from
Germany right as the Vietnam War stopped, just before he
was to ship out. He had always thrown me up
in the air and caught me before he left on
the tour. But when he came back that time, he
tossed me up like he always did. But that time
I screamed and I begged him to stop. I was
terrified of being even a few feet off the ground.
We had a ladder with three steps on it that
we used to climb into a pear tree in the backyard,
but I couldn't use that anymore. Even on the first step,
I would freeze in terror. In retrospect, I don't think
the beast in the basement meant to hurt me or
anyone else. But I was a little kid, and he
was so huge that it frightened me. All of us
knew about him, but that is a story for another time.
One night after my encounter in the basement, the three
little men told me that I didn't have to be
afraid because the big men wouldn't come around and scare
me anymore. And try as I might, I never could
remember everything that they talked to me about on all
their visits to my room while the rest of my
family slept. Looking back now, though, it's difficult to say
which memory is more disturbing, the beast in the basement
or the three men who visited me in the middle
of the night. Thank you for reading my story. It
took me a while to find the courage to write it. Well.
Thank you, ma'am. She wants to be anonymous, so I
won't thank her by name, but she'll hear this. This
is an older email that I got. What an experience
for a little bitty kid through It's like aliens talking
to her at the foot of her bed, big aliens
coming in, possibly a bigfoot in the basement. That's really
a crazy story. And some of you may think it's
just a bunch of wahoo, but maybe it's not. You know,
the name of my podcast is what if It's true?
What if this story's true? What was this young what
was this little girl dealing with in that house? Her
mother was a drunk, catatonic all the time. Maybe she
was in a Maybe she was in a Maybe she
was a vulnerable kid. And that's who these alien type
beings pray on. I don't know, but it's a very
interesting story. I hope you're doing okay now and those
memories don't come back and scare you too bad. It's
a great story. I appreciate you sharing it with us.
All right, all right, how about a new podcast, not
an archive. I know some people may be a little
frustrated that I'm putting let me get my mic here,
here we go. Mike was like a foot two feet
from my mouth. Some people get a little annoyed at
the archived videos. But there's a lot of people who
haven't heard those stories. And I've been away from the podcast.
I've been working on Steve Lilly Night and Day. People
hounded me for a year to get another one out. Well,
I put three out in the span of about seven days.
If you haven't heard eighteen, it'll be available tonight. I
think around six Central times, so you can listen to
that tonight. We listen to this one first because it's
full of really good stories, and thank you for clicking
on the video. Certainly do appreciate you. It was late
summer of twenty nineteen and the peak camping season had passed.
My wife and two kids had reserved a primo campsite
at a fairly remote campground in Kern County, California. Oh
that's a mouthful. Kern County, California. Kern County, California, Kern County, California.
Try to say that three times this excuse me. This
campground had no electricity, running water, or sewer hookups, just
pit toilets that forced you to hold your breath as
long as possible, do your business and get your feed
out of there. There was a mountain spring that some
folks thought was safe to drink. Otherwise it was several
miles down the road to fill up your jugs with
good old holes water. But that's what the old folks
liked roughing it. The occasion, however, was a somber one.
The previously mentioned old folks had passed on and we
were burdened with the task of scattering the remains of
my wife's grandparents and their dog into the river, the
same river to which they had already committed two of
their boys in the past year. This spot was a
special one, and my wife had been going there since
she was an infant, and her mom's family long before that.
I had always enjoyed hiking in the mountains as a
boy's scout, and I went along with them when we
first started dating to the spot, and we continued the
tradition with them. Sadly, the tradition almost faded away. It
was one last hurrah and I wanted to go tent
camping for old time say. Our camp site had a
good view of the other side of the river, which
was miles and miles of empty land that eventually hooked
up with the Sierra Nevada National Park. It would take
some incredibly rough and rugged individuals to truck across such
a landscape, and if a sasquatch felt like getting a
view of campers, it was the perfect spot for them
to do it. We stayed at the campsite for a
few nights, but my hopes of squatch watching never materialized.
On our last night, we had a lovely camp for
our dinner, and I slept with the roar of the
river lulling me to sleep, and life was good. The
next morning we had to pack up and go, and
as usual, we took our time, waking up, long after
the chill of the night was replaced by the sun
warming our tent. We made coffee on the ancient persnickerty
Coleman stove, and as the deadline approached for us to
clear out of the campground, we leisurely packed up and
watched the early risers drive off and head to wherever
home was. When we were alone in the campground and
our kids were waiting for us in the car, my
wife and I marveled at how cool it was to
be there with no other campers at all, and that
had never happened, as our traditional camping time was the
peak summer right around the fourth of July. But our
feeling of coolness quickly turned to a feeling of oddness.
