Speaker 1: Here are a few short tails, and they're true to
the best of my knowledge. You're welcome to use my name.
The other names are from people long gone or they
had nicknames, and I hope you can use these stories.
Only one is about a booger sisquatch, and it's a
second hand story. But I noticed that you sometimes like
to tell stories about other things that go bump in
the night, So here we go. The first story is
titled coach Whips. My mother used to tell us about
a cousin. And I can't recall the old gal's name,
but let's call her Myrtle. Myrtle was walking out under
some trees and a pair of coach whips snakes. Those
are black racers, and they probably have other names. They
drop from the tree and one encircled each of Myrtle's arms.
The snakes bit her and constricted so strongly that a
male relative, I think his name was Uncle Jim, had
to sever the heads of the snakes to force them
to relinquish their grips. From then on, each season, when
coach whips shed their skin, Myrtle's skin would peel along
her arms where the snakes had attached themselves. When I
was in my teens, a pair of the same breed
of shiny black reptiles took up residence under our house.
My mother knew they were non venomous, but was having
none of it. She was typically a very gentle person,
especially toward elders, children, and animals. However, because of the
old family tale, she was terrified of this particular breed
of snake. As I was about to step out the door,
one of them raced out in front under the house
near the front porch, in hot pursuit of a toad.
I ran back in to fetch my shotgun and I
got back to the porch around the same time as
a snake. It had missed its last meal, but paused
to raise its head, likely at my noise. The shot
severed the thing's head. The snake's mate got into a
red oak tree in the backyard, and that one had
startled my mother. I again took up my shotgun while
she pointed out where the equally startled snake had fled
to the branches. The shot killed that one, but its
death grip and some handy branches left it high in
the tree. Well. I didn't care. It was summer and
I was prone to be sunburned, and I went inside.
I was recovering from one of the second degree blisters
on my chest and shoulders and back at the time
when I fired the kick from the twelve gates slammed
into the pocket of my right shoulder. It removed the
top layer of flesh in the shape of the butt
of the shotgun, and it hurt noticeably. But in the
end I'd been peeling like Myrtle supposedly was. Unfortunately it
did not become a seasonal event. I'd finally learned to
avoid the son. Okay. The next one of his tales
is called Faye Lights Faye is I think it's a
Celtic word for fairy. My mother related this story as
her grandmother Campbell and Pearl had told her. I heard
it from my mother Eloise and Pearl. When my mother
was about three years old, around nineteen thirty, she became
deathly ill with diphtheria. Her mother, my Grandma Pearl, and
her grandmother, great Grandma Sarah Campbell, stayed up with her
when the fever reached a critical point. Grandma Campbell was
an herbalist in a country doctor and at the time,
all the other measures and available remedies exhausted, all they
could do was bathe her in cool water and give
her SIPs of water. They lived in a very small
house or cabin, and there were only a few windows,
and they had my mother and little Eloise on a
bed near one of the windows, to do everything they
could to cool her fierce temperature. They'd all be giving
up hope in the wee hours of the morning when
a light appeared in the window above Eloise. The light
was a blue and white orb and it hovered for
a moment and then traveled to each window, clearly orbiting
the little home. After the third orbit, the light again
paused at Eloise's window, and then neither winked out or
sped away from the window so quickly as to appear
like it did. Pearl described it as when you turn
off the TV and the little light shrinks down to
that one little point and then it's gone. Those were
the days of TV sets with picture tubs. The light
was the last visual bit as the tube cooled. When
the light was gone, little Eloise's fever broke, and by
dawn she was drinking cups of water and was able
to eat. A little maul had a tough life of
work in raising her children, her siblings first and then
her own, and she managed to do it all with
a grin and genuine love for all of her charges.
She had her own light about her and could calm
the most stressful situation and see with absolute clarity. Though
she typically withheld advice and allowed us to make our
own stumbles. Maybe it's in my mind, but when I
look back at our regular conversation, I recall the times
that she bit back her instinctive comments. Perhaps she didn't
feel worthy of giving advice. She was brilliant, but other
folks had convinced her otherwise. Or maybe she feared that
knowing the outcome would be like cheating. This short tale
is called the Original Golden Globes. Dad used to tell
us about a neighbor in Carmona, Texas who had a
talent for finding gold nuggets and old coins. Dad was
born in nineteen twenty four, and I never asked whether
this was a story from one of his folks or
what he'd heard directly, But either way, it's had time
to grow some moss. It may have come from his grandparents,
who lived in Stryker, Texas. The man who was the
subject of the tales would go off into the woods,
particularly the piney creek bottoms, and he would emerge with gold,
usually a small nugget, sometimes a small coin, invariably worn
and of no clear providence. When asked where he'd gotten
the gold, the man would say that he followed the
lights and where they paused and then winked out, he'd
dig and immediately find the treasure. The man was never wealthy.
