Speaker 1: Until recently, bigfoot was just a fun subject that my
husband and I enjoyed together. We listened to podcasts about
the subject, not really knowing if Bigfoot was real or imagined.
It was intriguing to think of another life form undiscovered
and roaming the woods. The scenery is usually great in
these videos as well. Sometimes we would drive out to
the Bankhead National Forest on the weekend for peace and
quiet and our kids chatting, Oh there goes Mam and
dad again squatching. We talked about what it would be
like to see a bigfoot, but it was mostly a
lighthearted chit chat. At Christmas, we adopted a pitbull Terrier
named Bond. He is an obedient dog and well tempered
with my grand children. He almost never barks at anyone
but strangers. He is a faithful friend and he follows
me everywhere. We had had him for a couple of
months when he began to act strange. I take him
out one last time after dark and he would be
ready and excited to go, and then as soon as
the door would open, he would back up and dig
in and refuse to go outside since it's the last
time he'll go out before bed. When this happens. I
have to pull his sixty pound butt out the door.
One evening, I was taking him out around eight thirty pm.
He put up a fuss. The moment the door opened.
He tried running under the chairs on the porch, so
I took him out onto the driveway. Then he tried
to crawl under the vehicle. What's wrong with you? You
beg scaredy cat, I said. I pulled him down the
drive a few feet where there was nothing to tangle
himself in, and he sat on my feet. I continued
to fuss at him. I'm wondering what on earth had
gotten to him, and was trying to get him to
get on with his business. That's when the loudest growl
I ever heard, the deepest, longest howl, burst into the air.
It was so close the sound vibrated my chest. I
would have looked for the sores, but the dog, being
on a leash, dragged me down the sidewalk into the house.
I'm no delicate, frail little woman. Bond went straight to
the house and into his kennel, and my mind raised.
I checked the doors and windows. I checked on my
kids and they were still in the house. I began
to think about my daughter, who would come home from
work in a few minutes, so I sent her a
text and told her that i'd meet her in the driveway.
My husband worked second shift, so he would be coming
home later. I thought of the large kitchen picture window
not three feet off the ground on that side of
the house. There wasn't any curtains because it faces the
pasture and the woods. Later, when my husband got home,
I met him with a spotlight and I said, Bigfoot
isn't funny anymore. I haven't been able to identify the sound.
I have hunting experience, but I've never heard anything like this.
I started researching animal sounds, but I didn't find anything
remotely similar. The days went on, and I thought of
the nights the boys and I slept in the tents
on the hill in the back of the property when
they were younger, even with my girls once, and how
we walked back at two in the morning because they
kept saying someone was walking and throwing things at us.
At that time, my husband and I didn't take them seriously.
I remembered my grandmother, who used to own this property,
and it was so out of character for her to lie,
and even she would tell me to be in by
dark or the boogers would get me. I didn't take
her seriously either, until that night I heard one with
my own ears. I recall the strange behavior of the
deer on our property recently. Once three bucks and two
dos were trotting down the paved road with three cars
behind them. Only when the driver honked did they turn
it onto a gravel road that led to the barn
in the woods behind our house. My husband and I
have hit three deers since New Year's Eve. Instead of
crossing in front of us, they tried to run alongside
the cars. One ran into the back of my husband's
truck less than a week ago. It's as if they
think that by being closer to us they are safer,
like the vehicle as some sort of a shield. We're
surrounded by fields, woods and ponds and creeks, but we
are three miles from town and there's never been a
bear report in our county. We are at the front
of the foothills, and they say there are very few
bears in the Bankhead National Forest to the southwest. Now
we know people who say that there are some near
the southeast. But the sound I heard was not a
bear or a wild pig or any kind of cat. Well,
I didn't see anything. I know something big passes through.
I like to believe it only passes through and does
not stay here very long. From time to time, Bond
still refuses to go outside. I'm good with that. I
don't want to share my name. I live in a
small southern community. Bless their bless their hearts. If you
know what I mean, Yes, I know what you mean.
And the creepiest part of this story are the deer.
The behavior of the deer. That is so odd that
the deer would kind of cling close to vehicles to
maybe they, like you said, maybe they think they're safer.
I've never heard that before. That is really that's something new.
And a lot of these bigfoot stories, you know, I've
done hundreds even thousands of them, and that so many
of them are basically with a few variations, the same.
