Best Dixie Cryptid of Vol 12

The person who sent me this email, I don't know their name. Well, I do know their name, but they didn't give me permission to say it. So blah blah blah. You know the story, But this event takes place in Central America. I think you're going to find this interesting. I was born to a large family in Costa Rica in nineteen seventy one. Back then, it was still a very rural and remote place to live, and there were no main roads and farmers were still breaking into the jungle using

hand tools and farm animals. And my playmates were all of my brothers and sisters, mainly sisters and many cousins. We were a large group of kids running through my grandparents' farm barefoot, looking for our next big adventure. In the newly made pastures where my grandpa and uncles kept the horses and cattle they bred, we all had specific chores laid out by my grandmother, Marie Louisa.

She was a rugged carrying woman who was always on edge. Her word was law, and sometimes we were introduced to that law by the rugged edge of her flip flops. The kids, from ages seven to ten were in charge of feeding the chickens and gathering eggs, carrying milk buckets back from the corral, gathering vegetables from the greenhouse and wood for the fire. The older kids got to ride the horses to herd cattle each morning and then milk the

cows. They were usually up before daybreak to do their chores later in the day. They were also the ones who delivered lunches to my grandfather, Fernando, my uncles and adult cousins who were out working to clear more land for more pastures and more crops. The farm ran like a well little machine. We all pulled our weight in order to survive, and we all looked out

for each other. It had to be that way, and back then the jungles and prairies were still full of all kinds of animals that could seriously hurt us or even kill us, from fire ants and spiders to venomous snakes and jaguars. We had to be careful of everything. More often than not, when my uncles ventured into the jungle, they were going to have a close call with a large predator, but there was only one rifle available on the farm. Being careful and watching out for each other was the only way to

survive. My farmhouse sat like an oasis on the hill in the middle of that thick, dark rainforest. From there, we never went out alone. We were always in pairs or groups. The kids carried machetes for protection,

and the rifle was reserved from my grandfather or one of my uncles. One morning, my cousin Raoul, fell off his horse while gathering the cattle from milking, and when it came time to deliver lunch to the men, he was in no shape to go. I was ten, then, almost old enough to join my older cousins in their chores, and already a brave horseman. It was my time to shine. I went and got my horse.

That was a gift from my father, and it was an old, slow animal who had seen its best days as a workhorse long before I received it. But it was a safe choice for a kid. I would come to regret that later. My aunt Anna loaded me up with my share of the lunch we were bringing to the men, and I was off with three of my cousins to make the delivery. It all went well until we hit the tree line to enter the jungle. I was thinking, how am I supposed

to get in there with this big horse. But by you, my horse knew better. He was last in the line. With my older cousins leading the way and breaking through the undergrowth when necessary. We made our way through the jungle, with my cousin Jose guiding us toward the sounds of axes and chopping wood. I was in my own world. Never had I seen so many different shapes and colors. There were all kinds of new sounds from birds

and animals that I didn't know. But suddenly I recognized the sound of a yellow pic Tucan ahead of me. Carlos asked, hey, Jose, I thought they were working near the river, same as yesterday. Well, I thought so too, Jose answered, But it seems they changed their plans. Who knows. The peace and tranquility of the ride was suddenly interrupted by a horrible, strange odor that smelled like a bunch of pigs that farted in my face. Okay, at first I thought it was one. At first I

thought it was one of the horses. Oh, I'm sorry, y'all. At first I thought it was one of the horses. My cousin started pointing fingers and blaming each other. Even the horses seemed offended by it. They started snorting and nanging and jumping about. We continued on until Jose suddenly jolted back on his horse's harness and started looking around as if he was searching for something. Pepe looked back at me and put his finger to his mouth to

signal silence. His eyes were wide with fear, and I began to panic. And then he burst into laughter, and I knew I was being pranked. I rolled my eyes and looked around to see what Jose was searching for. There they are, he cried as he jumped from his horse and tied it to a bush, and then he ran over and grabbed a set of

vines. Apparently it was time to play for a few minutes. So I jumped down from my horse and pulled off the rubber boots I was wearing to protect my feet from the thick bushes and long thorns, and I joined the others. We climbed up the vines and took turns, swinging back and forth. Watch out, Jose, caution, don't let go. It's a long drop off if you do. On my third turn, I noticed it. It had gotten unusually quiet. The birds had ceased to chirp, and a

cold chill filled the air. As I swung back toward the tree. I expected Jose's arm to grab me and pull me in, but to my surprise, he was looking the other way. Keeping me from falling was the last thing on his mind. I missed my catch, and I was hanging on for dear life. Just as I was about to let go, Carlos grabbed me by the waist. His eyes were wide open and his face was pale, and he wanted to say something to me, but no words would come.

I was trying to make a place for myself on the crowded branch when Jose's hand came hard over my mouth to prevent me from saying anything. And when I saw it, my heart fell into my stomach and I felt a certain urge to pee. One hundred meters from us, sitting hunched over on a tree base, was something big and hairy. At first, I thought I was looking at some kind of big ant eater. There are no bears in the tropics of Costa Rica, so that thought never crossed my mind.

The creature, whatever it was, stood up in full view of us, and it looked like a man, but it was massive. Below us, Carlos's horse started to get a bit jumpy. He was whinnying and pulling at his harness, and I knew the ship was about to hit the fan, and Pepe was looking for a way to get off the branch. Jose's horse was making its way around the trunk, and we were all getting ready to jump. But all I could think was, oh, great, by you is an old horse. I'll be the last one out of here. The

Holy Trinity, Here comes that thing. Pepe gasp in Spanish. My priorities changed from keeping my balance on the tree branch to jumping down as quickly as possible and running as fast as my legs would carry me. In the next instant, I found myself lying face down on the jungle floor with a mouth full of leaves, and as I got up to dig in and run, I felt a strong tug on my shorts. Then I was face up and the jungle was spinning around me, and I found myself on the back of

Jose's horse. We were cantering out of there at breakneck speed, with my cousin doing the best he could to hold on to me well. I did not dare to look back to see if it was chasing us, and it sounded like a derailing freight train. The lunches, my boots and so pads and everything else were not important anymore. We raced through the dense jungle, with the bushes hitting me everywhere. A deafening roar reverberated through the rainforest as

we pushed our horses onward. I saw one of my cousins pass us in a split second, and at one point I golloped Jose so deeply with my nails that he wore the imprint for several days. I guess I was in survival mode. We burst through the tree line and we were in the open pasture again, and we pulled up to Pepe and Carlos, who had made it out safely, and they were waiting for us. We were all terrified.

