Archive 148 Sasquatch

They leave me a perfect pair. They lay it in the same spot in my driveway every time, where I can see it from the porch when I have my morning coffee, and if they're out to hurt me, they've had apple opportunity to do so. The first time I saw one was when I glanced out in my bedroom window as I was walking down the hall. There it was a face looking in the window. I could tell it was a young one. It was gray with large eyes, and when it registered what I had seen, I stepped

back to look again, but it was gone. The second time I saw one, I was putting clothes in my washing machine and I glanced out the window above the washer. This one was very shiny black, and I think it may have just been in the pond that's farthest away from my home. I don't know for sure, but I

know it was not a bear. A few days later, my husband and I walked out to where I saw it and measured him beside a small tree that I saw it walk behind the tree came to the hairy person's waist, and when my husband walked behind that tree, it was over his head. My husband is six feet tall, the hairy person must have been eight or nine feet tall. My point is they are here, and they are real. There is simple proof out there. They are not a grete eight. DNA has been tested and tested and then

tested some more. They do have bodies, and the question we should be asking is why the government is trying to keep them a secret from the American people. They are not a joke or a sitting around the campfire scary story. They are real. The DNA shows them to be a human hybrid. Every American should be asking our government to let people know about them. While the secrets, is it the money or is it something else? And after all these years, the government has finally come out

and said, yes there are UFOs. We Americans have known that for years. We benefited from that secret? Who benefits from this one? Voices United make a mighty roar, and that's the end of our email. And I agree. If these things are real, it's and the government knows about it, and they have bodies and there's been DNA testing that shows they are a human hybrid, then you know, why not just make it clear? I don't. That subject is so deep. I just can't I can't even begin to

think about it because I don't know. I'm just busy. People with less busy minds can probably think about that and maybe come up with some theories. And all they are is theories. All we have is ideas. Unless the government comes out or some school or college or whoever would be a reputable give a reputable representation of the species. Until they come out and actually show the evidence a body, then we're just never going to know. We're not going

to know. But this was interesting. I like that there's two stories in a row where there's gifting going on. I don't think she's gifting them, but they're leaving her a pair in her driveway. That's pretty cool. Thank you man for the story. I really appreciate it. As a nine year old in the nineteen eighties. I spent most of, if not all, of my time in the woods. From the time I could crawl. My mom sent me outside

to play with our Rhodesian ridgeback bullet. Somewhere in the rubber maid container full of photographs is a picture of me and a diaper propped up against a bullet under our house with a bottle I lived outside. The first day of the first grade, I was already deep in the swamp when I heard my mom yelling from the porch to come home and eat breakfast and get ready for school. School hadn't even thought about it until that moment.

My life to that point had been a blur of camo, my Swiss army knife buttoned into a leather sheath on my hip, a machetty, my dog, and the twenty thousand acres of wildlife preserved behind our little patch of swamp in Christmas, Florida. At that time, the little town of Christmas was composed solely of a post office, a church, and a thirty foot Christmas tree that was lit year round off the side of Highway fifty seven in the middle of nowhere. Nowhere was just how I liked it.

I fished and trapped and built every kind of fort imaginable among the pal meadows and the cypress of those swamps. When I was nine, my dad helped me build a little hut with a thatched roof made from palmeadows. It was long and narrow, and the perfect size to hang my hammock. Despite having spent so much of my life in the woods until then, I had never spent a night alone out there. With my new hut, I decided that this was the time to attempt my first solo

camping trip. I had to prove it to myself and my dad that I was a woodsman that I claimed to be. Later that day, with my machete in hand, I hacked my way the quarter of a mile or so into the swamp behind our house to my hut. As the sun's lash rays began to fade and darkness swallowed the air around me, I struck my lighter to start a fire, and I was looking forward to the eggs and sausage that I was planning to cook for dinner.

