Speaker 1: I'm a fifteen year veteran of the Canadian Armed Forces
and I've been deployed overseas several times. I've been shot
at and i've been stabbed once. I don't get shaken
easily in high stress situations, and I'm not prone to panic.
On top of this, I've been camping since I was
nine years old, and by fifteen I was solo camping
for extensive periods in all seasons. I've camped in every season,
and I've had many encounters with wildlife. I'm telling you
all this to give you a reference to not only
my credibility and experience, but also my ability to keep
calm under pressure. Now, I've told very few people of
the events that I'm about to tell you, and in
telling you, I really want to keep what I can
in my career. I'm like most who share their encounters
with others. I've been ridiculed and I've been called a liar,
and this has made me hesitant to tell my story.
But with that said, you come across as a straightforward
man who thinks critically, but you also give people the
benefit of the doubt, which, even as a skeptic, still
provokes trust. I've been going to this same property in Tamagami,
Ontario for twenty five years. This is a large acreage
that backs on to Crown Land that was owned by
my late grant grandfather. There's a lake on this property
that I've enjoyed for not only its peace and quiet,
but it's beauty. On October the ninth, twenty twenty, I
traveled here for a one week camping trip before the
winter set in. I come here twice a year, but
this year, due to COVID, I didn't get a chance
to go until October. I arrived early in the day
and I unlocked the gate and I drove in on
the two kilometer old logging road to its end, where
I got out and my gear, including a twelve gay
semi auto shotgun. I brought the shotgun due to it
being fall and the black bears have a tendency to
get a bit aggressive as it's closing in on their
hibernation season. I left my truck for the one point
five kilometer height to the lake. The day was going
great at this point. After setting up camp, I relaxed
and I sat by the fire until after dark and
I was turning in for the night and I saw
eyeshine not far off, that was seven to eight feet
off the ground. When I turned my head to look,
there was nothing. I saw it out of the corner
of my eye. Even so, the hair on the back
of my neck stood up well. I shook it off
and quickly assumed that it was light from the fire
reflecting off some leaves maybe, but that was enough to
keep me relaxed again. I let the fire die out
a bit and then I lay down in the tent,
and immediately after getting so, I discovered there were no
animal or insect sounds now, even in the fall, some
of the birds were active in the area, and in addition,
there were no other animal sounds that I was used to.
There was only the sound of a light breeze and
water rolling onto the bank. I was shocked to wake
At one fourteen am. I heard something I couldn't identify it.
Coming out of a deep sleep. My watch told me
that it was not yet morning. Laying there relaxed for
several minutes, trying to decide if the sound I heard
was from a dream or if it was real. And
I heard the first growl from eight o'clock. It was
a vibrating, low sound that didn't match anything I had heard,
and instantly I sat up and this was real. There
was no dreaming happening now. I could hear leaves crunching
under heavy footfalls, and it heightened my senses. That was
moving from I left to right, ending at my eleven
o'clock where another growl rumbled into my tent. My rational
mind knew it was a bear, even though the sound
was different. Slowly I slipped out of my sleeping bag
while pulling the shotgun closer to my side. I was
slipping on my boots when I heard the same growl
from the same position as before, and I yelled out
at the animal, hoping to scare it off. Wildlife, even predators,
will leave the immediate area, or they'll back off when
they hear human voices. But that's not what happened this time.
I was answered with the same growl and it was
more intense. The animal was out in front of my tent.
Flipping the safety off, I pointed the shotgun toward the
entrance of the tent and then reached to unzip the fly.
I wanted to see what I was shooting at. If
it came to that, I moved the barrel out of
the tent door and pulled the fabric aside to better sea,
and first the right and then the left. I didn't
see anything. I didn't move for a few minutes, and
I just listened. I needed to know where it was
so when I came out, I could get it in
front of me. But it never made another sound. I
moved toward the opening, crawling with my left arm for
support and the gun in my right, and I would
pop up and search for the target when I was
clear of the tent. But before my head had cleared
the tent opening, I was snatched out of the tent
in a violent motion. A bear would have bitten me
to pull me out, or would have been gouged with claws,
but that wasn't what had me. It was a grip.
