Speaker 1: Many years ago, we moved into what was technically called
the last house on the left, at the end of
a long road. Although this has nothing to do with
the story. When we moved in, previous tenants warned us
that odd things would happen there. Well we didn't believe
him at first, but our disbelief was short lived. It
began with my four year old daughter screaming at something
she had seen in the living room. She said it
was a black cloud that had crossed the room and
disappeared into a corner. At the time, we dismissed it,
but a few days later, when my wife's sister came
for a visit, she watched in horror as that same
black cloud reappeared from the same corner and enveloped her
two little girls. Later that same day, my wife saw
that same cloud come from the corner and wrap itself
around her. She described it as suffocating. It was hot
and smelling of sulfur and burning meat. The clouds seemed
to manifest itself around only women and girls. Fortunately for
my sons, that did not mean that males were spared
from the haunting. The house was built into the side
of a hill, with the front door on the west
and it opened onto the second floor, where the living
room and dining room, and kitchen and bathroom were The
door on the east side of the house opened onto
the first floor, where the bedrooms and laundry room were located.
The front door always squeaked loudly, and no amount of
w D forty graphite or silicone jail would make it quiet.
One night, the boys aged eight and six, heard the
front door open, so they went to investigate, and in
the open front door they saw an odd green mist
and when they approached the door to see from where
the glow was originating, it vanished. My younger son was
the one who discovered the specter's aversion to pleasant smells.
My wife would set out store bought air fresheners, but
this was useless. Once the room was vacated, the fresheners
would be closed. My younger son pointed this out, as
well as the fact that the scented candles we used
would extinguish themselves when the room was empty. My older
boy was beset with his own terror. Frequently he would
awaken in his bottom bunk to find a horrific contorted
face shrieking at him. It was an aged and wrinkled
face of uncertain gender. He would also learn to put
away his toys. One night, he was roused from asleep
by the sound of his toys moving around on the floor.
He opened his eyes to see a small black being
moving his trucks, warships, and cars against the door, as
if to barricaded from entry. As soon as they realized
he was watching them, they turned and began climbing the covers,
trying to get at him. He screamed, and I came
running to find him clinging to the bottom boards of
his brother's approl bunk. Until now I had seen nothing,
so I was still somewhat skeptical of all these stories.
But that was about to change. We were asleep downstairs
and I was dreaming. In my dream, I walked into
our bedroom, but there was no bedroom furniture there. It
was furnished as the living room, and on the sofa
sat the most beautiful, redheaded woman I had ever seen.
My wife, beautiful in her own right, was a brunette.
But in this dream I knew the redhead was my wife.
She was crying. She turned and looked at me through
black and tear filled, frightened eyes. And I should have
felt pity for this woman, but I felt only rage.
She cowered into an arm of the sofa, and I
started toward her to continue the beating. I knew she deserved.
I heard a voice and realize that the dream had
been silent up to that point. Somehow I knew this
was because my wife was deaf. The voice had come
from my six year old. I turned and saw my
real life son standing in the doorway, wearing clothes I
had never seen before. He was wearing black pants and
a long sleeved red pullover. He was soaking wet from
head to toe, and his skin was ashen and lifeless.
And again I felt no love for my family, only
a burning rage. The boy looked up at me and
said Dad. He too had a look of abject fear
in his eyes, but he continued. Dad helped me. I
turned to him, and with an uncontrolled fury, I raised
my fist and struck the child square in the face.
I sat up in bed, suddenly awakened. My wife was
awake beside me, screaming, what the heck, Oh, what's that?
I realized that there was a fight going on in
the living room above my head. Two men were yelling
at each other, throwing around furniture and breaking glass. I
jumped from my bed and ran upstairs, and as my
foot fell on the carpeted hallway of the second story,
it went silent. No one was there. The windows were intact,
the furniture was upright, nothing was out of place. But
the door stood open, shrouded in an iridescent green glow.
I walked over and looked out onto the darkened street.
There was nothing. Everything was quiet. Fallen autumn leaves swirled
in the cool night's breeze. And I returned to my
wife and climbed into bed and waited with her in
silence for the dawn. And dawn did come, and as
it happened, it was October the thirty first. I stood
on my front porch, drinking my coffee and trying to
rash my dream. And then I heard it. A chill
locked my spine as I heard my six year old
son say, Dad, afraid. I turned and looked down the
hill to where my son was crouched down doing something.
Dad help me, he said. I approached to see that
he was using a stick to try to dig something
out of the ground. It was a strip of black corduroy.
