Archive 239 Paranormal & Bigfoot

the late seventies and early eighties. Most people probably think of corn and beanfields when thinking of Indiana, and that's mostly true, but southern Indiana has some great rolling hills. It was nineteen eighty four in the forecast call for six inches of snow. My buddies and I knew we wouldn't have school the next day, so we planned on going out in a friend's four wheel drive Bronco. After finding someone to get us some liquid refreshments, we headed

out to what we call the virgin roading. This is when you cruise the back roads and fine roads where the snow hasn't been driven on. And after hour or so of riding, we had to take a nature call. My buddy was on somewhat of a main road out in the stick, so we pulled off to the side of the road for some privacy, and after we finished up our business, we saw tire tracks in the snow leading down the road. The tires were pretty narrow and

it looked like they were about three feet apart. We found this was strange, but it was going down this road just fine. We popped over a small hill and we found ourselves driving right into a graveyard. There was no other way out, so we started to turn around, and it was here that we noticed the tire tracks

had stopped. There was absolutely no way the tire tracks could follow the exact path back out, and we noticed that there wasn't a bear spot where a car had been sitting, or footprints that had gotten out of the car to leave. There was also no wind, so the snow couldn't have blown over the spot where it had been sitting or the footprints covered up. Yes, we had been drinking, but we were not out of our minds drunk.

Yet no one said anything. As we drove out. My friend's tire tracks were outside of the smaller vehicles tracks. We looked closely and it was definitely a one way trip. I finally asked when we got back on the main road. If anybody was screwing with me. Everybody said no. We headed back to town. I tried to find this road later in life, but I couldn't locate it. Everything looks different in the snow. You can use my name if you want. My name is Kelly, And everything looks different

when you're sober to Kelly, when you're not full of beer. Yeah, that's kind of a creepy, interesting story. I don't know what to think about that. These two tire tracks. What do you think that could have been? I don't know what has small tires and the wheels are just three feet apart, but they go up in the graveyard and they just stop in the middle of a snowstorm and they just vanish. That's pretty odd, But that was an interesting story. I thought i'd share it with you guys.

I grew up in eastern Washington in a hunting gathering kind of family, and by the time I was fourteen, my friends and I would regularly gather twenty two's and go off camping not far from home. All my friends also came from hunting families, and we had skinned and eaten every legal prey we could harvest. You sure you're

not from Louisiana, sounds like you're a Cajun. One warm afternoon in the nineteen seventies, while hiking out a canyon from an overnight stay, we found something in a small drainage that scared me and my buddies to the point that we never spoke of it again. There in the drainage lade what appeared to be a bloody, skinned out monkey or ape. It had been perfectly skinned, as if someone had removed the hide for tanning. The creature was

only the size of a small child. It wasn't a bear, though a skinned out bear, we had learned earlier in life, does have a human look to them. After the sight of this creature, we walked home a bit scared and in disbelief, and to this day we have never brought it up again. So a short story and maybe nothing, but monkeys or apes are not found in eastern Washington, nor did we know anyone who owned them. There was not even a zoo nearby, which makes it all the scarier.

Thank you again for your time in sharing these incredible stories. I still hunt now near our home in western Montana. Other than a few hunts where not one critter can be found heard, not even a forest bird. I have never seen anything like others have, and thank God for that too. I do believe they're around here, but maybe they have no care about me and they stay clear, or maybe they know I carry much more than a bow and an arrow. They're pretty smart critters. I think

he signs off Randy Yep. Apparently from these reports, they know what a gun is, and I don't know. Maybe they know I don't. Maybe they're scared of guns. Who knows. That's pretty interesting, you know, I don't know. When I read these stories from people and they are recounting events from their childhood, I remember seeing weird things in my childhood. Like now, this is going to be kind of off topic, but for some reason, this just popped in my head. I remember some buddies and I were We used to

ride ditches in Memphis. We'd get out in these ditches. They'd go for miles and miles and you'd find all kind of stuff in these ditches, old bicycles, probably stolen bicycles, old radios and things like that. And one time we came up on it looked like just a magazine sitting there, and it wound up being a girly magazine. I think it was a Playboy, and of course we all grabbed it. We were looking through the pages, and that was interesting, you know, as a young teenager to look at those pictures.

I mean, we were boys, but I have never forgotten the thought, and I always think about who takes who looks at those magazines in a ditch? I mean, how did that thing get there? I don't know. I don't of course, none of the other guys were thinking that, but I'm asking the whole time, how the hell did this thing getting down here? Who threw this thing in here?

