Archive 132 Bigfoot and Paranormal

insects were singing. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until all the noise from the nearby wildlife stopped. I noticed it right away. At that moment, I was ankled deep in the water and mud. I stopped looking for animals, and I tried to take it all in. It was like the moon of that place went dark and time slowed down. But I couldn't figure out why. My dog moved around in front of me, looking at a huge oak tree across the fence. We both stared at it

for a minute. Maybe he knew what was there, but I couldn't see anything. When you look at something long enough, shapes began to form, and I saw what looked like a man hiding behind the tree, maybe the outline of his shoulder and a leg. My dog began to growl. Something was there. I caught a whiff of a strange odor that I mistook for the mud I was standing in walk around in a muddy pond, and all sorts of smells boil up, but this odor was different. I

walked towards the tree to sea better. At this point, I was only fifteen or twenty yards away from the tree, I saw a hand wrap around a branch that was six feet above the ground. I've never seen anything like It looked like an FX effect from a horror movie. I expected to see its face peak around the trunk because the way it was moving was like it wanted to look at me, but it never did. I just stared at that hand. I couldn't take my eyes off of it. The skin was dark gray, with dark brown,

almost black hair covering all but the fingers. The nails were long and black. They actually looked perfectly groomed from that distance, but I'm sure they weren't. The nails looked like a woman's nails after she has had a manicure. They were long and symmetrical, and the knuckles were oversized and obvious. But one thing I knew for sure, I did not want those hands on me. Its hands were giant, and it could have completely covered my eight year old head.

Something cracked in the brush grown up around the tree, and my dog left me sprinting straight to the house a quarter mile away. I was right behind him, running hard and barefoot through that field. I made it home in record time. I never told my folks what I saw. I probably should have. I was eight years old and I didn't know what to do. Later in years, I told one of my friends, and he believes me. He has had an encounter himself. I also confided in my wife.

She thinks I'm crazy. I know what I saw. I'm now twenty two years old, and I've had one more encounter since then. I'll send that at another time. Thanks for telling my story. I know I can't spell worth the crap. Dyslexia is my enemy. Oh man, uh No, I can't spell worth the crap either. I mean sometimes I even put marquees on these videos and I spell the word wrong. I should do a spell check, I guess, but I don't know. I get a little impatient, and it looks good to me, so I'll let it fly

in dyslexia. Dude, you wrote a good story. I fixed it up for you. That was a couple of things I didn't understand, but I got it straight. So it's a good story. And uh, I know Batesville. I've got my family has a place over there, close to Grier's Ferry go through Braatesville every time we go over there.

Love that racetrack over there in Batesville. I've never been to a racetrack, but I like driving by it, and every time I drive by it, I think I'm gonna go to the races here one summer, but I never have been able to. But anyways, a great story. And dude, if you get a minute to write that other encounter, make sure and send it to me. All right, I appreciate it. Let's go to the next one. Okay, this story is a paranormal story. I don't know if it's true.

I think it's probably not, but it's a damn good story. So you know the drill, put that chin strap on your twope, glue your dentures in because this is a good one. All right, Let's get going with it. In nineteen eighty five, I was traveling in the northwest part of Utah. I was dozing off behind the wheel, so I opted to pull into a hotel motel for the night. After I flipped the mattress over for a quick bedbug check and search the fixtures for video cameras. You never

know about these out of the way places. I flopped down on the bed. For whatever reason, I couldn't get the television to work, so I gave up and thumbed through a small stack of magazines on the nightstand. An article caught my eye about an old silver mining town. It stated that a theater company was willing to pay for new hires to serve as re enactors portraying characters from the Old West for tourists. With visions of the movie westwarld in my head. I tore out the article

and shoved it in my duffel bag. What did I care? I thought might be fun to step out of my boring life for a while to pretend to be someone else. After several weeks of phone calls and background checks, I was offered to job as a saloon of pharaoh dealer. When I arrived, I noted how exact a replica of the place was of an old West town. It was overrun with tourists, but you could easily tell who the

workers were by their old fashioned dress. All I was dressed for my part, looking like Hugh O'Brien's character in the John Wayne movie The Shootest. I tried to copy Hugh O'Brien's cocky arrogance, but thankfully I never had to defend myself against any soret of losers that lost at my pharaoh table. The tourists thought my act was a hoop, and it was all in good fun. Once we closed, my other duties involved making the rounds and securing the

place for the night. Late one evening, I decided to stay and enjoy the solitude of the mountains in the background and the starry skies above. I found myself back at the saloon with nothing to do, so I sat at my table and began to practice some new card moves. There was no smoking loud on the premises, but the air began to fill with the smell of burning tobacco. Now I thought my coworkers were pulling a joke, or that a couple of stray tourists had trespassed onto the