I've been down to help him, but pulled him away
when I saw a flash of yellow bone and I
grabbed him and ran into the house. The police came
and dug up the remains of a little boy. He
was six when he died, and he was wearing black
corduroy pants and a long sleeved red pullover shirt. My
brother is now a detective with the local police department,
and although they have a lengthy file on the boy's father,
they remain unable to locate him or his beautiful, deaf,
redheaded wife. In November and December of twenty eighteen, my
husband and I were moving into our new home in
a small town in Ohio. Our new neighborhood was comprised
of mostly small homes with a lot of wooded lots
mixed in beyond. Our neighborhood was all countryside and woods.
There's a steel mill not far from us, and there
were power lines and a railroad track fairly close. We
were excited to move into our new, smaller house in
a different city. We were retired and looking forward to
the fun times ahead. My husband would stay at the
old house packing things up, sometimes overnight while I was
at the new one unpacking. Our house sits on a
corner lot with a motion activated security light over the garage.
With our neighbor's garage running alongside our driveway, we have
the feeling of extra privacy. We were happy to get that.
We have neighbors all around us, but everyone minds their business.
We watch out for each other, but not to the
point of being annoying. Right away, I began to hear
taps on the windows in the side of the house,
and sometimes I'd smell something awful. But I attributed all
of this to nerves from being in the new house
alone at night. Sometimes the security light would flash on
and off as well, But again I told myself I
just needed to get used to living in the new place.
One night, my husband had brought home another load from
the old house. He'd loaded some of it up, but
we were exhausted, so we decided to go to bed
and finish up the next morning. We drifted off to
sleep pretty quick. Suddenly we were woken up by what
felt like a car being driven into the side of
the house. The whole place seemed to shake. It was
so loud, and we could smell a terrible odor. We
shot up in bed, wondering what the world had just happened.
My husband ran outside to look around, but we didn't
see anything. There wasn't even any damage to the house.
The odor grew fainter after a few minutes, but nothing
else happened. He decided to stay an extra day after
that to make sure everything was okay. Except for the odor.
Nothing else happened. Our tiny dog would not go outside
at night. Instead, he would bark and stare, and then
there was that smell. Every night, that awful odor would
come back. I still shake thinking about it. I was
glad when my husband finally brought the last load and
was home for good. For a while, the only thing
that was strange was the odor, and I refused to
go in the kitchen at night because the odor seemed
to follow wherever I went. It was like nothing I
had ever smelled before. It was indescribable. There was one
night when I thought I heard a tornado siren going off,
but there were no weather reports or any storms at
all that night. Things began to quiet down after that,
except for the occasional slap on the side of the
house or the roof. If I was in the shower.
Then came the night of the first ground covering snow.
Our curtains were open as my husband and I sat
on the couch watching a DVD. I noticed the security
light was flipping on and off. My husband was sure
it was being caused by the snow. I joked with
him that maybe someone was playing peekaboo around the neighbor's garage.
And then I saw a big shadow darting back and forth,
but I put it off to my imagination. After a while,
it stopped and we went back to watching our movie.
A little after eleven, I nearly jumped out of my
skin when I heard a loud knock on our side
of the door that faced the neighbor's garage. It caught
me off guard. It was two policemen asking if I
had seen anything. A neighbor had reported that something big,
not someone, something was watching our house from beside the garage.
My husband was unloading some things. I told them, well, no, ma'am,
it wasn't him. They said, well, he's the only one
who's been out there. I explained, no, it wasn't him.
The officers repeated, but you've never even met him, I pointed, out.
They laughed and said that he would not match the description. Well,
what is the description, I asked. They laughed and said
they'd followed tracks around the neighbor's garage that went through
our backyard and we needed to look. And then they
asked if I was sure I had not seen anything. Well,
I told him about the security light going on and off,
but I left off the rest. Again, they said we
needed to look at the tracks in our back lot,
and then they said that we should be sure that
our trash is secure because of bears, and then they left.
I asked my husband to go out into the backyard
and look at those tracks, and when he came in,
he was white as a sheet and he said he'd
never seen anything like it. He said it was like
barefoot footprints in the snow, except they were really large.
It wasn't until we heard your show and we looked
up Prince that he said that that's what they looked like.
They were eighteen inches long and they were barefooted. Everything
fit the tracks, the horrible odor, everything. Did we see anything, Well,
I did see a shadow, but it was a very
large shadow. And I wonder still if my eyes were
playing tricks on me. It was snowing hard that night,
But what about the slaps on the side of the
house and the roof. What about the car that hit
the house but left no damage, And how about those
tracks and that? And why did my dog act so strange?