Jose kicked his horse back into full gallop and the others followed, but we didn't stop until we reached a nearby creek, where we stopped for a drink of water. My horse I was crying. What should I do? I couldn't stop crying at the thought of by you being eaten by that thing. We took the stock of one another, making sure we were all in one piece, and then we continued our ride back to the farmhouse. No

one spoke except for me. I kept asking what we were going to say to Granny and Luisa when she learned that we hadn't delivered lunch to the men. Finally, Jose slapped me in the head and he said, you say what happened and that is all. Now shut up. The rest of the ride home took an eternity, and I couldn't wait to get there, even

if it meant being reprimanded by Granny Louisa. After all, we had not only not delivered lunch to the men, we had managed to lose all of our stuff and my horse by you, and he was probably being eaten by a monster in the jungle. At the moment as we neared the house, I saw there was a gathering on the porch, and Granny Luisa stood there with her hands on her hips in an angry expression on her face. Beside her were aunties and cousins with a mix of anger, anxiety, and curiosity

on their faces. We dismounted and hung our heads in shame. What happened? Grannie Louisa asked Jose, being the oldest, did all the talking for us, and he told her exactly what had happened, without leaving out a single detail. He even included how we drifted off for the joy ride and the tree vines Eldugnol del Monte. I heard one of my aunties mumble. Grannie Louisa had a troubled look on her face. The rest of the family

was still in the jungle. I went to sit in an old chair on the porch, but she turned to me and told me to go take care of by. You get some water and check him out. She said, see if he's hurt, my horse. Didn't she see that I was riding with Jose Yes, she said, you're a horse. He came back about ten minutes ago, all sweaty and troubled by You was the oldest and slowest horse, but he was the first one to make it back, and I was astonished. Maybe it was because he had no writer. I went to

see about him. He had four big scratches on his rear that looked like nail marks, but he was otherwise okay. By midafternoon, the work crew had come back to the house as well. They knew something was wrong when they didn't get their lunches. Jose was elected again to tell my grandpa Fernando what had happened, and he repeated the same story without missing a detail. For the next few days, the men didn't return to the jungle. Instead,

they worked around the farm doing other stuff. And not long after that, my parents separated and my mother took me and two of my cousins to live in Kidad Kisaida or Kisaida City, if you will. It was some years later when Mom told us the truth. Carlos and Jose were not my cousins, they were my brothers. I will never see my grandparents again, and nor did I ever see my beloved by you. After that, it would be thirty years before I saw anyone on that side of the family again.

But that's a different story for another time. In the nineteen eighties, environmentalists and politicians began working on laws to protect the deforestation of the rainforest in Costa Rica. Today, twenty five percent of Costa Rica is protected land. So I guess whatever chased us that day, whatever scratched by you, is still out there. The Bigfoot community folks are an interesting lot. They can be just as interesting to study as the creature itself. Bigfoot expeditions are more

entertaining as a people watching event than for what they reveal about Bigfoot. Here are my thoughts on the diversity of the community. First, there are the knowers. These are people who claim to have seen a bigfoot or had some sort of encounter they claim proves the creature's existence. These can be people who say they actually saw a bigfoot, though they may or may not have misidentified it, all the way down to people who saw two sticks pointing in the

same direction or a tree structure. There is absolutely no reasoning with these people. Once they get the bug, then everything is evidence. Many people are like this. If they see a hairball in their shower, they believe a sasquatch has been there. Next, there are the people who have never had an encounter but are fascinated with the subject. They're open to the idea but remain fundamentally agnostic to it. These people have not lost their minds yet,

but they're getting close. They walk a tight rope between rabbit hole fiction and true skepticism. The third group are the so called skeptics. They hide behind the moniker skeptic with a religious zeal because they mistakenly think the term connotes a scientific mindset when applied to them. In other words, it is an ego thing with them. In reality, their mindset is far removed from the meaning of skeptic in the context of academia. These are people who use the term

blobsquatch. They are grammar and pronunciation Nazis and repeatedly degrade and make fun of others. In short, they are emotionally defective and they remind me a lot of our ruling class political leaders. Fourth, there are the hoaxers. Now, these are the assholes who drink cheap beer. They dress up like monkeys, and they run across the highway in front of oncoming traffic. They trespass onto hunting leases at night, dressed in a guerrilla to get their photo taken

on trail cams. Not not too hard on these folks, because they're just trying to have a good time and sometimes they create quite humorous moments. Fifth are the charlatans. Now, these jackasses report false sightings in an attempt to profit from the phenomenon and the popular interests they'rein. They take advantage of people's curiosity and ignorance. If you follow the topic, you know who the hoaxers are some of them have podcasts and television shows. And last there are the

Bigfoot hunters. These people actively search for the monster. On one level, this group is divided into two groups, those who want to kill one to obtain a body for science, money, or because they believe Bigfoot is a malignant part of nature that ought to be removed, and two the pussies. The latter of the two grieve over the mere thought of killing one of these gross, inbred animals. They are pantheistic or believe that Bigfoot is so genetically

close to humankind that to kill one would be murder. I personally believe that no kill crowd are communists. This writer is in the pro kill camp. Now, obviously I'm going to monetize the hell out of it. I've always been very open about this. But I am also of the opinion that even if these things are genetically close to humanity, they are so malignant to our world that they deserve to be wiped out. There is not an adequate breeding

population. This is clear. Therefore, inbreeding is rampant, and it probably has been this way for several generations. They are a genetic clusterfuck which explains why they get violent and act like total assholes. Bigfoot do not even take care of themselves stink. Plus, they always have shit in their hair, caked with leaves and dirt. Have you ever heard a reported sighting of one where the witness does not say the hair looked matted and that they smelled good.

The only animals that do not clean themselves are the sick and feeble, But in the reported sightings they are not sick and feeble. They are said to move about swiftly through the thick cover and over rugged terrain. So why can't they clean themselves? It's because they're screwed up in the head. It's all the years of inbreeding. Essentially, they are a bunch of homeless, hairy devians. So, as far as I'm concerned, sasquatch hunting season is

open year round twenty four to seven. Even if the fringe theories are true the Nephilum aliens, etc. Then they are not of our natural world and therefore they need to be eradicated. In other words, they are an invasive species. Only sick, godless communist wants to preserve such things. Finally, I should note that all the groups mentioned above in the community hate each other. Further, all the subsets in each group hate each other as well.

I've never understood this. There's absolutely nothing less scientific than being so closed minded that you refuse to acknowledge other points of view. But to be sure, there have been many, many instances in history where great scientists have had rivalries with their contemporaries. This rival hatred thing seems to be particularly acute in the Bigfoot community. In my opinion, this is one of the aspects of the people in the community that make them such an interesting lot. Okay, here's

a good Bigfoot story. The writer let's keep his name anonymous. Every year on Memorial Day, my extended family would have a get together at a park near Parkersburg, West Virginia. That's my hometown. These were organized by my mother and usually drew about fifty people. The park itself is huge, amounting to about three thousand acres. We would secure the biggest spot on the grounds and my mother would prepare the grill while guests brought in tupperware items like salads

and gas roles. We got there early in the morning for all the preparation, ahead of the people arriving at lunchtime. It was nineteen ninety seven. I was eleven. My friends and I like to explore the nearby woods. The area was so vast that sometimes we would get lost, but always managed to find our way back. I don't think it would have occurred to any of the adults to call for a search party unless we were still gone by

the time it grew dark. Man, have times changed. I remember we were deep in the woods by a pond with a circumference of fifty yards. My friend and I were fast walking. He rushed past me and put a little distance between us. We were on an incline, so I aimed my eyes downward and started walking faster, and I stumbled into him a few yards up the trail, not expecting him to be standing stock still in the path. He directed my attention to something on the other side of the pond.