He didn't produce the gold often enough to do more
than live comfortably. He did not have to work more
than rural living required at the time, and spent most
of his time hunting and fishing and cracking out stories.
Dad said that many people tried unsuccessfully to track the
man when he'd slip off into the woods to look
for the lights. No one else saw the lights, and
speculation was that the man had either discovered or stolen
a small hoarde and visited it from time to time
to withdraw what was needed. This next tale is called
Man's Stories. My buddy Man told me this story in
the fall of twenty twenty two. He was ninety two
then and a Korean War veteran. He's ninety three and
he's still going better than me at the age of
fifty nine. He got the nickname Man when he was
sixteen and a fellow had hired Man and a buddy
to remove some armadillos from near his home. Man took
hold of the creature's tailed and pulled while his buddy
held the toastsac Man eventually yanked up the critter and
tucked it away in the sack, and the temporary employer
proclaimed that only a real man could do that without
getting a scratch. Man is a wealth of information, and
he shared several tales of my mother's family who lived
in Groveton, Texas. He used to deliver groceries to my
grandma Pearl back in the nineteen forties. And his favorite
tale other than the ones about the Moon Mullikan, also
a contemporary of my dad, is about Bud and Carol
and the coon Dog. Bud had an exceptional blue hound.
An acquaintance from Houston moved from the area for work
and offered Bud a trade he take the dog for
his girlfriend, Carol. Bud readily agreed, and he and Carol
hit it off immediately. It was the start of a
long term marriage founded on love at first sight. About
a month after the trade, the acquaintance had to move
back to the city, and he offered to return the
hound to Bud, and Bud told him, I'll take the dog,
but you ain't getting my gal. The city dude was
happy to get back to town and hire pay and
Bud and Carol and Blue settled down in their own
Blue Heaven. Now, Carol was from Wisconsin or Illinois or
one of those Yankee states, and Man would say, signs
vitriol simply his information. All she wanted was an old
Texas cowboy, and that's what Bud was. She was exotic
as far as Bud was concerned, and they were both
small stature like a matched pair. Okay, the next story
is called one Other Story because he earned it. Like
most combat veterans, Man doesn't speak much about the gory
parts of war, though his definition of trauma is different
than the current one. He spoke about an incident at
the end of the fighting. Everyone was frozen in place,
looking at the enemy, ready for the battles to start again,
but they didn't. The armistice held, and after a few
days he saw a soldier approaching from the enemy lines.
He got the man halted and turned out the man
was an officer who had been educated in California, and
he spoke English. The man offered a bottle of wine
and spoke with man in some of the other troops.
They shared the bottle. Of course, man made the officer
take the first drink. The officer told them that he'd
heard that the piece was true, and he hoped that
it was. He wasn't sure if the man was a
Korean or a Chinese national, but he concluded with I
sure hope the man got back over here. I think
that was what he meant by visiting us and offering
us wine. I think he said he's hoping he came
back to the United States. But anyway, let's move on
to the next story. This is called Bartholomew's Bigfoot. Back
in the summer of nineteen ninety, I worked for the
sheriff in the People's Republic of Northern Virginia Soviet of Arlington.
It was a jail gig from seven pm to seven am,
so we had time to visit with our coworkers between
rounds and other duties, especially after lights out. I was
working the fifth floor Bartholomew. We'd hired on around the
same time, so we'd known each other for a few months.
He and I were what the inmates and many of
our local coworkers called country asses. He was from central
Alabama and I was from East Texas. Bartholomele had a
great sense of humor and was always joking with the
other members of the shift. He was serious about the job,
he'd just liked to have fun, and I wholeheartedly agreed
it was the best way to approach life. One night
I returned from around during of which all our charges
had been asleep or close enough, and we sat and
talked about our lives and our experiences. Because a person
may be known as a comedian by his fellows does
not mean that he is frivolous of mind or foolish.