But I've never heard this before. This is a new one,
so it kind of peaued my interest again about this
dear behavior. I'd like to know if any of you
all have heard that, If you've heard about that comment below,
thank you to the writer and bless your heart for
sending the story. It was really good. Thank you, ma'am. Okay,
this is a ghost story that I think you all
will really be intrigued by and interested in and entertained,
which is the purpose of this channel is to entertain you.
In January of nineteen sixty eight, my family experienced a
strange event. What makes it interesting is that we were
spread out among three different locations between New England towns.
That evening, my father, my cousin and I were smelt fishing,
which involves sitting in a shack on a rose and
river and fishing through a hole in the ice. Across
town at Augusta General Hospital, my grandfather, who we call Pampy,
was lying in bed and enduring the final few hours
of his life. My mother and grandmother were there by
his side. My grandparents' house was in a little town
called Richmond. The house was a large, rambling, two story,
multi roomed home built in the style of the nineteen fifties.
My sister deb was sitting in the kitchen entertaining herself,
and the rest of the adults were in the living
room watching television. At around nine in the evening, my Pampy,
who was coming in and out of consciousness suddenly started
singing a beautiful gospel song about heaven. My mom and
my nanny said that they had never heard it before,
even though they had attended church all their lives. Minutes later,
Pampy had given up the ghost and was pronounced dead
by the doctors. At that same time, in my grandparents' house,
my sister said that she could hear a bird singing.
At first, it frightened her. She ran from the kitchen
too the living room where the adults were, and the
bird's song followed her. Every adult in the room heard
it remarkably. Even my great grandmother could hear it too,
even though she was quite deaf and could only hear
if you spoke very loudly. They listened in silence as
the bird's song passed into the second sitting room, and
from there the noise went upstairs and finally faded away.
To say they were mystified would be an understatement. At
that time, six miles away, as the crow flies, my dad,
my cousin, and I were in our shacks fishing for smelts.
My cousin walked from his shack over to my dad
and me to see if we were having any luck.
And when he went back to his shack, our life
started to brighten. We attributed it to just a gas
lanner needing air, But right then my cousin ran back
to us with a look of fear and confusion on
his face. He told us that when he went to
see us, he left his bucket of fish inside the shack,
and when he went back, the door was open and
the bucket was gone. We were the only ones fishing
on that river. To prove it, there were no footprints
in the snow other than our own. It wasn't until
later that we shared the experiences we had had with
one another and found out that they had occurred at
all the same time. It has been fifty years since
these events took place, and I'm glad I finally have
written them down. Though I still ponder on that night,
I have come to one possible answer. That answer is
one word, pampy. Oh, that's a good story. Maybe your
grandfather was saying goodbye in a way, and God let
him just kind of move around and give you all
the sign that he was leaving. I thought this was
a great story. I kind of I read this cold.
I thought it was going to be a scary ghost
story on the beginning. And I guess to some people
this could be scary, but to me, it was kind
of good. It was kind of a peaceful, how would
you call it, kind of a soft story. I like that.
I appreciate it. Thank you to the writer, and I'm
glad you wrote it down too, because now we all
got to enjoy something that you experienced that you'll remember
all your life. Thank you for that. All right, Bigfoot, Bigfoot,
everybody likes Bigfoot. It's a short one, but it's a
good one. I was raised outdoors in Arizona. In twenty eleven,
my dad and I went elk hunting near Alpine, Arizona.
We had been up there for a few days when
one night I was woke up by something heavy walking
by my tent on two feet right away my hand.
I went from my single action revolver, and as soon
as I had my fingers around if the thing stopped.
It must have heard me. And then right away I
felt like I was about to be attacked. Whatever it was,
it was like it was staring right at me through
the walls of the tent. Well. I let out a
slow breath and I heard it move toward the fire
pit in my dad's tent. As much as I wanted
to get up and see what was moving around, something
told me that that was a bad idea. I clutched
my revolver. I heard the ice chest open, and I
heard this thing rummage through the contents. I heard it
close the lid, and then I listened to it leave
the way it came in the next morning, when my
dad got up, he asked me what I was looking
for in the cooler last night. I wanted to tell
him that it wasn't me, that it was sasquatch, but
instead I laughed and I told him I thought it
was him making the noise. He looked through the ice
chest to see if anything had been taken and said
several sodas and candy bars were missing. Asked me if
I was sure it wasn't me, and I finally had
to tell him what I heard the night before. When
I was younger, I always had a feeling of being
watched in the woods, where the hair on my neck
would stand up. I would stop and look around for
a bear or a mountain lion or something. But I
never really put stock in bigfoot or aliens or any
other thing of that nature. But after that night in Alpine,
all that changed. Oh man, that was a good story.