It looked like a person, but it had a lot of hair, and it wasn't wearing any clothes. I didn't even know what to think. I had never heard of a thing called bigfoot or sasquatch up until this point. I'd seen the movie Planet of the Apes on cable, and that's what I was thinking. As both of us stood staring at this thing that was staring back at us. It wasn't much taller than my friend, who, if

I was to guess, was five foot without shoes on. This thing had light brown hair all over, with none on its face, which looked like something more like an eight but less like a human. Its eyes were brown, and it just looked at me with no expression. Then it let out a yell and bounded away from the pond. We started running for the safety of my mother and our get together, scared out of our eleven year old minds. After some hardcore sprinting, it occurred to us that we hadn't a

clue which direction we were heading. We were lost. Out of fear, we started arguing, it's this way, now, it's this way. At that point, I let out an expletive and just started running. My friend reluctantly followed behind. We emerged from the woods in a totally unfamiliar part of the park. Unfortunately, there were some people picnicking there. Me being the more extroverted of the two of us, I walked over to them and told

them that we were lost and asked if they could help us. It took thirty minutes of driving around the park, but we pulled up to our picnic site. We'd been gone for hours, but we hadn't been missed. My friend liked to tell the story of our encounter more than I did. No matter how serious or straight faced we were, people laughed it off, while I responded to the ridicule by dropping the matter altogether. My friend turned the whole thing into a comedy routine. If you believed his version, the thing

we saw became the little brother we never had. I guess it's not an easy to believe story. I never really heard of bigfoot sightings in West Virginia up until then. Maybe in the two thousands that all changed. I guess some just keep what they know quiet because no one takes it serious. In the late nineteen nineties, the Internet wasn't a huge thing, especially for someone my age. No one had cell phones, Pictures and videos just weren't happening.

It makes me wonder how many people saw things, but the technology didn't allow for them to record the evidence and proved that they weren't out of their minds, or were just a couple of eleven year olds too stupid to find their way out of the woods. You know, regarding that's the end of the story, regarding the you know, the images. You know. Okay, let me back up. I know we didn't have smartphones with video cameras.

In the nineteen nineties. There were video cameras. There were those big block VHS machines you put on your shoulder, and I'm transferring a lot of those old VHS tapes to digital right now. I bought a little little gadget and it's got some software with it, and I'm taking old family videos and putting them over there by the way. But that's not what I want to talk about. But even if people had we had all this technology that we are lucky to have today, they get the same pictures. We get blurry

pictures and nothing. We get nothing. We need good, definitive images and video of this thing to prove it exists. We actually need a body. We need a bigfoot body to prove that this exists. It's just my opinion, but I thought this was a good story. This is another story where people remember back when they were kids and they had an experience, and all of a sudden it starts to come together as they get older, and it just makes perfect sense. They probably run into a bigfoot. All right,

thanks for the story. All right, here's an odd story from a man who I think this occurs in the United Kingdom. I don't think, he says. Maybe he does somewhere in the story, and you'll hear it if he does. But the way he writes, and the way he describes some of these places and the vernacular he uses, I think this guy is from the UK. But let's read us. This is not a bigfoot story. But this is really good, he writes. My first strange encounter happened in

two thousand and seven. There were no leaves on the trees. That is the only thing I can recall determining the time of year. We lived four miles away from the local town and the countryside on the bank of a large reservoir. From the high spot where our house sat, we had a fantastic view of the rolling countryside. We owned twenty two acres that included two large lakes that I had excavated and acres of trees I planted. I was blessed

to live in such a beautiful and imposing home. The house itself is a converted L shaped barn. My wife and I lived in the two story section, and her parents lived in the smaller l that was only one story. It was like two separate properties, but we could walk straight through each other's homes. On the night in question, I was sitting with my feet up on the SETTI watching TV. It was dark outside, and I imagine it must have been getting close to bedtime. I prefer to go to bed early

and get up early. The next morning, my wife came walking into the lounge and told me that she was going to let the dog out, but there was someone standing in the back garden. I asked what they were doing, and she said nothing, they're just standing there. Well, the hair stood up all over my body and I was engulfed in fear. I'm certainly not the cowardly type, but I had the sudden feeling that something really bad

was about to happen. My wife prompted me to get up and come with her to have a look, so I followed her through the house to her parents' side. She took me to her dad's bedroom because it was on the farthest side and closest to the back garden. The light was off, so I looked out the window and allowed my eyes to adjust to the garden, which obviously I knew well. The part I was looking at was only thirty

feet across to where our garden meets the neighbor's pasture land. There was a three bar wooden fence with barbed wire across the top, and we had planted some fruit trees there. After letting my eyes adjust and looking around to identify the objects I knew were there, I said, I can't see anybody. My wife said, now look through this, and she handed me my night

vision scope. By now her dad was standing next to her and looking quite concerned, and I took the scope from her and I returned to the window to look. I instantly saw the likeness of a person standing in the neighbor's field, but right next to the fence. My wife asked if it could be one of my friends messing about to scare us, and I replied,

who the hell would stand there? On the off chance that you might look outside with a night vision scope, I adjusted the focus on the scope and I looked again, and this time seeing something that filled me with terror. It looked like an extremely tall man with a heavily woven cloak pulled over and around him. The cloak or shroud. Whatever it was was coarsely woven twill.

The strands were as thick as jumper wool and tightly woven, and it looked heavy, so much so that I guessed I would have had a difficult time lifting it if it were on the floor. It was only thirty feet away, so with the scope zoomed in, it was the equivalent of being right next to it. I could see the waving in the shroud as it came below the waist and flared out. The arms to the side, and

the hands weren't visible. In fact, I couldn't see anything of this being outside of the intimidating figure with its head leaning forward and the cloak pulled over it. You've probably figured out by now that what I'm describing is the grim Reaper, and it was terrifying. It wasn't carrying a scythe as depicted in so many stories. Judging by the fence it was standing next to, I determined it to be nine feet tall and as much as three and a half

feet wide. I opened the window slowly and quietly looked again. I'm not sure if I did that to get a better look, or if I needed confirmation that what I was seeing wasn't a reflection in the glass. When I took the scope away, I couldn't see it, But when I looked through the scope again, it was there. Through the scope, I could also see the grain in the wood on the fence rails, the cobwebs on the

fence, and the long strands of grass in front of its cloak. There was truly some kind of being in front of me, but there was totally no explanation for what it might be in our world, our knowledge of what exists among us, be it in other dimensions or whatever else. I don't think could ever explain this. I later asked my wife what she had been doing standing in her dad's bedroom window with my night scope. She said that the dog wanted to go outside, but she had heard foxes barking at the

back of the house. She thought that she would have a look around the garden before letting the dog out, to make sure there were no foxes. She had a little pug that she treasured and didn't want the foxes to attack it. I know this is a far fetched story, but it is what I and my wife and her dad all witnessed. Her mother refused to look, she said it was a bad omen. Sadly, the truth of that statement came to pass when my wife passed away in twenty and thirteen after a

four year battle with ovarian cancer. She was only forty six years old. We had been married for nineteen years and five days. She left me with the most beautiful, blond, four year old son any parent would be proud of. How could such a mythical being have been in my back garden, as real as the apple trees, the fence and the grass, and as true as the myths. I lost my wife and my son lost his mother.

