Speaker 1: I'm from Mississippi originally, but I've lived in Oklahoma, Texas, Pennsylvania,
Speaker 1: West Virginia. Since I've discovered the subject of sisquatch. I'm
Speaker 1: so sure that they're real. I don't need to see
Speaker 1: one believe me. But here is my second hand story.
Speaker 1: My mom and her siblings made up a huge family
Speaker 1: who lived on a plantation in Sunflower County. Mom always
Speaker 1: called it the Patterson Plantation because there were more daughters
Speaker 1: than sons in this family. Mom and her sisters always
Speaker 1: worked with their dad in the field hoe in cotton.
Speaker 1: The boys were too young, The girls were about eight
Speaker 1: to twelve years of age, and they were hard workers.
Speaker 1: Mom would tell us that when their dad was sick,
Speaker 1: the girls would go to the field by themselves. They
Speaker 1: were just carrying on for daddy. The only thing that
Speaker 1: truly spooked them was the fact that something on two
Speaker 1: legs would paste them. The girls would be on a
Speaker 1: dirt road which was flanked on either side by the
Speaker 1: Sunflower River or the forest. This animal would pacete them
Speaker 1: just out of sight in the forest. Mom said. One
Speaker 1: time they asked my grandpa Daddy, what is that walking
Speaker 1: next to us? Mom said that he grinned and said,
Speaker 1: it's just a bunch of squirrels. This went on for
Speaker 1: a while. It never showed its face, And yes, if
Speaker 1: it had been a vagrant or an escapee from parchment,
Speaker 1: surely he would have been seen at some point. The
Speaker 1: girls were not the only ones who heard this noise.
Speaker 1: Mom said other adults in the field would also walk
Speaker 1: the same direction, and they also heard the noises. But
Speaker 1: to top this off, my mom's family all lived in
Speaker 1: a little shotgun house that had two bedrooms, a kitchen,
Speaker 1: and a living room room. The kitchen door was secured
Speaker 1: by a thumb. Look at night, Mom said, someone would
Speaker 1: open the kitchen door walk across the linoleum kitchen floor
Speaker 1: to their bedroom. All the girls slept in one bed.
Speaker 1: They would walk around the bed and stroke the girl's heads.
Speaker 1: Mom says she always wanted to know who was doing this,
Speaker 1: so the next time it happened, she jumped up and
Speaker 1: she hit the lights. She wasn't quick enough, though. Darn
Speaker 1: it anyway, I just thought I would pass this along
Speaker 1: before I forget about it. Keep up the good work,
Speaker 1: signed Cheryl in November of nineteen seventy nine. I was fourteen,
Speaker 1: not old enough to hunt legally in New York. My
Speaker 1: dad was an avid hunter who usually hunted in Naples.
Speaker 1: They call it part of the southern tier of the state.
Speaker 1: My dad worked with a man who owned some prime
Speaker 1: hunting property there. My uncle was supposed to go with
Speaker 1: him that year, but something came up, so my dad
Speaker 1: asked me if I'd like to go in his place
Speaker 1: and push the deer. Of course, I said yes. I
Speaker 1: was so excited I barely got any sleep the night
Speaker 1: before we left. We drove off at four am and
Speaker 1: headed to the dark and frozen woods and our ford
Speaker 1: pinto wagon. Dad explained as we went what my function
Speaker 1: would be. I would head into the woods alone and
Speaker 1: push the deer to where he would be set up
Speaker 1: and ready for them. We got to the gravel road
Speaker 1: that took us into his coworker's property and Dad told
Speaker 1: me to walk about two hundred yards in the woods
Speaker 1: and hunker down for forty five minutes or so, and
Speaker 1: then start walking east. I actually knew a lot about
Speaker 1: the woods even then. I spent pretty much every spare
Speaker 1: moment of my time in the woods around our home. Well. Anyway,
Speaker 1: Dad handed me his twelve gage shotgun. It was empty,
Speaker 1: but I had a couple of slugs in my coat
Speaker 1: pocket just in case. I stood there watching the tailgates
Speaker 1: of the pinto disappear over the crest of the hill,
Speaker 1: and then turned and let my vision adjust to the
Speaker 1: darkness for a minute before I started walking. I wasn't
Speaker 1: afraid of the woods back then. I walked quite aways,
Speaker 1: and I had to scale an old fence line. At
Speaker 1: one point. I remember the patches of snow and how
Speaker 1: cold I was, despite being dressed in three layers of
Speaker 1: clothes and a good pair of winter boots, the kind
Speaker 1: with liners that can be removed. It began to get
Speaker 1: light outside, but the sky was overcast in dark shades
Speaker 1: of angry gray. I went into a deep gully with
Speaker 1: ten to fifteen foot banks, and I followed it until
Speaker 1: it turned east, the direction I had to go to
Speaker 1: get to my father. Then I climbed the tall bank
Speaker 1: and found a good sized tree that had fallen, and
Speaker 1: where I squatted and rested my back against it. And
Speaker 1: by then I was tired. Without a good night sleep,
Speaker 1: I'd been running on pure adrenaline all morning. I guess
Speaker 1: I've knotted off. I woke up to the sound of
Speaker 1: a tree branch snapping, and I panned the area across
Speaker 1: the gully to the opposite ridge, thinking it might have
Speaker 1: been a big buck. And I searched across the area
Speaker 1: and I saw what looked like a large man standing
Speaker 1: next to a tree. Well, I focused in and I froze.
