Speaker 1: I was born in Tehran. At age six, my parents
moved back to my father's hometown, where he founded a
textile factory. Business was good and our family became very rich.
We stayed there for eighteen years before moving back to
the capital city of Iran. When I was twenty eight,
I decided to go back to school again to study
civil engineering. I had already graduated from the university with
a teaching degree. My success there allowed me to move
to a coastal city located in the northern part of Iran,
where I bought a two bedroom detached house. The elderly
couple who owned it before me had died in the home,
and their bodies were discovered in a bedroom. There were
signs of a struggle. The authorities determined the husband had
attacked the wife. She apparently defended herself with such fury
that she had broken bones in her hands. As an
impetuous first time homeowner, I wasn't concerned about the history
of the property. It was move in ready, and that's
all I cared about. I slept in one room while
the other was my study, and deep into the night
I was designing construction plans. In the first year of University.
If you're familiar with this type of work, you know
that it's a time consuming task that requires your full attention. Well,
I kept getting distracted by the strange sounds that were
growing in frequency. The roofs of the homes in that
area were made of wooden frames, and it's not unusual
to hear creaking noises when the temperature drops at night
and the wood contracts. But this was different. When I
heard someone knocking on the door to my study, I
wrenched it open, fully, expecting to confront an intruder. The
hallway was empty. Tapping sounds like knuckles on a tabletop
drew me into the living room, but I found no
one there. I double checked the lock on my front
door and made a quick sweep of the premises. Each
room I entered, the noises would shift to a different
part of the house, until eventually it all became a
deafening cacophony. I turned on every light in the place
and reached into my closet and pulled out a machete
that I kept on hand for self defense. I turned
to face my invisible opponent, but how do you fight air?
I gave up and ran out the front door. And
threw the front yard and into the street. It was
winter and all I had on were shorts and a
T shirt. Given that I was wielding a machete, I
must have looked like a lunatic. I ran two miles
to my friend's place and frantically beat on his front door.
Once he let me inside, I stammered incoherently about what
had just happened. He was not convinced, but he offered
me his couch for the night and promised to investigate
the situation with me in the daylight. We returned to
my house later that morning. I had left my front
door wide open and was relieved that no thieves had
taken advantage of that. We did a thorough search of
each room, and everything appeared to be untouched. My friend
offered to stay the night with me for my own
peace of mind. I was less afraid in the daylight,
so he left me there so he could go retrieve
his shotgun. Well. The day passed without incident, and we
decided to make a couple of pallets on the floor
and sleep beside each other in the living room. Once
our conversation began to drift, we both dozed off and
a loud crash like a table being upended, jarred us awake.
The barrage of noises felt like we were trapped inside
a batting cage with a demon army of baseball players.
Grab the gun, I yelled, But what am I shooting at?
My friend demanded. We surrendered the house and stumbled out
the front door. This time I slammed it shut. I
stayed away for a week, and when I went back
to grab a few clothes, my friend reluctantly agreed to
accompany me as far as the front porch, shouting through
the doorway, hurry up, or I'm not going to stay here.
In the aftermath, I suffered from nightmares. I dreamt I
was back in my house when I sent something evil
coming down the hall. It had long claws that hung
below its knees and left behind a trail of slime
as it slithered toward me. Opened my mouth to screen,
but my vocal cords wouldn't function, and I tried to move,
but my body was paralyzed, and the thing was leaning
over me, its claws poised to strike at my neck.
Well Suddenly I woke up. My friend was standing over me.
You're having another nightmare. He said, I can't stay here forever.
I told him, I need to reclaim my house. They
say spirits will continue to linger if an injustice remains unresolved,
and I suspected the deceased elderly couple who once resided
in the house still had a tale to tell. They
had been married for over fifty years. An accident had
damaged the woman's legs so severely that she had to
be helped in and out of bed. Neighbors spoke kindly
of the husband, and the couple employed no outside help,
and he remained his wife's sole caregiver. When their bodies
had been discovered, the woman was still in bed, tucked
under the blankets, with the man lying prone across her midsection.
And due to their advanced ages, it was a sin
that the stress of their alleged altercation, the evidence being
the woman's broken hands, had proved too much for the
both of them. But something caught my eye while reading
the medical examiner's report. I returned to my friend's home
that day and compiled my notes. That night, I proceeded
to my house alone. I slipped my key into the
lock and carefully opened the door, and I went directly
down the hall to my bedroom. I took a seat
and produced my notes, and I began reading them aloud.
