Speaker 1: All right, here's a Bigfoot story by Love's Bigfoot Stories.
Speaker 1: This is a really good one. My parents were antique
Speaker 1: dealers when I was growing up. My mother was raised
Speaker 1: in an outdoorsy family and my father was raised on
Speaker 1: the streets of Los Angeles. My father had a rough
Speaker 1: upbringing and wasn't raised to be timid or nice. He
Speaker 1: was a golden gloves boxer. If he was ever afraid
Speaker 1: of anything, he didn't let it show. It was Saturday,
Speaker 1: sometime in the summer of nineteen seventy three, around four
Speaker 1: in the morning, and Dad and I had packed the
Speaker 1: Dodge Tradesman one hundred with banana boxes of collectibles and
Speaker 1: antiques to take the Medford Organ to a flea market.
Speaker 1: We did flea markets quite frequently back then, as there
Speaker 1: was no such thing as the Internet, eBay or Etsy.
Speaker 1: The dark early morning was clear and cool, and the
Speaker 1: interstate was deserted. My dad drove and it was my
Speaker 1: job to pour the burning hot liquid while jostling around
Speaker 1: in the van at fifty five miles an hour. And
Speaker 1: there we were drinking our black coffee straight up and
Speaker 1: enjoying the silence, when in the distance we spotted a
Speaker 1: large figure standing on the northbound side of the road.
Speaker 1: What is that, Dad, I asked, pointing ahead at the
Speaker 1: dimly illuminated, dark, hulking figure ahead of us. But Dad
Speaker 1: leaned forward and against the steering wheel and he hit
Speaker 1: the foot pedal to turn the headlights on to bright. Yes, kids,
Speaker 1: that used to be a thing. Bright's on the floor,
Speaker 1: not the signal stem. What we saw on that dark,
Speaker 1: lonely stretch of mountainous interstate changed me and my father forever.
Speaker 1: We watched in amazement and in stupid awe is this
Speaker 1: nine foot tall creature with a black head to toe
Speaker 1: fur still over the damn guard rail on two legs,
Speaker 1: right in front of us, And it turned its massive
Speaker 1: torso and it looked at us. Let me say that,
Speaker 1: until you actually see one, it is difficult to explain
Speaker 1: the feeling that it gives you. It's like everything you
Speaker 1: ever thought you knew was a lie. All told, the
Speaker 1: event was only about ten or fifteen seconds of life
Speaker 1: changing revelation, But that was long enough. Dad, What was that?
Speaker 1: I asked? He hesitated, and he chose his words carefully.
Speaker 1: I don't know, but I can tell you it wasn't
Speaker 1: a bear. Well turn around and go back, Let's get
Speaker 1: another look at that thing. I said, no way, Dad
Speaker 1: blurted out. For the first time in my life, I
Speaker 1: heard fear in his voice. Well, we kept on driving
Speaker 1: to our destination and talking about what we saw, and
Speaker 1: eventually coming to the conclusion that it must have been
Speaker 1: a bigfoot. It was that or the biggest man we'd
Speaker 1: ever seen, and a hairy sue early in the morning,
Speaker 1: alongside a deserted mountain highway with legs long enough that
Speaker 1: he could easily step over a guardrail. When you see one,
Speaker 1: your gut just knows. All of you folks out there
Speaker 1: who have seen one know exactly what I'm talking about.
Speaker 1: You just know it doesn't take much evidence to change
Speaker 1: your perspective of the world. What my dad and I
Speaker 1: saw that early morning in nineteen seventy three turned us
Speaker 1: into knowers. We continue to fish and camp until my
Speaker 1: father passed away in two thousand and one. We weren't
Speaker 1: afraid to go out in the woods, but we often
Speaker 1: talked about that day that we saw Bigfoot, and even today,
Speaker 1: I still get goosebumps when I remember the way that
Speaker 1: thing looked at us. Thank you for listening to my story.