I know neither you nor anyone else can give me answers, but at least you can listen to my story, a nightmare really, and be sure that not all things are a myth. The second unexplained story that happened in twenty eighteen. I had moved from my lovely home in the country to a home in a quiet village only ten miles away from my original home and encounter. I had fallen asleep on the city and awoke in the early morning hours.

The TV had timed out and it was turned off, and I just lay there, fully dressed and regaining enough energy to get up and go upstairs to bed. There was a street light at the end of the drive, and with all the curtains open in the lounge, there was an ambient light coming through that allowed me to see reasonably well. I had been lying there for a good ten minutes and was awake enough now to go upstairs when I noticed something coming around the corner from the other part of the l shaped lounge.

I would not call it smoke or a mist. The only way I can explain it would be to call it a cloud. It was just like in The Predator her film. There were loads of pixels, and with each pixel being an inch square in size. Although I could see straight through them, they distorted whatever they passed in front of. This cloud was two feet deep, three feet wide and a good six feet long. It was just floating under the ceiling, and it passed above me and went through the wall

behind me. It must have been another half hour before I picked up enough courage to get up from the couch and go to bed. I had never heard of this before until I listened to a Sasquatch story where someone had explained this same strange phenomenon at a time when they had seen a bigfoot. I was excited that someone else had also witnessed this. Thank you if you find time to read my story. All our best from far away in Staffordshire. Yep, see, I was right. I could tell that was from the

UK. And first let me say my condolences to you. It's been a while since your wife passed away, but I'm so sorry that you lost your wife. And I have to say, in my humble opinion, this you're losing your wife had nothing to do with this grim reaper figure that you saw by your garden. I'm so sure of that. There may be entities floating around and moving around, and I don't know the explanation for them, strange entities, ghosts, apparitions. Maybe they're demonic, maybe they're not. Maybe

it's something God created and it just moves around in the spirit realm. I don't know, but this was such an interesting story. Thank you Ian is the author. Thank you Ian for sending this. We really enjoyed it. And I hope your son's doing well and your family has adjusted to missing your wife and your son's mother, and that life picks up and gains good meaning for you and you can move on I'm sure that's what your wife would want

you to do. I'm probably stepping out of bounds talking about any of this, but I just, you know, it just breaks my heart when I hear stories like this. But at any rate, it was a great story, and thank you for singing it. All right. Here's another short story that I thought was great, and it's titled Full Moon Society of Hikers. I don't know exactly where this woman is from. Oh, she's from New York. I assume she's in New York because the story is set in New

York. I live in the Catskill Mountains of New York. I hadn't really thought twice about Bigfoot, but my boyfriend has believed and pondered Bigfoot's existence for a long time. I've always believed that there's a whole lot of more mystery and enchantment in this world than we realize, and that the true nature of

reality is not as firm as we tend to believe. So when he played me a few of the videos of possible Bigfoot sightings and audio recordings, I watched and listened with an open mind, but I didn't think much beyond that. In twenty twenty, I had a small group of female friends that I would gather with on every full moon. We would do a little moon magic and then head out into the woods to hike under the moonlight. Hiking is always a pleasure, but hiking at night with just the moon to light your

way is extra special. As we hiked, we would listen to the rambling rivers and the wind in the trees, or we would just be chatting it up as friends do. But on this specific night, we chose to take an old carriage trail. The Catskills are beautiful terrain, and a lot of local trails are narrow and rocky. The carriage trail is wider and so easier to walk in the dark. And as we made our way, everything felt

normal and we fell into a little peaceful silence. But then from fifteen to twenty feet away, and from off the trail and up in the woods, came a seriously loud and thunderous whoop. It started low, and it got higher in frequency, and we all immediately looked at each other in shock and

flipped on our headlamps. My two companions immediately wrote it off as some sort of bird call, and they didn't want to consider it any further than that, but I could feel that the creature who made the call was close by, and I recognized the call too. It sounded just like some of the bigfoot recordings I had heard before. My instinct was to speak to the creature telepathically, and then I thought, clearly, we mean you no harm at

all. We're just passing through and thank you. The whoop had sounded like a hey, you're in my territory kind of warning, and I don't think it was meant to be especially threatening. As I thought my message of coming in peace over and over again, I felt that the creature heard me and under good and this was a special full moon night. Yes it was. And what a great little email this person sent me. I really enjoyed reading this, and I appreciate the writer for sending it. Thank you very much.

Here's an email from Ted I actually got recently, and he writes, I've been listening to your Bigfoot stories and enjoying them immensely. Thank you, thank you very much. I take special interest in the stories here in Mississippi. I was born and raised down here on the coast near Pasca Goula, and now I live on five acres here in Moss Point, Mississippi, in an area known as Helena, which is out in the country. I've been an outdoorsman all my life. I'm fifty seven years old and I've been in

the woods since i was a child. My grandfather had a camp up at Creole by you, deep in the Pasca Goula Swamp, just off the Pasca Goula River. It's only accessible by boat retirement from the US Navy. We would spend many nights at his camp, hunting and fishing and just enjoying life. And there wasn't hardly a weekend that went by that I wasn't with him.

I remember one Saturday morning getting up and going out of the cabin and setting down by popall by the fire that he already had going around five am, and he was drinking coffee. He was being unusually quiet. When I asked what our plans were for the day, he replied, shh, listen boy oft in the distance, I could hear what sounded like people talking in a foreign voice. It was pitch black dark, and it was very still, and a light fog hung close to the ground. No other sounds or

the usual owls, bugs or frogs could be heard at all. Only the faint chatter is the only way I know to explain it, of voices down in the swamp behind his camp. We sat and listened for I guess about another five minutes when I whispered, what is that, Papa. He whispered

back to me, It's just them old harpies arguing over breakfast. The hair stood up on the back of my neck, and I got instant chicken skin when he said that I had often heard him talk about the harpies that lived behind his camp, but I thought me, being only twelve years old at the time, but I only thought that he was joking with me, as he always did. But this time, when he said that, he was

very serious and didn't crack a smile, I knew he was serious. I can still see his face in the glow of that campfire, and hear those voices in my head to this day. I wish, to this day I would have asked him more about the things that lived behind the camp and if he had ever seen them. After he passed away, my father sold the camp, and since then many other people have purchased property up there and built more camps, so it's not nearly as secluded as it used to be.

I still occasionally will ride by they're in my boat, and the property has all grown over and the camp has fallen in. Apparently nobody ever used the camp or has rebuilt on the property. I have recently listened to recordings of what seems to be sisquatch conversations, and the recordings I have listened to sound very similar to what we were hearing that morning at my grandfather's camp years ago.

