Speaker 1: My grandmother was a god fearing woman. She was in
her late eighties when she told me this story, and
she swore on the Bible that it was true. My
grandmother and grandfather were newlyweds. They had spent the first
few months living with her parents until they could find
a home to rent. My grandfather was the pastor of
a small country church down Sycamore Avenue. He didn't make
much money preaching, and many of his congregation members couldn't
give money to the church, so they brought chickens and
corn on the cob and eggs to the preacher. We
limited income, finding a home was challenging. One Sunday, a
church member came up to my grandfather after church and
told him that his aunt had a house that she
was trying to rent. Wanted to know if he wanted
to rent it. The house was a two story white
home with a big picture window in the living room.
The kitchen was on the main floor, the two bedrooms
were upstairs. The house was nice and it was cheap,
only ten dollars a month. Well why is it so cheap,
my grandmother asked the owner of the home. Well, I
can't lie to a preacher, but the house is haunted.
He said. Well, my grandparents were shocked and shook their
heads because they didn't believe in ghosts. The only ghost
that we believe in is the Holy ghost, said my grandfather. Okay,
said the owner, But I warned you. He said this
with a nervous laugh. My grandparents moved in all day
and finally got settled. Nothing happened the first night, but
that was the last peaceful night's sleep they would have
in that house. The next night began normal. Grandpa and
Grandma went up to the bedroom and went to sleep.
At two am, they heard people talking down in the kitchen,
several people in fact. They heard the cabinets being opened
and dishes being set on the table, and chairs were
heard moving across the floor. My grandfather got a shotgun
and quietly walked down to the stairs. He turned on
the light and there was nothing, nothing out of place.
The kitchen was perfectly clean and in order, just like
Grandma left it. Grandpa searched the house and he still
found nothing. And then he remembered the owner's words, it's haunted.
A cold chill came over him. He quickly prayed the
Lord's prayer and checked both the front and back doors
to see that they were locked. He then went up
to bed and only to have the same thing happen.
The voices started and the dishes started to be moved
about the kitchen. Grandpa finally went to the kitchen and
turned the light on. Everything stopped. He put his Bible
open to Psalm Nighty and went on the table, and
he went to sleep with his head resting on the book.
The next morning, my grandmother told him she wanted to leave.
She didn't want to live in a haunted house. Grandpa
told her they would pack up and leave, and they
did just that. It took most of the day, but
with the help of family members, they had everything out
of the house in one day. My grandparents shut the
curtains on the massive front picture window in the living
room and quietly looked left and right, and again they
felt a cold chill come into the room. They quickly
walked out the front door and locked it. As they
slowly pulled out of the driveway, my grandmother yelled stop.
My grandfather stopped, and they looked at the house and
the curtains they had closed upon leaving were slowly opening.
My grandparents looked at each other and said it's haunted.
They left, and the house sat empty for many years
after that. It may sound strange that a skeptic like
me would write to you about an exp xperience that
could have been a sisquatch. Regarding my skepticism, I can't
help but feel that a complete lack of concrete, irrefutable
physical evidence is suspicious. Now, don't get me wrong, I
would be thrilled to learn that we shared this earth
with another mysterious primate. But again I have serious doubts.
I spent my childhood enchanted by stories of the unknown,
and I cut my teeth on Sunday afternoon reruns of
In Search of And I had seen the Patterson Gimlin
film dozens of time by my fifth birthday, Having learned
to read at an early age, I was even aware
of the Baumanns story at that age. I bear in
mind that I grew up in the seventies when the
Bigfoot phenomenon was hitting its stride. Bigfoot was everywhere. I
even saw him fight the six million dollar Man. I
suppose years spent in the woods with no experiences of
my own allowed my grown up common sense to overtake
my sense of wonder, and I hadn't thought about this
subject for years until I found your channel a few
days ago. After watching several episodes of your podcast, my
wife and I began to talk about weird experiences from
our past. It was during this talk that memory came
flooding back, and I related a story to my wife
that astonished her. We've been together more than fifteen years
and this was the first time she had ever heard
anything about it from me or my family. I almost
think that somehow this memory was being blocked from my
conscious mind to some degree. So enough about me, let's
get on with my story. I was born and raised
in Muhlenberg County, Kentucky. If that sounds familiar, you may
know it from the John Prime classic about a small
town named Paradise that was turned upside down by strip mining.
I lived most of my childhood a few miles down
the Green River from Paradise, on the edge of a
small town called Martwick. It was also displaced by strip mining.
I lived in a rural, heavily wooded area that was
adjacent to hundreds of acres of desolate and uninhabited minelands.
It was like paradise to a young kid like me,
I spent countless days trekking across this rural wonderland. We
got to the back porch and Mom and Dad were
sitting there waiting for us. We walked up the backsteps
and showed off the projects that we had worked on
during the week, and we sat down to join them.
After a few minutes, Dad stated that he was going
to slop the hogs that we were raising at the
edge of the woods behind the house. We didn't have
a huge piece of property and we didn't necessarily need
it for meat, but Dad liked to expose the kids
to different ways of life that he remembered from his youth.