And when I finished, I stripped down to my t
shirt and shorts, and I slipped between the covers of
my bed, and I quickly went to sleep. It was
the most fitful night of rest I'd ever had, devoid
of nightmares and the unexplained noises. As long as I
lived in the house, I never experienced either of those
things again. While trying to help his wife from her bed,
the old man had been struck down by something called
a cervical artery dissection, a stroke caused by an artery
in his neck, leaking blood. You could compare it to
the monster in my dream, whose long claws lingered with me,
powerless to do anything about it. Penned by the weight
of her dead husband on top of her, the woman
had slammed her hands repeatedly against the headboard in a
vain attempt to summon help that never arrived. Her efforts
had continued from beyond the grave. Their spirits had reached
out to me with a story full of life, too
scared to be tainted by a scandalous death. Back in
about seventy seven or seventy eight, now I'm not sure
on the year. I was spending on October weekend at
my dad and uncle's hunting camp near the south shore
of Lake Superior on the north central Upper Peninsula of Michigan.
The camp was built by my great grandfather. As usual,
there were a bunch of guys at the camp, including Dad, uncle,
and my grandfather and all their hunting partners. Of those
men were World War two, Korean War, and Vietnam War vets,
big strong, fearless outdoorsmen. Our camp includes two hundred and
fifty acres of heavily wooded and rugged land. Our neighbors
to the east and north of US owned a couple
of thousand acres, also the same type of terrain and woods.
My dad and my uncle were hosting our annual woodcutting
bee for the upcoming November deer season and winter snowshoe
hair season. The Sunday morning of the weekend was spectacular.
As usual, Grandpa had made a hearty breakfast like only
his generation could mate. I needed to walk it off
and asked Dad if I could go grouse or squirrel
hunting before we started on the wood. He gave me
two hours before I had to be back, so I
loaded up my pump shotgun, put on my orange hat,
and took off down the camp road. Back then, the
area was extremely remote, with only one country road. Our
camp was a mile down the two rut road off
the county road. I swung south of the camp road
up into the hills covered with oak, sugar maple, and poplar.
I was hoping to jump a roughed grouse or maybe
bag a couple of big gray squirrels. I had traps
the land with Dad and Grandpa often, and I knew
the lay of the land. I had a compass pin
to my hunting vest in case I got turned around.
There was no such thing as a cell phone to
call for help in those days. I was a tall,
skinny kid, probably six foot one, but I could put
miles under my feet and I still can. About halfway
into the hills, I decided to take a break in
my uncle Charlie's seat in an area we called the
big Ravine. As I sat on the side of the ravine,
I could hear something coming behind me. I swung around
in my seat and got my shot gun ready. Over
the hill came a red fox, on a dead run.
He came within twenty feet of me. I had no
desire to shoot the fox, so I just watched him
slink through the forest dappled with red, orange and yellow leaves.
I couldn't wait to tell the guys what I had seen.
I wondered what had spooped the fox, as there was
nobody around for miles or so, I thought. About twenty
minutes went by and I felt rested enough to turn
back north and walk over to a stand where I
had seen a black bear hunting recently. For about two weeks,
I'd been baiting bear with fish scraps and such, and
I obtained from a local fish mark it in town.
I figured it would be a great bear bait and
bring them in well. It worked. My intent was to
see if I needed to replenish my bait bucket hung
about six feet off the ground with more fish and snacks.
So off I went. I used another two rut road
on the property my grandpa maintained for walking. It was
quiet walking as the frost had melted off and the
leaves on the ground were damp on the road. I
walked silently to my bear stand. I knew the route
that I needed to take very well. As I walked
over the hip of a small no there my stand was,
I could see the bait bucket had been pulled down.
This was a good sign, as only a bear could
reach up and have the strength to snap the rope
the bucket was hanging from. Furthermore, I could smell something sour,
which I figured was a bear. But black bear are
nearly always nocturnal and only come out just before dark,
and they disappear before the morning dawn. Big bears get
big for this reason. As I climbed up over the
hip of the knoll, I moved silently in the damp leaves.
Then I saw something big, black and hairy over the
bucket laying on the ground. It was on all fours.
My first thought was, wholly smokes, that is a really
big bear. In broad daylight, I could hear it rummaging around,
which is probably why it had not heard me coming.
Its hair or fur was kind of shiny. I wasn't
thinking about anything but bear at that point and wished
I had more than my twenty gauge pump shotgun with me.