Speaker 1: I enjoyed writing it. Oh, that's the best line of
Speaker 1: the whole story. She enjoyed writing it. I think that
Speaker 1: is awesome. That's a great it's a and that's exactly
Speaker 1: how I've said it a thousand times. This is exactly
Speaker 1: how I want to see a bigfoot, even if it
Speaker 1: just stops me, if I have to stop in the
Speaker 1: middle of the road to look at it, and then
Speaker 1: I will be a knower. I won't be a skeptic
Speaker 1: or a believer, or I'll be a knower as so
Speaker 1: many people say, which you know, that's that's one of
Speaker 1: the big platitudes that people use in the bigfoot community.
Speaker 1: Oh I ain't no believer. I'm a knower. In other words,
Speaker 1: i've seen one. I sink it. I've seen one. I
Speaker 1: get it. I totally get it. It's a if you
Speaker 1: see something like that standing in the road in front
Speaker 1: of you. She remembers the way it turned, the way
Speaker 1: it looked at her and her dad. It's probably like
Speaker 1: a video real that just replays in her head over
Speaker 1: and over and over. I thought this was a great story.
Speaker 1: Thank you to the writer. It was wonderful. Thanks, hey, hey,
Speaker 1: thanks for clicking on the video. My name's Cam butner.
Speaker 1: This is the Dixie Cryptid or what if It's True? Podcast?
Speaker 1: If you like good stories, just good stories that just
Speaker 1: take you away to another world. You found your people,
Speaker 1: you found your place, and I'm glad you're here. If
Speaker 1: you haven't listened to my latest, not this one, but
Speaker 1: the one before this, I'll end screen it on this.
Speaker 1: It's a podcast I put up called The hat Man
Speaker 1: the Author. It's a fictional story written by a woman
Speaker 1: named Rebecca Lee Wesson, and she is a really good writer,
Speaker 1: and I think the production of that podcast is pretty good.
Speaker 1: I think you'd enjoy it. I'm going to end screen it.
Speaker 1: I want you to go back and listen to it
Speaker 1: if you're interested in that kind of thing. And that's
Speaker 1: all I wanted to say. We've got three more stories
Speaker 1: left to go in this podcast, and I hope you
Speaker 1: guys enjoy them all. Right here we go. After listening
Speaker 1: to your where you mentioned strange encounters in the United Kingdom,
Speaker 1: I thought I would share the story with you. It
Speaker 1: concerns my daughter, who was fifteen at the time, and
Speaker 1: her stepfather, who was a police officer. This encounter took
Speaker 1: place in rural Northern Ireland in the autumn of twenty
Speaker 1: and seventeen, my daughter and her stepfather were returning home
Speaker 1: with a takeaway pizza when about a mile from home,
Speaker 1: they saw a strange creature on the road ahead of them.
Speaker 1: They said it was the size of a sheep, but
Speaker 1: with smooth black skin. It crossed the road and moved
Speaker 1: into the field on the other side, and then vanished
Speaker 1: into the darkness. Neither of them recognized the creature, and
Speaker 1: since we all lived in the country, they were familiar
Speaker 1: with the local animals. My daughter was upset by the
Speaker 1: experienced and told her grandfather about it. Her grandfather was
Speaker 1: a keen spotter of wildlife and consulted books to reassure her.
Speaker 1: He told her it was an otter, even though the
Speaker 1: nearest river was four miles away and otters did not
Speaker 1: grow in the size of a sheep, Perhaps fearing ridicule.
Speaker 1: Her stepfather admitted seeing it, but would give no more details.
Speaker 1: I believe my daughter if only because of how upset
Speaker 1: and worried she was after the experience. I did some
Speaker 1: research myself and discovered the old Gaelic legend of the
Speaker 1: dough Bart the king otter. I'm certain I mispronounced that,
Speaker 1: but it's dB h r hyphen Cchu, the dough bart
Speaker 1: the king Otter. It's described as a half otter and
Speaker 1: half dog. There's a legend dating back to the seventeenth
Speaker 1: century where a woman was supposedly killed by one in
Speaker 1: County lytram at Glendale low Or so is recorded on
Speaker 1: a headstone Cornwall Cemetery. Strange creatures may indeed be out there,
Speaker 1: and perhaps some legends are true. Yeah, I have trouble
Speaker 1: pronouncing words. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, y'all, especially to the
Speaker 1: people in Europe who listen to this. I'm just I'm
Speaker 1: from Mississippi in the United States, and it's just hard
Speaker 1: to say stuff. We don't even understand each other down here,
Speaker 1: So don't take offense to me not being able to
Speaker 1: say some of these words correctly. I'm trying to I'm
Speaker 1: looking at that county again, Lytrim l E, I t
Speaker 1: R I M. I think it's lytram leatrim Leatrim maybe
Speaker 1: and it's in Glendale Lowe. But it's recorded on her headstone.
