Archive 236 Paranormal

My grandpa was great at recounting stories from his childhood, and it was a family pastime to sit on the front porch or by the coal fire in the winter and hear him tell a tale or two. These two stories happened in Webster, West Virginia. It's a tiny area just outside of Grafton where a lot of coal miners and railway workers used to stay. It was between Grafton and Philippi. When my grandma Paul was younger, he and his brother slept in what was a large walk in

closet situated near the front of their house. He said the wall next to their heads backed up to the front porch. From as far back as he could remember, he and his brother Junior would hear footsteps on the porch at night he said it sounded like a lady wearing high heels, pacing back and forth. As they got older, they started playing around with it, and they were shouting and knocking on the wall, yelling at it. And one night, he said, his dad came in there and shouted, now,

you boys, settled down to leave that alone. That thing has been here for as long as I have, and it's never heard anyone. My grandpa always thought it was a ghost of some description, and from then on they'd lay there quietly and listened for it every night, because nobody messed with his dad. My grandpa had an aunt named Izzy. Izzy ran a boarding house for coal miners not far from where we grew up in Webster. Izzy was known to have a bit of a foul mouth

and was afraid of nothing. The big burly guys from the coal mines never gave her a bit of trouble, but she started getting annoyed with them when she found that there was one room none of them wanted to sleep in. She finally got out of them that the covers would not stay on the bed at night, and they would frequently leave the room in the middle of the night to go sleep elsewhere. I remember finding that fascinating.

Since these guys had to have heard and seen some pretty scary stuff down in those coal mines, Izzy would have none of it. She decided she'd go sleep in that room and show them a thing or two. After a few nights of the covers coming off the beds, she tucked them in under the mattress, and they'd still fly off in the middle of the night, so she decided to take safety pins and pin them to the mattress. Still in the middle of the night, all the pins had come undone and the covers were on the floor.

The boys staying there said that they could hear her cussing whatever it was, you damn sons of bitches. She wasn't afraid of nothing. And I don't know whatever happened after that, but I've always wished I had known old Aunt Izzie. And finally, having moved away from West Virginia a long time ago, I now live in Scotland. My friends and I like to watch podcasts like yours and freak ourselves out from time to time. My friend Jen recounted a story from a man in her village near Pennicook.

She said many years ago when he was a young man, he would walk home around midnight from a local pub up on an old country lane, and on occasion he would see a big black dog with red eyes sitting on one of the rock walls in the area. He said he never paid it any mine, because the legend had it that the dog would show up to protect you.

As creepy as that was. Once we all finished shuddering at the thought of a spectral dog in the middle of nowhere in Scotland, we looked at each other and we said, what on earth is that dog protecting you from? And I hope I'll never find out anyway, there you go. I hope I've provided some good fodder and I love your podcast and the interviews you've done. Keep them coming. Signed Katie, Katie, that was so such a good little

series of stories. I really appreciate you saying that I've had this for a long time and I've neglected some of these paranormal stories, but they are so good and I'm just going to do them on this channel like it or not. Paranormal stories are just as good as bigfoot stories. Thank you, Katie. Okay, this is a story. This is a little bit of a non typical story. There's no huge theme here or any kind of point

climax in the story that will shock you. But it's a really fun email from a gentleman in Atlanta that I read a couple of weeks ago, and I thought, I'm gonna put this in a podcast because it's really kind of fun. It's serious, but it's kind of fun. So let me just read it and let's see if you enjoyed as much as I did. Let's see the man rights. Welcome to my first night on Battlefield Avenue. My stories don't have anything to do with bigfoot. I've

never had that experience. But the stories about my house are true events that I have experienced. My friend Raj owns this house and he's from India. He raised his son's here and when I told him about the spirits that live here, he just laughed at me laughter. A few minutes he ask if it bothered me. I had to say, no, haven't had any negative experiences. So let me jump in and tell you a little bit about them. My name is of no concern to the readers or listeners.

My house is in such a geographically specific place that it is easy to find if you research any history about General McPherson and his death, you will find a treasure trove of information. This is the history of Battlefield Avenue. It's only three blocks long now. When I twenty plowed through Atlanta, my street was significantly shortened. I live here by myself with two crazy cats, and I have lots of work to do on this old house, and I

don't get lonely. I'm retired from the movie industry. Now get a check from Social Security, and I try to get to the end of each month. I was a special effects fabricator, so if you drive down my streets, you'll see my cats and my work in the front of the house. I never call it my house. I'm not here alone, and the spirits that call this home have been here, and we'll be here after I'm gone. The work is never ending here. There's not a single

miter joint in the whole house. Nothing is up to code. The first time I took the cover off the electrical panel, I thought I was going to die. There were ground wires that were barely attached, and everything had the appearance of being hand tightened or just in place, ready to be locked down and tightened from the installation. There was no master breaker either, so I put on my rubber gloves and grab what I hoped was a well insulated screwdriver.

