Back in nineteen eighty four, my family lived on a farm on the edge of town in the heart of Kentucky. The house sat on a hilltop with a big black barn behind it and a long, narrow valley beyond that. The house set well above the roadway and even higher above the valley. The valley sat even lower and was surrounded by woods. I was sixteen and feeling pretty low. My girlfriend had just called me on the phone and broken up with me after two months. She didn't even
give me a reason. It was February, but the weather was beginning to show signs of spring after a long winter. The temperature was somewhat in the mid forties, and there were only a few patches of snow here and there. I needed to get away and think, so I headed for my favorite spot for me, that the woods. I spent a great deal of time there, and sometimes with friends, but usually alone. My father had left my mother when I was young, so the male role models in my
life were my two uncles. They taught me to hunt and fish, and to appreciate the beauty and wonder of nature in those woods. They were a couple of great guys. Looking back, I really missed those times that we spent together. I walked down to the bottom of the valley, like I generally did. I was deep in thought about why my girl would break up with me, and I wasn't paying attention when I heard a thumping sound. It was
something solid hitting the grass covered ground. I looked around and saw a rock about twenty feet from me, rolling uphill. I figured it was either my sister or my brother playing a trick on me, so I turned to look back the way I came, expecting to see one of them, and I scanned around looking, but they weren't there. As I turned to my left, still looking for my siblings, I saw a twenty foot patch of snow with four
human shaped footprints in it. It was a little unnerving to see the footprints because first, whoever made these prints wasn't wearing shoes. It wasn't freezing out, but it was still cold. Walking in the snow would have made it feel even colder. Second, these prints were huge. I walked over and compared them to my boot. They were nearly twice as long as my foot and much wider, and the stride was a lot longer than I could have made.
I was still examining the footprints when I heard another rock hit the ground, and I turned in the direction of the sound, and I saw the rock twenty feet away rolling downhill. This time it was bigger than the first, roughly the size of my fist, and I knew immediately it couldn't have been my brother or sister. I was far older and stronger than them, and I doubt I could have thrown it from any possible hiding spots. I then thought it might have been one of my friends
who lived close. I knew Tommy was out of town visiting relatives, and Scotty had been in bed all week with a bad case of the flu. They were the only ones who ever came over, so I looked around again. Who was throwing rocks at me? The tracks probably should have sent me running home, but I honestly thought someone was playing a prank on me. My uncle's taught me that tracks made in the snow will expand when they melt, so I figured it was just a joke. I walked
forward with a lot of confidence. You better knock it off. I'm throw rocks too, I said. Another rock was chucked at me. This time I saw it in mid flight, so I knew it was coming from the left corner of the woods near the property line. It was two hundred feet from me, and I thought, whoever was throwing these rocks must have a pretty good arm. Another rock landed ten feet to my right. I was getting angry now, so I walked over and picked it up before it
stopped rolling. It was a little bigger than I would have normally wanted to throw, but in my frustration, I threw it back. Then I screamed an insult at whoever this was for good measure. My throw was way off the mark. It hit the ground well short of the tree line, so I looked around for another rock to throw. I found a few in the grass between the patches of snow, so I picked one up that fitted my hand better. This time, it hit a tree just inside
the woodline. Then I saw a movement eighty feet to my left in the nearest section of trees. It was a lot closer to me than where the rocks were coming from. I only got a glimpse, maybe four or five seconds at most. Most of it was obscured by the thick brush and trees. I saw a dark upper portion of a massive right shoulder blade and a huge moving arm about seven feet off the ground. Also, I saw what looked like thick legs as it ran behind a tree. It was completely covered in reddish hair that
bounced as it disappeared into the trees. I was nearly awe struck. Its movements were so graceful and fluid. It was completely different from how a deer or a human would move. Now I knew immediately it wasn't a bear or a cougar. It was too large. Both bears and cougars are extremely rare in Kentucky, and neither of them throw rocks. I barely had time to register what I was seeing when another rock landed five feet from me.
It came from the same direction as the others. Then I heard heavy footfalls in the woods from that same direction. There were definitely more than one of them. To say I wasn't terrified would be a bold faced lie. I knew I had to get out of there. I was alone and on The nearest house was over half a mile away, on the other side of the valley and flanked by thick trees. I knew the elderly couple who
lived there. They were nice people, but they wouldn't have been able to hear me even if they were outside, which they rarely were. My house was over three quarters of a mile away, and my mom and siblings had been inside watching TV when I left. At that moment, I forgot all about my girlfriend. Survival was my priority. I wanted to run, but I remembered what my uncles had told me about predators. Never turn your back on them,
and running will kick in their instinct to chase. Fear turned into anger as I picked up as many rocks as I could find and started throwing them back towards the woods as fast as I could. I at least a string of obscenities and foul language as I did, all the while moving backwards a few dozen paces at a time. Years later, during my time in the military, I learned to call that a tactical retreat. More rocks are being thrown back at me now, and from two
different directions. I switched targets back and forth as I slowly made my way back down the valley. Locked in combat with an unseen enemy. I was outnumbered and out gun but I kept throwing and moving and cussing and cursing. I doubted the cussing helped me, but it made me feel braver. It was probably only five minutes before I felt the hill under my feet, but it felt like hours. That meant I was closer to the relative safety of home. By now, those creatures had stopped throwing rocks at me.