Speaker 1: This woman was It was recorded on her headstone in
Speaker 1: the seventeenth century where a woman was killed by a
Speaker 1: doe Bartu, the king Otter in Ireland. Now that is
Speaker 1: interesting as all it out. It's a very short story,
Speaker 1: but it's really cool. I'm looking up here where our
Speaker 1: editors gave it the category King Otter an Irish legend. Oh,
Speaker 1: if anyone in Ireland listens to this podcast, if you
Speaker 1: guys have any stories from your island, I want them.
Speaker 1: I really want those. I know the banshee is an
Speaker 1: Irish legend or mythical creature. I'm trying to think leprechauns.
Speaker 1: I'm trying to think of other things that I've heard
Speaker 1: of from Ireland. Anyway, it's really interesting stuff. Thank you
Speaker 1: to the writer for sending this. This was really good. Okay.
Speaker 1: I did a story maybe two years ago. I think
Speaker 1: it was about that long from a listener. It was
Speaker 1: about a hogman. So I'm kind of setting the stage
Speaker 1: for what's going on here. So I'm just going to
Speaker 1: start reading his email and you'll and then you'll catch up.
Speaker 1: He writes, I submitted a story to you once about
Speaker 1: my encounter with a hogman. When my uncle Jerome heard
Speaker 1: about it, he called me with his own story to tell.
Speaker 1: It seems he encountered the same creature. Here is his story.
Speaker 1: A long time ago, my father was making some upgrades
Speaker 1: to their house in the backwoods of Leesburg, Florida. It
Speaker 1: was getting late in the summer, and he had promised
Speaker 1: my mother that he'd be near the edge of the
Speaker 1: woods so she and the children wouldn't have to venture
Speaker 1: into the trees every time someone had to go to
Speaker 1: the body, especially at night. Must have been close to
Speaker 1: the outhouse. Anyway, you need to get working on all
Speaker 1: that outhouse while the ground is soft and warm, she'd
Speaker 1: remind him in her sweet little church lady voice, maybe
Speaker 1: a little too often for my father's taste. Okay, he
Speaker 1: was working on the outhouse. I know I've screwed this
Speaker 1: story up. I'm sorry. I'm just going to keep her eating.
Speaker 1: Maybe I'll get it right from here on out. It
Speaker 1: made him pick up the paste, though, and soon he
Speaker 1: had dug a deep black hole in the ground. He
Speaker 1: mitered a wooden box that covered the hole and provided
Speaker 1: us with a place to sit down when we did
Speaker 1: our toos and don'ts, as we call them. When the
Speaker 1: exterior walls were put up, my father was finished, and
Speaker 1: we all gathered around and looked at the glory of
Speaker 1: our very first pre toilet and then I spoke up
Speaker 1: that sure is an awful big hole for my little butt,
Speaker 1: I told my father. He chuckled and said he'd buy
Speaker 1: a toilet seat in the morning for the little butts,
Speaker 1: but for now it was ready to go. After supper,
Speaker 1: we all peeled away from the dinner table. I don't
Speaker 1: know what I was busy doing, but I was distracted,
Speaker 1: and I missed our usual mother supervised evening potty break.
Speaker 1: She would walk us all out, and she would wait
Speaker 1: patiently to make sure that we were safe as we
Speaker 1: did our business, and when we were done, we'd all
Speaker 1: race back to the house as the sky turned purple.
Speaker 1: Oh well, I told myself, knowing I was big enough
Speaker 1: to hold it until the morning. Bedtime at our house
Speaker 1: meant lights out. Since there were no TVs or lamps,
Speaker 1: that meant all lanterns were snuffed out. It got so
Speaker 1: dark in the house that the only light that we
Speaker 1: got was the whites of our eyes when we opened them.