place after hours. There was a distinct sound of boot shuffling, as if a crowd of invisible line dancers had suddenly taken the floor. Well. My heart jumped into my mouth when a player piano roared into life and began pumping out a saloon worthy rendition of Camptown Ladies. I found myself face to face with a trio of reenactors, one portraying a cowboy and two playing miners. They pulled out chairs at my table and they sat down. Why didn't

recognize them? What did you guys start working here? I asked, Are you going to deal the cards? Just sit there? One of the miners demanded, someone is having a big laugh at my expense, I thought, so I played along and off the first hand. The three bellowed for drinks. An actress playing a pretty saloon girl who I didn't recognize, brought over a tray and set it off to the side. The three men down their booze in one gulp and

turned their attention back to the game. By then the bar was filled and every patron was dressed in period clothing, as was I all night long. The cowboy had been losing badly. He made a derogatory remark about my Faroh dealing skills. Thinking this was all play acting, I summoned my inner Hugh Bryan, and I told him, you have two ways of leaving this establishment, my friend immediately or dead. Like Hugh Brian's character. I love watching a beaten man

leave the room. The cowboy shuffled dejectedly across the bar and made his exit through the swinging doors look out. Someone yelled A few seconds later as the entire place dove for cover. The cowboy reappeared in the doorway brandishing a gun. I heard his blank cartridge whizz by me as I instinctively raised my own gun and took him down with one shot to the heart. The cheer went up throughout the bar as a couple of patrons dragged

the cowboy's body out the exit. I holistered my pistol and continued the game, And in that moment I really was Hugh Bryan, and all the characters in the saloon feared and respected me. I told the two actors playing the miners that I was shutting down the Faroh table for the night. They chose not to complain and passively

made their way out the exit. I assumed the other staff in the bar, detracted by their partying, would close up, so I made my way out, and as my boots kicked up the dirt, I thought I saw someone sleeping on a bench in front of the General's store. It was the cowboy I had pretended to shoot. Wake up, I said, as I nudged him, Except he wasn't asleep. I noted the dry blood across his chest. I turned and ran back to the saloon to summon help. I could hear the player piano, but as I entered I

saw the place was deserted. The gravity of the situation was dawning on me that I had just shot and killed a man in front of a saloon full of eye witnesses who had suddenly vanished. I rushed back to the general store, thinking I could still help the cowboy if it wasn't too late. But he had gone missing, too, had my fellow re enactors removed the body. I checked the blanks in my colt and counted five still in the cylinder. There were two unaccounted for mine and his.

I searched every inch of that saloon and couldntfideen neither had someone found the spent cartridges and taken those two somewhere in panic had occurred to me that I was being prank. You can't kill people across the room firing only blanks, and dead bodies don't go missing, and large groups of rowdy bar patrons don't disappear without a trace. The next day, I took my coworkers to task, congratulating them on pulling off such an elaborate hoax. No one

seemed to know what I was talking about. A few humored be enough to listen as I recounted the events from the night before. You say you heard music coming from this piano, asked one of them. He swept his hand down the keyboard, but the instrument produced no sound. This piano doesn't have hammers, he continued. It's a prop. Well, I shook my head. I'm starting to feel somewhere between

foolish and possibly insane. You know your characters based on a real guy, he added, I had assumed there was no history behind any of the people that we were supposed to be portraying. Some cowboy drifter didn't like his cards, so he and the pharaoh dealer got into it. Continued the co worker the Pharaoh Dealer shot him dead. The next night, a gang of cowboys rode into town and took care of the Pharaoh Dealer. You want to hang

around and see what happens to your character tonight? They all started laughing at my so called ghost story, real or imagine? I knew I was know Hugh O'Brien. It was boring old me that removed my gun belt and bid my farewells and got the hell out of dodge. I live in a small town in north Mississippi, right below the Tennessee state line in Benton County. This person is my neighbor, one county over. In two thousand and nine, I was going through a nasty divorce and a custody battle.

My one year old daughter and I had to move in with my parents. They own thirty eight and after all of us kids moved out, they converted the barn into a two bedroom cabin. Growing up, I always had a weird feeling that I couldn't explain when I would be in the barn alone feeding or messing with the horses, even though I never had any paranormal experiences. My daughter slept in a pack and play because I was unable to bring her crip with us when we had to

leave our former home. Around three thirty am on this particular night, I was in that state where you're asleep but still kind of aware of what's going on around you, and I heard a voice say, she's waking up. Opened my eyes and I saw two little twin girl ghosts who looked to be around eight years old. They wore antique dresses and their hair was fixed in ringlet curls, just like a pair of Victorian porcelain dolls. Both of them were sitting in front of the pack and play