My accuracy had dropped off dramatically by then, anyway, and I scanned the woods once more for movement and listened for sounds. I didn't see or hear anything, and exhausted and sweating like i'd run a marathon, I took off my coat and stood there for another five minutes before I felt it was safe enough to turn and high tailor at home. I didn't tell my mother and siblings
what had happened. I didn't want to scare them. The next day I told one of my uncles, who brought his shotgun over and slipped down into the valley with me to retrace my steps. I showed him the tracks in the snow. There were huge gouges in the hard dirt where the rocks and landed. We walked into the woodline where I had seen the one running. That's where I compared the size and height of the trees to the spot where I saw the shoulder and the arm.
This thing must have been massive, but we didn't find any tracks there. We left the area, but not before I noticed that my uncle was being unusually quiet. After we got back to the house and well away from my mom, he told me that he'd had a strange experience there many years before. My eldest uncle served in Vietnam. He's a quiet man who rarely shows his emotions or gets upset. When he came home from the war, he couldn't wait to get back into his beloved woods where
he could hunt and fish. And then he finally got the chance, and it was a bittersweet experience. It isn't an easy transition from life of daily combat back to a peaceful civilian existence. The woods of Kentucky looked nothing like the jungles of Southeast Asia, but the oppressive feeling of the dense vegetation and the limited visibility are similar. It took him quite a while to get over the nagging fear of someone waiting behind every bush to kill him.
Slowly he worked his way back to his favorite fishing spots. Once he was comfortable, he began to hunt again. One day he was out hunting squirrel alone with his twenty two rifle. He was also carrying a revolver in his hip holster. He walked for hours and saw a few squirrels that they were too small to trouble with. When he decided to take a break, he sat down under a large tree on top of a heavily wooded ridge line. From there, he had a clear view down into the
nearby holler. He'd been sitting there for about ten minutes when he saw movement below. He only saw bushes moving, but he suspected it was a deer. It was too early for deer season, but knowing their paths might help him decide where to build a stand later. He decided to go down check it out. He got up and
slowly made his way down to the holler. The trees and underbrush made it impossible to get a clear view of whatever was moving around, but he found a little path that had made Whatever it was, he knew it wasn't a deer. It looked almost like a small bulldozer had made the path, like six deer had walked inside by side. He never seen them move that way, and plus the vegetation looked like it had been smashed aside
and pulled out of the way. He didn't find any tracks, but it was clear that something heavy had walked through here. He told me he should have left right then and there, but he was young and curiosity got the better of him. He moved forward, pondering what kind of critter could make such a path. Was it a bear? No, Black bears aren't much whiter than a deer. Besides, he'd never seen a bear in this part of the state. Cougars and mountain lions came to mind, but he quickly ruled them
out as well. Suddenly there was a loud crash, like a tree breaking under a great strain, and it echoed across the haller. Then the woods grew eerily quiet. There were no birds chirping, no bees buzzing, no worlds or any other animals making any sounds. Alarmed, and reverting back to his military training, he quickly veered off the trail and hid down among the tall grass on his belly. He lay there in the silence for several minutes, wondering
if his mind was playing tricks on him. He was about to move away when he heard a sound that I was familiar with. First, there was a thump several yards away, and then another one a little closer. He looked up over the tall grass and he saw a rock coming in his direction. He crawled away, hoping that that would throw his attacker off his position, and it almost worked. The next rock landed farther away, but it was adjusting for his movement. He decided that this thing
must be a human. He couldn't think of anything else in Kentucky that could throw rocks. With his rifle and pistol, my uncle felt reasonably assured that he was sick, so he stood up and he called out. He doesn't remember what he said, but it was something to the effect of asking them not to throw rocks at him, but no one answered. He then told them that he was armed, and he expected to get an answer, or at least hear them leave, but he got neither. He began to
make his way out of there. Like me, He walked backwards, with his eyes scanning for threats. He moved quickly. It was too late to worry about being quiet. Whatever it was, it knew exactly where he was. Another rock hit the ground at his feet and bounced into his right leg. It didn't hurt him. But it startled him greatly. He didn't lose his cool. He pulled his rifle up and scanned the area in a quick three sixty. He was still convinced it was people, so he threatened to shoot
if another rock was thrown. Well, something moved in the bushes, but he couldn't see what it was. It had to be a human. He wasn't prepared to accept any other alternative. He kept backing up and moving his head from side to side, and then an incredibly loud growl broke the silence and reverberated through his chest. He said he'd never heard anything like it before or since. At this point, my uncle knew two things. It was very close, and
it wasn't human. Instinct kicked in. He fired into the bushes, shifted position, chambered another round, and then he fired again. He doubted he hid anything, but he was hoping to scare it off. And then another rock flew at him. It landed a little further away than the last, but that was enough. He turned and bolted for a nearby grove of trees. It didn't offer much shelter, but it
was better than nothing. He pulled at his pistol and sat there for maybe an hour, waiting for or another confrontation. His nerves were on edge. He's not a religious man, but he said he did a lot of praying that day. But nothing more happened, and soon the sounds of the woods were turned to normal, as if nothing had ever happened. He was feeling foolish, and he made his way back to the ridge and looked over the area one more time. He didn't see anything unusual and gladly went home empty handed.
He didn't tell anyone else about his experience for a long time. He didn't think anyone would believe him. Eventually he told his brother later. He told me. In a way, my uncle and I bonded that day, we both had a strange experience that we couldn't explain. At least, he'd been armed with throwing rocks back at something that's throwing rocks at me. Probably wasn't very smart, but it seemed like my best option at the time. Fortunately, neither of
us had seen anything. Since, now that I'm older and perhaps a bit wiser, I don't think that whatever was throwing rocks at us was trying to hurt us. I think it was warning us to get out of the area. At least, that's my two cents worth. You can believe whatever you choose to believe.