Apparently the bigfoot didn't want to hurt you. He just
wanted a candy bar and a coke. That's what he wanted,
and he was gone. So maybe that's a good lesson.
If you're camping, you know bigfoots are or in the area,
leave out a candy bar and a coke and they'll
just walk off in the woods. But I can imagine, seriously,
I can imagine this being a scary event. It's a
very good story, very concise. I appreciate the writer. Thank you, sir.
All Right, we'll end this up with a good ghost
story from Texas. This is a good one. In two
thousand and eight, I moved from Texas to Nashville. No,
it's a ghost in Nashville. Sorry about that. In two
thousand and eight, I moved from Texas to Nashville for work,
and I purchased an old craftsman home. For those who
don't know, East Nashville is in the process of gentrification.
Old houses that were left to the colect are now
being renovated. The neighborhood is so old, in fact, that
Frank and Jesse. James went into hiding there for a while.
At the time, I had two dogs, a Dalmatian and
a Wymaraner. I never knew how to say that word.
Why Whymaraner? We mariner? I don't know how to say it.
You know what dogs, the gray dogs with the short tails,
and they slept on the floor next to my bed.
I had been in the house a couple of weeks
when I awoke in the wee hours of the morning
to the smell of smoke. Once I got my wits
about me, I realized it was cigarette smoke. I was smelling.
Oh crap, I thought someone's in the house. The dogs
were sleeping peacefully, which meant no intruder, so I went
back to sleep. The next week, I was walking through
the house when I smelled cigar smoked. It was like
I had walked through a cloud of it. But upon
entering the next room, that smell was gone. Two weeks later,
I was chatting with a neighbor who had lived in
the same house on my street her whole life. I
asked her if anyone had ever died in my house.
Oh yeah, she said, mister b He died in the
bathtub back in the nineteen fifties. So I asked her
if he smoked. She said, yes, he smoked. He lit
the next one with his last one. Now I was
getting somewhere. I had a ghost with a name and
the nasty habit of chain smoking. As it turned out,
he had some other annoying habits as well. He left
the back door while it'd open one night. As is
true in most neighborhoods that are in transition, safety can
be a street to street affair. This is the case
in East Nashville. Mister B would march around in the
attic at all hours, and I couldn't leave dishes in
the sink. If I did, I'd find a cup or
cooking utensil on the kitchen floor the next day. There
was one wall I couldn't hang art on. I'd hang
a picture and the next day it would be on
the floor. It was evident he lived in the attic.
Sometimes i'd hear old timey radio from the nineteen forties
coming from up there. That's where i'd hear him the
most of the time, though I would see the occasional
orb zooming around the corner downstairs. By this time I
had become used to it, and then one day both
of my dogs were cowering in my bedroom and they
would not come out. That was the last straw for me.
I went up to the attic and I read him
the Riot Act. He could stomp around all he wanted, opening,
close inside doors and cabinets, and he could play his music,
but he was to leave the front and back doors
closed and locked, and my dogs were not to be
messed with in any way. If you break those rules,
I do everything in my power to get him out
of the house. After that, we had a clean kitchen,
one bare wall, locked doors, and happy dogs. At one
point I had to have major surgery, which led to
a long recovery. My father was retired and bored, and
he traveled from Texas to Nashville to help me out.
He's left in the spare bedroom in the attic that
also acted as my music room. One night, he was
shaking away and my dad told me he heard a
male voice tell him that he had to get out
right now. I had told my dad all about mister B,
and my dad said he told mister B to f off,
And the next thing my dad heard was one of
my guitars hitting the floor. I eventually had to move
back to Texas for family reasons, and in the years
I had lived in the Craftsman home, I tried to
bring it back to what it looked like when it
was built in nineteen thirty eight. The guy who bought
it told me that I had wasted my money because
he was going to gut it and then flip it.
What a jerk. As I was walking out the door
for the last time, I told mister B that if
he were so inclined, he should give that your card.
Oh that's great. After I moved, I stayed in contact
with my old neighbors. They told me that the activity
at the house would start and then stop after a week,
and then start and abruptly stop again. I imagine the
workmen witnessing a hammer go flying across the room, or
a lighter just falling over on its own. It was finished.