Speaker 1: Sometime in the night. My eyes opened to a sharp
Speaker 1: twinge in my gut, and my stomach rumbled, sending me
Speaker 1: a message that it was time to pay for all
Speaker 1: that extra gravy. I sopped up with the biscuits. Another
Speaker 1: gurgle barked and gave me a good two minute warning,
Speaker 1: forcing me to sit up in bed. I'm sorry, y'all.
Speaker 1: Thank goodness, the stars were out that night. They shone
Speaker 1: in through the kitchen window and helped light way as
Speaker 1: I kept my hands out to bump into the doorknob.
Speaker 1: I quietly went onto the porch so as not to
Speaker 1: wake anybody up, and then I grabbed the rope my
Speaker 1: father had tethered from the porch to the outhouse to
Speaker 1: help us find our way when it rained or got
Speaker 1: too foggy to see. So I scooted my hand across
Speaker 1: that rope at full speed until I nearly smashed into
Speaker 1: the new outhouse. I hurried myself inside bottom first, and
Speaker 1: I sat on the big hole that was far too
Speaker 1: big for me, and I did my best to keep
Speaker 1: from falling into the abyss below. There wasn't yet a
Speaker 1: roof on the outhouse, so starlight shone in around me
Speaker 1: and provided me with a comfortable little environment to do
Speaker 1: my business. And just as I was getting settled, I
Speaker 1: hurt something. At first, it was just a small twig snap.
Speaker 1: I didn't pay any mine until I heard another twig snap,
Speaker 1: this time much closer to the outhouse, and I sat
Speaker 1: there trying be as quiet as possible. But then a
Speaker 1: terrible smell began to grow, and it wasn't for me.
Speaker 1: It was coming from outside. I heard another tweak snap,
Speaker 1: and then the distinct sound of heavy feet shuffling forward.
Speaker 1: They were snapping and crushing the branches and leaves underfoot.
Speaker 1: I did my best to stay frozen. I wanted to
Speaker 1: cover my mouth, but I needed both hands to keep
Speaker 1: me from falling into the toilet box. I tried to
Speaker 1: quiet my breathing, but the quieter my breathing, the louder
Speaker 1: my heartbeat climbed into my ears, and I sat there
Speaker 1: in my awkward predicament. Silence slowly crept over me like
Speaker 1: a thick blanket, and my heartbeat faded into the background.
Speaker 1: This was no ordinary silence. I could just about feel
Speaker 1: it being pulled over me. First the grasshoppers and crickets
Speaker 1: clammed up, and then the hootiles and nightbirds shut down,
Speaker 1: and finally the odes clammed up. I could tell there
Speaker 1: was someone around me. It was the same feeling I
Speaker 1: got right before one of my siblings was about to
Speaker 1: cover my eyes and yell boot. I hoped it was
Speaker 1: just one of my sisters trying to be funny, following
Speaker 1: me out the back door and unbeknownst to me, setting
Speaker 1: me up for a big scare. But I figured i'd
Speaker 1: let her know the jig was up. Who's out there,
Speaker 1: I said, softly, but not too loud for fear of
Speaker 1: attracting a Cody or some other night critter. I assumed
Speaker 1: i'd hear one of my sisters began to giggle and
Speaker 1: to let the air out of his creepy bubble that
Speaker 1: had inflated around our outhouse. But there was no giggle,
Speaker 1: just complete blanketing silence. I started to panic, and I
Speaker 1: finished up and started to pull my pants up, and
Speaker 1: as I leaned toward the door, thinking it might still
Speaker 1: have been one of my sisters. But I couldn't have
Speaker 1: been more wrong. And as I picked out the door,
Speaker 1: I heard a short, uteral grunt from above me. All
Speaker 1: the starlight shining into the outhouse was smothered by a shadow,
Speaker 1: showering the little space and darkness. My eyes widened like
Speaker 1: two full moons, and I looked up to my horror,
Speaker 1: there was an enormous figure looking down at me. The
Speaker 1: planks my father used for the walls of the outhouse
Speaker 1: were sticking nearly eight feet off the ground, yet this
Speaker 1: thing was staring down at me over the edge. It
Speaker 1: took me a few seconds to realize what I was
Speaker 1: looking at, and when I saw it clearly, I was horrified.
