Archive 224 Ghosts and Bigfoot

leaving work for home. I had come to know the streets on my drive quite well, and I came to recognize the scenery For example, one house always had kids bicycles in the front yard. They were dropped where they had left them, and there was a basketball or two in the yard, and certain cars in particular driveways. This was the normal scenery for these streets, and I would notice if something was different or unusual. I saw a large, dirty white object to my left up the street. It

was not normally there. At first, I thought someone had discarded an old white or tan rack, or that I was looking at a discarded washing machine. It was far enough away that I couldn't quite figure out what it was yet, and as I got closer to it, it took more and more of my attention. I just couldn't figure it out. But there was something about it that bothered me. As I got even closer, I continued to look at it and wondered, what the hell is that.

I looked in my rear view mirror. I saw no cars were behind me, and now I began to slow down to get a better look. When I was several car links from it, I took my foot off the gas and I slowed down even more. My truck was just coasting now. When I got two or three car links from it, I suddenly realized that the thing that I was looking at was alive. I could see skin

in pores, and it looked like a plucked bird. Suddenly the object seemed to be in hyper detail to me, and I could see skin and pores and wrinkles and grass stains here and there. I thought, well, this thing can't be real. It can't. But I see skin, and I'm looking at something's back and it's huge. It's as big as a washing machine, and it's crouching down. I didn't see arms or legs or a head yet, just

the back. When I was ten or twelve feet away from it, looking at its right side in the back of its head, it slowly and very casually turned its head to look at me. I looked directly into its face and eyes, and again everything seemed to come into hyper detail, with its face seemingly to be directed in front of my face. It had jet black eyes, no visible whites. There was a small straight mouth and slits for nostrils, and black freckles on its face. I don't

remember seeing ears or hair. Its face was devoid of emotion, completely blank. I got no sense of male or female. It was intent on me, and then it considered me, and then it dismissed me. I've had years to think about this part of the interaction, and to say it studied me or examined me would be wrong, as that would imply too much effort. It considered me like I

was a bug on the sidewalk. At this point I felt a slight push or pressure, like someone touching my forehead and upper chest gently with a finger, and I felt and heard this one is of no consequence. The first two words of this kind were implied, but the rest of the thought was clear as a bell. This thing, this not human, not animal, considered me of no consequence. I can't identify this thing, and it doesn't consider me a danger. It doesn't consider my seeing it a threat.

It considered me of no consequence, like that bug on the sidewalk. While this thing was considering me, pushing into my consciousness, I got to look into it, a slight look, but it was a look. This thing was not lost, It was not alien and not scared or hesitant. It was comfortable and confident. It was in its natural habitat where it lived, and it had been in contact with humans before. At no time was I scared during this interaction.

I was just confused, never having seen anything like this before, and I had nothing to compare it to. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I thought to myself that I can't be seeing this, and even as the truck was still slowly coasting, I closed my eyes for a second and I put my head down, thinking I'm not seeing this. And I picked my head up and I opened my eyes, and what I saw only makes some

sense at all. All these years later, I recently saw a YouTube video of one of the Navajo Rangers and he said that someies or able to give us what he called snapshot memories or visuals, to substitute for what you were really looking at. And I think that's what happened. When I opened my eyes, I was looking at an Australian shepherd dog. It was black and brown and white and sitting there staring at me. It didn't move, it didn't blink, it didn't sniff, and it definitely was not

a normal dog. I kept looking at it and it never moved, and I watched it in the side view mirror as it faded behind me, and it never moved. It just continued to watch me drive away. I think I might have forgotten about the whole thing if it wasn't for that push and the hearing of that of no consequence, which ended up really angering me at being dismissed like that. And that's the end of the story. Now.

I thought this story was appropriate because I think in New Mexico or Arizona, there's a story going around of a something streaking out of the sky. Many people saw it, and then there's a call to nine to one one from this family who is claiming that something landed in their backyard and there are alien eight or nine foot tall creatures walking around in their backyard. This story seems to be getting traction. It's kind of gone, it's kind

of probably semi gone viral. We're hearing a lot of things. There was a whistleblower recently talking about the Roswell incident and that the United States has a spacecraft or some kind of craft built not on this Earth and creatures, or the pilots, at least the pilots of the craft, they're dead, but they have them preserved and are studying them and are trying to reverse engineer the crafts that

they commandeered. And this is all interesting and it's almost like after this whistleblower made these revelations, and I don't know if that if what he's saying is valid. I have no idea, but I'm following the story and trying to figure out, looking at YouTube videos, reading articles, trying to find everything I can. But this is really interesting stuff. There's a video of this family trying to get in their backyard, the one that called nine to one one,