We still don't know which neighbor called the cops that night,
only two houses or positioned so that they could have
seen anything. We only had a few slaps this year,
but still a shake. Just writing this, I just wanted
to tell someone who wouldn't think I'm crazy. And by
the way, we google bear sidings in our area and
there are no bears here. Back in the early nineties,
when I was a twenty something young buck, two buddies
and I ran a huge plant nursery and after work
we did some landscaping with the plants that we sold
all day. I had a brand new truck and apartment
and life was good. The nursery was owned by an
old man named k C. K C's brother was a
distinguished attorney and had been elected mayor. K C, on
the other hand, was a foul mouthed school bus driver
who happened to own his own nursery. These two brothers
were polar opposites. That's small town Georgia for you. Kse
raked in the cash and we ran the place from
top to bottom. The nursery was located behind his house
on a steep grade heading down to the woods. We
grew and sold every plant that would grow in Georgia.
We actually built the whole growing area for him. We
cut steps in the side of that hill, and we
built growing beds with old railroad ties. And for all
our hard work, Kse paid us well and he gave
us full run of the place. It was a big
plot of land, and not all of it was used
for the nursery. We were also allowed to hunt on
his property. A half mile into the woods. I built
a camo treehouse to hunt from. It was located on
a great spot where two trails converged, and I had
a large killing field when the deer showed up. It
was four feet by eight feet with a roof on it.
It was a comfortable place to spend a day honting.
I was in the stand before daylight on a cold
Sunday morning. A twelve point buck had come through a
time or two, but I never had a good shot
at him. Shortly after daylight I heard movement in the
distance of an animal of some weight. It was my buck,
or that is what I thought it was, coming towards me,
so I settled in to stay completely still. It was strange, though,
because the woods had gone completely silent, other than this
animal coming towards me with each step. That should have
been a clue to me, but I was young and dumb.
I knew a bigfoot, but to me it was something
in the Pacific Northwest, if it existed at all. Two
hundred yards away, I began to see the trees parting.
They were getting knocked down pretty good, and the racket.
I thought this had to be one of three things.
It was either a man, a big hog, or a bear.
We have bears here, but no one ever sees them. However,
one bear made front page news in the local paper
after it was found digging in a dumpster behind a
Captain D's. But that was a while back. I kept
waiting and wondering what in the world could make so
much racket and push trees around like that. My treehouse
stand was well camouflaged. It was enclosed, and it was
spray painted camo. Camo net was all over it, and
plenty of limbs and piled up brush stuck to it.
It had shooting slides on all four sides. By this time,
I figured that whatever was heading my way was not
a deer. If it was a man, he was about
to catch an earfull from me. On three sides. It
was a pretty steep hill that opens up into a
pretty good sized bear area. It was a perfect kill
zone with two game trails that ran right through it.
The thing or the guy I kept coming, and by
this time the sun was out good and I could
see better. It was finally at the bottom of the
hill where I sat, and from my vantage point I
could see the top of its head. I thought he
was wearing a brown sock cap. His dark face was
now visible, and I figured it was one of the
neighbors who lived close by. I looked closer, and with
the light now different on his face, I realized it
was not one of our black neighbors. He wasn't black
at all. It was the tan color of an old
baseball glove. None of this made sense, and I began
to get worried. I should have raised my rifle to
look through the scope, but I never thought about that.
I would have been able to see what this thing
was a few minutes earlier, but now I could see
it clearly, and it was close. It was covered with long,
shaggy hair, except on its knees and its face. There
were areas on its hide where the hair was missing.
It made me think it had a disease like a
dog gets mange. It was maybe seven feet tall and
three feet wide at the shoulders. This was a monster.
I have never seen anything move with so little effort
through the woods and brush. It was like he was gliding,
and he was making good time. Now he was only
twenty yards in front of me, and I could see
everything now, and I was terrified. He was almost beneath me.
I thought he would hear my heart pounding. But in
the middle of all this, somehow my fear turned to
amazement and curiosity, and I thought that I might be
experiencing the best sighting anyone has ever had of a
big foot. And I was getting away with it. I
was recording all of the things about his appearance in
my mind, and I would soon take notes when I
got back to my truck. But then things changed. He
stopped right under me. He tilted his head back, and
he began sniffing the air. He moved around a bit
below me, and I heard something hit the bottom of
the tree stand. I think he knocked his head on it,
and it annoyed him. I actually almost laughed, but I
knew better. I was still well hidden and ten feet
above him. He started getting froggy on me, and he
came out from under the stand. He went down on
all fours and he scanned the area slowly and methodically.