The same instant the flame sprung from my lighter, a scream erupted from the swamp not thirty feet into the darkness behind me. It was a kind of blood curling, freezer muscle scream that send your mind racing. It sounded like a woman was being stabbed to death in the palmetto patch, and I strained to see something, but the night was already so thick that I couldn't see. I sat frozen in terror, and a few seconds later the sound of the scream had faded, and I was relieved

to find my heart had an actually explode. It felt like an eternity as I struggled to comprehend what I had just heard. Who would be all the way back here in the dark. If they were here, they were trespassing. Could it have been a poacher? Why were they murdering a woman? Who was she? Was I next? In reality? All of these thoughts flashed through my mind in less

than a second. My heart had just begun to slow its relentless effort to escape my rib cage when a roar that shook my insides exploded from the same patch of pal meadows behind me. It was followed by another screen. A lion was now eating the woman. But no, lions didn't live here, I thought, the urge to mess my pants. There was no conscious decision between flight or fight. There wasn't time. I was already flying down the path towards

the house. Later, all that I would remember of my escape was passing the pond that marked the halfway point back to the house, and the next thing I knew, I was beating at the French doors on the back porch with all my strength. My Dad had been in his room reading when he heard my pleading and relentless assault on the glass panels. Open the door. It's me, I screamed. There's a guy in the woods with a knife. He's killing her. That was all I could think to say.

Dad rushed to the door and opened it and asked, what in the world was wrong with me now? I explained that I had just heard a woman being murdered, and then lions roaring. Well. Then he started to laugh, and I wasn't amused. Your hair is standing straight up, he said. I didn't give a right speckle backside what my hair was doing. A woman was being murdered. She was being stabbed to death and eaten or whatever, right in our backyard. It was probably a cougar, he explained,

They sometimes do that. I decided that I'd had enough for one night. I'd have to attempt a solo camp some other time when I was sure no women, bears, lions, or cougars or axe murderers were out and about in the dark. I've spent plenty of nights in the woods since then, both alone and with others, but I've never again heard anything like that. I was only nine at the time, but I'm pretty sure I broke speed records that night, and I don't think my feet ever touched

the ground. Whoa man, What a story These stories with the children. You know, when these people are small and they have these encounters, we listened to them, and we're kind of entertained by these stories. I mean, really, we are entertained by these stories. But if you put yourself in their shoes, oh my gosh, you know, it's just got to be terrifying. It would have been for me at nine years old. I know that. And there were things that scared me at nine, nothing like a bigfoot

or anything like that. But you know, you're very impressionable. Fear level is like off the charts when something scares you. And so that's why I kind of, I don't know, I kind of identify with these stories. People reminisce about their childhood and these weird things that happen. But Matt, this was a great story and I really appreciate you sending it. I'm gonna look up on the map where Christmas, Florida is. I've never heard of it. Well, I'm just gonna look it up and figure out where it is.

Maybe time next time i'm down there, I'm gonna go look at that Christmas tree. I live on Fort Hill overlooking Charleston, West Virginia. Over the last thirty five years, I've heard bigfoot screams many times. On cold winter nights. The dogs up on this hill will start barking until a terrible scream echoes down across the valley and silences them. I've heard tree knocks up here, screaming as if a woman is being murdered in whoops, and jabbering like humans

talking but not human. This seems to happen most often around the fourth of July. I guess that's because of all the fireworks disturbing the creatures deep in the woods. I've heard these same sounds on the Internet, listed under sysquatch, sabe, and Bigfoot. In twenty eighteen, mold A Sun and a few of his friends were shooting off fireworks in a parking lot in a neighboring town not too far from our home. When they got there around ten pm, they decided to walk to the top of the hill, where

there was a water reservoir. They reasoned that they'd be far away from any homes at the top of that hill and they could shoot the fireworks high into the air there. Besides, if anything went wrong, they figured they had an immediate water source. They walked up this hill through the dark woods with only their flashlight to guide them. It had rained that afternoon and a low fog was hanging in the air. The path was paved with asphalt

with gravel on both sides. The boys took turns carrying the box while the girls were busy walking and talking in the front. There's a fork in the path halfway up that hill, and one fork leads straight up on the hill while the other stays low and wraps around the reservoir. The girls took the wrong fork. The boys weren't paying attention as they continued down the wrong path. They began to hear someone walking over in the woods, and my son realized they should have reached the reservoir

by then, so he told the girls to stop. Don't be silly. They told him we'll be there soon. They pointed out that they'd stayed on the path and kept walking. My son is a high functioning autistic. He thinks a little bit different than others. He said, I hear somebody walking behind us, walking in the gravel. Look y'all, I'm scared. I want to go home. Someone in the group suggested they shot off the fireworks where they were, that they'd gone far, and the girls agreed. My son said, I

think this is a bad idea. We need to get home now. The other kids laughed at him and called him a scaredy cat. They pulled out one of the coffee can sized fireworks and they lit it. It spewed on for about two minutes, sparkling and lightning and popping and crackling, and finally it went out and everything went silent and dark, and from the woods they heard a low growl. See. I told you he wouldn't like it. My son said, it's time to go. We gotta go now.