and they are scared to death. They're both all of them are armed, and they're trying to walk in the gate and they keep seeing something and they're backing out and you don't see it in the video anyway, Just to cut to the point, it kind of seems like these incidents are kind of gaining frequency. I don't understand it, but you know, the UFO thing, it has always been interesting to me. But these reports that are coming out are fascinating. And you know what's weird, Nobody cares, Nobody

seems to care about it. It's not front page news. It's not. Of course, there's a lot of things going on in our country, a lot of corruption and things like that, it's not front page news at all. It's like, it's like I don't know what the deal is, but the news cycle and the news the way people report news is so foreign into what I'm used to all my life. But anyway, I thought this story kind of went along with or I think current events can compare

and contrast to this man's experience. What could that thing have been, I don't know, but it was a fascinating story. Sorry I talked so much after this story, but it was really good and I wanted to make sure you heard it. So thanks to the writer for sending it. This occurrence is something that I have carried with me for many years. This is the first time I've ever written a story down though. It was back in nineteen seventy nine or eighty and I was living in a

small town in College Dorado. At one time it was a small farm town, and my apartment was in the building that was over one hundred years old. Across the alley behind my apartment was a small walk in theater. At one time it was an opera house, and back in the day, people rode their horse drawn carriages into town from the surrounding county to attend the opera performances there. The apartment that my roommate and I were living in was owned by a man that we had never met.

He had an interesting story. He was a young man and he worked pushing a broom in a local bank, and he was very thrifty, and when he could afford it, he bought a share in the bank. Eventually he owned controlling shares in that bank. And our apartment had been vacant since World War II, and when we first moved in, the bureau was lined with yellow newspaper. I imagined that the paper was maybe ten years old. Was dated back to the nineteen forty and it listed farm acreage with

a home for fourteen hundred dollars. There was an article called the War Correspondence and Notebook. I was twenty seven at the time, so the references to the war were to circumstances that were far before my time. Every ad for employment specifically stated women encouraged to apply, and I had never seen that before. I realized that there was a critical manpower shortage because of the war. Anyway, Our apartment was located up on the second floor. Down on

the first floor were shops. The building was shaped with an L, with the apartments and shops running the full length of the main street along the square in the middle of town, and the single upstairs apartment we were in was located on the short leg of the l The upstairs apartments in the long length of the building were all connected into a single long apartment that was occupied by the then l owner of the building and

his wife. Because of the upstairs location, street light shone through our apartment windows at night, making sound sleep challenging well. I had the idea of getting cardboard boxes from the local bike shop and cutting large pieces to fit into the window sills to block the light, and it worked perfectly. Once the cardboard was in place, you could not see your hand in front of your face. When the lights

were out, it was darkest pitch. We had lived there for a few months and we had settled into something over a routine, and in the middle of the night, my roommate woke up just enough to stumble into the bathroom and then back into bed without flushing. Neither of us woke up. It was easier to fall back asleep if we didn't wake up any more than necessary. My roommate fell back into bed and I began to drift back to sleep in my bed, and I was almost asleep when I heard a calm, clear, almost quiet and

yet a distant voice say it's foggy out. Well, I ignored it. My priority was to get myself back to sleep by the easiest scrout, and then my mind began moving. My roommate was studying Spanish at the time. His favorite Spanish word was afweererh, which means outside. He said that word many times a day, maybe twenty times a day. If he could say afwerer, he said it. In fact, he went out of his way to find opportunities to say afwerer, and in my mind I couldn't imagine why he didn't

say it's foggy afwera. I decided to let it go, but my faults kept moving. Okay, this, uh, never mind. Why did he say it's foggy out. I didn't know anyone that talked that way. I would expect something like it's foggy or even it's foggy outside, but it's foggy out. It just didn't seem normal somehow, so I let it go in favor of getting back to sleep, but my thoughts kept moving. How did my roommate know that it

was foggy outside? Every window in the place had been blocked out with cardboard, and even if there was fog, there was no way that my roommate could know that. And I decided to just let it go, but my brain kept moving. It was a beginning to come aggravating. We had lived in this place for two months and at no time had we ever had a single night of fog. Why would he say that there was fog? It was bugging me and how could he even know? And why would he even say it in such an

unusual way? And by this time I was much too awake to be able to simply fall back asleep. I had to know, so I yelled out in the darkness. Hey, my roommate had already fallen back to sleep, so I yelled louder, Hey, what do you want? His annoyance was conspicuous, and I asked, is it foggy outside or not? In His response was terse, I don't know, leave me alone. That was that. I tried to go back to sleep, but this time my brain was squirming. The agitation made

my sleep in an easy proposition. I lay in the blackness pondering the situation, and I decided the only way to handle the moment was to stumble my way through the blackness to a window and pull out the cardboard. And I threw off my blanket and I started stumbling.