It was like he was taking in every branch and shrub.
He was swaying back and forth, kicking dirt and leaves,
and seemingly getting more angry by the minute. I was
praying that he wasn't looking for me, and I was
praying that it wasn't me that was making him angry.
I backed away from the shooting hole, and I could
only hear him now. The tree stand has a rope
ladder that I had already pulled up long ago. He
wasn't going to climb up, but I still didn't feel secure.
The roar of this thing let out was something I
can't begin to describe. It shook the entire hill. Trees
seemed to sway and vibrate. It sounded like his lungs
were the size of a Volkswagen, and it paralyzed me.
I felt like both ear drums were gonna blow out.
And I'm embarrassed to say it, but I peed in
my pants. Make fun of me if you want, but
I dare you to hear this from fifteen feet away.
You might do the same thing. And I could hear
him moving around below. One minute, he was in front,
and then he was behind me. I think he was
looking for me. I know he was. I raised up
to the shooting slot and I could see him circling
the stand. Half the time he was on two legs,
and then he would drop down to all fours. It
was just so strange. Finally, his head snapped around and
he looked right at me. He had found what he
was looking for. He was at the base of the tree.
Now what I thought was a unique vantage point to
observe an unknown creature was now a life or death situation.
I eased back away from the slat and I flipped
the safety off my thirty six, and then the thing
started to climb. I quickly moved back to the slat
and I looked out and I saw its hand gripping
one of the trees my stand was framed to It
was only a foot or so below me, and I
was panicking. I'll be honest, but in the middle of
the terror, I remembered the forty five ACP I carried
on my hip. I pulled it from the hoster and
was about to start shooting through the floor to stop
this thing. I really had no choice. It was going
to jerk me out of that stand and it was
going to kill me. Both hands on the forty five.
I started to pull the trigger and I hesitated because
I felt like it had stopped climbing. I could still
hear the noises on the other side of that plywood,
but the thing had stopped. I released the pressure on
the trigger and I waited. Clicking noises came from the
woods out in front of me. The noises were loud.
Nothing in the woods sounds like that. Then a loud whistle,
and then more clicking. There was another one close by,
and my fear doubled. There was no way out of this,
but the creature hanging under me let go and he
dropped to the ground. I heard it. I raised my
head to look out, and I could see it running
towards the clicking sounds, and then it was gone. I
never saw the other one, and after that I never
saw my guy again, and then the woods went quiet.
I often wonder what happened that day. Did the second
one have pity on me? Was its mate or parents
scolding the big male that had me located? I eventually
stopped guessing, and I went on with my life, and
I was thankful that it worked in my favor. I
didn't tell a soul for ten years, and finally confiding
in my wife and my best friend when the Bigfoot
shows became popular on TV. I don't know if they
believe me. Still, these bigfoot are real, and some of
these bigfoot hunters are in for a big surprise if
they ever find one. They aren't cuddly koala bears. These
things are intelligent. They're fast enough to catch you, and
they're strong enough to kill you in a split second.
We're dealing with some form of human, whether it's a relic,
a hybrid, or something never discovered. It's a part of
the human family tree. I think one day DNA will
prove this. These creatures are not apes. I believe hundreds
of years ago there were probably more of them here
is a description of the bigfoot that I saw. It
was at least ten feet tall. It hit its head
on the bottom of my shooting platform. From the ground
to the floor is nine foot eight inches. The skin
on its face was a tan color and it was leathery.
Its hair was mainly deep red and brown, with patches
of hair missing. There were, however, dark patches here and there,
and it gave it an almost brindle color. The hair
on its head seemed long and appeared similar to dreadlocks.
The hands looked human, and they were tipped with black nails,
but three times the size of my hands. Its eyes
were a hazel color with a tint of green. The
nose seemed flatter to its face than a human nose,
but it also had a roman shape that ended with
a pronounced tip. It was handsome in a strange way.
The lower jaw protruded a bit, and above its eyes
was a heavy protruding brow. There was virtually no neck,
and the ears looked human except for the color. And last,
there was a feature over all about this creature that
looked as if his face vaguely resembled a human with
down syndrome. I cannot explain it but I came away
with that sense. Thank you for reading my encounter. It
is all one hundred percent true, Signed Christopher