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Speaker 1: When I was thirteen years old, I had an unforgettable

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experience in the woods near my home in northern Georgia.

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I was exploring with three friends, one of whom entertained

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us with random stories. As we wandered through the forest,

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my friends decided to run ahead, laughing as they disappeared

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into the trees, leaving me behind. I didn't mind. I've

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never been one to run unless it was necessary, so

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I kept walking at my own pace, soaking in the

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stillness of nature. My friends came sprinting back towards me.

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There was panic written on their faces, and before I

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could react, a large tree limbs swung into my path.

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It hit me hard and it knocked me to the ground.

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The impact knocked the wind out of me, and I

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gasped for air as I tried to understand what had

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just happened. A little later, one of my friends grabbed

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me by my arm, pulled me to my feet. Run,

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he shouted. I didn't hesitate. I turned and bolted after

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my friends and we fled, and I heard the sound

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of heavy footfalls behind us, and there were snapping branches

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in the thud of something large slimming into the trees.

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There was also a deep, laboring panting, like whatever was

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chasing us was close. It was way too close. Even now,

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I have no idea what it was. Was it a

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bigfoot or some other creature. Well, I'll never know, but

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the memory still sends chills down my spine. Years later,

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I moved with my mother to another part of northern Georgia,

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where I now take care of her. One Saturday morning,

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around six am, I got up early for work. I

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was half asleep, and I threw on my clothes and

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I stepped outside to lock the door. Just as I

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turned the key, a sound pierced the stillness. It wasn't

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a scream or an animal's cry. It was a call,

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one I'd never heard before. The sound was deep and guttural,

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and it carried a strange, almost haunting quality, nothing like

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a human or animal could make. Worst of all, it

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came from just around the corner of my house, next

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to me. Well fear washed over me. I was too

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afraid to investigate, so I locked the door as quickly

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as possible, and I walked away, pretending I hadn't heard it.

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For days, that sound lingered in my mind. Its unnatural

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tone was impossible to forget. Two weeks later, more strange

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things began happening. My mother and I found a reddish

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brown hair tangled on the side of our fence. Around

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the same time, my mother managed to take a photo

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of something standing in the woods. It was watching her

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and our dogs, though partially obscured by the trees. The

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figure was tall and unnerving, with a reddish brown hair.

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I was determined to figure out what was going on,

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so I asked my neighbor to help me investigate. He

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was a close friend. Late one night, armed with a flashlight,

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we went into the woods where the figure had been spotted.

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The forest floor was covered with leaves and natural debris,

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making it impossible to find clear footprints, but we did

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notice deep impressions in the ground where something heavy had stood.

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And as we discussed our findings back at my front door,

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a loud, piercing whoop echoed from the woods. The sound

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was immediately followed by a deep, unsettling laugh that sounded

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so powerful it vibrated our chests. My neighbor drew his

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pistol and I ran inside to warn my mom not

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to let the dogs out. I grabbed my phone and

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rushed back outside to join him. We stood together, trying

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to make sense of what we were hearing. Then another

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call rang out, This one was different from the first.

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Then came the distinct sound of tree knocks that were

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sharp and deliberate, as if something was communicating with us

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or warning us to stay put. We got the message

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loud and clear and decided not to push our luck.

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Since that night, strange activity around our home has become

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almost normal. We hear clicking sounds, grunts, tree knocks, and

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calls that very in pitch and tone. Each sound feels distinct,

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leading me to believe there's more than one creature in

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the area. It's as if they're communicating with each other

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and possibly watching us. Wife chosen to keep my name

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in location anonymous because I don't want anyone disturbing the

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creatures that seem to share the space with us. If

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they're peaceful, they'll stay peaceful. For now. We coexist and

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we keep a respectful distance. I hope it stays that way.

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I am a social worker and I spend ninety percent

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of my time in my car. On this day, I

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was driving my challenger over a mountain pass and I

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had a fifteen year old client riding shotgun. She was

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a foster child from Feather County who had been kicked

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out of her home. The county was small, a pale

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reflection of the Appalachian settlers where I come from. We

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called a Feather County residents. Hillbilly's meth was a major export,

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and as my partner once said, people don't give a

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damn about kids up here. Part Way through our drive,

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my client asked if she could plug her phone into

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my stereo. Your old man music is good, but this

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is a long ride, she said. She was being more

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than kind. Some of the groups that I had hit

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their heyday and retired long before she was born. I'm

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pretty sure that she had never heard of Jimmy Page.

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The light began to fade as we climbed into Lassan

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National Park. The road curved at dangerous angles, with sheer

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drops into what seemed like bottomless canyons. The setting sun

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flickered blindingly between the leaves and needles of trees that

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flanked the highway, and a deer grazed on the shoulder

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and it looked up startled as I suddenly slammed on

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the brakes, The Chevy pickup behind me barked at the

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bumper of the car. It sad like shining in my

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rear view mirror, the driver probably shouting curses at me.

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But I had had no choice. I had to slow

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down or I would have run straight into the beast

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that stood up out of nowhere in the middle of

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the road. It was jet black and impossibly huge. What

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the hell? Came the teenage squeal from the shotgun seat.

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I hit the brakes harder and spun the wheel to

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avoid it, and the tires screeched in protest as I

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cranked the wheel, doubting there was enough room left on

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the highway to miss the beast and the edge of

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the road. The monster let out a roar and blended

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in with the horn of the truck behind me, and

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my high school traffic safety instructor screamed from twenty five

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year old memories, Turn into the skid, Turn into it.

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I cranked the wheel like a speed racer rerun. What

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was that smell? Was it burning rubber? Had I hit

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a skunk? It all ran through my mind in one second.

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The car came to a rest and a puddle of

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pine needles at the side of the road, and I

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looked to my right out the passenger side window. The

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pickup rested broadside in the middle of the road, and

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the Bigfoot, I narrowly avoided heating, took two steps and

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disappeared into the tree. I sat there for a minute,

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breathing and collecting my thoughts, and I looked at my client.

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She dropped the F bomb as she questioned the nature

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of reality. We both stared at where the Bigfoot had disappeared.

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I pulled the charger back onto the highway, and the

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baseball cap guy in the pickup waved as I passed

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him at five miles an hour, looking as stupefied as

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I felt he had seen the creature too. I turned

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off the radio, stunned into silence, and neither of us

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uttered a sound as we drove back to her Foster

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home