Speaker 1: It wasn't a man. My father was six feet tall,
Speaker 1: and this thing was nearly twice that. It was covered
Speaker 1: in hair, but it wasn't a bear either. I couldn't
Speaker 1: see its face, its long, matted hair covered it, but
Speaker 1: I could see clouds of breath pouring through the hair
Speaker 1: on the cold morning air. Its hair was all brown,
Speaker 1: but a lighter shade on its chest in the front
Speaker 1: of its thighs. Based on its body position, it had
Speaker 1: to be looking straight at me. Well, I figured it
Speaker 1: was standing like this for five minutes or so, which
Speaker 1: felt like a lifetime to me. My heart was pounding
Speaker 1: out of my skin the whole time, but I was
Speaker 1: frozen in place and I couldn't move. And then it
Speaker 1: took one step in my direction, and that unfroze me.
Speaker 1: I turned and started running as fast as I could
Speaker 1: in the direction that i'd come. I had the twelve gage,
Speaker 1: but I didn't think about it at the time. I
Speaker 1: approached the fence line and I chucked the shotgun over
Speaker 1: it and dove over the fence behind it, and then
Speaker 1: I grabbed the gun and briefly looked back to see
Speaker 1: if anything was behind me. And I kept running until
Speaker 1: I got to the gravel road. During that Olympic run,
Speaker 1: I managed to lose a boot. I was only wearing
Speaker 1: the lining, but I didn't care. I got my bearings
Speaker 1: and headed up the road in the direction my dad
Speaker 1: had gone, and I found the Pinto parked on the
Speaker 1: side of the road, but to my horror, it was
Speaker 1: locked there. I was surrounded by heavy woods in the
Speaker 1: middle of nowhere, and now painfully aware that monsters do exist.
Speaker 1: I loaded the gun and knelt down with my back
Speaker 1: against the car and waited and listened to every single noise.
Speaker 1: When my dad finally came out of the woods, he
Speaker 1: was asking, what the hell happened to you, boy? I
Speaker 1: told him exactly what happened. It was probably a bear,
Speaker 1: if anything at all, he reasoned. I told my best
Speaker 1: friend back then, and he seemed to believe me. I'm
Speaker 1: now fifty six and I live in Florida. Dad has
Speaker 1: been gone since nineteen eighty seven, but I can relive
Speaker 1: that morning like flipping a switch. I did some small
Speaker 1: game hunting after that happened, but only in the woods
Speaker 1: where I grew up in Neverden. When I was in
Speaker 1: my thirties, I ran across the BFRO and reported the
Speaker 1: incident to them. A man contacted me about it, and
Speaker 1: we spoke for quite a while. The research I've done
Speaker 1: since then shows that these things migrate from the Adirondack
Speaker 1: Mountains down through the Herkimer Valley and into the Southern Tier,
Speaker 1: as well as northern Pennsylvania and the Ohio Valley regions.
Speaker 1: This happened in Brasstown, North Carolina, in nineteen eighty six.
Speaker 1: I was fifteen and staying at my grandparents' place. They
Speaker 1: lived in the Styx, and they had no neighbors close by.