Speaker 1: This creature had the head of a hog. And then
Speaker 1: it spoke to me, not with words, but right into
Speaker 1: my head in a booming, deep voice. What are you
Speaker 1: doing out here, brave little fella? The voice asked. My
Speaker 1: eyes must have been about to pop out of my head,
Speaker 1: and I felt my eyelids stretch as I stared motionless
Speaker 1: at this beast towering over me. And if I hadn't
Speaker 1: just done my business, I would have surely sold myself.
Speaker 1: The hog had retreated back over the wall, but it
Speaker 1: wasn't gone, and I felt its pounding feet making their
Speaker 1: way toward the door of the outhouse, each step telling
Speaker 1: me that this thing was huge. The door started to
Speaker 1: creep open, and what looked at me from outside was
Speaker 1: a be so tall and wide that there was no
Speaker 1: chance I would be able to dash around her under it.
Speaker 1: It clogged up the entire opening, and in the starlight
Speaker 1: I could see its whole hideous figure. Its giant body
Speaker 1: matched its giant head. It looked like a pig standing upright,
Speaker 1: with swollen limbs and torso, and at the end of
Speaker 1: its swollen ankles were human light feet with no shoes on.
Speaker 1: There was no other way to describe it. It was
Speaker 1: a hog man. I remember thinking to myself, I'm a
Speaker 1: dead duck. I'm going to be carried out in the
Speaker 1: woods like all the bad little boys are. I thought
Speaker 1: of my poor mother searching and calling for me in
Speaker 1: the woods, knowing she would never be able to find me,
Speaker 1: and tears burned their way into the corners of my eyes.
Speaker 1: And the hogman did something remarkable. It opened the door
Speaker 1: all the way and stepped to the side. I'm not
Speaker 1: here to carry you off, little boy, he said, right
Speaker 1: into my head. But there are some things in these
Speaker 1: woods that will. I stared at him, motionless, forgetting how
Speaker 1: to use my voice and my legs. Now get The
Speaker 1: hogman snarled. He stopped his swollen foot on the ground,
Speaker 1: and I felt the earth shake around me, and I
Speaker 1: tore out of that outhouse, pulling my breeches up with
Speaker 1: both hands. As I went, stepping and hopping my way
Speaker 1: to the safety of the house. As soon as I
Speaker 1: hit the porch, all the sounds of the night flicked
Speaker 1: back on at once, and I hurried in, and I
Speaker 1: closed the door behind me, thinking my hasty entrance would
Speaker 1: wake everybody up, and thinking I'd have to explain why
Speaker 1: I was breathing so hard. I peeked out the back window,
Speaker 1: expecting the Hogman to be looking right back at me.
Speaker 1: But he was gone. I don't know where he could
Speaker 1: have gone so quickly with his enormous body, but he
Speaker 1: was just gone. Forever, I hoped. I have never mentioned
Speaker 1: a peep of this to anyone. I didn't want to
Speaker 1: look into anyone's doubting eyes. And here I am, all
Speaker 1: these years later, a grandfather. Now I watched my grandson
Speaker 1: play wild and free in the woods behind my house
Speaker 1: where a lifetime ago, I'm at the Hogman. My grandson
Speaker 1: is about the same age that I was when it happened,
Speaker 1: And now the onus is upon me to ruin the
Speaker 1: rose colored outlook. This kid still has about life because
Speaker 1: someone has to teach him that the Hogman is out there.
Speaker 1: Oh my gosh, what an o awesome story. I remember
Speaker 1: this Hogman story. I've actually put pieces of it in
Speaker 1: the in some of the little shorts that I do.
Speaker 1: And I've gotten my AI account my AI website to
Speaker 1: do some strange pictures. I might try to do that
Speaker 1: for the thumbnail on this story, because I don't know.