At present, I go camping once every month rain or shines, lead or snow deep in the DeSoto National Forest, but I have yet to hear anything like that ever. Again, do you have any reports of sightings or sounds from DeSoto Forest? I camp all over the National forest from south end up to the north end for the last two years, and I found no sounds of a bigfoot anywhere, although I have just recently started actually looking for

signs since I started listening to your posts on YouTube. Please email me back with any information you may have, for I've grown quite interested in this topic. You have my full permission to use this email and its contents as you see fit. Thank you for what you're doing, and keep up the good work. Signed Ted Ted, thank you. I've never heard Bigfoot called a harpy. Matter of fact, I've never heard that term, and I think it seems like I should have, but I just haven't. That's a new

term to me. But I'm guessing that's what your granddaddy was cut your papa was calling the Bigfoot the harpies. That's fascinating. And you know those old guys. I know how a young boy looks up to his big, strong grandfather and his father. I know exactly what that feels like. And I can see his grandfather sitting there in the glow of that fire and being real serious about him, keeping quiet and listening to that chatter off in the distance,

and I bet that wouldn't spook a little kid anyway. It's wonderful story, Ted, Thanks for sending it in. I really appreciate you, buddy. What follows her several experiences recently shared with me by a coworker. This fourteen year old Anna snuck out of the house and made her way to her favorite place. It was a tree swing that sat atop a hill, and

it was motionless and waiting. It overlooked the valley in stream below, which was a good quarter of a mile from her home, and this is where she came to escape from her four brothers and to enjoy the fresh air and to daydream in peace. As the wind blew through her hair, she saw something shimmering and sparkling. It was sixty to eighty feet away. Rubbing her eyes to make sure of what she was looking at, she could make out

a silver triangle hovering twelve feet above the stream. She immediately slowed the swing enough so that she could jump off, and she ran down the hill to see what it was. But when she got there, it was gone. Where did it go, she wondered, as it only took a few seconds to get there. Sharing this childhood's story with me, she remembers that it didn't make any sounds and it had a light at each corner. She also estimated it to be around ten to fifteen feet long and it was a silver

metal material. She also doesn't remember seeing any people around it, and when she asked about being abducted in missing time, she said she doesn't remember a sense of missing time or any strange dreams or memories. She continued that when she was fifteen years old and living in Stephenville, Texas, her and her brother were out for a drive around town one night. That's when they saw the sign for Rising Star, Texas, and they decided to make the drive.

After driving for nearly an hour, she asked her brother, shouldn't we have been there by now? Well? He agreed and offered to turn around and go back. Let's just go back, she said. As soon as she turned the car around, they were immediately back in Stephenville. One of her dreams, you know, the ones that seemed super vivid and real, she saw her brother floating motionless up at the ceiling while she slept. She was standing in the middle of the bedroom and was in a conversation with a

gray alien. When she looked back at her brother, two other grays went to get him down, and they lowered him somehow so they could move him around, and one gray was at his feet, the other was holding his shoulders. Just then, a door or hatch opened in the floor and the two grays escorted her sleeping brother down into it. When she was thirty four years old, she remembers having too much to drink one evening and admits that

she drove home drunk. She recalled seeing a beautiful sunset in front of her, so she stopped to take a photo and then continued toward home. While she was making her way along the curvy country road, she noticed an object in the sky pacing along the side of her. It followed closely all the way home and at the same speed she was driving, and then once she got out of the car, she watched as it flew away. I believe they were following me home to make sure I made it safely, she told

me many days later. While looking at the photo on my phone, there was something else in it, and when you zoom in, it looks like a glowing saucer craft. That was the object that followed me home, she told me. I didn't see it when I took the photo on the way home. She also has many memories or dreams of her flying, and when asked if she remembers having or seeing a silver cord attached to her like people having out of body experiences report, she said there wasn't one. I asked

if she was in a craft or flying like Superman. I was flying outside of the craft, she said. And that's the end of her story. And what's all These abduction type stories are fascinating to me, She didn't see it when she took the picture, but when the when the digital components of her phone developed the picture, that object is there. That's really interesting to me. So thanks Todd for sending an a story. Here's another one from

Todd. This one is called The Boy Scientist. We were in the process of moving into a new store location, and while taking down and dismantling the sign out front, a stranger approached me. He wanted to share a few stories with me, so I stopped what I was doing and I listened. This story begins when I was around four or five years of age, he began. I remember my parents taking me to a location with small hills surrounding

the area. We went there often. One day, while en route to the location, I could see up ahead a metallic disc shaped craft sitting on the ground, and people appeared to be working on it. I remember thinking that it was being built by these people. Once we parked and got out,

the workers asked me to come over and inspect the craft. I also recall walking around it and somehow knowing where to place my hand to open a door into the craft, And when the door opened, I was just about to go inside when someone stopped me to ask my advice on some other matter. That's really all I can remember, he told me. I don't even remember if I eventually got to go inside the craft. Over the years as an adult, I've been plagued with those similar memories, and I even set

out multiple times to find that place, but I never succeeded. I remember the tiny location with the hills well, but I cannot remember anything beyond the surrounding hills or how we got there, he added. He told me that he's also asked his parents repeatedly about it and where they lived when he was four or five years old, but they've continued to withhold that information, and he concluded, either way they've been told to keep it a secret, or

they really don't know what I'm talking about. It's really rather strange. His next story developed while he was on vacation. He was out near two popular hiking trails when he saw some strange lights in the sky, and from his experience, he told me he felt that they were not conventional aircraft, so he wanted to start up a conversation with some people who were part nearby.

Something was strange about them, he said, but I couldn't be sure what it was, and when I turned around to look at them again, they were gone, and so was their vehicle. He told me that he recalled going home and later that evening asking for a sign that those were in fact UFOs he'd seen over the canyons. My request was specific to the daytime and location where I wanted to receive the confirmation, he clarified. When the time near. Drove up to the lookout near the airport, and there were other

people up there, so I wasn't alone. Two of the people standing near me seemed a little odd too, so I turned to the man and asked what had drawn them to the lookout that day. The stranger replied that he had heard there was going to be a large sighting in the sky at sunset, and he pointed to an area of the sky in the distance. Because of the odd coincidence of what the stranger said and where he pointed, he

decided to turn and walk away. He pointed to the same location that I saw the lights, he added, and that freaked me out, And as I walked away, I thought to myself, that's enough of a sign for me, And suddenly I heard the woman who was with him say, well, I guess there won't be a sighting after all. The following story was

the final experience he shared with me. After possibly feeling separation, anxiety, or to reassure himself off that he wasn't crazy and that his memories of seeing craft and interacting with other beings was real, he again asked for contact and

selected the time in the location. This time he began. I arrived at my preferred location a bit early and parked the car, and I waited, and as the minutes passed, I grew restless, and then right at the prescribed time, an old, beat up truck pulled up beside my car. It was driven by a woman. I couldn't believe it, he said, there were so many other places to park, Why did she have to park

right next to me. I looked back at my watch, and it was now past the requested meeting time, and I became frustrated, and I huffed as I reached for the keys and started up my car. As I backed out and shifted into drive, I looked back at the mother and child one last time. It was at that moment the newborn set up and waved goodbye to me. It wasn't until miles down the road, about halfway home,

that I realized what had just happened. I replayed in my mind all the details from that brief period in the park, leaving me no choice but to conclude that they were there to meet me, and I blew it. He continued, They were setting up a sort of picnic, but it wasn't warm out, and what mother would bring a newborn child out into the cold elements

for a picnic? And the child was not dressed warmly either, And what newborn baby can sit up on its own and lift its arm and then wave goodbye while looking right at me. He asked me this while shaking his head.