Speaker 1: The wood circle. My grandparents' trailer about eight miles in
Speaker 1: every direction. As an adult, looking back in hindsight, I
Speaker 1: can say it was really beautiful, and being that far
Speaker 1: back in the woods, we, being non hair humans, were
Speaker 1: not in our element. We were only guest actors in
Speaker 1: Mother Nature stage. I always played in the woods. My
Speaker 1: grandfather taught me how to carry and use a gun
Speaker 1: when I was ten years old. He never let me
Speaker 1: leave the house without protection. I've always I wondered if
Speaker 1: my grandpa knew about these beings that dwell in the woods,
Speaker 1: and if that was the real reason he taught me
Speaker 1: how to use and carry a gun at such an
Speaker 1: early age. I once wrote a comment in response to
Speaker 1: a YouTube video that really got me angry. I edited
Speaker 1: it at the time, and I wrote it because I
Speaker 1: wasn't nice. It was making fun of the notion of
Speaker 1: Bigfoot and the people with the courage to report their encounters,
Speaker 1: and that's why people won't step forward about what they
Speaker 1: have seen and what it did to them. Mentally, it's
Speaker 1: not a joke when you're staring down a monster and
Speaker 1: you're the poor bastard who's just stumbled into the domain
Speaker 1: of a predator, when suddenly everything becomes primal and your
Speaker 1: gut reaction is to either fight or flight, and that
Speaker 1: gun that you've brought for protection, it most likely will
Speaker 1: only piss it off before it charges you. It had
Speaker 1: a massive chest, and judging by the size of its
Speaker 1: head hands, it was a fit specimen that reminded me
Speaker 1: of those barrel chested men you see on those tough
Speaker 1: man challenges, except this thing was four times as big,
Speaker 1: and if it didn't duck its head, it would have
Speaker 1: clocked it on a tree limb. It had shiny hair
Speaker 1: that seemed unusually well groomed. More than anything else, I
Speaker 1: was fascinated by its face. It had a wide jawline
Speaker 1: and a mouth set lower than a human, with a
Speaker 1: wide gap between its nose and top lip. I would
Speaker 1: compare its brow to a Neanderthal, except a little more evolved,
Speaker 1: and it didn't protrude as far. Its hairless face was
Speaker 1: framed by a beard, and I could understand someone not
Speaker 1: wanting to shoot at it because of the human characteristics.
Speaker 1: I could sense intelligence, but when we made eye contact,
Speaker 1: there was a feeling of something sinister, like nothing in
Speaker 1: the realm of goodness. Have you ever walked into a
Speaker 1: room of people you don't get along with. Nobody says
Speaker 1: anything nice, They just stopped talking and look right through you.
Speaker 1: It was humbling times ten that instantly put my world
Speaker 1: into perspective and crushed my soul. This monster made me
Speaker 1: feel like a shell of a man. Now was nothing
Speaker 1: more to it than pray. The beet stared me down
Speaker 1: with its greenish red eyes, letting me know who the
Speaker 1: boss was in our stand off. It was unreal to
Speaker 1: me to see something so gigantic be so agile. It
Speaker 1: walked with no jerk to its step, and its head
Speaker 1: did not bob up or down. Its attitude was all, Hey,
Speaker 1: you're lucky to be alive. You punk human. For lack
Speaker 1: of a better word, it took the fifteen year old
Speaker 1: boy right out of me. Other people like me have
Speaker 1: had similar encounters and won't say a word to anybody,
Speaker 1: partly because we don't want to be laughed at. I
Speaker 1: don't know which screws you up more mentally the encounter
Speaker 1: of the doubters that hang labels on you. There are
Speaker 1: a lot of fake videos on the internet, and to
Speaker 1: those uploading them, I would say, please, don't insult my
Speaker 1: intelligence by claiming these stage clips are real. They always
Speaker 1: missed the mark by about four feet or five hundred pounds.
Speaker 1: In my thirty plus years of digging into this topic,
Speaker 1: with all the cover ups, the lies, and the truth
Speaker 1: that would blow the average person's mind away, it's just
Speaker 1: another day at the office. To me. I've read thousands
Speaker 1: of testimonials and stored thousands of pictures and videos that day,
Speaker 1: the gun and I were both useless in every sense
Speaker 1: of the word. To those who want to find a bigfoot,
Speaker 1: I would say, don't even try to those that have
Speaker 1: I'm sorry, and I mean that. I remember it vividly.
Speaker 1: It was a summer of nineteen ninety eight. Sarah, my
Speaker 1: wife the time, and I had spent a lovely first
Speaker 1: week of our vacation with my parents and siblings in
Speaker 1: Michigan's Upper Peninsula along the southern shore of Lake Superior,
Speaker 1: camping and canoeing near the mouth of the Two Hearted River.