All of a sudden, this thing stopped what it was
doing and kind of lifted its head to look around.
I had positioned myself to shoot if I had to,
should the bear charge me. This thing was huge. I
had a good view of the backside of its head,
and I was wondering why his or her head was
shaped so pointing. It looked left and right, but was
facing away from me. If I'd had my dear rifle
with me, that would have been one dead bear. Grandpa
would have balled me out. If I had shot that
bear and hauled it back to camp, then this thing
must have sensed me, but I didn't know where I was,
maybe fifty feet away. All of a sudden, it took
off on all fours, directly away from me. What in
the world was this thing? Bears don't run like that.
I'd spend enough time in the woods to know anyway.
I was standing there in amazement until I couldn't hear
it running any longer. I wasn't the least bit scared
because I was armed, and I knew Dad and the
guys were at camp, so if I didn't show up
on time, they would come looking for me. There's no
way in anything could face those combat vets down and
live to tell about it. I started my walk back
to the camp. As my time was running out. I
had a good mile to walk and I could make
it back in time. In a quarter mile, I made
it back to the road I wanted to be on
that led back to the camp, but off to my
east in the woods, I could hear something walking parallel
with me. It would walk when I did, and it
would stop when I stopped. This went on for probably
three hundred yards. Whatever it was seemed like it was
about forty yards out from me. At one point I
stopped and squatted down to peer under the brush. I
couldn't see it. When I was about three hundred feet
from camp, I could no longer hear it. In fact,
I heard a chainsaw start up, which would have been
the guys getting ready to start cutting wood. I told
the guys what I had experienced, the fox, the funny
looking running bear, and my walk back. They listened to
me intently, but we had work to do, so the
weekend went on. I had forgotten about my experience for
years until the subject of bigfoot slash sasquatch came up
on the news more and more. I hope you share
my story. It happened just as I wrote it. I
know what I saw and I know what I experienced,
Signed Brett. All right, let's see if we can piss
a few people off in this segment of the podcast.
I have mentioned before to the greater audience of this
podcast that I get crazy emails from people you can imagine,
and I've never really gone into detail about what they say,
but I brought a couple up here just to give
you a little flavor of the kind of emails that
I get. And they make me laugh. And I'm going
to read this and kind of respond point by point
because they're so absurd it's unreal. I have another one
on my phone. It's the best one I've ever gotten,
and I can't seem to transfer it to my computer.
But I will, I will. I'll figure it out, and
I'll get it in a podcast coming up pretty soon.
But here's the first one. And this is one of
probably three hundred emails I've gotten over the years. The
writer says, I have a question for you. You seem
pretty balanced and level headed in all that I've heard
over the years. I've been a subscriber to your YouTube
and podcast for a couple of years. Thank you very much.
I appreciate you subscribing and listening, But why the fascination
with Steve Lilly? From what I gather, he's a paid
Sasquatch hit man. That is correct. I have no love
for this type of person. He's a cold blooded killer.
Or am I mistaken? The fact that you made a
channel just for him is beyond me. Are you so
desperate for ratings you promote the senseless killing of an
obviously intelligent and feeling being. Okay, you have no idea
if this creature, if it even exists, or if it's
if it does, if it's intelligent, or if it has feelings.
I'm just I'm sorry to pop your bubble there. He
goes on to write, if I'm wrong, please educate me.
I'm just curious as to your reasoning for the support
for Steve. No disrespect meant to you. I love your
podcast in videos, but do not get your fascination and
I do not get your fascination in support of Steve Lilly.
Be well, Eric h. The only thing I can tell you, Eric,
is I write those stories because I want to. How's that? Okay,
here's the next one. I have two more. Here's one, y'all.
I have a chicken. I'll stop here for just a second.
I have chickens in my office. Now, I know y'all
think that's funny, but we have been covered up with
snakes this year. The last seven days, I bet I
have pulled ten or twelve snakes out of the laying boxes.
They're not venomous snakes. They're not dangerous. They will bite you.
I've been bitting a couple of times. If I had
the camera on, i'd show you this scab on my
hand from where a snake bit me. And I need
to look up what kind of snake is. But it's
the most common snake in this little local area, at
least on my place. But they're these big snakes, and
they can fit an egg in their mouth. They can
eat chicks up to, you know, maybe a couple of
months old. And we do have some chicks, but they
haven't messed with our chicks. But they're eating the eggs.