Bartholomele was certainly no exception. On that night, we'd been
talking about monsters, UFOs, and ghosts and hats. I told
him about my collection of books on the origins of
montsagys and myths. Always found that knowing the origins of
vampires and werewolves and Bigfoot and some boggers and lake
monsters and aliens made them more interesting rather than the reverse. Eventually,
he looked at me in the eye, and he said,
I want to tell you something. Everybody thinks I'm joking
when I tell this story, but I'm not, and I'm
trusting for you not to laugh at me. I assured
him that I understood that he was serious and I
would take him at his word as always. He said
that there wasn't much to it, but he'd seen a
bigfoot when he was in his teen years. We were
both in our early to mid twenties at the time
of this telling. He had been out in the woods
hunting and he hadn't seen anything all morning. He was
perched on a log at the foot of a large tree,
and he explained that his family was poor and had
to hunt where they could, mostly on the land where
they had the owner's permission. He said it got quiet
and he started to feel uneasy. He started to look around,
and then he saw it. It was peering from around
another large tree, pretty close to him, and it was
screened by some of the brush. He said it just
watched him, and it didn't move, and it didn't make
a sound. I noted that his eyes grew distant as
he spun this yarn, and he said it was big.
Mikey like nothing else in the woods. He said that
he got scared, and he shook some and even considered
shooting it. Yet even though it scared him, he just
didn't feel like that was the right thing to do.
He brought his gaze back to the present. I didn't
know it was some kind of animal or some kind
of person, but it felt more like a person, like
it was intelligent. He said that he watched for a moment,
but when he glanced down at the shotgun and then
looked up again, the creature was gone. He said that
he too, was soon gone from those woods. We talked
a little more about it, and I had no reason
to doubt him. Rended him a little, and then I
asked him if that was why he moved to the city.
It was an attempt to lighten the mood. But he
looked at me with a neutral expression, and he said, yeah,
I missed my family, but I can't live out there anymore.
I had to hunt until I left home, and food
his food, but I stayed out of them woods. Then
he lightened up a little and smiled. Now, white people
catch enough crap when they tell these stories, And can
you imagine what a brother goes through? I couldn't tell nobody,
he said, I knew that. When his accent returned, we
were back to a lighter conversation, and it was his
turn to make the next round. The Beast in the
Cave by H. P. Lovecraft, The horrible conclusion which had
been gradually obtruding itself upon my confused and reluctant mind,
was now an awful certainty. I was lost, completely, hopelessly
lost in the vast and labyrinthine recesses of the mammoth cave.
Turn as I might, in no direction could my straining
vision seize on any object capable of serving as my
guide post to set me on the outward path. That
never more should I behold the blessing of the light
of day, or scan the pleasant hills and dales of
the beautiful world outside. My reason could no longer entertain
the slightest unbelief hope had departed. Yet, indoctrinated as I
was by a life of philosophical study, I derived no
small measure of satisfaction from my unimpassioned demeanor. For although
I had frequently read of the wild frenzies into which
were thrown victims of similar situations, I experienced none of these,
but stood quiet as soon as I I clearly realize
the loss of my bearings. Nor did the thought that
I had probably wandered beyond the utmost limits of an
ordinary search cause me to abandon my composure even for
a moment. If I must die, I reflected, then, was
this terrible yet majestic cavern as welcome a sepulcher as
that which any churchyard might afford, a conception which carried
with it more of tranquility than of despair. Starving would
prove my ultimate fate. Of this, I was certain some
I knew had gone mad under circumstances such as these,
But I felt that the sin would not be mine.
My disaster was the result of no fault save my own, since,
unbeknown to the guide, I had separated myself from the
regular party of sightseers, and, wondering for over an hour
in forbidding avenues of the cave, had found myself unable
to retrace the devious windings which I had pursued since
forsaking my companions. Already my torch had begun to expire,
and soon I would be enveloped by the total and
almost palpable blackness of the bowels of the earth. As
I stood in the waning, unsteady light, I idly wandered
over to the exact circumstances of my coming end. I
remembered the accounts which I had heard of the colony
of consumptives, who, taking their residence in this gigantic grotto
to find health from the apparently salubrious air of the
underground world, with its steady, uniform temperature, pure air, and
peaceful quiet, had found instead death in strange and ghastly form.
I had seen the sad remains of their ill made
cottages as I passed by them with the party, and
had I wondered what unnatural influence along sojourn in this
immense and silent cavern would exert upon one as healthy
and as vigorous as I now. I grimly told myself
my opportunity for settling this point had arrived, provided that
one of food should not bring me to speedy a
departure from this life. As the last fitful rays of
my torch faded into obscurity, I resolved to leave no
stone unturned, no possible means of escape neglected, So summoning
all the powers possessed in my lungs. I set up
a series of loud shoutings in the vain hope of
attracting the attention of the Guide by my clamor. Yet
as I called, I believed in my heart that my
cries were to no purpose, and that my voice, magnified
and reflected by the numberless rampart of the black maids
about me, fell upon no ears save my own. All
At once, however, my attention was fixed with a start,
as I fancied that I heard the sound of soft
approaching steps on the rocky floor of the cavern. Was
my deliverance about to be accomplished? So soon? Had then
all my horrible apprehensions been for naught? And was the
Guide having marked my unwarranted absence from the party following
my course and seeking me out in this limestone labyrinth.