Speaker 1: It seems like the first Hogman's story. Oh I got
Speaker 1: to scratch my back. I got a itch. Oh it's
Speaker 1: itching me. Y'all ever get a itch? Wonder if you
Speaker 1: got a tick buried in your back? That's what happens
Speaker 1: to me, a big, old, green, full tick. I'll pull
Speaker 1: my shirt up and let my wife look at my gross,
Speaker 1: hairy back, and I'll say, do I have a tick
Speaker 1: on my back? Yes, She'll go get a pair of
Speaker 1: tweezers and pull them off. I don't know why I
Speaker 1: thought of that. I have no idea why I'm telling
Speaker 1: you that. But if anybody's ever had a big, green,
Speaker 1: swellen tick on them that's been on them two or
Speaker 1: three days, tell me about it in the comment section.
Speaker 1: That happens to me about twice a year. And I
Speaker 1: don't have any diseases lime disease or Rocky Mountain fever
Speaker 1: or anything. I guess I'm lucky. But anyway, back to
Speaker 1: the story. It seems like the hogman was mean in
Speaker 1: the other story, like it was trying to get to
Speaker 1: this guy he was in a deer stand, and I
Speaker 1: think it pulled the deer stand down. I don't know,
Speaker 1: I have to look it up. But this was a
Speaker 1: good story. It was really well written. And man, I
Speaker 1: was sitting on the edge of my seat the whole
Speaker 1: time I was reading this. But I appreciate the man
Speaker 1: sending it the second story I've done for him. I
Speaker 1: think I've had this about a year. It was so
Speaker 1: good I wanted to get it up, So thanks to
Speaker 1: the writer. This is a ghost story, really good, really
Speaker 1: a good ghost story, So hang on. Some people call
Speaker 1: me a ghost doctor. Others call people like me intermediaries
Speaker 1: or middlemen. Some have called me insane, and I can't
Speaker 1: argue with that. I suppose, after all, you'd have to
Speaker 1: be a little crazy to want to delve into my
Speaker 1: line of work. I helped ghosts find their way home
Speaker 1: with the help of folks on the other side. It's
Speaker 1: a rewarding profession, though, and I admit it can be
Speaker 1: downright terrifying at times. Two decades ago, I was in Florence, Italy,
Speaker 1: visiting what used to be an herbal apoth apothecary apothecary
Speaker 1: Apo t h e c a r y apothecary run
Speaker 1: by monks who acted as early versions of physicians, and
Speaker 1: in the dim ornately wood panel waiting area were two ghosts.
Speaker 1: Both wore what in modern times we would consider old
Speaker 1: style clothing, yet neither was aware of the other. They
Speaker 1: both passed away in the waiting area, a hundreds of
Speaker 1: years before and many years between each other. Now I
Speaker 1: should have known better, but I couldn't resist, and I
Speaker 1: said to them, the doctor will see you now. Well,
Speaker 1: this alone is proof of how bad my sense of
Speaker 1: humor is. Then I helped them cross over. The most
Speaker 1: number of ghosts I have encountered at one time was
Speaker 1: in a large hospital. Perhaps sixty five or so of
Speaker 1: them were clustered near the drive up entrance, waiting for
Speaker 1: their rides back home. None of them knew they had died,
Speaker 1: and each waiting for their family, for their loved ones
Speaker 1: and the people dear to them in their life. If
Speaker 1: I had helped but one of them cross over, the
Speaker 1: rest would have seen the light it produced and swarmed
Speaker 1: to me. So instead I called in help from the
Speaker 1: other side, which seemed to help get them crossed over. Mentally,
Speaker 1: I scanned the rest of the building for more and
Speaker 1: I found perhaps ten or twenty walking down the hallways
Speaker 1: or just stalled in an odd corner here or there,
Speaker 1: holding their rack with an IV drip on it. We
Speaker 1: helped them crossover one at a time, and we called
Speaker 1: it a day. Two months ago, a train running through
Speaker 1: my small town hit and kill someone. That someone must
Speaker 1: have known what they were doing, because it is hard
Speaker 1: to get to the tracks and very obvious when a
Speaker 1: train is coming. I don't like dealing with suicide ghosts,
Speaker 1: but I find satisfaction in doing so. They are in
Speaker 1: a place that looks and feels like a hurricane at night.