The house was on the market for six months. If
a flipped house isn't finished and sold in six weeks,
it costs the flipper money. If the TV programs are
to believed, I could just hear mister B slamming a door,
being a disembodied voice from another room saying get out
right now as prospective buyers toward the property. The jerk
lost his shirt on that one. Thank you so much
for the stories and you continued enthusiasm for bringing great
content to your listeners. You're welcome. Pay no attention to
the critics. Their words tell you more about themselves and
how miserable they are than any flaws you may have. Well,
you know, I think I've I'm going to zero in
on that last paragraph. I think I've run off all
the nasty people, mainly the mean bigfoot people. I have
a smaller audience now, and I'm so happy about that.
What that means is less views, less subscribers, less money
that you two pays me. But I would rather. I
would rather it be that way and have just a beautiful,
nice set of people who enjoy these stories and we
can all interact, and I can think about you during
the day and think, oh, man, what a nice bunch
of people follow along with this channel. You know, people say,
don't pay attention to the comments and the meanness. That's
hard to do. I mean, I don't lose any sleep
over it, or I didn't when it used to be
that way. It does get under your skin. And you know,
I'd be a mister tough guy if I said, oh,
it doesn't bother me, but it does bother me. But
I would always bite back at most of them or
just ban them from commenting. With all that said, we
have whittled this audience down. We've weeded all those a
holes out and this is the absolute nicest bunch of people.
I've always said, y'all nicest audience on the Internet, and
I mean it, and now it's nothing but nice people.
You can tell if you read through the comment section,
you can tell it. People are so nice. They interact
with each other and they you know, I'm able to
answer some of the comments, and it's just a good
place to be. I'm not a comment reader. Like when
I watch a YouTube video or Facebook video or whatever,
I never comment. I never comment one way or another.
I'm just there to watch. You know, with this channel,
there's only about five percent of the people that actually
view a video that will leave a comment. But I
have a feeling that the people who don't comment are
just the same. They're just nice people who like to
listen to a good story every once in a while.
So I'll quit going on and on about that. But
this was a great, lighthearted story about a ghost and
a house in each Nashville, built in nineteen thirty eight
and the owner parent at least, still lives there. And
this guy's comment about trying to summon the ghosts to
run off the new owner, that was hysterical. But thank
you for that. I enjoyed this story. I really appreciate
the man sending it to me. Thank you, hey, thank
you all for listening to this podcast. I appreciate you.
I want to say one thing. I don't talk in
these videos anymore. I used to. In the first couple
of three years I did this podcast, I talked to y'all,
and I know some people like it and some people don't.
But the truth is, I just really don't have much
to say. I just like doing these stories. I like
reading them, wrapping them up, editing, editing them, and getting
them out to you all. But there is one thing
that has really got has made me angry for the
last ever since I opened the account. This account I
have with this spring company. It's where you buy T shirts.
It's not I don't think it's under my YouTube videos anymore,
because they are a horrible company. The quality of the
T shirts is bad. They are overpriced, Their customer service
is horrible. I even ordered two hoodies for my brother
in law three months ago. I still haven't gotten them.
Nobody's returning my call, nobody's returning my emails. I'm switching.
You all have asked why I don't have T shirts
for sale anymore. The reason is is because I tried
to get them. I can't figure out a way to
shut down the store. That's the truth. I have looked
at every button on their website and I've discontinued every
ad I have. I've done everything I can to keep
it off the channel. So don't buy anything from Spring,
at least for my merchandise, because more than likely you're
gonna get ripped off. And I think the company is
about half broke. Maybe a year and a half ago.
You used to could click, you know, I'd make twenty
thirty fifty sixty dollars a month off the commissions. If
you buy a T shirt, I get a little piece
of it. It got to where they were taking two
to three months to pay me, and I could tell
something's wrong. And then all of a sudden when I
did start getting paid, and it still takes. I haven't
gotten a payout in months, but the last few I got,
they were sent to me by another company and it
took still took two or three months to get paid.
So anyway, I just wanted to say I'm sorry that
that company did not live up to what I thought
they would do. I'm switching to a new company, and
when I get time, I'm gonna put out Steve Lilly
T shirts, Dixie Crypti T shirts. They're gonna be great.
I just haven't had time to design a few T
shirts and get them up, so I wanted to let
y'all know that don't buy anything from Spring through my channel.
Just don't do it. You're gonna lose your money. It's
over price. He's not good. They're these little thin T shirts.
It's like I wear a two X and they send
me it must send me a Chinese two X, because
you know a two X and China is probably about
half my size. I don't know. I just don't like
anything about the company, and I'm trying to switch over.
So I want to let y'all know that appreciate you
listening to my rent and we will see you guys
on the next podcast. Thank you