Something had its hand wrapped around my arm, and faster
than I could process what was happening, it had me
out of the tent. Reflexively, I squeezed the trigger and
the gun boomed in the darkness, aimed at nothing, roaring.
The creature wung me in several directions. The world had
turned into a nightmare of tumbling and impacts, until there
was intense pain in my head and then I blacked out.
My eyes tried to flicker open, and it was daylight.
My left shoulder was hurting terribly with my right arm.
I got to a sitting position after getting my bearings.
I began to look over my body for injuries. My
left eye was closed and caked in blood. I wiped
some of that away and looked at the shoulder that
was in pain, and I saw it was dislocated. That
and the gash over my left eye seemed to be
the only major injuries. My legs were okay, which meant
I could walk now to assess where I was. My
tent and my campsite was not there. I couldn't see it.
I was in a different place in the forest. There
were drag marks in the dirt. It was plain to
see that I had been brought to this location. I
used the GPS watch to try to figure out where
I was, and I was astonished to see that I
was a half mile away from my campsite. I wasn't
going back there, so I set my GPS to where
I had parked, and it was actually closer than my campsite.
Thank goodness for small miracles. The walk to the vehicle
took twice as long as it would have had I
not been injured, but I made it, and during the
walk the feeling of being watched was as strong as
I had ever felt in my life. I unlocked the
door and a loud roar came from the area of
my campsite, maybe a bit closer. That's all I needed
to hear to get moving. I started the engine and
peeled out of their throwing gravel and dirt, not caring
if I damaged the vehicle, I stopped at the medical
center in Tamagami, where after examining my shoulder, they told
me I needed surgery to repair the damage. If I
wanted to use that arm again, I would need to
go to a larger facility that could do the surgery.
There were more cuts and bruises on me than I thought.
I had a concussion, and my scalp was glued back
in place and the doctor stitched other cuts. My left
forearm was black and blue from the grip the creature
had on me. Days later, I was recovering in a
hospital room from the surgery that repaired the torn muscles, ligaments,
and cartilage in my left shoulder. On my last day there,
the county police came in to take a statement. Well,
I told them the truth as best as I knew
what that was. I never saw the animal that dragged
me out of the tent into the woods, and in
their report it was concluded a bear had attacked me. Well, hell,
I knew it wasn't a bear. Whatever yanked me out
of that tent had a grip on me. Had it
been a bear, there would have been teeth or claw
marks on my arm. Within a few days, both my
brother and my father went back to the campsite to
gather my stuff and they found it destroyed. The tent,
the pack, the clothes, and sleeping bag were shredded and
tossed around. The shotgun stock was split in half and
the barrel was bent. The pile of wood was thrown
around everywhere. My brother and father said they didn't see
or hear anything, but the entire time they were there,
they felt like they were being watched. None of my
family has ever felt that, feeling like they were unwanted
at this property, and that's how my father described it.
To date, I have permanent mobility loss of thirty percent
and constant nerve pain in my left shoulder. My career
is now limited, and I'm clueless to what really happened.
I've never been afraid of the forest, but I dreaded
going back there for over a year and I still
won't go there alone. I still i'll have nightmares and
I take medication to sleep. And I was diagnosed with
PTSD from the event in twenty twenty one. I've had
plenty of time to think of why I was attacked.
It obviously wasn't happy with me being there, but I
think it was the shotgun that set it off, and
when it fired, all bets were off, so to speak.
I still don't understand why it let me live. You
are free to share this story on your channel, and
you can use my first name, but please keep my
email and last name confidential. I also will not give
the details of the exact location in Tamagami. My family
doesn't want every Tom, Dick and Harry with a bigfoot
fetish to show up. It's still our land and we
like our peace and quiet. I'm thirty two years old.
I live in southwestern Illinois, right across the Missississippi River
from Saint Louis. When I was a young kid, about
eleven or twelve, and my little brother was about seven
or eight. Our grandparents lived further north, up in Macopa County. Y'all.