Speaker 1: It is a wild and beautiful place that I have
Speaker 1: been visiting since my childhood, and it always seems to
Speaker 1: call me back. Sarah and I had not spent much
Speaker 1: time in the lower portion of Michigan before, so we
Speaker 1: decided to split off from the rest of the family
Speaker 1: and do some exploring For the remainder of our vacation.
Speaker 1: We spent several relaxing days at Lake Anne State Forest,
Speaker 1: then planned to break camp take a day to hike
Speaker 1: the Sleeping Bear Dunes, which culminates with the breathtaking view
Speaker 1: of Lake Michigan and its many shades of blue. This
Speaker 1: is where the story begins. The day was sunny and hot,
Speaker 1: and by late afternoon the ambient temperature on the dunes
Speaker 1: was probably hovering around any degrees or above, and we
Speaker 1: were ready to be done. Once we completed our hike,
Speaker 1: we planned to find a camp site, preferably by the water,
Speaker 1: and then drive back home to Ohio. The following day,
Speaker 1: we stopped at the ranger station to inquire about nearby camping,
Speaker 1: only to discover that pretty much every campground in this
Speaker 1: part of Michigan was full. In retrospect. I should have
Speaker 1: expected this since it was a Friday in the high
Speaker 1: summer and had a very popular destination for weekend vacationers.
Speaker 1: The ranger told us that we were probably out of luck,
Speaker 1: though he knew of a trail camp some ten miles distant,
Speaker 1: primarily used by equestrian campers. It wasn't much to look at,
Speaker 1: yet would do as an overnighter. I was grateful for
Speaker 1: the tip, and we thanked the ranger and set out
Speaker 1: for our destination, and we followed the directions he had
Speaker 1: written down for us. The site was it's not easy
Speaker 1: to find, since it ended up being on a road
Speaker 1: or off a road off another road, but we finally
Speaker 1: located it and pulled into the entrance. We travel further
Speaker 1: down the dusty gravel course that ended with a loop
Speaker 1: and a clearing. It was sparse, with trees and hitching
Speaker 1: posts set at regular intervals. To our surprise, there was
Speaker 1: absolutely no one within view, and my first thought was perfect,
Speaker 1: we'll have this place to ourselves. And I turned off
Speaker 1: the van and we got out to look around and
Speaker 1: decide which site to choose. This is when things got freaky.
Speaker 1: As in aside, I should point out that I have
Speaker 1: always considered myself to be somewhat of a psychic brick.
Speaker 1: If anyone is going to hear ghosts talk with their
Speaker 1: spirit guides or have premonitions, it isn't going to be me.
Speaker 1: Not that I'm not open to it. I'm just not
Speaker 1: very sensitive in that way. The sun was getting low
Speaker 1: in the sky and the air was warm, but still
Speaker 1: it was quiet here, even peaceful. Yet I could not
Speaker 1: explain this growing sense of dread. I scanned the area
Speaker 1: to explain my cognitive dissonance. Where was this perceived danger
Speaker 1: coming from? All I saw was an apparently tranquil meadow
Speaker 1: with nobody around in virtually no places for a threat
Speaker 1: to be concealed. I pushed down the feeling, telling myself
Speaker 1: that I was just imagining things all because I didn't
Speaker 1: want to worry Sarah. She looked at me and she asked, so,
Speaker 1: what do you think. I don't know. I said, something
Speaker 1: feels off. She agreed too quickly, and it turned out
Speaker 1: that she had been sensing the same unease and didn't
Speaker 1: want to mention it to me either. Let's get the
Speaker 1: hell out of here, I said, in a low voice,
Speaker 1: without wasting another moment, we hurried back to the van
Speaker 1: and locked the doors and spun the tires in our haste,
Speaker 1: leaving a cloud of dust behind all to put some
Speaker 1: distance between us and a nameless menace. We traveled east
Speaker 1: toward home, and we molded over, trying to understand what
Speaker 1: had just transpired. There had been absolutely no visual or
Speaker 1: auditory que to indicate that anything was amiss in that camp,
Speaker 1: yet we both had the distinct feeling that something very
Speaker 1: bad was about to occur, and had we stayed, we
Speaker 1: most certainly might die. Since then, I have never experienced
Speaker 1: that level of dread for something that didn't happen. More
Speaker 1: than twenty four years later, I still think about it
Speaker 1: from time to time, and I wonder what did we avoid?