And so now these chickens are shy of the nesting
boxes and they want to come in my office and
lay eggs. We're finding eggs everywhere in my lawnmower seed
and my tractors. See. So, if I don't know if
y'all can hear that scratching. But she's over there on
the plywood floor trying to make a nesk, and I'm
just gonna let her lay her egg there because then
that's food for me. So I'm gonna I'm gonna oblige her.
And I've got another one standing right outside the door,
kind of scoping things out so that it may get
even louder. Okay, let's go to the next email. I've
got two more emails. This woman. I think the woman's
I think it's a woman. She says, you've been honest
that you've never had any contact with these beings, and
it shows I think that's a I think that's a
cut to me. But I'm not gonna lie to you.
I've never seen any sign, never seen a bigfoot, never
seen any evidence of bigfoot. And I am a skeptic.
I've said that ever since I started this channel. But
I do love the stories on with the email. I've
listened to your readings from people and that's fine, but
I made the mistake of tuning into your Steve Lilly
series and I find it horrific and disgusting. These beings
are just like people. Some are good and some are bad.
My experience has been good, nothing like what you portrayed.
I'm a fifty seven year old Native Mississippian who never
ever thought I would experience a relationship other than with
my own family. Please stop vilifying what you know nothing about.
It only encourages people to hate and fear what they
don't know. I'm speaking from my heart, and I wish
you no ill. Well, ma'am, I wish you no ill either,
But you have no idea what these things are. We
don't even have a verified picture photograph of a bigfoot.
Now everybody will say we do, but it's not. We
don't have us. They've not been studied, they're not recognized
by any university, any wildlife agency, and you have no idea.
These things could be vicious and they could be eating
people if they exist, or they could be Harry and
the Hendersons. You don't know. But thank you for the email.
You don't have to listen to my Steve Lilly stories.
And the reason I write them is because I want to. Okay,
here's the last email, And this is part of why
I love writing. This is totally This is on the
other end of the spectrum, and this is why. Yep,
these chickens are getting real lively in here. They're ready
to lay some eggs on my floor. They're distracting me,
so I'm sorry. But here's here's a great email, and
this is just to show you. On the other end,
I get way more of these than I get the
negative emails. I just think the negative emails are so ludicrous.
But here's what the man writes, my father, staff sergeant.
He gives his name. I'm not gonna I'm not gonna
say his name. But they're from Detroit and he served
in the Marine Corps during Vietnam. He was in six
years of combat and he passed away on April eighteen,
twenty twenty two. I wanted you to know how much
you're show meant to us. His PTSD could get the
best of him most days, but your shows with Steve
Lily always brought a smile to his face and gave
us hours of conversations during his final months on Earth.
Sometimes the conversations were hard to come by on my
weekly visits with him, but when a Steve Lily episode
was published, our weekend conversations were long and winded. And
I can't thank you enough for the good times you
gave me with my father towards the end, and I'm
forever grateful to you and your podcast. And he says,
I'm a fan for life, Kevin. Kevin, this is you know,
to get to get an email like this, to actually
impress with my crazy, weird imagination with Steve Lily, to
impress a staff sergeant who served in the Marine Corps
in combat for six years in Vietnam, one of the
hardest wards I think our men ever had to fight.
That means more to me than anything. This man has credit,
he has life experience, He knows what life is about.
He knows, he knows so much more, has so much
more wisdom than any of us. And he got a
kick out of the Steve Lilly stories. And that's all. Therefore,
they're just for you to laugh at, for you to
enjoy the action. I know they get violent, but that's
part of life. This marine knows that. So that's why
I write these and so and I'm going to keep
writing them. And the reason I write them is I
can add one more reason I write these other than
because I want to, is that people like this enjoy them.
There's a lot of people who enjoy them, and so
I'm just going to keep writing them. You don't have
to listen to them. So all that to say, I
just wanted to give you a little taste to some
of the emails. And if I can find that really,
really you're a crazy one and get it up on
my screen on my computer, I'll read it to you.
But just to give you a little taste of some
of the people out there and the things that bother them.
I mainly just want to say, just listen to the
story or not move on with your life. If you
don't have to spend that much time thinking about this.
Steve Lily is not worth that much depth of thought,
it really is it. It's just a silly set of
stories about a crazy guy in his crew from Memphis.
It's all fiction. None of it is real. It's not
modeled after anybody. The stories are not made to cut
into anybody else's yard. It's all just for fun. So
I hope you enjoy it.