It had only been a few minutes since the departure
of the rest of our neighbors when we both got
the distinct impression that something wasn't quite right. Do you
I started to ask my wife, not exactly sure how
to phrase the strange sensation of fight or flight that
had quickly come over me. Yes, she said, looking at
me with a mixture of worry and confusion. I feel
it too. We became consumed by the need to pack
up and get out of there as quickly as possible.
We never heard or saw anything, but it didn't make
the experience any less disturbing. It was like we had
been covered by a wet blanket of fear, and it
was the strangest thing, and neither of us had ever
experienced anything like this. It was weird to be in
such a beloved place all along and then suddenly so
put off as we hot tailed it out. If there
had occurred to me that maybe I had my sosquatch
watching experience. After all, I've heard about the fear other
people have experienced, and how it comes out of nowhere,
and how it violates your space and encompasses you in
an inexplicable, terror fueled urge to run for your life. Well,
that's exactly what this felt like. I haven't been back since,
but not out of fear, or so I tell myself.
Pummeling humans with the fear is probably intended to keep
us away, but it's the opposite effect on me. I
actually can't wait to go back, maybe in the off season,
and this time be better prepared. But next time the
fear hits, I won't be so quick to run. I
hope I don't regret that. Oh dude, I hope you
don't regret that too. I don't know. I've never had
a feeling in my life like I should just run,
and that must be a strange sensation for people, because
I've never felt that. There was a day in the
last two weeks I was telling my wife that you
all know, I ride my bike around all these woods
around my house, and we were back there, riding around
some ponds and across some levees, and it was so quiet.
It was it's like the middle of August, it's really hot.
Maybe it was right before it was either right before
or right after all that rain got pushed up here
by the hurricane that landed just three or four weeks ago.
It was so quiet that it was weird. And normally
I don't stop to listen to the noises unless I
hear noises, then you kind of listen for them. But
it just and then I just it just felt strange
and my dogs were like looking around off at nothing.
It's like they would both stop. Their heads would be
turned looking in the same direction, their ears would be
perked up, and they would just stand there when they're
normally running around like wild hyenas. But they would eventually
move on and we'd ride on and everything would be fine.
But I have had those experiences in my life, very few,
very few. But I didn't mean to make this about
me and talk about myself. But that's how we relate
to these things. We kind of compare other people's experiences
to our own, and then we talk about ours, and
it kind of fleshes it out a little bit. So
I guess that's why I do that. I don't care
that y'all know that I felt weird that day, so
I'm not trying to talk about myself. I just kind
of popped in my head. Squirrel. All right, Thank you
to the writer for this. This was very good. I
appreciate it. Greetings, my white brother. I'm sending you this
story because I believe it may give me some relief
and getting it off my chest will help me come
out of the shadows. I'm a part of the ute nation,
or at least what is left of it, as we
are a nation of decreasing numbers. I'm a traditional bow
hunter and have harvested more record bucks and bull elk
than ninety nine percent of the hunters here in this
state or neighboring states. One might say that I have
a vested interest in the ancient ways of my people
when it comes to hunting. I have made my own
bow from a cedar tree and arrows from a choke
cherry tree, and I made my own airheads by napping obsidian. WHOA,
that is cool. My bow is somewhere between seventy five
and ninety pounds pull and has only been pulled back
to full draw by myself and my father. Nobody else
that we are acquainted with has been able to pull
it to full draw. As deer season approaches, I prepare
for my hunt the two weeks prior to going out
to the woods, and in that time I only eat
fruits and vegetables, and I refrain from consuming any meat
of any form. I fast for the last twenty four
hours prior to going into the woods, and I spend
that time in a sweat lodge to cleanse my body
of the smell of a meat eater, and I bathe
in a soap made from the yucca plant and other
roots for the week prior, as well as wash my
hunting clothes and equipment in a mixture of dried yucca
and other plants native to the region. I do all
this to remove any scent of a predator being in
the woods, and I give myself the scent of the forest.