I know I mispronounced these county and city names. Just
cut me some slack, okay, But I know somebody in
the comments is going to correct me. That's fine. It's
nothing but farmland, and between all the acres of farm
fields are vast expanses of forests. My grandparents' house and
land was surrounded around the south and east with corn
and beanfields. Behind their house to the north and west
was a small creek and a long stretch of forest
that seemed like it went for miles. My grandparents got
their water from a well. It was a well with
a hand pump. I remember my grandfather pumping bucket after
bucket of water and carrying them to water as horses
and pigs. One night, my brother and I were spending
the night with them, and my grandfather told us a
story about a wild man who lived in his woods.
At sundown every night, just after he would water his animals,
this wild man and his girlfriend or wife and child
would come out of the woods because it was hot.
My grandpa had my little brother and I come up
to the back porch to watch towards the red barn
and the water pump. We didn't have to wait long.
Sure enough, in the low light of sunset, a huge
hair covered male wild man walked out of the woods.
He was enormous and covered in dark hair. With him
was a female with red or brown hair covering her body,
and behind her was a smaller childlike creature, also covered
in brown hair. They walked over to the well pump
and started pumping it. They each took their turn drinking
water while the other worked the handle. I was only
eleven or twelve, but I was old enough and had
seen enough TV shows that I knew exactly what they were.
I was excited, but then I got nervous and my
grandfather calmed me down. My brother thought they were a
family of wild humans who never cut their hair. They
each took several turns with their mouths under the runout
while either the male or the female would pump the fountain.
It was amazing. When they had had enough water, they
returned to the woods and they vanished into the darkness.
My grandfather said they never caused trouble, they were just thirsty,
and he didn't mind them using his well. One bit
I never forgot that night. I've thought about this through
the years, and it's obvious that they had been watching
my grandfather pump the water. They are intelligent and they
learned by watching us. My grandfather passed away a few
years ago, and now my grandmother lives there alone. The
horses and the pigs are gone, and as for the
family of Sasquatch, well, they've moved along too. No telling
when or where they went. But they never caused any
trouble at all. My grandparents said when my brother and
I were young, they would always hear wood knocks and
vocalizations during the day and night, but they were never afraid.
My grandfather would always carry his twelve gays just in case,
but he never used it on anything, only to run
off varmints that were getting in the trash. I know
that these things are real. I have seen them, a
whole family of them. Sasquatch is absolutely real. Part one
my sister's house many years ago. When I first met
my wife, we both shared an interest in the paranormal.
We met later in life, so the kids were all
out of our respective homes and we were free to
do what we wanted when we wanted in retrospect. This
ill advised interest led us to numerous cemeteries, old houses,
haunted cities, and hotels. And I say ill advised because
we soon found out that what you find doesn't necessarily
stay where you found it. What came to fruition. A
few years into our adventures, bore witness to the advice
of a very spiritual man who once said, if you
go looking for those kinds of things, I promise you
footsteps in your hallways. To make a long story short,
we never got rid of those footsteps. I have two
stories I would like to share with you. The first
is not scary, but one of the most remarkable experiences
we've ever had. The second is much more intense. My
sister lives in a suburb of Nashville, and for more
than twenty years I would make annual visits to her
home and spend several days fishing, since she was located
near a well known lake. After I met Judy, we
made those annual trips, and one year we were invited
down and we arrived late in the afternoon following an
eight hour drive from Chicago. My sister's home is medium sized,
but appears like something you would see in a Home
and garden magazine. In fact, I'm pretty sure a local
rag figured at once. It's just beautiful. Inside. She has
a small kitchen with a fridge and a stove opposite
the sink in cabinets that occupy the east side of
the room, and just next to her countertops and cabinets
is a small marbletop dining table. A three bulb chandelier
hangs over that, with four chairs around the small table.