I reached the window and took hold of the cardboard, and I pulled it out from the window sill, and to my astonishment, the fog outside the window was so thick that it was not possible to see through the glass more than a few inches, maybe four or six inches at the most. The fog was as thick as I have ever seen it in this area. I have no idea whose voice I heard that night when I was almost completely asleep, and I can only say that

the voice told me that it was foggy. I had no way of about the fog without checking my roommate could not have known, and until that night we had not had any fog at all. The best explanation I have is merely speculation on my part, and I'm still not sure exactly what happened that night. And he signs off, Steve, Steve, that's a cool story. Maybe you heard a ghost man, maybe you heard somebody that used to live in that old building, just letting you know that it was foggy out.

I don't know. I don't know, Steve. That's a good story. I appreciate you writing it, and thanks for all the emails over the years, Buddy. I live in Williamsburg, Virginia. In two thousand and nine, after a layoff from the company where I had worked for twenty years, I got a job handling security in a historic plantation turned time share. Having a military former sworn security background, I was happy to get a job because I've always felt that work

was better than unemployment. My former employer, the historic colonial capital of Virginia, suffered severe cutbacks due to a lag in tourism because of the economy. I had spent twelve of my twenty years there in security. A large part of that job was entering the historic original buildings in the wee hours of the night to make sure they had been properly secured and free of anything that might cause a fire like a candle or a hot plate

still switched on. There were many stories of hauntings coupled with a few creepy feelings that I had experienced during my inspections, So when I was interviewed for the job at the plantation, I was asked my feelings about haunted houses.

My unvarnished response was, been there done? That management inform me that there was a ghostly press since called the Lady of the house, who was feared by most everyone who entered the place, and that after making sure no one was left inside, I would have to risk her displeasure in order to close the building each night. Since I had no trepidation toward being inside haunted structures in general, plus my experience with three hundred year old buildings and

their previous unearthly occupants, I got the job. On the first night, I accompanied my training officer into the house to secure it. I was surprised to learn that all the lights were left on twenty four to seven. They told others that the practice was done to make the house look more opulent, but I suspected it was for the benefit of the nervous staff and their arrested fear of the dark. My training officer had recited all the spooky tales that had struck fear into the hearts of

the employees throughout the years. As we entered a building and started to the second floor, I initiated a make believe conversation with the lady of the house. Hello, old lady of the house, I said, please allow me to introduce myself. I'm Carl, the new security officer, and it's nice to meet you. My training officer looked at me like I had lost my ever loving mind. Well, I explained, my reasoning can hurt. To show some respect, I declared, I'm sure I'm the only one who's ever done that.

She affirmed that I was the only one quote crazy enough to greet the woman unquote. As we walked by the upstairs bathroom, the training officer noted that the light was off, and before her hand could flip the switch, it flicked back on. I thank the lady of the house in bitter good night as we closed the front door behind us. For reference, there is an eighteenth century

historic building in Williamsburg called George Wythe House. Both it and the plantation were designed by the same architect, and the houses are almost identical, with two stories and a large center staircase flanked by two large rooms on either side at the top of the stairs. The room on the left in the plantation is used for storage and features of bathroom with a modern door that unlocks when

you exit the bathroom. This detail would become relevant. Later, some months went by, and one day, as a visitor was leaving, she asked if I would like to see a weird picture that she took while inside the house. I answered her questions about the place being haunted, and I revealed several stories, including the one about the bathroom light.

She showed me a photo on her digital camera that she took of the first floor fireplace, and standing in front of it appeared to be three translucent figures in colonial American clothing. One was a very regal looking woman. I continued to serve in my security role, unafraid of the alleged spirits whose presence unnerved my fellow employees, and one night, as usual, I was making my rounds and preparing to lock up the place. Once I got to the second floor, I noticed the bathroom door was locked.

As I mentioned earlier, this door unlocks when its user exits. I was concerned that someone may have had some disastrous encounter inside and might be unconscious or otherwise injured, so I began knocking hard on the door to get their attention. Without any response, I realized the spared door key was outside in my vehicle. I attempted to jimmy the lock with my pocket knife, and even try manipulating the mechanism

with a credit card, but it didn't work. I turned to head down to my car to retrieve the key. When I was struggle with an idea. I stood at the top of the stairs and I pronounced loudly, Lady of the house, will you please unlock the bathroom door for me? If it didn't work, I would just be another foolish employee with a misguided belief in spirits, but I was thankful there was no one but me in the building to bear witness. One way or another. A way back to the bathroom, I reached for the handle

and easily opened the door. After a quick inspection in finding no one inside, I stepped back into the hall. I opened and closed the door several times until I was assured it would remain unlocked. I walked over to the stairs and offered a heartfelt thank you to the lady of the house, and I locked up the building for the night. I don't think my coworkers believed my story, but unlike them, I never had a problem with locks

or door sticking. The secretary, who also doubles as a long time his storian of the place informed that the Lady of the house must really be fond of me, because she never extended such courtesy toward any other security officer before or since.