And I thought through the years, probably some other teenage boy who who was afraid his mother would find it in his bedroom or something chum from his backyard end of the ditch. I don't know why that popped in my head, but the story's kind of about finding something odd on the side of the road, and they found a skinned out monkey. Now that's a lot weirder than finding a girly magazine. But I thought that was very interesting, and yeah, let's move along. Hopefully I don't get distracted

too much again. Twelve years ago, I found myself suddenly a single father with an amazing eight year old daughter. After her mother left our lives, I had to become both father and mother overnight and raise our beautiful daughter alone. I was lucky to secure a beautiful property north of Brisbane in Queensland, Australia, and we began to heal. This was an amazing old property around ten acres on the

outskirts of a smaller township. The house was old, but the land had an amazing combination of old trees, small cleared paddocks for our horse, old tropical gardens, and a series of creeks that ran down one boundary to form a billabong. This was the place my daughter and I needed. Our horse was our buckskin lawnmower. He was like a puppy and he followed us around when we went on bushwalks. Given the size of the land, my daughter was also able to keep chickens and ducks. She would be their

little mother. They all had names and would come to her for hugs and cuddles. We had no cats or dogs, so wildlife was abundant. We had black cockatoos and cuker burrows, possums, brilliant kingfishers at the creeks, and hundreds of lorikeets. One morning, I went out back of the house and discovered chicken feathers scattered in the backyard. I followed a trail which led to the far side boundary near the creek, and

found a larger pile of feathers. I assumed that a fox had come in and taken one of my daughter's birds. During the night, I cleaned up all the feathers and later told my daughter what I had found. She asked if it could have put up a fight and gotten away. It was possible I had only found the feathers. We made sure the chickens were locked up tight that night. Onward,

they were free range during the day. One weekend, we went away to go swimming at the beach, and when we got back we quickly realized that more chickens and ducks had been taken. The trail of feathers once again led us to the forest near the creek. Still we found nothing but feathers. A few weeks later, winter had set in. It does get cold here in Australia, but only for a few weeks. During that short time, we enjoyed fires outside. It was a good time on those

chilly nights. Because the property was so big with lots of trees, I never had to buy firewood. I would just gather pine cones and branches from the property to burn. Some nights, I would take a large old washing basket and a torch and go stick picking around the property to gather something to burn. I wouldn't let my daughter come with me at night, but she would stand on the front veranda and watch me go around with a torch. I didn't want her to follow in case of snakes

or spiders. We have some big ones here and I never traveled out of her sight. One such night, I had filled the basket with sticks and pine cones and was walking back up the long driveway back to the house. I had the torch in front of me and I walked alongside the driveway fence, which was about four feet high. As I got within around fifty meters of the front of the house, the front spotlights were on from the

roof and I could see my daughter waving. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a large black cat like creature run between me and the fence towards the house. It was fast, but very close, within two meters to my left. I turned the torch onto it, and I watched it loop forward until it got to a large, overgrown hibiscus that grew beside the car port. These gardens were old. The original plants had grown to

enormous sizes over the years. The hibiscus had grown to a large, dome shaped mass of thicket and branches, but it was hollow inside. The chickens often nestled in there. My daughter saw the creature run past me, and then she asked what it was. I wasn't sure and still had the torch on it, and I saw it enter into the big hibiscus. I wasn't sure if it was still there or had gone out the back into the forest.

I told my daughter to stay where she was at the front door, and I approached the big shrub, expecting to find nothing. I shown the torch into the bush, and staring back in the torch light was the biggest set of bright neon green eyes. The creature was so black that even the torch light was not picking up the detail. The eyes were really big. They were the size of golf balls and spaced it twenty five centimeters apart. There was no sound, but I could see its nose

wrinkle up in snarls. It exposed a huge mouth with big, white, sharp teeth and whiskers. The eyes were wide open, but I could see its brow furrow down in anger. The thing that hit me was its wildness. This thing was powerful, large and foreign. Australia has no official big cats. But I could see from its eyes and their reaction that it was pissed and defensive. I've seen pictures of tigers with their ears laid back and snarling, nose wrinkled up with full fury, and this was exactly what I saw.

I told my daughter to go straight back into the house and I backed away, slowly, keeping the torch on this creature's face. It kept shutting its mouth and then burying its teeth, but no noise ever came out of this thing. I backed away and made it to the house and I shut the door. A week later, I saw a council vehicle pulling up at our front gate. I walked down to the property entry, and the officer

asked me about our buckskin horse. They had found one down the road an hour earlier and thought that it might be mine. I looked around the property and called out for him, but no sign of the horse. We walked the fence and found a spot where the fence had been crushed to the ground, obviously where the horse had escaped. This was unusual, as he was a real house pet, never flighty or spook. He was so docile that he was more like a dog than a horse.