Speaker 1: It's pure chaos and confusion and a reflection of what
Speaker 1: drove them to the end of their life. It is
Speaker 1: a good advertisement to seek help rather than assume that
Speaker 1: ending one's life will end at all. In this instance,
Speaker 1: I reached out in meditation to see if there was
Speaker 1: a ghost remaining from the train fatality that we could
Speaker 1: support and their crossing over, and I could not find one,
Speaker 1: but I did myself. Caught in a main road about
Speaker 1: a block over, it was dark. There were no traffic
Speaker 1: lights flashing in the distance, and no street lights filled
Speaker 1: the deep woods and the trees were more dense. I
Speaker 1: realized then that I was seeing a view from the
Speaker 1: perspective of the ghost. Next to me was the town cemetery,
Speaker 1: which your audience may find interesting, is usually absent of spirits.
Speaker 1: On my other side, in the darkness was a quiet
Speaker 1: and unanimated ghost. I knew what god drenching emotions awaited
Speaker 1: me if I channeled into this person's situation, so instead,
Speaker 1: I respectfully kept my distance and I called in help
Speaker 1: from the other side. The ghost was quickly swept away,
Speaker 1: connected with the remains of its spirit. My viewport was
Speaker 1: then swept up into the next intersection, where there was
Speaker 1: another ghost caught in a geological energy. It was an
Speaker 1: older man, and he knew he was deceased, which was
Speaker 1: not always the case with ghosts. He refused any help
Speaker 1: in crossing over because he was waiting for his wife,
Speaker 1: who had passed away nearly twenty years ago. After her death,
Speaker 1: he spent the rest of his life mourning waiting to
Speaker 1: be reunited with her. But when he died, he carried
Speaker 1: with him the pain he felt from her passing, and
Speaker 1: though she was already on the other side, there he
Speaker 1: was trapped in his heartache and waiting for her. Still,
Speaker 1: such was the devotion of his love. In fairly quick order,
Speaker 1: I asked for help from the other side, and his
Speaker 1: wife appeared, and after an indescribably beautiful and joyous reunion,
Speaker 1: they both vanished. A wonderful imagery came into my mind
Speaker 1: of the two of them sitting side by side on
Speaker 1: the porch of an old farmhouse, and they were holding
Speaker 1: hands and enjoying the ambience in view of a lovely
Speaker 1: late spring day. Cups of lemonade sat beside them. The
Speaker 1: air was sweet, and there was a perfect light breeze.
Speaker 1: It was their personal sense of heaven. But my work
Speaker 1: that night wasn't over. I could see another ghost down
Speaker 1: the road a few blocks. I supposed it to be
Speaker 1: a ghost because it looked like a human crouching down.
Speaker 1: Yet the figure was just a flat black void. Its
Speaker 1: dark shape had a thin outline of bright yellow light,
Speaker 1: so I supposed it had a little energy left. It
Speaker 1: was stuck at the edge of the parking lot, caught
Speaker 1: on some geological energies. My view carried me closer to
Speaker 1: it and when it sensed me it attacked. I was surprised,
Speaker 1: to say the least. It was the ghost of a
Speaker 1: large cat, and all I could see were the claws
Speaker 1: and the fans going from my face and neck, and
Speaker 1: the spots covering its body. It was jaguar spots. They
Speaker 1: say every second with a jaguar is sixty stitches, which
Speaker 1: at the moment was easy to believe. So I called
Speaker 1: from help from the other side, but they seemed reluctant
Speaker 1: to assist because this was not a human ghost. I
Speaker 1: tried to make the point that the ghost was the
Speaker 1: recording of the life of a sentient animal and might
Speaker 1: therefore have some interest to spirit, which is where all
Speaker 1: ghosts end up. With my argument, they took the ghost
Speaker 1: of the jaguar away, and in hindsight I suspect the
Speaker 1: jaguar having a ghost at all was a mistake. Formerly,
Speaker 1: their natural range was about where the California Oregon border lies,
Speaker 1: but a jaguar without a map to consult could have
Speaker 1: wandered off over one hundred years ago without competition and
Speaker 1: become disoriented. I'm not going to say it was good
Speaker 1: to meet it, but I did learn something I have
Speaker 1: come to find that ghosts are fragments of a person's
Speaker 1: spirit that feel they still have something to do. Ghosts
Speaker 1: tend to see things as they were when they were
Speaker 1: alive and are often reluctant to leave. But getting even
Speaker 1: the toughest of ghosts crossover is doable with the right head,
Speaker 1: a good heart, and help from the other side. I
Speaker 1: have helped hundreds of ghosts cross over through the years,
Speaker 1: though lately I deal with fewer of them. There is
Speaker 1: often a heart wrenching or brutal story behind their death,
Speaker 1: and knowing too many details can make it difficult to
Speaker 1: stay objective, which is critical in my line of work.