That's a good story. That is a good story. These people have recurring events over and over and over, and I see in the comments, and I see in emails that people send me, And this is so interesting to me that once you have one of these experiences, they continue to happen through your life, and sometimes you have to really think think about what's going on, and then for the rest of your life, if you tell other people, you're branded as a nut. And I'm glad that this man shared

this story with Todd. No names are given. Nobody here can call him a nut, but it is fascinating stuff. Let's do a Bigfoot story right now, and then I'll do the last one from Todd. This is a Bigfoot story from Barry and Idaho. Back in the late nineteen eighties, when I was ten, we lived in the Waha Mountains of northern Idaho, where I spent most of my time outdoors, hunting and fishing. I would often run off in the woods by myself, where sometimes I'd notice things would get

real quiet, and I'd get the feeling that something was watching me. One day, while we were out driving, my mother suddenly yelled at my dad to stopped the car. Dad argued, but Mom won, so we stopped and we got out. Behind us on the road were bear tracks, Some were big and some were small. We followed them to a meadow that rested on top of a small hill. I was fascinated by what I was seeing, so I continued to follow the largest tracks into a stand of trees.

The mom and dad were close behind, and there we found one impression. It was the footprint of some giant creature, and it appeared to have mowed down several trees in the middle of those trees. We found a spot where it looked like the creature had fallen, and we could see the evidence in the snow where it had pushed itself up. I'm guessing by the size that it must have been the Alpha. My father and I both measured our arms against the marks left by the creature's arms, and my dad was a big

man, but even his long arms couldn't match the imprints. We tried stomping in the frozen snow to make prints as deep as the creatures, but we couldn't. Its print went all the way into the mud, and ours went no more than an inch deep. Well, I couldn't believe it. It was the coolest thing I'd ever seen, and it was all right in front of me. I saw all the little imperfections in the foot. There were veins and wrinkles and signs of past injuries, and impressions of hair around the

foot. It looked like it had broken a little toe that curved outward. There was a small track that showed up for just a few feet, as if it was an infant that had been allowed to walk for a few minutes and was then lifted back up into the mother's arms. I followed the largest track over to what was clearly a vantage point overlooking the meadow, and I imagined it had stopped there for quite a while before turning and heading into the

trees. My father went into town and got something to make a cast, and he contacted Grover Krantz, the famous professor at the University of Washington, who told him he believed that Bigfoot was an ancestor of Gigantopithecus. Oh, my father to kill one and bring in the lower jaw, and then we can prove that Bigfoot exists, doctor Krantz said. I was listening in on the call, and I clearly remember my father uttering a few unkind words and

response. Sometime later, my mother and I were out driving the back roads up in the mountains again when we came across another set of tracks. We decided it must have been a juvenile that made them. I think we thought that we were some kind of pros out in the forest, but we were about to find out that we were intermediate at best. We were about to get school. We started following the track, careful to walk next to them, not in them, and it wasn't long before I started to realize that

we were making a big circle. It was doubling back. As soon as I saw a car ahead of us, I got the feeling that we were being watched, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I felt fear, unlike I'd ever felt it before. I instinctively started trying to be quieter, and I was fighting to remain calm, and I felt like it was in the trees above us. I'm right here, I whispered, I know, Mom answered quietly, I think it's above us.

I told her, Then, don't look up, she replied. We need to get out of here, I said, fighting to hide the fear in my voice. We made it out, but I couldn't stop thinking about how it had doubled back on us, and somewhere along the way it had turned and walked right back into its own tracks. I realized that we were out there tracking something that could have hurt us, and we were unarmed. I wanted to share these two encounters for a while now. It isn't easy.

I grew up in a time when people told stories like these and they were considered weirdos. I'm glad things have changed, Barry. I don't know if things have changed or not, but it is a great story. And the doubling back man that is an event I have never heard of. So you're out tracking a bigfoot and he's just walking in circles. He's staying on the opposite side of the circle, putting his feet right back in the tracks,

and he's running you in circles. That sounds like something Native Americans would do at some point. Maybe I don't have any proof of that, but it sounds like something they would do because they were very crafty and clever out in the wilderness. So Barry, thanks for the story. It was really good. All right, let me open Todd's last story. All right, this is a story Todd in titles. My name is Todd. I don't know if he's talking about himself or not. I'm reading this cold. I haven't

read this, so I'm just first time i've read it. From the first night they lived in the house, bumps or thuds and the sound of feet running in the attic, beings walking past windows, and the sounds of doors shuttings all began at eleven pm every night after a long tour. I'd oftentimes get back to their house well after midnight, even as late as three am, I would drop off their truck and then drive my car home, which

was a good thirty five minutes away. I was already tired, and it was common for me to spend the night on their couch rather than driving all the way home. My boss's daughter always had friends staying over, even on the weekend nights. They were always up all night playing and talking in their bedroom. One night, while sleeping on the couch, I awoke to find three of them curled up together on the floor next to the couch. They hadn't slept yet and the sun was on the rise. I asked, what's

going on? How come you're not in your bedroom. One of them said, well, we can't sleep in there. What do you mean you can't sleep in there? I said, We hear noises and see things outside the window, said the daughter. What sort of noises? I asked, Well, it's like people running on the roof. She replied, it's always happens at eleven pm. Okay, I said, as I rolled back over and

went back to sleep. Over the next several weeks, this same thing played out again and again, and finally her mother changed bedrooms with her, but that didn't help. Then their daughter's birthday arrived and they took her to Las Vegas, and they asked me to house sit and keep an eye on the dog. It was business as usual at the shop, and i'd crash at their place afterward. The dog and I got along great, and when it was time for bed, she slept close by. The first night I heard

them become active. The house was previously quiet and then sounded as if a family returned home from vacation or something. Doors were slamming and kids were running around, et cetera. And when I turned to see what time it was, the clock said eleven pm, just like clockwork. I thought to myself, she was right. There's a lot of noise in it. Sounded like

a bunch of people on the roof are in the attic. While I lay there awake, I listened to them and mentally followed their activities around the house, and I made notes of where I heard them. The following night, I went to bed before eleven o'clock so I could send them a bit of an invite, And as I lay under the blanket, I sent them a thought that if they were okay with it, I would like to see them. My name is Todd, and I'm watching the house and the dog.

I said to them, and my thoughts, if you would rather not show yourselves to me now, maybe you could appear to me during my dreams, I added. Sometime in the early hours, I heard someone near me whisper his name is Todd. With this, I woke to see two women in period dresses, maybe from the eighteen hundreds, standing about four feet from me, and one of them was facing me, while the other, who I believe was the one talking, was slightly turned to the side with her back

to me, as if looking at the other woman while she talked. The more I tried to focus on them, the more I awoke, and the less I saw them. Within five seconds, I couldn't see them at all. After this encounter, I never again heard them in the attic, and that was the only time I ever saw them. This email is from Christopher, and it's paranormal in nature. It's really good. My family on my mother's side have unique abilities. My grandfather, as told to me by my

grandmother, was for lack of a better term, a witch doctor. People would come to him because he could cure different types of illnesses. He said, my mother would be next in line, but he died before he was able to teach her. She was still able to predict bursts and feel the moods of people around her. My abilities are the opposite For me. It's death and ghosts. I've had many strange things happened to me, and there was one incident that bothers me to this day. It changed my life.