The council officer said it looked like he had been herded into a panic in the corner and pushed the fence down and then ran through. His guest was a pack of dogs had run the horse out. I didn't say anything about the recent encounter, feeling I would be seen as a nutter. The officer radio to his other council workers said it was our horse, and a few minutes later they came up the road leading him back.

The horse was worried about the property, kept looking over all the areas, nostrils wide open and ears up and flicking around. I let him onto the property and he slowly calmed down, but he hung around me like a shadow. We noticed some big scratch marks down his left flank, four big scratch marks in a row from the middle of his back, down his leg, and around his backside. Each scratch was around three centimeters apart. They had broken

the skin, but he would not need that treatment. One of the officers said it might have been by the fence when he got through. The other officer said it looked like a big cat, only to be shot down quickly by his superior, saying it was a fence injury. There have been many sightings of big cat encounters in Australia for many but the media and the public in general dismissed these as fantasy. I've never publicly admitted this encounter to anyone, and we have moved away from the property.

All right, here's a story from a woman in Ohio, and she wants to keep her name out of it. She'll tell us why at the end, but this is really an interesting story. So here's what she writes. I was listening to your March four, twenty nineteen YouTube video and I thought I would share this experience with you. First, though, I wanted to tell you how much, okay, how much I enjoy your channel. It's great. It's a wonderful mix of music and storytelling and information. It's nothing better than

a good story, y'all. I normally I'm reading these cold. I don't usually I edit that stuff out when people say, oh, we love your channel, and because that's really not pertinent to the story, but I appreciate people writing it. I'm trying to stick to the point here, but thank you, ma'am for saying that, she writes. I grew up on a big farm in southern Ohio, in between Cincinnati and Dayton. It was a great place to be as a kid. The first time I saw this craft was in the

early nineteen seventies. It was on a ridge above a half mile training track, and it was longer than one side stretch of the track that would make it six hundred plus feet long. It was a long, cigar shaped object and glowed a soft pink lavender like an old Neon sign. It appeared to be floating or moving in the pink colored mist. The weather was warm and the mist was just short of boiling. Under the craft. I could feel it deep in my body. It vibrated the air,

but it never made a sound. I was barefoot, and I could feel the vibration even in the ground. It had portals the whole length of the craft, and the craft was close enough that you could see that it was lit up inside. It was a summer morning, and there were already lots of people at the farm. It was a commercial horse training and breeding facility. I remember thinking the craft was so amazing, but being even more amazed that no one else appeared to even notice there

was something taking up most of the sky. And then it was gone. I moved to Florida, and in the nineteen nineties I saw it again. I was driving down a major four lane highway in North Florida. It was a beautiful spring day and I was driving with the windows down. I felt it before I saw it, and I was surprised by the emotional response to the memory. The craft was right above the telephone power poles and

just as big and pink as before. Everything was the same, except this was on a busy highway and no one else was even hitting their brakes. Cam This thing was a couple of football fields long, and it vibrated in the air so much that it hurt your heart. But it didn't make a noise. It was absolutely silent. I pulled over into a ditch and sat there watching the cars driving by, and the craft was barely moving. And then it sped up to tad and then it was gone. It didn't zip up into the sky or take a

real fast approach. It was just gone. There was nothing in the news and no local gossip. Fifty plus cars passed it, and not one car hit their brake, swerved, or appeared to even notice something the size of an aircraft carrier a few feet above the power pole lines. I wondered if maybe the reality was that they couldn't see it, and not that they hadn't seen it, they just couldn't see it for some reason. Yes, I know I'm probably not completely right in my head and I've

had too many rather strange experiences in my life. However, if you set that aside, I want you to know that I am a professional, I'm a responsible, educated person. I have a family, and I have no desire to be considered a looney tune looney been worthy fodder. I'm sharing this with you, and I would prefer to remain anonymous, and you there's no problem with that, man. But I love this story. And here's the thing. You know, these bigfoot stories, some people say, well, you have to kind

of be chosen to see one. Could that be the same with some of these strange crafts that people see? Because this is one of probably two or three I've read where people see these things in the sky. They're in a crowded area and they're the only ones that see them. Nobody else is looking up. This thing, especially on the four lane highway, must have been very obvious, would have been very obvious to anybody driving down the highway because she couldn't miss it. Nobody else sees it.

