Archive 187 Bigfoot

this day was no different. I walked through the woods and hit a promising looking trail, and I took off. After two hours, I stopped for a break. My back was starting to hurt because I spent most of that time been overlooking for tracks. I picked a small boulder to sit against. It was warm, and I was tired, and I naturally fell asleep. I have no idea how long I was out, but a loud thrashing in the woods behind the boulder startled me awake. I've been in combat,

I've learned to wake up instantly and quietly. Whatever was thrashing around behind me had to be big, and I slowly started to peep over the rock, hoping to see a huge buck tearing the crap out of a tree. But just before my head cleared the boulder, everything stopped. I froze, and everything got quiet, the kind of quiet just before the chainsaw starts in a horror movie. Two things happened. I heard a sneeze and instinctively said God,

bless you. As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted it, but there was an instantaneous rushing of something large through the woods. I stood up quickly and looked for the deer, and I'm sure I had spooked it. I was surprised not to see one, but two hairy creatures running away from me at a rapid clip. They weren't at all muscular, but they were both six or seven feet tall. They have the same hair color as the male my daughter had seen earlier. They didn't stop,

and I soon lost sight of them. Going around the boulder, I saw the ground torn up in an area twelve feet across, and there were footprints that measured fifteen inches. My guess is that after I fell asleep, two juveniles had wandered into the area had decided to have themselves a wrestling match. I regret that I did not take my phone into the woods that day because pictures of the prints in the area they tore up would at

least somewhat corroborate my story. I have contemplated writing you for quite a while, but the more of your videos I've listened to, the more I know. I didn't imagine or dream the events that have happened to me over the past fifty seven years, so I decided to go and send them. It is difficult to understand why why me. Northeastern Oklahoma is what the locals call green Country. It's a rural and woodsy place that rolls into the Ozarks of northwest Arkansas. It was here, when I was seven

that it all began. I was a bed wetter. Fear of punishment for this made me somewhat restless at night. On this particular night, I was dreaming that I was on the toilet. Quickly and unconsciously, I told myself to wake up. The thought of a fresh green sapling switch on my rear end and legs jolted me into an upright position. As soon as I sat up, I had

an odd feeling like I was being watched. The bed that I shared with my little sister Nita sat against the wall perpendicular to a large double window that looked out onto a long cement porch that ran the entire length of the front of our house. The moonlight coming through the window lit up the room well enough that I could see that Nita had rolled off the bed and was pressed up against it in a deep sleep

on the floor. I looked down and slowly placed my foot over her to get out of bed, and that's when I heard a tapping sound at the window, which was now behind me. I glanced back over my shoulder, and I got the shock of my life. He was looking right at me. The moon was shining behind him, and it gave an almost halo effect to the head and shoulders of this man. His dark eyes seemed to sparkle as he smiled at me. It was more like a grimace. He had a wide mouth with not much limp,

but it was enough to show his teeth. They were like mine, but they were only larger. His hair was long and silvery, mixed with some black and brown. Except for the roots, they were almost white. His beard and the hair on his shoulders shone silvery in the dim light. I was confused. I had never seen such a hairy man before. As far as I could tell, he wasn't wearing a shirt. His nose was flat, and his head

was a little pointy. I thought that was weird, and I rubbed my eyes, thinking I was still sleeping and this was a dream. And then I felt Nita move at my feet, and I looked down and I realized this was no dream. I heard it grunt then, and it sounded like the hogs my uncle kept down by the barn. I looked back at the hairy man in the window, and I thought how short he was. Until he stood up, all I could see were legs. I

never moved so fast in my life. I left over Nita and I hit the floor, crawling as fast as I could to reach the doorway to the hall. We didn't have an actual door yet, the house was still on under construction, but I knew once I reached the hallway the hairyman couldn't see me anymore. My heart was beating in my ears, and I asked myself, was this really happening. I sat there with my back pressed against the wall and gathering my courage to peep back around

into the bedroom. The window was empty. He was gone. I was on the fence about whether or not to tell my aunt and uncle who I lived with, about what I had seen. Having been somewhat of a victim of child abuse, I decided not to wake them for fear that I would receive a beating of my life. Unfortunately, I had that kind of childhood. The next morning, I went out to the porch to see where the hairy man had first kneeled and then stood on the brick

ledge of the window sill. There were three rocks. I thought nothing of it at the time, but now I wonder if there were some kind of gift. I think of this series of events in my life as the following, so that's what I call it. It seems like that's what happened. Whatever it is, it seems to have followed me throughout my life. The encounter that was shared with me is one that sticks with me, not only because of the experience, but because of who told it to me.

I've not told this story very many times, but after listening to several of your videos, I decided to try and share it as best that I can remember it. Back in the late eighties and early nineties, I became very good friends with a Southern Baptist preacher. He led me to the Lord during this time and we became great friends. We're the same age, and we both shared

a love of outdoors. We cone hunted and we trapped, and we fished together, as well as doing outreach for the church where he was a pastor that I attended. October evening, he called me after I got home from work and asked me if I would drive him so that he could finish preaching the last night of a revival at a church about an hour and a half to the west of the community where we lived. He'd been fighting a fierce cold all week and had taken

some pretty strong medication. He didn't want to be a hazard to himself or anyone else by trying to drive. Of course I agreed to take him. We only lived a few miles apart on some back roads, and he felt he'd be okay to travel the short distance to my house and we would leave from there. We traveled to the church where he was preaching that night. I think between getting a little something to eat on the way over, the medicine he took and God giving him

the strength. He went on to preach one of the best messages I'd ever heard him preach. After the service had ended and we set our goodbyes, we proceeded to travel back home. While traveling back home in my truck, we talked about a little of everything, starting out, especially about our excitement for the upcoming hunting and trapping season.