There's a church near the Southern Park Mall in Boardman, Ohio, where my brother's friend was a caretaker. It's a church and school combined, so it's a large building with two large chapels, a classroom, offices, and community rooms. A good sized group of us were meeting there to play some game or another. One night. We showed up early, so my brother's friend asked me to walk around with him to shut off the lights and lock the

doors and generally just check the building. It was I that he asked me to do this, because I was always seen as George's little brother, not their friend Christopher. These were all my brother's friends, and I was happy to do it though, because I saw it as me being accepted into their group. It all was okay until we reached the room where the priest gets ready the worst feeling hit me. The pressure seemed to increase and there was

a disgusting feeling coming from the room. I stopped and I said I can't go in there. My brother's friend said, don't worry about it. You won't be breaking any religious rules by going in. Well, that wasn't quite what I meant, but I couldn't explain why I felt that way, so I went in. It was even worse inside. We walked through and went out the other side. Instantly everything felt normal again. We locked some doors

and turned off a couple of lights before coming back to the room. The second we approached it, I got an awful feeling again and I beg not to go in there. I even asked to go outside and wait by another door, but he said no. It was late February, with the temperatures and the teens and half a foot of snow on the ground feet. I only weighed one hundred and twenty five pounds, so no thermal on me,

and I was only wearing a T shirt. But I didn't want to go in that room so much that I would have willingly stood outside to avoid it. I had no choice. Though my brother's friend was a former lineman for the football team. He wasn't small, and we went in and the room felt even worse this time, Just like the first time. As soon as we left the room, the feeling went away. Next we went to the basement where there were some more classrooms, the cafeteria and kitchen, and some

storage areas. Then we went back upstairs and entered the old chapel from the rear side. We had to go across the back to set a couple of doors just inside the chapel. I stopped, I can't go in there. I told him there's a ghost and it doesn't like me, and then I pointed it out to him. He could see the black shadow near the front by the organ. He uttered an expletive and we headed for the doors across from us, and it started following us. The faster we moved, the

faster it moved. There was just the one shadow, not too so it wasn't our own shadows we were seeing. We made it through the doors, moving at a pretty fast paced. It was fifty feet to the corner where the stairs to this third floor apartment were and I started feeling hot as we walked to it. It was like something hit me, but it wasn't physical. For a few seconds, I was completely disoriented and I lost all thoughts where I was or even who I was. Now. I was just coming

back to myself when the second one hit. This was worse than the first one, and I had to grab the wall to keep from collapsing. Well, it passed, and my head was beginning to clear when a third one hit, and this one put me on the ground. My brother's friend pulled me to my feet and away from that spot. Now I got my head on straight, and I told him to go stand in the spot where I was attacked. Well, he was a big boy, like I said,

alignment on the football team. He bounced off the wall like he was nothing. That stirred him into motion, and he grabbed me and we ran up the stairs, and I don't remember touching a single step in two flights. When we got to where my brother was, he asked me how I knew about the ghost. So I told him about my ability. About a week ago, he said, I was getting in bed with my wife. I just lifted my leg to climb in when a face appeared in front of me

that scared the crap out of me. He paused him in it, and then he added it was just a face. There was no head, no body, just a face. The next day, he and his wife moved out of the church and in with her parents. This happened back in nineteen ninety five, a couple of years ago. I went back there to talk to someone about it, and no one there was able to tell me anything.

I wrote down my name and number, along with a note stating that I'd like to talk to someone about what happened to me there, but no one ever called me. It was still there. I felt it that day that I went back. I want to go there again. There are more details about the church I'd like to clarify, but there are more stories of things that had happened to people there. But whatever is there, it's very strong. Okay, that's a ghost living inside a church. I don't know

something about These paranormal events are just captivating. They're very believable. Some of these are very believable, and I really enjoyed reading this person's account. Chris, Thanks for the story. I really appreciate it. All Right, here's an email from someone who doesn't have a name. I don't know. Maybe they have a name, but they didn't give it to me, which is not a problem. But this is a Bigfoot story, and he says this

is absolutely true. In November of nineteen seventy nine, I was fourteen, not old enough to hunt legally in New York. My dad was an avid hunter who usually hunted in Naples. They call it part of the southern tier of the state. My dad worked with a man who owned some prime hunting property there. My uncle was supposed to go with him that year, but something came up, so my dad asked me if I'd like to go in his place and push the deer. Of course, I said yes. I

was so excited I barely got any sleep the night before we left. We drove off at four am and headed to the dark and frozen woods in our Ford pinto wagon. Dad explained as we went what my function would be. I would head into the woods alone and push the deer to where he would be up and ready for them. We got to the gravel road that took us into his coworker's property and Dad told me to walk about two hundred yards in the woods and hunker down for forty five minutes or so, and then

start walking east. I actually knew a lot about the woods even then. I spent pretty much every spare moment of my time in the woods around our home. Anyway, Dad handed me his O twelve gage shotgun. It was empty, but I had a couple of slugs in my coat pocket just in case. I stood there watching the tailgates of the pinto disappear over the crest of the hill, and then turned and let my vision adjust to the darkness for a minute before I started walking. I wasn't afraid of the woods back

then. I walked quite aways, and I had to scale an old fence line At one point. I remember the patches of snow and how cold I was, despite being dressed in three layers of clothes and a good pair of winter boots, the kind with liners that can be removed. It began to get light outside, but the sky was overcast in dark shades of angry gray. I went into a deep gully with ten to fifteen foot banks, and I followed it until it turned east, the direction I had to go to

get to my father. Then I climbed the tall bank and found a good sized tree that had fallen, and where I squatted and rested my back against it, and by then I was tired. Without a good night's sleep, I'd been running on pure adrenaline all morning. I guess I've knotted off. I woke up to the sound of a tree branch snapping, and I panned the area across the gully to the opposite ridge, thinking it might have been a big buck. And I searched across the area and I saw what looked

like a large man standing next to a tree. Well, I focused in and I froze. It wasn't a man. My father was six feet tall, and this thing was nearly twice that. It was covered hair, but it wasn't a bear either. I couldn't see its face, its long, matted hair covered it, but I could see clouds of breath pouring through the hair on the cold morning air. Its hair was all brown, but a lighter shade on its chest in the front of its thighs. Based on its

body position, it had to be looking straight at me. Well, I figured it was standing like this for five minutes or so, which felt like a lifetime to me. My heart was pounding out of my skin the whole time. But I was frozen in place, and I couldn't move, and then it took one step in my direction, and that unfrozeed me. I turned and started running as fast as I could in the direction that I'd come. I had the twelve gage, but I didn't think about it at the

time. I approached the fence line and I chucked the shotgun over it and dove a the fence behind it, and then I grabbed the gun and briefly looked back to see if anything was behind me. And I kept running until I got to the gravel road. During that Olympic run, I managed to lose a boot. I was only wearing the lining, but I didn't care. I got my bearings and headed up the road in the direction my dad had gone, and I found the Pinto parked on the side of the road,