Needless to say, I learned something about electrons when I was younger, so a lot of my mystery circuits started working a whole lot better. There's an LED strip over my couch, and it still didn't work. It has two switches, one by the door for a light and a separate switch for the ceiling fan that I wanted to put in. I took the ghost lights down and I tossed them, and when I came in from the trash, the kitchen lights blinked. And when I say blinked, I should say

strove like a disco. I thought the door closing might have just helped me find another loose wiring problem. So I slammed the door several times, but it didn't blink anymore, and I replaced the bulb with a new one, and I went back to work. My cats are so funny. One is black. His name is Merlin because he thinks he's invisible. He is most of the time when I'm not wearing my glasses asleep in my black chair. His

brother's name is Mervin. Mervin. Mervin is huge and he weighs fourteen pounds and has weird spots on his back like a bobcat. His tail is like a small chain which he uses to clear off my desk when it thunders. I call it my accessory. It doesn't matter what you name your cats. They only come to you when they want something. They are part of this eyewitness story. One afternoon, I was about to climb up on the roof from the back patio and I heard a lady's voice and

she plainly called my name. Well, I was shocked, and I turned and I expected to see someone on the porch, and there was no one there. The hair stood up on my arms when these things happened, and I have that feeling now as I type this into my computer. It's like electricity or static. I don't know how to describe it. I just go with the energy. The lady is plainly only one of my roommates, unless she also pulls on my shirt. One afternoon, I was working on a guitar and I felt a tug on my sleeve.

I turned, expecting to see Merlin on the arm of my chair, and there he was asleep on the chair behind me. Mervin likes to climb up to the highest point in the room, so he was on the the arm wy. He says he doesn't know how to spell it. I don't know how to smell that either. I think it's a RMS maybe anyway, armoy and he was fast asleep again. The hairs on my arms stood up once.

When I tried to get up from the chair. I felt like my shirt was caught on something right behind my back, like a hand pulling me back down or a bungee cord. The shirt tug was just the beginning of a lot of physical manifestations. Also have a big attict tin roof and a fireplace that heats the kitchen in the bedroom. I've heard a lot of noise from the attic, mostly squirrels. One day I was in the kitchen, Merlin was laying in the exact middle of the room

licking his butt. Sorry, that's what cats do when they're bored. They always have to be right in the center of my way. Well, I heard footsteps from the attic, and it was no mistake. Someone was walking just above my head. Above the kitchen. The roof is low, there's no way to walk, not upright on two feet. I looked down at Merlin and he had stopped licking his blood, and he was staring at the ceiling, just like I had been. That's when I realized I wasn't hearing things. The light

flicker is my other roommate. He rings the doorbell and makes me think I have a bad bub by making it get dim or flash. He seems to be the one with a sense of humor. It's funny as hell to turn off or just flash the bathroom light when it's dark and I'm in the shower. Does it all the time. Sometimes I think he's acting like a little kid. Now I wonder if this is also the middle of the night doorknocker too. Oh yeah. I have two doors

in the front. The patio has tools in my solar system battery, so I keep the outside door locked at night. The doorbell is also on the inside door. Usually the knocker comes around four am. Sometimes it's three soft knocks and that's all. But a couple of times it's been followed by five or six loud bangs. And one time the doorbell wouldn't stop and the alarm system went off. Well, that would be okay, but the alarm system is not

wired up and it does not work. So I'm glad my life is filled with the knowledge that when my physical shell is gone, I can come back and mess with a living There's more to come from Battlefield Avenue. That was just a short email, and I thought it was kind of comical, and this man has a great attitude towards this stuff and he's having fun with it. And you know, we always tend to be afraid of these things, and maybe sometimes we don't need to be.