Speaker 1: Some of the ghosts' history comes across as physical and
Speaker 1: emotional pain, and even though I know it's not mine,
Speaker 1: there is a limit to how much I'm able and
Speaker 1: willing to take. So I try to show love and
Speaker 1: compassion to the ghosts for what they have been through.
Speaker 1: Is doing so eliminates the conditions we were dealing with.
Speaker 1: I also try to love everyone living, though I have
Speaker 1: to admit I'm not at all good at that. One
Speaker 1: thing I've learned from the many encounters I've had is
Speaker 1: that your actions in life every good and bad deed
Speaker 1: you've ever done, every time you apologize or decided not to,
Speaker 1: every time you helped or looked the other way, all
Speaker 1: seemed to carry over in one way or another to
Speaker 1: the other side. There is a good lesson in that,
Speaker 1: try to be a good person. It may get you
Speaker 1: further in the afterlife. Warm regards, and she signs off
Speaker 1: on the email. I don't y'all may have heard me
Speaker 1: say this before, but I don't believe in ghosts. I've
Speaker 1: never seen one. I know people like this writer claim
Speaker 1: they engage them all the time, and that's fine, and
Speaker 1: that may be the truth. I've just never seen anything
Speaker 1: like this, nothing at all. And some people might say, well,
Speaker 1: you're not open to it, You're you're not clairvoyant. Is
Speaker 1: that the word clairvoyant? Anyway, I'm not a medium. I'm
Speaker 1: just stupid. And I believe in one God, one savior.
Speaker 1: That's my belief system. And I believe we're either here
Speaker 1: or there. We're either here or there, We're nowhere in between. However,
Speaker 1: this channel is and there are a lot of people
Speaker 1: in the audience who believe the same way I do.
Speaker 1: But there are a lot of people in the audience
Speaker 1: who don't and I don't have any problem with this
Speaker 1: woman's email at all. Heck, I just read it to
Speaker 1: you because it's an interesting story. I mean to me.
Speaker 1: I mean, if you just distance yourself from your belief
Speaker 1: system and open your mind to what other people experience,
Speaker 1: not accept that is the truth, but just open your
Speaker 1: mind and be willing to hear other people's experiences, they
Speaker 1: become great stories. And that's all this channel is about.
Speaker 1: So I read them all. There's been a couple that
Speaker 1: I haven't read because they were just too These are
Speaker 1: people who had really really hard childhood things going on,
Speaker 1: and it did not belong on this channel. But it
Speaker 1: had to do with ghosts, but it had to do
Speaker 1: with some terrible abuse as children, and I just could
Speaker 1: not put it on here just because it just wasn't decent.
Speaker 1: It wasn't a decent story. It's a story they need
Speaker 1: to tell a professional so that they can get help
Speaker 1: with what they're doing. But just these generic ghost stories. Heck,
Speaker 1: I learned something here. People who believe in ghosts now
Speaker 1: they believe in animal ghosts, Like animals are on the
Speaker 1: same level with humans in their mind. That's cool. I
Speaker 1: don't have any problem with that. This was a really
Speaker 1: good story and that's why it's in this podcast. So
Speaker 1: thank you very much to the writer the Ghost Doctor.
Speaker 1: It was really a good story and I appreciate it.
Speaker 1: Thank you, ma'am. Thanks again for joining me on this podcast.
Speaker 1: On your screen right now is a link that you
Speaker 1: can click to the hat Man podcast called The hat Man.
Speaker 1: Take a listen to that one. It's about thirty minutes long.
Speaker 1: It's a really really good story, fictional story by a
Speaker 1: really good author. I want you to check it out,
Speaker 1: all right, Thank you guys for listening, and we'll see
Speaker 1: you on the next one. Thanks.