The boys hurriedly picked up the box while the girls were screaming. They all went running back down the hill, leaving my son behind in the dark, and he heard the growl again. I'm sorry, mister, he said, it was their idea to set it off in your house. Now, I'm going to start walking and I'm going to leave your house now, and I'm sorry for disturbing you. I'm going to go now. I did not mean to dishonor you,

and the growling stopped. My grandfather told me about the old Man of the Mountain when I was just a little girl. He taught me about the old ways and what to do when being confronted by a sisquatch. Don't make eye contact and speak loudly, but be non confrontational. Be respectful, but don't show fear, and do not run no matter what. That's exactly what my son did. He told me that the sisquatch followed him down the mountain, keeping about ten feet back. He could hear it walking

in the gravel. He used to cell phone to light his way, but he never looked aback, and when he got to the car, the others were yelling for him to hurry. It's right behind you, they said, But my son continued his slow, steady pace to the car, and he never once looked aback. He got into the car, and as they sped out of the parking lot, he caught sight of it in the headlights. It was standing at the edge of the path swaying back and forth.

He said it was nine feet tall, and it was covered in black hair, and its arms were longer than a human, and it had green eyeshine. When the other kids dropped my son off, they were all nervous. The girls were crying. They were all talking over each other, trying to tell me what happened, But my son was calm and sober, like a priest. I sent the other kids home and I had my son recount a story, and I believe every word of it. Oh wow, what a great story. An autistic kid caught out in the

woods shooting fireworks by a bigfoot. He sure did a good job getting out of there by not running and not being confrontational. That's I guess that's the way he made it out. Who knows if this thing would have hurt him otherwise, but it was just escorting him out. What a great story. Okay, this is a short This is a little short story that I've had for a little while, and it's not real scary or anything, and it's not a bigfoot story, but it's very heartwarming. The

writer's name is Missy. She writes, I heard you reading a ghost story. Now, I haven't seen a bigfoot, but I have seen a ghost on more than one occasion. Most are just a fleeting moment of a stranger, but this one was special. My husband was in the Marine Corps and we were stationed in Yuma, Arizona. We were living on the base in base housing in Yuma. We're from the same little town in Alabama, not too far

from Mississippi. At the time, I was twenty six weeks pregnant and did not know it yet, but things were about to get scary. I woke up in the middle of the night to see my mama and two people that I didn't know. I think they were her parents. They died before I was born, so I only have seen old black and white pictures. They all looked concerned. I was startled but excited to see her. She had passed away just under two years before then. They disappeared in just a few seconds. Now. I got up and

went down the hall, but they were gone. What I didn't know was at twenty seven weeks, I would be hospitalized for pre eclampsia, eclampsia, eclampsia, I'm not sure what that is. I would go home after a couple of days on bed rest. However, on my next check up at twenty nine weeks, my blood pressure was out of the roof, so I was taken to the hospital. I was about to go full eclamtic and be air ambulance

to Phoenix. My son was delivered by cesarean section and was in NICU for three months until his due date. He was born one pound in twelve ounces, and if not for the grace of God and the good care at Good sam and Phoenix Children's Hospital, we would have died. I think Mama was either there just worried or preparing to take us home. My son was lucky and he never had to go back into the hospital. A lot

of premies do have to revisit a bit. But he's now five foot ten and he's a radiology He is a radiology technologist, and she writes, that's a fancy name for the person that takes your X ray in the hospital. We're blessed to still be here on this big blue ball and to have family no matter where they may be. Thanks for working so hard doing these stories. You can use my nickname Missy. What a great story. One pound twelve ounces. Just think about that, these babies. He was

twenty nine weeks think it was twenty nine. He was born by caesarean, weighing one pound twelve ounces. I don't know. There's a lot of argument going on about if these fetuses or people or humans or not, you know, the whole debate. And this is one of the things that always really makes me wonder if a baby can be born at one pound twelve ounces and grow up be a five foot ten radiology technologist, which again is a fancy name for a person that takes your extra at

the hospital. It's pretty compelling, pretty compelling. Save those babies.