While these joyful queries arose in my brain, I was
on the point of renewing my cries in order that
my discovery might come the sooner, when in an instant
my delight was turned to horror as I listened for
my ever acute ear, now sharpened in even greater degree
by the complete silence of the cave bore to my
benumbed understanding the unexpected and dreadful knowledge that these footfalls
were not like those of any mortal man. In the
unearthly stillness of the subterranean region, the tread of the
booted god would have sounded like a series of sharp
and incisive blows. These impacts were soft and stealthy, as
of the padded paws of some feline. Besides, at times,
when I listened carefully, I seemed to trace the falls
of four instead of two feet. I was now convinced
that I had, by my cries, aroused and attracted some
wild beast, perhaps a mountain lion, which had accidentally strayed
within the cave. And perhaps I considered the Almighty had
chosen me a swifter and more merciful death than that
of hunger. Yet the instinct of self preservation, never wholly dormant,
was stirred in my breast, And though escaped from the
oncoming peril, might but spare me for a sterner and
more lingering in, I determined never the less to part
with my life at as high a price as I
could command. Strange as it may seem, my mind conceived
of no intent on the part of the vista save
that of hostility. Accordingly, I became very quiet in the
hope that the unknown beast wood, in the absence of
a guiding sound, lose its direction as had I, and
thus passed by me. But this hope was not destined
for realization, for the strange footfall steadily advanced, and the animal,
evidently having obtained my scent, which, in an atmosphere so
absolutely free from all distracting influence as that of a cave,
could doubtless be followed at great distance. Seeing therefore that
I must be armed for defense against an uncanny and
unseen attack. In the dark, I groped about me the
largest of the fragments of rock, which were strewn upon
all parts of the floor of the cavern in the vicinity,
and grasping one in each hand for immediate use, I
awaited the resignation of the inevitable result. Meanwhile, the hideous
pattering of the palls drew near. Certainly, the conduct of
the creature was exceedingly strange. Most of the time, the
tread seemed to be that of a quadruped walking with
a singular lack of unison betwixt hind and four feet,
Yet at brief and infrequent intervals, I fancied that but
two feet were engaged in the process of locomotion. I
wondered what species of animal was to confront me. It must,
I thought, be some unfortunate beast who had paid for
its curiosity to investigate one of the entrances of the
fearful grotto. With a lifelong confinement. In its interminable recesses,
it doubtless obtained as food the eyeless fishsh and bats
and rats of the cave, as well as some of
the ordinary fish that were wafted in at every fish
net of the green River, which communicates in some occult
manner with the waters of the cave. I occupied my
terrible vigil with grotesque conjectures of what altercations cave life
might have wrought in the physical structure of the beast,
remembering the awful appearances ascribed by local tradition to the
consumptives who had died after long residence in the cavern.
And then I remembered with a start, that even should
I succeed in killing my antagonist, I should never behold
its form, as my torch had long since been extinct
and I was entirely unprovided with matches. The tension on
my brain now became frightful. My disordered fancy conjured up
hideous and fearsome shapes from the sinister darkness that surrounded me,
and that actually seemed to press upon my body. Nearer
and nearer the dreadful footfalls approached. It seemed that I
must give vent to a piercing scream. Yet, had I
been sufficiently irresolute to attempt such a thing, my voice
could scarce have responded. I was petrified and rooted to
the spot. I doubted if my right arm would allow
me to hurl its missile at the oncoming thing when
the crucial moment should arrive. And now the steady pat
pat of the steps was close at hand. Now they
were very close. I could hear the labored breathing of
the animal, and terror struck as I was, I realized
that it must have come from a considerable distance. It
was correspondingly fatigued. Suddenly the spell broke My right hand,
guided by my ever trustworthy sin of hearing through with
full force the sharp angled bit of limestone which it contained,
toward that point in the darkness from which emanated the
breathing and pattering and wonderful to relate it nearly reached
its goal, for I heard the thing jump, landing at
a distance away where it seemed to pause. Having readjusted
my aim, I discharged my second missile, this time most effectively,
for with a flood of joy, I listened as the
creature fell in what sounded like a complete collapse, and
evidently remained prone and unmoving. Almost overpowered by the great
relief which rushed over me, I reeled back against the wall.