Maybe sometimes we just need to keep a good light attitude toward the things like this gentleman on Battlefield Avenue is going through and just kind of roll with it and have fun with it and just assume these things are not evil or not assumed that they're evil, and just kind of wiged him out. And he seems to have found out that these things aren't evil or bent on hurting him yet he hasn't figured that out yet,

or hasn't discovered that yet. So I thought it was a great story and I wanted to share it with you. All right, Here is a story from my friend Gerald. Gerald has sent I bet he sent me a half a dozen stories and he takes. I've never talked to Gerald, but we just kind of communicate via email, and he writes stories about his local area and a lot of folklore and things that are true, things he's heard. I

guess through the years or has researched Gerald. If I'm wrong, you can email me and tell But he was a good writer, and he recounts stories that he knows about. This one is called I can't remember the name of it. I can't remember what he called it in the email, but I'm just going to read it. It was a breathless day and Walnut Run, Iowa. Sunlight fell like a golden lance. Bud de Young jounced up and down in the tractor's hard seat. That's the only thing wrong with

this John Deere forty twenty. He thought, this open cab, he ran a brown arm over his forehead. Damn this dusty work, he thought. Behind him, the plow blades turned over thick scabs of earth, and he steered deeper into the mound. De Young had bought his land last autumn from Irwin Path. As the old timer began disposing of his life, cancer would kill him. In December, Path was reduced to his holdings so as to have something to

leave his wife and children. His son was in an accountant in Des Moines, and his daughter had married a young dentist and moved to Colorado with him, and neither was interested in taking over the large farm. De Young felt a small pang of guilt for having driven such a ho bargain with old Path, but only a small pang. Path was one of the old timers, the old fogiese who sat in their ways and so superstitious about farming.

It was nineteen seventy one, the twentieth century. Farming was now scientific, and there's no room for sentimental worries of an old man. Agriculture Secretary Earl Butts was advocating all out fence post to fence post cultivation. De Young had never understood why Path had let this fat land lie fallow. There was a lush, loamy soul under the grasses and wildflowers pay dirt Iowa stall. Incredibly, the young Path had cautioned him that mound over there by Walnut Creek, that's

an old one, that mound. Searching lee Path had looked up into the younger man's face. That's from the Kahokia people before the Mandans before the pawn. Who knows what lies under that mound. It's best just to leave it alone, sun, he said. De Youong smirked at the thought. What an old goat good land like that, just wasting it. You find those airheads and bits of pottery every spring, cast up by the winter frost, and they don't mean anything. These Indians had this land for a long time. They

just wasted it. Yeah. He concentrated on plowing down the distinctive mound, and in the distance a small plane was silhouetted against the sun. Was too early for crop dusting, he thought, must be just general aviation. It's a perfect day for flying. Three passes later, the mound was no more, and approvingly, Deyong looked back over his shoulder at the rutted furrows corn. He decided, this whole section will be

in corn. He was trying to compute what his potential return on the investment might be when a dark shadow crossed over him. He peered up, but there was nothing there, and then in the distance he saw it. It was a small plane canted at an impossible angle, and then it banked upward. He stared, and the plane flapped its wings. Bud de Young break the tractor to a halt, and he blinked. It was so far and so high now that it was difficult to see. But the plane soared

lazily against the sun again. Its wings flapped two, three, four times. And it wasn't an aircraft. It was a bird, some fantastic bird. What the hell? De Young thought as he watched the giant bird turn toward him. Its wingspan was easily thirty feet tip to tip, maybe longer. The improbable bird was larger than the cessnas, than pipers to Young had seen in the Elewa sky all this life, and now the bird was diving toward him at an

incredible speed. Clean sunlight illuminated brilliant red and gold coloration, and the bird's beat gleamed like a gemstone. De Youong ducked involuntarily as the impossibly huge bird careened toward him, and it passed just missing him. And in his peripheral vision he saw intensely dark hooded eyes. There was no grace, no mercy in those black eyes. Distracted and alarmed, he had lost concentration in driven the deer out of the

field and down the creek bank. The diesel engine chugged and barked and restarted, but the tractor wheels were firmly mired in the sodden ground. De Young shifted into reverse, but the heavy plow behind him had bitten deep into the earth and it was lodged, and he couldn't go forward or back. Distantly, he could see the bird turn and again another plummet toward him. Seperately, he shook the steering wheel from side to side, but to no avail.

He was stuck. De Young jumped down from the tractor and scrambled up the creek bank and began to run for his life. The bird was closing quickly. He looked up in time to see the bird swooping toward him at astonishing speed and so large it blocked the sun and all possibilities of escape. Its huge talons opened wide like gutting knives, leveled out toward him, and he opened his mouth to scream. This was written by Gerald Gustafson,

October twenty twenty one. Great story, Gerald, I'd be curious to know if this is folklore around that area in Iowa, or if it's some piece of fiction you made up. But it's a really good story. I loved it when a writer can take a thought and an action and condense it down to a story like this and tell the whole story and and have an impact on the listener or the reader. He's done a good job in Gerald's a great writer. Thanks Gerald. So I'm a hunter,

gatherer and all around out dorseman. I decided to head out to a state forest here in southern New Jersey to hunt for some mushrooms after a few days removed from heavy rains. It was a large track of land and it's known as the Pine Barrens, and it's over a million acres of pine forests and plenty of wetlands that snake their way through the sandy barren land. It's a rich ecosystem nestled in the southern part of the most heavily populated state per square mile in the Union.