At this point, I am one with the forest and
I'm ready to hunt, and this practice helps me get
close to the prey without them having any clue that
a predator is only feet away. I take my old
nineteen seventy four Chevy C twenty Camper Special, which is
orange over white, and it's more rust and metal now,
but it runs better than anything else on the roads here,
and it tears down the trails in old mining and
logging roads like a mule, and it eats like one
two about eight gallons to the mile. I park and
walk the last two miles to where I want to hunt,
usually prior to the sun coming up, and I wear
the traditional soft soul moccasins and buckskin pants which protect
my legs from the briars and thorns, and a camouflage
top of some nature. I either use a swing tight
tree stand or I stalk my prey. I learned how
to hunt from my elders, but mostly from my grandfather,
who is one of the elders of our tribe. It's
been known to be the best hunter for over two
hundred years, and when hunting, I have learned to only
be seen if I want to be seen. It was
almost a year ago now, and I went through my
normal routine and I got out to the woods before dawn.
I had positioned myself just below a ridge where I
knew a game trail ran. I had taken quite a
few nice meal bucks from this location over the past years,
and I had the expectation of taking another record breaking
buck again this year. This was simply going to take
patients and waiting for the right one to walk over
the ridge. I knew there were going to be some
younger bucks and does, and maybe a bear, maybe a
mountain lion or other critters, but I would just have
to sit tight and stay true to my goal. Just
after dawn, I saw a large dough and her two
yearlings walk down the trail at the top of the ridge.
I gave them a free pass and A couple of
minutes later, after she dropped over the other side of
the ridge, she wailed out in pain. The two year
lings ran past me in reckless abandon and I wondered
what had grabbed her. I didn't know if it was
a mountain lion or a bear, so I just sat
tight and I kept my ears and eyes open. I
didn't want to interrupt a mountain lion's breakfast or a
grizzly's mid morning snack, because it would only end badly
for one of us. Just a few minutes after the
commotion and struggle had stopped, I heard a roar, paired
with what sounded like King Kong pounding his chest. I
split second later another roar answered the first. I had
never heard this sound in the mountains before, but I
could tell that it was two different animals by the
pitch and tone of their voices. The volume was so
intense that it made my stomach turn and my handshake.
And then I heard a crash that sounded like two
bull elephants smashing their heads together. And I could hear
the rush getting torn out of the ground and being
rolled over, and I could see tops of trees being
shaken and knocked around, and then I heard some kind
of chattering from just over the ridge, and it reminded
me of a group of kids in the schoolyard encouraging
and egging on a fight. And I had never heard
any of these sounds in the mountains before, and the
noise was unsettling, so I sat tight where I was
and I listened to the battle from over the top
of the ridge, and then I got to look at
what was making all the noise. Two beasts that were
bigger than any grizzly bear I had ever seen before,
bit and punched and pulled at each other's hair. They
looked like giant hairy men with huge mouths and enlarge
canine teeth. Their arms were longer than a human's and
move like sledgehammers as they relentlessly hit each other. The
fight rolled back over the top of the ridge and
out of sight, and it sounded like one had finally
I managed to dominate the other, and I heard one
of them being slammed into a tree, and then another,
and I heard one of them moan in pain and
the other growl and rage, And then came what I
can only describe as a death whale. The likes I
have never imagined from any living animal, and I heard
some sort of cry for mercy, and then a final thud.
There was a brief moment of silence, and then an
eruption of noise from the other side of that ridge.
First came a roar from the victor, followed by the
unfamiliar chatter of a strange language that I could not understand.
I stayed in my stand for almost thirty minutes after
that commotion settled down. Before I eased back down and
snuck to the top of the ridge, and even before
I looked over the side, a horrific smell of death
and blood mixed with raw sewage filled my nose. And
then I looked over and I saw several hairy beasts
ranging in size from massive to only a few feet tall,
gathered around the dough which had been torn apart, and
it looked like they had ripped the internal organs out
of her and torn the legs off and were sitting
around eating the meat right off the bone. Another group
of beasts gathered around the loser of the battle. They
had torn its stomach open and they were eating its
organs and sucking the marrow out of its ribs. The
loser's head had been twisted backward, and its legs were
contorted in a way that they were not intended to
be positioned. The massive, bloodied victor was sitting off to
the site, surrounded by a couple of smaller females, and
they were stroking his head and back. He was at
least ten feet tall and maybe a thousand pounds. The
females were much smaller, but still taller and wider than
any human. I backed out slowly, and I was able
to drop over an adjacent ridge without being seen. And
I ran most of the way back to my truck,
and I drove straight to my grandfather's house. He told
me that I had encountered the I can't pronounce the word.