The breathing continued in heavy gasping inhalations and expirations. Whence
I realized that I had no more than wounded the creature,
and now all desire to examine the thing ceased. At last,
something allied to groundless superstitious fear had entered my brain,
and I did not approach the body, nor did I
continue to cast stones at it in order to complete
the extinction of its life. Instead, I ran at full
speed in what was as nearly as I could determine
in my frenzied condition the direction from which I had come.
Suddenly I heard a sound, or rather a regular succession
of sounds. In another instant they had resolved themselves into
a series of sharp metallic clicks. This time there was
no doubt it was the Guide. And then I shouted
and yelled and screamed. I even shrieked with joy as
I beheld the vaulted arches above the faint light, which
I knew to be the reflected light of an approaching torch.
I ran to meet the flare, and before I could
completely understand what it occurred, I was lying upon the
ground at the feet of the Guide, embracing his boots
and gibbering despite my boasted reserve, in a most meaningless
and idiotic manner, pouring out my terrible story, and at
the same time overwhelming my auditor with protestations of gratitude.
After a while, I awoke to something like my normal consciousness.
The God had noted my absence upon the arrival of
the party at the entrance of the cave, and had,
from his own intuitive sense of direction, proceeded to make
a thorough canvas of the bypassage just just ahead of
where he had last spoken to me, locating my whereabouts
after a quest of about four hours. By the time
he had related this to me, I emboldened by his torch,
and his company began to reflect upon the strange beast
which I had wounded, but a short distance back in
the darkness, and suggested that we ascertained by the light's
aid what manner of creature was my victim. Accordingly I
retraced my steps, this time with the courage born of companionship,
to the scene of my terrible experience. Soon we described
a white object upon the floor, an object whiter even
than the gleaming limestone itself. Cautiously advancing, we gave vent
to a simultaneous projection of wonderment, for of all the
unnatural monsters either of us had in our lifetimes beheld,
this was in surpassing degree the strangest. It appeared to
be an anthropoid ape of large proportions, escape perhaps from
some internment menagerie. Its hair was snow white, a thing
due no doubt to bleaching action of a long existence
within the inky confines of the cave. But it was
also surprisingly thin, being indeed largely absence save on the head,
where it was of such a length and abundance that
it fell over the shoulders in considerable profusion. The face
was turned away from us as the creature lay almost
directly upon it. The inclination of the limbs was very singular, explaining, however,
the alternation in their use which I before noted, whereby
the beast use sometimes all four, and on other occasions
but two for its progress from the tips of the
fingers or toes, long nail like claws extended the hands
or feet were not prehensile. In fact, I ascribed that
to long residence in the cave, which, as I before mentioned,
seemed evident from the all pervailing, almost unearthly whiteness so
characteristic of the whole anatomy. No tails seemed to be present.
The respiration had now grown feeble, and the God had
drawn his pistol with the evident intent of dispatching the creature,
when a sudden sound emitted by the latter caused the
weapon to fall unused. The sound was of a nature
difficult to describe. It was not like the normal note
of any known species of simion, and I wondered if
this unnatural quality were not the result of a long,
continued and complete silence broken by the sensations produced by
the advent of the light, a thing which the beast
could not have seen since its first entrance into the cave.
The sound, which I might feebly attempt to classify as
a kind of deep toned chattering, was faintly continued. All
at once. Fleeting spasms of energy seemed to pass through
the frame of the beast, and the poles went through
a convulsive motion, and the limbs contracted, and with a jerk,
the white body so that its face was turned in
our direction. And for a moment I was so struck
with horror at the eyes thus revealed that I noted
nothing else. They were black, Those eyes, deep jetty black,
in hideous contrast to the snow white hair and flesh.
Like those of other cave denizens. They were deeply sunken
in their orbits and were entirely destitute of iris. As
I looked more closely, I saw that they were set
in a face less than that of the average ape,
and infinitely more hairy. The nose was quite distinct. As
we gazed upon the uncanny sight presented to our vision,
the thick lips opened and several sounds issued from them,
after which the thing relaxed in death. The god clutched
my coat sleeve and trembled so violently that the light
shook fitfully. Cash seeing weird moving shadows on the walls
about us, I made no motion, but stood rigidly still,
my horrified eyes fixed upon the floor ahead. And then
fear left, and wonder and awe, and compassion and reverence
succeeded in its place, for the sounds uttered by the
stricken figure that lay stretched out on the limestone had
told us the awesome truth. The creature I had killed,
the strange beast of the unfathomed cave, was, or had
at one time been, a man,