with their legs crossed, looking at my daughter. They must have realized they were being watched by me as they took flight and exited the room. It felt like all the energy left with them. My daughter slept through the hole encounter, but I was so scared that I just laid there wide away. I never believed in ghosts until that night. I don't think they had any ill intent. I got the feeling that they were behaving like normal

girls around that age, fascinated by the baby. My parents still continued to experience paranormal activity in the house, though none of the spirits appeared to be menacing or threatening. My mother witnessed the ghost of a little boy dressed in Civil War era clothing and swore as she detected the scent of a woman's perfume in the hallway. And my sister once saw the figure of a man dressed in cowboy clothing. She said he seemed more interested in

tending to his chores than bothering with her. There's a dark history to the place. It was once burnt to the ground during the Civil War and rebuilt on the same site. There were rumors of a family with three small children buried nearby and on mark graves. It was assumed that they were bystanders caught in the bloodshed. It's all kind of tragic when you think about it. A farm family innocently going about their business until the war ended up at their front door. And that's the end

of that story. But you know, during the Civil War where I live, when the Union forces came through here, they burned in everything, courthouses, churches. You can look at the historical markers on almost every courthouse in every county in at least north of Mississippi, I'm guessing North Alabama and Georgia. It'll say that This courthouse was burned down during the Civil War and rebuilt in eighteen eighty nine

or eighteen seventy six during the Reconstruction period. But none of it was pleasant for people in the Southern States. And nothing about the war was easy. It wasn't just hard, it was. It was much harder on the soldiers, but nothing was easy for the whole population down here. And some people may say, well, they deserved it, blah blah blah. I'm not saying whether they deserved it or not. I'm just saying that's a fact. It just wasn't easy living

for people. And a lot of our customs and a lot of our food and a lot of our language and the things that the way we live in the Southern States are marked by that era. And I don't know, it just came to mind with this story. I've read a lot about the Reconstruction era, and from customs to food to in the post slave culture and everything. It's real interesting stuff. And you kind of find out why people like I found out why my grandparents ate like they did that. I'll just tell you a little story.

I remember my grandmother and this is probably from the reconstruction area posts Civil war and from living through the Great Depression. But she would cook a batch of biscuits, and those biscuits would sit on her stove out in the open for a week until they were all gone. Now today, if we cook a dozen biscuits and you eat six, you just throw the rest of them away, or you give the rest to the dogs, or you throw we throw them out to the chickens. But they came up in an era where you did not waste

an ounce of food. You just didn't waste it. You kept it and you would eat on it all week. And if you threw throwing something out that was edible was just absolutely unheard of. And my grandparents wound up in real good shape later in their life. But they were born and raised and came up through the Great Depression by people who were raising families during that time, and that's how they came about those customs, and they never let go of them. I just think that's so

fascinating to me. I'm running this story kind of long. I'm going off on a tangent like I do sometimes when I get talking. But it's interesting stuff, and I don't take any particular pride in it. I don't take I don't look down on it, even though I'm Southern born and I've lived here all my life. These are just interesting facts about humanity that really consume me. I love reading about why we do what we do. It's

interesting stuff. Okay, let's go to another story. I moved to Parker County, Texas two years ago with my wife and our three dogs. The property that we purchased and currently live on is five acres and it's located outside of Springtown. The property is surrounded by others similar sized properties, but there are large wooded sections. The back three acres is open to the neighbor that borders me to the west, and they have a thick scrub brush on the back

side of their property. The metal barn that was here when we bought the place sits twenty feet from the property line and eighty feet from our back door. Now, I tell you all of this so that you can get a mental image of how everything is positioned on the property. When we first moved in during the summer of twenty twenty one, we were excited to start some projects and make our place our own. After picking up one thousand pounds of scrap metal and giving the pasture

a good bush hogging. The back acreage was looking a lot better than it had when we first moved in. We made a plan to move my wife's horse from her grandmother's property to ours once I fixed the fence that ran down the western property line. One June evening, after it all cooled down, I started making the necessary repair to the fence when I heard something moving around in the brush fifteen yards in front of me. Now it sounded like a large animal trying to be quiet

but failing miserably. I wasn't concerned, since this part of Texas has deer and hogs and other wild game, and that's what could have been making the noises. Thirty minutes into this episode, with on and off breaking of sticks and crunching leaves, I started to feel uneasy, like something was looking right at me or through me. I'm a big man six foot four and three hundred and twenty five pounds, and having hunted the woods and swamps of Mississippi all my life, there's not much that has raised

the hair on the back of my neck. But even so, something had my nerves on edge. So I quickly finished the work and walked back to the house. At a fast pace. After getting into the house and shaking off the feeling of being watched, I turned on the baseball game and I was able to rely. Later on, my wife reminded me that she had to go out of town for the next few days for work, and she asked about the fence, and I told her that I would have it completed, but I didn't mention the incident