The recent rains gave the forests a renewed green as autumn approached, and this was certainly one of the last real humid, warm days before the cold weather arrived. And I pulled my truck over to a sandy shoulder on a sugar sand road, and I began to search the sandy ridges and road banks that the mushrooms grew on the day went on, and my bag got heavier and heavier, with shan trails, black trumpets, and I even scored some

chicken of the woods on an old oak tree. We cut that off an oak tree right behind this office. We get a big slab of it every year, and we eat every bit of it. It's good stuff. I had plenty for supper and much more, but I wanted to enjoy the perfect day a little longer, so I took a hike down an old indoor bike trail that spit me out at the headwaters of an old bog. I was overheated from the ninety plus degree weather, so I decided to hike into the dark throes of a

cedar swamp just below the bog. After wrestling with tangles of briar and thorns and stickers, I finally stumbled into a dark swamp and began to saunter my way along the tann extream. I felt my boots sinking the moss, and I listened to the birds and the tree frogs and the distant gun and cannon fire at a nearby bombing range. And I gazed over the forest floor, looking

for any sign of orchids. I know of a few types that bloom this type of year, and I wanted to see if I could get a photograph my days from my senses coming together in harmony that put me in a spiritual nirvana that was interrupted by a low,

guttural growl that cut through me. My heart dropped to my belly like a bobber dropping into a lake, and at the same moment, a stench filled the air that I can only describe as I can only describe as stew of chicken livers left out in the sun for weeks, a truck stopped bathroom, and a sprinkle of burning tires for good measure. I was tearing up and gagging at the smell, and I began to lurch backward the way I came, knowing whatever growled at me from the bushes

wasn't how happy to see me. I stumbled my way across the swampy landscape, while at the same time hearing large limbs breaking behind me as someone or something pursued me. My boots were concrete as I continued to sink into the muck. As the light from the surrounding pitch pine forest grew larger. I didn't dare look back behind me, as I knew that would probably slow me down. I burst through the opening like a sprinter running through the finish line, and I high tailed it out to my truck.

I knew the thing was not far behind me, so I got in and I peeled off, leaving a rut from skidding off that's still there today. As I drove off, a loud screech that sounded like a woman being murdered filled the air. As I flew down the trail to the main route that cuts through the pines, I believe I may have encountered the Jersey Devil that day. To this day, I've only been back a few times to my little gathering spot. Each time I go back, I

always remember not to walk far from the truck. Also, I always try to bring along someone for extra safety. If there's anything that I've learned over the past few years is that there's much more out in the woods than we think. I was a skeptic for years, and I would laugh at people if they had any sort of weird encounters. But now I completely know what's out there. Woop man, what a good story. This thing chased him

out of the Pine Barons. That's what it's called. My friend Eric, who does a ssquatch podcast, He's done a lot of expeditions in the pine barns, and that Jersey Devil story seems to whole some water. I mean, tons of people see that stuff. Okay, here's another email that I think you guys will find interesting. The writer doesn't want her name revealed. Thank you for letting me share these encounters that I'll never forget. I'd like to keep my name anonymous due to the risk of being ridiculed

or being made fun of. My first encounter occurred in the summer of two thousand and two in central Indiana. I grew up with my mother being interested in Bigfoot, but it was always a joke in my family and not considered to be a real creature. My beliefs quickly changed in just a moment with an unexpected encounter. My older sister and I often enjoyed going to youth group that met midweek about an hour from our home. Our parents let us go, but we were told always to

get home before dark. That particular night, the service lasted longer than normal, causing us to be traveling home in the dark. And my parents lived on a dead end road fairly remote with an additional quarter mile driveway. We rounded the curve of the dead end road and standing in the middle of the road was a large, dark figure with glowing red eyes. My sister was driving and quickly stopped the car in the road. The figure just stood there staring at us, and we stared at it.