I've always had an interest in Bigfoot encryptid type story since I was a kid, and to this day, I love to hear accounts of local legends and happenings that most every small community seemed to have. After a pause in our conversation, I had a random thought about a story that I heard as a kid. It's a well known and documented story about the Infield horror. The story made local and national news at the time it was happening in the early seventies. I won't go into detail

about it here. There are plenty of stories online about this. I wanted to ask my pastor friend about it because he grew up not far from where all this occurred. I brought it up in a half joking manner. He laughed and said that it was a crazy time with the stories of sightings of the monster. He also commented that it was a dangerous time as well because of

the truckloads of monster hunters riding around with firearms. Still half joking, I asked him if he believed that there was anything to it, or was it on the overdone side. My friend got real quiet and reflective for a moment. He said, I don't know about all the sightings that were going on in the early seventies, but I had something happen to me one night while I was coon hunting that still gives me the chills when I think

about it. I could tell by the look on his face and the tone of his voice that he was being dead serious. I knew this was coming from a good man of God who'd always been leveled straight and never lied to me. So this is the story that he told me one night when he was a senior in high school. He got home from a date about eleven pm or so on a Friday night in mid November. He said it was coon season, so he thought they changed clothes and load the dogs up and go see

if he could tree a coon. Yet, that night, the area that he was gonna hunt was on the backside of a state park. Where his family had ground that they farmed. Most parks and recreation areas have fire roads through them. These roads allow access for emergency vehicles in case of fires, and they are also used by farmers for access to their fields for spring planting and fall harvesting. It was here on this fire road my friend and his two eager hounds began their late night coon hunt.

After parking the truck and turning the dogs loose, my friend said that he walked about one hundred to one hundred and twenty five yards down the fire road with the dogs out in front of him. Aways with the woods of the state park on his left and a broken wide fence road that bordered the agricultural fields on his right, he decided to stop and wait to listen for his dogs, so he turned off his night light and stood in the quiet, waiting for his hounds to

strike a trail. He had been waiting for about ten minutes when he heard something running in the woods on his left. He turned his headlamp on to see the eyes of his dogs reflecting back at him as they came running out of the woods and back on to the fire road. They were running like their tails had caught fire, and they skidded to a halt, almost tripping

him up in the process. He was annoyed at both of them, but realized that they were both trembling with fear, and they kept looking back where they'd run from while seeking reassurance from him. After about fifteen seconds or so after his dog's returned, he smelled the most putrid smell he thought he'd ever smelled in his life. He described it as rotting eggs with a stagnant, strong, musty, damp odor.

It made his gut wrench, he said. While trying to calm his dogs down, he heard heavy footfall coming from the broken fence row side of the fire road. Now I'm an outdoorsman too, and I can relate to what he said. Next, he said, those footsteps I heard were not a deer or somebody's cow that was loose. They were too loud to belong to a smaller, four legged animal. Whatever was making that noise was big, and it was

on two legs of that, I have no doubt. He was scared and yet a little angry because he thought maybe somebody was sneaking up on him at night to scare him as a joke. While he was hunting by himself. He called out a couple of times for whoever this was, to knock it off, and to remember that he was carrying a firearm. He then said the firearm comment didn't give him much confidence because he was only carrying a

twenty two rifle. There was no response, just to continued heavy footfalls, which had closed to within about thirty yards of his position, he said. He turned his headlamp onto full bam and shine the fence row side of the road, looking for whatever was making the sounds that he was hearing. He said he saw nothing, but he noticed the footsteps

stopped after he started scanning his light. After not seeing anything, the flight response took over and he just wanted to get back to his truck and be away from whatever was happening as fast as he could. By now he was shaking with as much fear as the dogs were, and from the looks they gave him as he was snapping the leashes on their collars, it was like we're

ready to ski daddle too. He retreated towards the direction of his truck at a fast walk, knowing they had some one hundred and twenty five yards or so to cover. He stopped dead still, and he listened to hear those same heavy footsteps stop a couple of seconds after his dead so he knew he was being sh from the fence row side. On his trip back to the truck, the futured smell increased and decreased, but was always present

on his retreat. Finally, when he and the dogs were within about thirty yards of his truck, they broke into a full run to cover the last distance. The dogs were still trembling so bad he had to lift each one of them to the tailgate so they could get back in the dog box for the ride home. After loading the dogs, he was still trembling so bad that he dropped his keys once while trying to unlock the truck door, but once he did, everything went flying to

the far side of the truck cab. In a rush to go, he slung grass and dirt with the tires until he hit the gravel road to head home. Pausing for a minute after he finished his story, he said, now take your fingers and touch my forearm. I gave him a strange look. I didn't know what he was talking about. Just do it, he said, I ran my hand across his forearm, and I realized then why he wanted me to do that. Goosebumps covered him from shoulder to fingertip. That happens to me every time I tell

that story with this much detail. He said, my friend did not actually see anything. He only heard and smelled it. He doesn't know for sure what it was, but something that was very scary happened to him on that coonut