Mom or I took to this chore, but probably due
to my wearing my Sunday best clothes in it being
so dark, Dad decided that he was going to do
the task this evening. He grabbed up a five gallon
bucket and he headed toward the woods. And the woodline
started thirty yards from the back porch and fell into
a steep ravine. The pigpen was about twenty feet into
the woods, situated right where the hill began to descend,
and as the edge of the woods was grown up
into a thicket. One had to go several yards left
to the edge of our property to enter the woods
where the undergrowth was thinner, and then we went back
to the right to get to the pigpen. We watched
Dad walk down the backyard and disappear into the woods,
and it wasn't long before we heard petunias starting to
oink and even squeal a little. My sister and I
had named the hog and we were playing with it,
much to Dad's disapproval. Like most animals, it wasn't unusual
for her to get excited at feeding time. However, the
intensity of it seemed unusual to us back on the porch.
The squealing stopped shortly, and we imagined that she must
be in hog heaven ears deep in putrid leftovers. A
moment later, we could hear the most got awful thrashing
of something or something coming right through the thicket, not
far from the pigpen, and to our utter disbelief, the
figure of my father came bursting from the thicket at
a dead sprint, heading back to the porch well. All
three of us on the porch were watching this in
slack jawed shock. My father is not a particularly excitable man,
nor was he ever one to adopt an overly macho persona.
He was just a plain, ordinary man from ordinary country
stock who just seemed to have that John Wayne, a
man's got to do what he's got to do sort
of attitude. My dad had been a star athlete high school,
and I don't think I had ever seen him run before.
He'd worked all day and at his own pace if
something needed to be done, but he wasn't into exercise.
Well now here, he was running so fast that he
was tripping over his own feet coming up the backyard,
and as he drew near the porch, we could see
his face. It was as white as a sheet, and
we were freaking out. Mom started calling out to him,
asking him what was going on, but he never answered.
He never slowed down, and he jumped up onto the
edge of the porch, and he continued into the house
as fast as he could go. This happened so quickly
that we didn't have time to react, and by the
time we had started to stand up and go see
what was wrong, he emerged on the back porch with
a twelve gate shotgun in his hand, and by this
point all four of us were terrified. Mom was pleading
with him in hush tones to explain what was wrong.
He just kneeling there against the porch post, shot gun
across his knee, in visibly shaking and staring at the woods.
Eventually she just stopped asking, and we sat there with
him in silence. What else could we do? Something had
happened in the woods, and he was so obviously shaken,
and looking back, I don't know if he was able
to form the words well. This behavior went on for
several minutes until it started getting so dark that it
would have been hard for us to see anything if
it had emerged from the woods, and he finally seemed
to ease up a tiny bit, and he started relating
what had happened. He had entered the woods and cut
back to the right to reach the pin. He wasn't
paying that much attention to anything, and as he entered
the area of the pen where the woods were thicker
and the thicket grew up all around, he realized it
was darker than he thought. He couldn't see much at all.
At first. He had noticed the pig agitation, but he
didn't think much of it. He was dumping out the
slop when it occurred to him that the pig wasn't
coming to the trough. It was scrunched up against the
wall of the pin where he was standing. His eyes
were starting to adjust to the darkness when he looked
up from the trough and he saw it, and standing
opposite him across the pin was a large, upright figure.
It was covered in dark hair. His first thought was,
it's a bear. It was common in the area for
people to report seeing things that had been rendered extinct
to the area for years, such as panthers and bears,
and the light and things like that were generally laughed
at and seldom backed by any evidence. He didn't have
any better explanation. That was the first thing he thought.
He stood there, frozen by fear briefly when he realized
that this thing was reaching into the pin for the pig,
with its arms extended toward it. At that point he
turned and ran for it. We spent a very uncomfortable
night at our house, and I don't think any of
us slept much that night. It was weeks before I
could go back into the woods to play, and I
promised the hog was slopped in the daylight. From that
point forward, we were going through hard financial times, and
Dad was drinking a lot more than I ever had
seen him drink before. He was drinking that night, but
I didn't think to excess, and by the time he
reached the porch there was no trace of intoxication left
in him, and he didn't drink again for the rest
of that night. Oddly, I don't remember Dad or Mom
ever speaking of it again. I don't know if I
would call it shame. He just didn't seem comfortable with
the level of vulnerability he had shown in front of us.
I was terrified, and I don't know what was worse,
a creature in the woods out back or seeing my
dad scared. The other night, as I sat with my wife,
I tried to reason it out. I would love to
be able to explain it away, but I can't. My
wife suggested that maybe he might have staged the whole
thing for me. Well, I was eating up with all
things bigfoot at the time, and I was walking toward
the woods with a camera seven days a week. I
can't accept that either. Though first, he did seem to
delight in feeding whatever curiosity was fueling my young brain
at any given time. I have a hard time believing
he would go to such extremes for that reason, though,
And second, if he had talked to mom and my
sister beforehand, I don't think all three of them could
have pulled it off that seamlessly. My sister is a
notoriously poor liar. The most important, I know what real
fear looks like. Almost get chills now thinking about it.
I had never, nor have I since, seen my father
in that state. In closing, I just want to say
how much I've enjoyed watching your channel on YouTube these
last few days. I thought this story would fit perfectly.
It does fits perfectly, honestly, if it doesn't get used,
I feel better having aired these feelings after all these years.
And also I love your chickens. There's some sort of
strange zen I achieve watching the chickens walk around pecking
for feed in the yard, and sometimes I just drift
off to sleep while I'm watching