Speaker 1: Had there been an axe murderer in camouflages hiding behind
Speaker 1: a tree preparing to pounce. Was something paranormal about to unfold?
Speaker 1: I wonder if that feeling of something being wrong precedes
Speaker 1: an abduction event or the spontaneous opening of time and
Speaker 1: based portals. Only many years later did I discover that
Speaker 1: the Great Lakes area, particularly Michigan, is known for its
Speaker 1: unexplained disappearances of people, ships, and aircraft, as well as
Speaker 1: other paranormal activity. On multiple occasions, I have tried to
Speaker 1: locate the trail camp that we visited using Internet searches
Speaker 1: based on its probable position, but without any success, and
Speaker 1: unfortunately the original written directions have long been lost. Did
Speaker 1: we wander into and out of an unstable pocket of
Speaker 1: reality just before it collapsed? I'd love to know the
Speaker 1: answer from a distance, though I'm eternally thankful that we
Speaker 1: didn't experience at firsthand whatever it was. Back in nineteen
Speaker 1: seventy five, while we were in law school, a friend
Speaker 1: of mine and I were fishing in Lake Chappaka on
Speaker 1: the Canadian Washington border. At that time, the road to
Speaker 1: the lake was long, dirt, rough and rocky drive. They
Speaker 1: may have paved it since then. I really don't know.
Speaker 1: We were poor students who didn't have trucks or four
Speaker 1: wheel drives in the lake, but instead we had my
Speaker 1: family's old Volvo. Volvos and rocky roads don't mix well.
Speaker 1: But soon he'd lost his steering or transmission or some
Speaker 1: damn thing, and I crawled under the car to take
Speaker 1: a look. When he fired it up, a stream of
Speaker 1: fluid came shooting out of a metal tube. Apparently a
Speaker 1: rock had punctured the line. We had no choice but
Speaker 1: to try to make it back to civilization, and we
Speaker 1: got to the main highway before we could go no further.
Speaker 1: As we sat there, a huge yellow nineteen sixty Pontiac
Speaker 1: convertible pulled up. A six foot five inch tall man
Speaker 1: got out and asked if he could help. The man
Speaker 1: looked rather strange. He was very pale and long bleached
Speaker 1: blonde hair that was combed straight back. He was slender
Speaker 1: belt and had bird like features. But hell, he wanted
Speaker 1: to help and we needed to get to the nearest town.
Speaker 1: We explained our circumstances and he said, no problem, I
Speaker 1: can help. He walked back and opened his massive trunk,
Speaker 1: and inside we could see his entire life. Clothing was
Speaker 1: deeply folded in the cardboard box, and toilet trees were
Speaker 1: organized in another. We saw framed photographs, food and water,
Speaker 1: and tools, and you name it, he had it. He
Speaker 1: proceeded to pull a long four inch nylon strap out
Speaker 1: of a box and affix it to the front of
Speaker 1: the volvough and then towed us into town, which boasted
Speaker 1: a gas station and very little else. The attendant put
Speaker 1: the car on the hoist and proclaimed that we were screwed.
Speaker 1: He had nothing to place a tube on the volvo,
Speaker 1: and before we had time to digest this fact, our
Speaker 1: newly acquired friend, who had been standing patiently and knowingly nearby,
Speaker 1: again proclaimed I can help. He then walked back to
Speaker 1: the cavernous truck and pulled out a small rubber hose
Speaker 1: and two small hose clamps, and followed by a hack saw.
Speaker 1: The hose was soon replaced, but the gas station didn't
Speaker 1: have the fluid we needed, and it should have come
Speaker 1: as no surprise when our blonde friend dove back into
Speaker 1: his trunk and produced the proper fluid. Our amusement had
Speaker 1: now progressed a full on amazement. We offered to pay him,
Speaker 1: but he refused any form of compensation except for the fluid.
Speaker 1: He then offered to follow us out of town to
Speaker 1: make sure everything worked okay. About five miles out, the
Speaker 1: road straightened and went uphill. We heard the roar of
Speaker 1: his huge as he passed us at a high rate
Speaker 1: of speed, smiling and waving with his blond hair flying
Speaker 1: in the wind. It's a side I will never forget.
Speaker 1: And then as he screamed up the hill in front
Speaker 1: of us, he and his convertible vanished. They faded away.
Speaker 1: There were no side roads, no turn offs, no brake lights, nothing.