What a weird deal. Now, there are some stories I read where people see these strange crafts floating or flying in the sky and everybody sees it. Everybody around them sees it, and they're all gathered around looking at it. I always refer back to Close Encounters of the Third kind, and it reminds me of that scene where everybody is

all these people, it's night. All these people are gathered on the side of this hill, around the curve of this highway and they know these things are coming, and sure enough they come flying through and around the highway and the police are chasing them. Do you all remember that one of the police cars flies off through the rail and down a ravine. So I don't know. It just kind of reminded me of that. But I just

love this stuff. It's kind of I don't know. It just sparks your imagination and it makes you kind of dreamy and wonder filled with wonder and that's what I love about these stories. So thank you man for sending this. I know you think you're not right in the head, but I think you are, and I think you saw what you say you saw. And maybe the rest of us just don't have the insight to see those things, or maybe we're too busy to notice. Who knows, but

I'm always looking for stuff like that. Anyway, thank you for the story. It was wonderful. In September in nineteen seventy four, my wife and I were living on a farm west of the small town of Leveland, Texas. Leveland is twenty five miles west of Lobock. I guess that part of Texas just about as flat as land can be. It's five and a half million acres of flat farmland sitting on the largest sand sheet on Earth. There are no trees except in towns and around farm homes. Otherwise

it's just a wide open space. The local joke goes that you can stand on your front porch and watch your dog run away for three days. That's a good one. You may laugh, but that's pretty accurate. Oh, that is so good. On the weekend of the fifteenth, we had traveled to my wife's parents' house, one hundred and fifty miles northeast of us. We'd gone for a visit and to get her dog. He was a half rat terrier and half gaiter. He was a great watchdog and an even at her guard dog. We left to make the

three hour drive home late on Sunday evening. The moon was bright that night and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. We pulled into the driveway at eleven PM and quickly unloaded the truck, and we showered, and we went to bed with Gator Dog curled up on my jeans. I was almost asleep when my wife elbowed me and asked if I quote heard that. Well, I didn't hear anything. No, I said, go to sleep. Two or three minutes went by, just enough time for me to drift back into that

place between being awake and sleeping soundly. When she elbowed me again. Something's on the roof, she insisted, you must be tired. I grumbled, go to sleep. She sat bolt upright and said, there's someone on the roof. Wh I didn't hear a thing, but I knew I wasn't going to get any sleep until I got up and checked it out. I walked out to the living room mumble to myself. That's when I heard it. Someone was walking

across our roof. It sounded like size twelve boots up there stomping around and chris crossing the roof from front to back. I swallowed my panic and turned around to go back to the bedroom, and I found my wife standing right behind me. And after I took another big gulp of panic, I knew I had to do something, but what. I put my boots on and grabbed my shotgun and I took a long, hard look at Gator Dog, who was sleeping soundly. The shotgun was all I had,

so it was going to have to do. We went to the back door and listened, and the footsteps continued back and forth across the roof from one end of the house to the other. Whatever it was, it was huge, and it definitely was not trying to hide its presence. When the steps got just above the door we were standing at, it turned and walked back to the other side of the house and I used the opportunity to

sprint out of the door. With my gun in my hand, I hugged the side of the house and I listened intently until I heard it directly overhead, and when it turned, my blood ran cold. I heard the rough surface of the shingles rub as it turned. It ground the asphalt as if it was wearing leather soles of a boot. I thought for a minute I was going to pass out.

As it walked back over to the crown of the roof, I bolted for the other side of my truck that was part close by, and from there I could see the entire roof and I could see the roof jiggle as it stepped. We could both hear it clearly. Gaiter Dog snored in his sleep. When it walked back to the side of the house, I could see the roof shake and I heard everything, but nothing was there. I

motioned for my wife to come out. Timidly, she stepped outside, and we both looked and listened for fifteen minutes as it continued. Once did we see anything. Gator Dog got a good night's sleep. We finally went back inside. My wife went to bed, and I sat in my chair with my gun in my hand until dawn. The marching continued on until daylight. I became a praying man that night, and I still am to this day. My wife went to work and I went to get my farming done.

The elderly gentleman I was working for came out and noticed I was having a hard day. When I told him about our night, he just laughed. It's still going on, I said, and he laughed again. When I asked if he wanted to see it for himself, he agreed, and we walked through the pasture to the house. It was nine am, and that thing was still marching, as invisible as ever, back and forth across the house, shaking the roof and making as much racket as it was the

night before. The old gentleman saw it and heard it, turned and ran home like a little girl. I stayed at the house until noon and it never did stop. At one PM, I gave up and I went back to work, and when we got home at six that night, the noise was gone. I could never get my employer to discuss it with me. My wife and I talked about it briefly, but we never figured out what it was. I still work in the area and From time to

time we drive by just to sea. Fifty years later, the house is still standing there, just like we walked out of it yesterday