Behind the table, again to the west, in each corner
are two additional chairs separated by a tall wrought iron
and glass and knickknacked shelf. We have a brother with
whom we were very close, who has passed away, and
it seemed to us that every time we got together,
little things would go bump in the night. They occurred
so frequently that we often joked about it. In this trip,
my sister told us as we sat around the table
that her television was turning off and on by itself
all day long. We laughed as she told us that
her husband, who was an electrician and a good Baptist fellow,
would quietly dismiss our ghost looking with a smile. Michelle
was standing at the kitchen sink preparing things for dinner.
Her husband was still at work. Judy and I sat
at the table, Me on the north side of it
and Judy on my right on the west side of it.
While we were all laughing about teasing Michelle's husband, suddenly,
out of nowhere, a drum roll began, almost like someone
was standing in the entrance of the kitchen drum roll.
It was really loud. It startled all of us, as
you can imagine. I immediately looked to my left toward
my sister and exclaimed, are you hearing this? I was
afraid I was having a stroke or something. When I
looked at Michelle, I saw her jaw was dropped and
her eyes were wide open, and she had the most
shocked look on her face. Her eyes were fixed in
the direction of Judy, so I quickly followed her gaze.
In doing so, I got my first glimpse of Judy.
She was wheeled around completely in her chair and was
facing the knickknack shelf, so I immediately shifted my focus
to that area as well. All along this time, the
drum roll continued and was still deafening, And that's when
I saw the unbelievable that Judy and Michelle were fixed upon.
On the shelf at eye level. With Judy lay a
crystal about four inches long, round, like a small log,
about an inch or so in diameter. It was levitating
up off the glass shelf about an inch. The crystal
was vibrating so that each end of it was alternately
hitting the glass shelf, and it was doing this with
such fury and speed that it was the source of
the drum sound. The incredible nature of what was going
on was that as fast as that thing was hitting
the glass, it was not damaging it at all. And
then it was done right before us. It plopped down
and remained motionless. But that's not the end of this event. Naturally,
we all went nuts. Did you see that? Did you
see that? We asked each other and answered yest almost simultaneously.
We were flabbergasted. Once we all caught our collective breaths,
we started chatting a mile a minute. It was me
who said first. That had to be Chuck, our brother.
This cost for further explanation. Chuck was an excellent drummer.
We both belonged to the Green Sabers Drum and Bugle
Corps from Schylerville, New York. I'm not sure how to
pronounce that town. Growing up, he taught me to play
the tenor drum first, and then the snare drum. We
marched together in the inauguration parade for John F. Kennedy.
We took high drum for the best drum line in
the Canadian Championships one year, and we spent hour upon
hour practicing on magazines that we would lay on my
mother's coffee table. I knew it was him. And as
soon as I said that, each of the lights and
the chandelier above the table when it's bright as two
hundred watt light bulbs, and then they dimmed normal. Immediately
after this display, the light directly above me brightened and
dimmed again three times, and then all was quiet. It
was either my brother reaching out to us or something
else trying to con events. It was him. I prefer
the former. It was a joyous, albeit stunning experience. And
now here is part two of my Sister's House. I've
already shared some background Visa VI our trips to Nashville
to see my sister, so I want reiterated here on
one of our subsequent trips. Judy and I were invited
down to house at Michelle's place while she and her
husband were attending the US Open in New York City.
Her husband is a wonderful tennis player. I once was,
but football injuries in Vietnam and a broken knee ended
that pastime for me. We arrived on Friday afternoon and
immediately set about planning our itinerary for Saturday. We planned
on spending the day on the lake, since I brought
my boat along. We would get off the water early
enough to rest up, maybe take a short nap, and
then head downtown to dinner and hit a few clubs.
We executed our plan the next day. We enjoyed a
great dinner in Nashville, and we found ourselves in a
few clubs dancing and listening to music, and concluded the
evening with a horse and buggy tour of the city.
The primary difference between youth and age is the stamina
to do what the brain wants to, and though we
planned on an evening well into the wee hours of
the morning, age dictated a return home about eleven PM.