I know it only stood there for a very short time, but it felt like it was several minutes, and then the creature quickly walked off the road and into the woods. I don't remember feeling fear, but more absolute shock. My sister quickly went down the driveway to the safety of our parents' home. The picture of those glowing red eyes has never left my mind. I can see it in

my mind just like it was yesterday. Twelve years later, and I was married and living with my husband on almost a two hundred acre horse ranch that was shared by his family. I told my husband my previous experience, but he never acted like he believed me. One night, we decided we wanted to camp out, and we pitched a tent in the woods where we lived and enjoyed

the evening around the campfire. We climbed in our tent to go to sleep, and at the same time we both had this overwhelming feeling of dread and danger close by. We didn't see anything, but felt like we immediately had to get out of there, and we grabbed our phones and flashlights and we took off on the four wheeler to go back to our home. A few weeks later, my husband decided to take our two dogs on a late night four wheeler ride in the hayfield behind the

large wooded area. He wanted to see what wildlife was out there at night. The dogs were excited to go and joyfully ran ahead of the four wheeler like they usually do. My husband got to the hayfield and he shut the four wheeler off, taking advantage of the moonlight. Suddenly, the dogs came back crying and tried to climb onto

the fore wheeler with him. My husband was trying to figure out what had our dogs so scared, and he shined us light across the field, and across the field, his light hit a large black figure with glowing red eyes. He said. The creature quickly started walking away into the field, but kept its eye on him. He started the four We learned and came back to the house with our dogs. He came inside and his face was completely pale, as if the blood had drained from his face. He told

me what he had seen. We didn't get much sleep that night, and our dogs slept inside with us. I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary since then. I started to get scared to go out in the woods, but have since decided that the woods are God's creation and I'm going to enjoy them. Good for you. I don't know the origins of Bigfoot, but I know they're real. Thank you, and God blessed well. God bless you, ma'am.

That was a great story. I really appreciate it. I think it might be kind of unusual for one person to have an experience when they're younger, and then they get married in their spouse years later has almost an identical experience. That's kind of unusual, but it sure, you know, it kind of justifies everything you told him all up until that date. But it's just a wonderful story. I really appreciate it, and I know it's scary, but we

all loved it, so thanks for sending it. I don't know who this is from, but it's a good one. At some point anyway I'm reading it, Cole I have. I've just kind of breezed through it, so I'm going to stumble through it. Hey, Cam, I found your YouTube channel a week or so ago, and I enjoy all the stories you share from all the people that have encounters. I'd like to share my encounters with you. My first

encounter happened when I was nine years old. I was fishing with my brother and my stepdad on a remote part of the river in Edwards, New York. We were about two miles back in the woods from any main road or house. I was fishing by myself in a section of the river when all of a sudden, I

had a sense of fear come over me. I was scared like any nine year old boy would be, when all of a sudden, on the other side of the river, a forty foot tall dead pine was pushed over thirty yards inside of the woodline, right in front of me. There was no breeze this day, and no black bear was going to knock over such a huge tree. It scared me to my core, and being a clueless kid, I ran to find my stepdad at the time, just

for a sense of safety. My second encounter happened in a small town in western Vermont, where I have lived my entire life, and I was heading to a job site early that morning. When driving down a two lane country road which I had traveled a thousand times, I came around the corner in the road and a figure stepped out from behind a tree for a few seconds. As I caught it in the high beams of my lifted Chevy pickup truck, I was at a loss for words when my brother said from the passenger seat, did

you see that too? Judging by the hood of my truck, this thing was all of seven feet tall that had yellow eyes shine. Although the sighting was one of only a few seconds, but I knew what I had seen, and my brother was there too to witness it with me for verification. My third encounter happened in November of

twenty twenty. I was deer hunting in northern Vermont. I was hunting with my brother on an eleven thousand acre parcel of state land around ten in the morning, and I had not seen a thing, when all of a sudden, I had an overwhelming sense of fearing something was watching me in the woods, and everything went quiet. And I couldn't help but fixate on a strange looking stump one hundred and twenty yards out through the hard woods, and it didn't look right. Many people have the experience of

mind speak from these creatures. I knew what was in the area, and I simply said in my mind that I was only here for one deer, and I meant him no harm, would he please leave me alone? Although I didn't get a response, after five minutes or so, the feelings went away and the stump I was fixated on was gone. I've had many odd things happened to me in the woods in my twenty one years of honting.

These times are definitely the weirdest. I hope to hear my experiences on your channel, and thank you for the outlet to provide so many people. I wish to keep my name anonymous because I live in a small town in rue Vermont and where everyone knows everyone. There You go, man, you got to hear your story on the channel, and I didn't say your name, so I read this cold. If you'd had your name up top, i'd had to go back and edit it out. This is really interesting and I appreciate the story