that made me nervous. She asked me if I could clean out the barn while she was gone as well. Well. Naturally, I waited until the last day before my wife came home to start this work. There was no electricity running to the barn, just a floodlight on a pole pointing toward the south entrance, so I had to get everything cleaned out during the day while filling my truck bed up with old water hoses and boxes of bucks and newspapers. From no telling how long, I worked my way toward

the northwest corner of the barn. That's when I started to notice a rancid smell. The closer I got to that corner. After finally getting the wall of boxes cleared out, I found the source of the smell. There were old horse blankets covered in gore in what looked to be an old deer carcass. Well. I thought it was strange, but stray dogs in codies are opportunistic, and if no one is bothering them, I guessed that they would take

up shelter in the barn. Well. I gagged a few times at the smell, and I managed to get all the terrible smelling horse blankets in the bed of my truck and on the way to the county dump. And when I got back home that evening, I got cleaned up and I let the dogs out to use the bathroom and get some exercise. It was about thirty minutes before dusk, and that uneasy feeling that I had of being watched hit me again. I wasn't the only one that had an immediate feeling of eyes peering at me

from somewhere. All of my dogs were on alert. They were looking over toward the barn. The biggest of these dogs is one hundred and twenty pound Great Pyrenees Retriever mix. He was a real protective dog, but he was frozen in that spot, rowling, and his hackles were raised. I gathered myself and got the dogs back inside, and I still couldn't shake the feeling that there was something glaring

at me through the windows. The thought crossed my mind that there might be a big cat in the area, even though the game warns will tell you that there aren't. But I hadn't seen any tracks or signs. So after closing all the blinds, I felt a little better. But that was until about nine thirty when I heard my

neighbor's dog raising hell. Against my better judgment, I went to the gun safe and got out my three hundred blackout AR fifteen, and I racked around in the chamber and I flipped on the weapon mounted light and I stepped out the back door. The instant that I pointed the light toward the barn, there was an ear piercing howl or growl that vibrated in my chest. Now I'm not a believer in encryptids or that UFO stuff, So I started walking toward the barn with my muscle trained

on the entrance. I had only made it ten steps before this, well, it was this thing. It jumped into the beam of my light just inside the barn doors. So I froze in my tracks out of sheer disbelief. This beast was standing on its hind legs with its front arms hanging down just above its knees, and it was black. It's blacker and dark. The next thing I noticed was the claws on the end of the raccoon like hands that glistened in my light. They looked long

and dangerous. I slowly raised my rifle, working that light up the creature, and I saw the ugliest canine face that I've ever seen in my life, thick, vicious drool that hung from its yellow, jagged teeth, and suddenly it looked like the edges of its mouth had turned up in some sort of a twisted grin. Its eyes reflected green from the light. I had no idea what I was looking at, but I knew that thirty rounds of three hundred blackout probably wasn't enough to take it down

Before it got to me. I got lucky, and it turned and with one fluid motion, it jumped over the backset of barn doors and started running into the night. From the time the creature jumped into the light, from the time it suddenly turned away and bounded over the back barn doors and ran off, crashing through the brush, may have been a total of thirty seconds. I got a good enough look at it to know that I was keeping my gun loaded, in lights on, and my

doors locked that night. The next morning, I went out and measured where I thought the height of the beast was. My best guess was that it was seven foot tall, and the barn doors that cleared without effort were even with my chin. Now I found large canine style prints all over the dirt floor of the barn. My wife came home later that day, and I chose not to tell her about any of the events that happened the

night before. It has been almost two years since that night, and I haven't seen her or felt the presence of anything on or around our property since. My best guess is that the thing had been staying in the barn while the previous owners had been gone, and I disturbed it by cleaning everything up. Hopefully I never have another encounter with anything like this again. Oh man, Hopefully you don't. And you're going to catch some flight from the audience

for not telling your wife. And there's a lot of stories that guys will say that they'll say, oh, I saw this monster, but I never told my wife about it. It was on our property it was close to the house, but I never told my wife about it. You know, honestly, I might not tell my wife because I know that it would scare her to death. She probably wouldn't want to live here. So I get it, and I almost support what you're doing. If you hadn't had any problem,

that's a good deal. But you're going to catch some flight, So don't read the comments. How about that? Don't read the comments. To the man who wrote this, I think was his name, I appreciate the story, man, this was great. You think you saw a dog man or a werewolf? What's the difference in a dog man a werewolf? Some people say, well, the werewolf's change and the dog man don't. But how do you know when you see a dog man if it didn't change like an hour before? So

how do you know? How do we know all these things? I don't know? All right, buddy, thanks for the story.