The second floor of the house was a balcony that
completely encircles the downstairs living room. So we retired to
the bed as soon as we got back home, and
we fell asleep as soon as we laid down. It
had been a full day for us on the lake
and on the town, and we were beat I rarely
sleep on my back, but this night I did because
Judy fell asleep on her left side facing me, her
right arm across my chest, and I couldn't move if
I wanted to with out waking her, so I just
laid there until I apparently fell asleep. At three o'clock
in the morning, I felt a stabbing pain, now maybe
a scratching kind of pain on my right thigh. It
not only woke me up, but it startled me at
the same time. I am and have always been since
I returned from Vietnam. I'm a very light sleeper. When
I woke, I jumped as well, and this woke Judy
out of reflex. I immediately accused her, Why did you
do that? Do what? She said? Why did you scratch me?
Was it your ring? Lights came on and we began
to search for what happened. My right thigh had about
an eight inch fresh scratch that started at the outer
edge just below my hip and ended above the inside
of my knee. It was bleeding just a bit, so
we knew it was fresh. And then Judy said, my
rings were on my left hand, which is beneath me
when you woke me, our right hand was holding onto
your shirt collar. I sure didn't do that. I must
admit that we were a little rattle. So we got
up and we went downstairs to have some hot chocolate.
We plopped down on the love seat, which is located
almost under the balcony that leads to the guest room,
and when we sat down, it started a cocktail party,
clinking glasses, multiple voices, and a room full of conversations
and laughter coming from overhead emanated from the bedroom we
had just vacated. Needless to say, we slept on the
love seat that night and changed bedrooms for the rest
of our stay. These are just two of the events
of many that we've experienced, including full bodied entities. We
know paranormal investigations are popular and indeed fun, and we
all liked being scared, something in our natures, I expect,
but we would issue the same that we got all
those years ago. If one moves forward, be prepared for
the footsteps in your halls, So I'm not going to
ask you to believe me. Heck, if I didn't live
through it, I wouldn't believe this either. But in the
nineteen eighties, I was in the United States Marine Corps.
I was a recon marine. We were in the jungles
of Nicaragua, and my rifle squad was tasked to man
a listening post in the jungle. We arrived at our
position in the early evening and began to set up
our defensive positions. By nightfall, we were ready to settle
in and listen for any troop movement in our area.
Around two am, we heard something big moving in our direction.
We were all on high alert. As we sat still
and quiet, my E four got my attention and pointed
directly in front of me and said, Serge, what the
hell is that. I looked in the direction that he pointed.
What I saw was what I can only call a demon.
It was eight or nine feet tall and had to
weigh four hundred pounds. It had the head of the
largest wolf I had ever seen in the most powerful
body I've seen on any animal. I'm a lifelong hunter,
and I've seen a lot of animals. The eyes of
this thing still haunt me. They were glowing red. They
were like fires. What happened next was World War three.
We opened up with everything we had, and all we
did was back it up. We never even knocked it down,
We just backed it up. The firefight lasted for fifteen minutes,
and the beast was trying to flank us and we
were trying not to get flanked. There was a point
that my sawgunner yelled out that if the saw didn't stop,
we were going to be toast. But as fast as
it had started, it was over, and the beast hit
the jungle and we hit the ami boxes. The rest
of the night was quiet, I mean real quiet. There
were no sounds, no insects, animals, human, there was nothing.
The next morning we returned to the AO. My captain
asked for a report hesitantly, I gave him the honest report.
Cap left the tenth for twenty minutes and then came
back and called my squad together. He was laughing at
us when he informed us that the Core was aware
that we were attacked by a jungle bear. I interrupted, hey, Cap,
this is Nicaragua. They don't have jungle bears here, nor
would they be that size. Okay, smart ass, then maybe
it was a possum. But according to the powers that be,
it was not, and I repeat, it was not a creature.
That means you, sergeant, Do you get me? Yes, sir,
it was a possum. I got it. This is only
the second time that I've told this story. The other
was to my wife. Please don't relay my name, just
call me sergeant. Thanks. Brother, keep up the good work.