He says, here as sea sack. It's a s apostrophe s.
I'm sorry, let me go back. It's se apostrophe s
x ac, and then he writes, or sisquatch. And I
was lucky not to have been seen. And he reminded
me of the stories that had been passed from a
generation to generation about the sisquatch, mostly during the spring
bear dads and celebrating the coming of spring each year.
Well My head was swimming with questions. Why were those
two males fighting? Was it a challenge over breeding rights
or an invader who ventured into another clan's territory? Was
it over who got the choice of pieces of meat
for the kill? Was this just a clan passing through
or did they live there a year round? Do these
large males kill each other often? Is it that they
ether did and that's the reason we never find a
skeleton or remains. I did not return to the woods
last year, and I'm trying to get my nerve back
to hunt this year. I've never hunted with a firearm,
but if I finally get the courage up, I will
be taking my Smith and Wesson five hundred with me.
Oh what a this guy? This is like a story
of all stories everybody, you know. We had one story
where somebody was just they had a feeling of seeing
a bigfoot, and then we go right to a story
where a guy watches this whole clan kind of like
a schoolyard fight, and these two big males beating a
crap out of each other. You heard it all. There's
nothing I can add to it. And he's got a
thousand questions he's really inquisitive about this. I'm sure he
wanted to ask his grandfather, grandfather all this stuff. But man,
it's just a great story. And when I first read,
when I first read the first sentence, when he said,
greeting's my white brother. I got a comment from somebody
maybe in the last two months, and uh, you know,
I never know the race of the person who's commenting ever.
I mean, there's no way to know even if there's
a picture of a I don't know, maybe a person
from India or a First Nation's person, or a black
person or a white person. You know, they could put
any kind of picture up there. But this person had
had the image of a black person, so I'm assuming
it was them. And they ask, why aren't there any
black people into this bigfoot subject? And that's a good question.
There are a few. I've actually I've actually met three
or four people black folks who actually follow this topic.
And I think, I think, so there are people who
follow it, you just don't see them doing stuff on
you like all the Bigfoot channels. Do you know anyway
that's neither here nor there. It just made me think, Oh,
I was so excited that I was getting an email
from a from a black guy or black woman, and
I was gonna be able to share it and tell
this person, see, black people have experiences too. However, I'm
just as excited that it was a First Nations guy
from the Ute Nation. They are so in tune with nature.
You read his the first part of the story where
he takes great care to hunt in the ancient ways
that his ancestors did, and I think that is so cool.
You know, that makes hunting a lot harder. I mean,
if you actually make your own weapons, you make your
own clothes, you go to so much care with fasting
and making sure you know, the predator smell gets off
of you from eating meat. I never thought about that.
Do we smell like meat eaters? And then it's just
really impressive the way this any any He makes his
own arrowheads out of what was the name of that
of the stone they used, But it's that kind of
stone you if you just crack it, it's like a
razor blade that you know, a little piece of shell
comes off and you could skin a mule deer out
with a piece of it. I wish I could remember
the name of it's in the story, but I'm not
gonna look it up anyway. This wasn't from a black person.
It was from a First Nation's brother, and I appreciated
him sending it. It was a great story, one of
the best stories I've read in a long time. Giant
Bigfoot fight right in front of him. Unbelievable. Thanks for
the story. Okay, that's three good stories. All three of
them I thought were great. They kind of reached from
one spectrum to the other aliens and Bigfoot, and then
the fear of Bigfoot, and then an actual bigfoot encounter
and a witness to a bigfoot fight. It was so cool.
Thank you all for watching this video. I appreciate it.
Jump over to the Steve Lilly channel. I'll put a
link in the discretion if you haven't found the Steve
Lily Stories. There a fictional set of stories that I've
been writing for about three years. I think there's eighteen
episodes up now, seventeen right now. There'll be eighteen tonight
at six o'clock. But go check that out if you
like cool, high impact, lots of action fiction. The Steve
Lily Journals, or you can just search it the Steve
Lily Journals that'll come up on YouTube, or on the
podcast network. All right, I'm gonna quick running my mouth.
Y'all have a good week. We'll see on the next one. Thanks.