Speaker 1: The dude was just gone. My friend and I looked
Speaker 1: at each other. Our eyes were wide. Where the hell
Speaker 1: did he go? I asked. We slowed and looked along
Speaker 1: the roadway, but neither of us could find a place
Speaker 1: where he could have pulled off the road. He simply
Speaker 1: disappeared into thin air. My companion has since passed away,
Speaker 1: and I'm pushing it, but I will not be surprised
Speaker 1: at all if upon crossing over that blonde guy will
Speaker 1: be there to guide me along. This is a true story.
Speaker 1: It wasn't until I listened to you tell other people's
Speaker 1: UFO encounters on your channel that I decided to share mine.
Speaker 1: I hope I can put it into words, as I
Speaker 1: have never told this story to anyone except my husband,
Speaker 1: and that was only recently. So in your words, here
Speaker 1: we go, all right, here we go. Though I'm forty
Speaker 1: one now, on the time of my encounter, I was
Speaker 1: ten years old and living with my parents in Arkansas.
Speaker 1: We were in my father's pickup truck heading home after
Speaker 1: a visit with one of his friends. It was late.
Speaker 1: It was past midnight on one of those clear summer
Speaker 1: nights where you can see every star in the sky.
Speaker 1: I was tired, and, as I always did on long
Speaker 1: journeys at night with my folks, I laid my head
Speaker 1: on my mother's shoulder so I could close my eyes
Speaker 1: and nap. On the way home, we were probably only
Speaker 1: thirty minutes from our house. I caught glimpses of the
Speaker 1: stars as I drifted in and out of sleep because
Speaker 1: of the bumpy back roads my father always took to
Speaker 1: get us home a little quicker. Suddenly, I heard my
Speaker 1: mother call out my father's name, Wane. She said to him,
Speaker 1: as my father snapped to attention behind the steering wheel.
Speaker 1: What in the world is that, she said. I opened
Speaker 1: my eyes and I saw my mother steering in disbelief
Speaker 1: at something she'd spotted through the driver's side window. I
Speaker 1: looked in the same direction and my mouth fell open.
Speaker 1: There was a huge cigar shaped object over a pasture
Speaker 1: just off the road, maybe one hundred yards away, and
Speaker 1: it was hovering in the air. The trees blocked some
Speaker 1: of our view, but the object was so close that
Speaker 1: I could see. It had what looked like portholes that
Speaker 1: dotted the sides and went around the hall, just like
Speaker 1: a ship. The moon was bright that night, so I
Speaker 1: could tell it was gray or silver in color. And
Speaker 1: there was a slight humming sound, but it wasn't loud,
Speaker 1: kind of like the hum of a ceiling fan motor.
Speaker 1: My father started to slow the truck down to a
Speaker 1: snail's pace, but my mother, shaken by what she was seeing,
Speaker 1: hissed it my father, don't shut this truck off. All
Speaker 1: of us stared quietly at the object for a minute
Speaker 1: until my father, suddenly, gripped by panic, pressed the accelerator
Speaker 1: to the floor and pinned us to our seats as
Speaker 1: he fish tailed and sprayed gravel in a mad attempt
Speaker 1: to put some distance between our truck and this weird,
Speaker 1: metallic looking thing that my folks were at a loss
Speaker 1: to explain. The vessel stayed in place as we sped
Speaker 1: away from it, and my mother and father glancing fearfully
Speaker 1: in the rear view mirrors and craning their necks to
Speaker 1: see out the back window, praying this thing wouldn't take
Speaker 1: flight and overtake our truck. At the time, I was
Speaker 1: too scared to look, and I fixed my gaze at
Speaker 1: the dashboard. The rest of the way home, no one
Speaker 1: said a word, and once we pulled up to our house,
Speaker 1: we went straight to bed, and in the days that
Speaker 1: followed we never spoke of our unusual encounter. Oddly enough,
Speaker 1: once I had time to think about it, I wasn't
Speaker 1: scared by the experience. It was more like a strange fascination.
Speaker 1: As the years went by, I worried more about what
Speaker 1: the naysayers would think of my story. Rather than risk
Speaker 1: ridicule from people who wouldn't understand, I kept my experience
Speaker 1: to myself. My husband and I were talking about UFOs recently,
Speaker 1: and I decided to ask my mother if she remembered
Speaker 1: that night She responded with a curt yes, and that
Speaker 1: was it. Decades had passed since that night, but clearly
Speaker 1: for my mother, the memory of witnessing something not of
Speaker 1: this world on a back country road in rural Arkansas
Speaker 1: still lingered. We both left it at that