but to my horror, it was locked there. I was surrounded by heavy woods in the middle of nowhere, and now painfully aware that monsters do exist. I loaded the gun and knelt down with my back against the car and waited and listened to every single noise. When my dad finally came out of the woods, he was asking, what the hell happened to you, boy? I told him exactly what happened. It was probably a bear, if anything at all, he reasoned. I told my best friend back then,

and he seemed believe me. I'm now fifty six and I live in Florida. Dad has been gone since nineteen eighty seven, but I can relive that morning like flipping a switch. I did some small game hunting after that happened, but only in the woods where I grew up in Neverden. When I was in my thirties, I ran across the BFRO and reported the incident to them. A man contacted me about it, and we spoke for quite

a while. The research I've done since then shows that these things migrate from the Adirondack Mountains down through the Herkimer Valley and into the Southern Tier, as well as northern Pennsylvania and the Ohio Valley regions. Whoa, whoa, you

know I did a story not too long. Well, no, it was about three years ago about a kid who was squirrel hunting and he ran up on the same thing, And it seems like his grandfather walked up behind him while he was facing this bigfoot and just said, you need to just back away. Come on with me, and we're gonna walk out. Everything's gonna be fine. This story reminds me of that. It's I think people go in the woods hunters. I fallen asleep under trees before squirrel hunting, and

up in the Duff's falling asleep in a deer stand before. You just get comfortable, especially if you're in a shooting house. It's got a heater in it. Oh man, get ready to take a nap, take some food and be a glutton and then go back to sleep. But a minute you wake up, you look out that one to Sometimes there'll be a deer standing there, and I can see that happening with Bigfoot. You fall asleep, you wake up straight in front of you, there's this giant monster just staring

at you, wondering what the hell you're doing there. Anyway, I love this story. I thought this was a great story as well written, and it had so much good stuff in it. So thank you to the writer. Here's a pretty good story from South Mississippi. I think you guys will appreciate this one. The writer doesn't say whether to reveal his name or not, so I'm just not going to do that. But here's what he writes.

My story begins when I was eight years old. I'm forty now, and I grew up in deep southern Mississippi, and that's all I'm really willing to say about the location. My mom, dad, and two sisters, and I lived on my grandparents' property, where my grandfather had cattle. We lived towards the front of the property and my grandparents lived way in the back. The road dead ended at their brick house, where my grandmother had at

least one hundred azalea bushes out front. I don't recall the exact year, but I do recall it with spring because the azaleas were in full bloom. It was a beautiful sight to come around the bend in the road to see my grandmother's azaleas and all their glory. My grandparents had several businesses, so

they were always gone. Living in the country and thirty miles from the nearest store, my mother would often find it easier to send me down to their house to raid the cupboards for a missing items she might need than to drive into town. It was a walk I made a thousand times, and one I loved, especially in the spring. Sadly, that day my opinion would change forever. I don't remember the item my mother had sent me to retrieve,

but I was eager to get out of the house. I couldn't wait to see all those azalea bushes, so I took off down the road, completely unaware of what was in store. When I got to the first straight away, I caught movement to my right, just inside the woods. I was no stranger to those woods. I knew them like the back of my hand. I got to know the woods through one hundred imaginary deer hunts and squirrel hunts. Armed with my Daisy pellet rifle. The movements stopped me dead

in my tracks. I wasn't afraid. I thought it was one of my grandfather's cows that had gone out of its pasture. It had its back to me, so all I really saw was something big and red, reddish brown in color. Just as I began to resign myself to the thought of having to wrangle the wayward cow, it stood up on two legs. It stepped over a five strand barbed wire fence like it was nothing. My mind was

screaming that it was a bear. Even the thought of being a bear was enough to scare me to death, and I just stood there in shock or amazement or fear. I can't say now. I just know I stood there for what felt like minutes but I'm certain was only seconds. At some point I snapped out of it and turned to run as fast as I could back to my house. There was no way I was coming back through these woods

with that big thing out there. Even as I turned to run, my curiosity he got the best of me, and I couldn't resist looking back. The monstrous thing was staring at me, and it was huge. It was a huge figure with its hands resting on the top strand of the barbed wire. I didn't want to see its face, so I made tracks for home. I got back to the house, where I'm sure Mom was expecting me to have whatever items she needed from Grandma's kitchen. I didn't give her time

to ask. Out of breath and hands on my knees and gasping for air, all I could say was there's a bear down there, mom. Mom said that I must have been imagining things. She insisted that I get back down there and get what she needed. We do not have bears in these woods, she said. I couldn't bring myself to tell her or anyone else that what I saw really wasn't a bear, and I didn't want to be laughed at. Now I was pretty darn sure my mom was right. There

weren't any bears in those woods. I refused to walk back to Grandma's house, so Mom finally agreed to drive me. I showed her where I saw it, but of course it was gone. I never told anyone except my mom because I was certain i'd be laughed at. As time went on, though, I think Mom began to believe that I saw something that day. Before that day, I was never one to stay inside. Suddenly I was perfectly fine with being indoors, and she would ask me to describe it to

her, so I did. Back then, I didn't know anything about bigfoot. The old timers would talk about buggers, but I never really put all that together until recently. Years passed and I got into my thirties, and by then I had decided that one incident wasn't going to keep me out of the woods. I had gained permission to hunt a prime track of woods that were perfect for getting a good buck. I took my younger brother and stepbrother along with me, and I sent them to a good box stand where they

could hunt together. While I took off with my climber for the deep woods. There was a spot where I knew the big ones would be. I was walking to this perfect spot and the deeper end of the woods. I got the more of a creepy feeling I got about the place. It was like I was being watched. I started hearing noises in the bush when I

walked, but it stopped when I stopped. Now, I told myself it was just me being rattled by being so deep in the woods, until I started climbing up the perfect pine tree and my old man climber and started getting rocks thrown at me. I yelled out that whoever was throwing the rocks was on private property, but dead silence was my only answer at first, and then the god offless scream I've ever heard in my life came belting out of the woods. It felt like it vibrated the tree, and it shook me

to my core. I'm really not going to why about it. I climbed down out of that tree and got back to my truck as fast as I could, leaving my old man climber right where I'm sure it still hangs today. I threw open the truck door, jumped inside and cranked her up, and I was about to tear out of there when I remembered my brother and step brother. Oh well, I thought it'll be dark soon enough and they'll come out. And it wasn't long before I heard footsteps coming up to the

side of the truck. I was looking at my phone and I assumed it was my two brothers, and I never bothered looking up. One of them jumped into the back of the truck, and I thought, yep, that's got to be my step brother. He's six foot four tall and easily weighs three hundred pounds. I couldn't imagine anything else that could rock the truck like that. After a bit, when there was no noise, no truck shaking, and only pure silence, I opened the door to see what was going

on. And that's when I saw their flashlight coming up the road. What did you guys forget? I called, Well. They looked at me with a puzzled expression and said, huh. I told them that they'd come to the truck and put something in the back, and now they were walking up the road, so I figured they must have forgotten something and gone back to get it. They said no, that they were just now coming out of

the woods. For the first time, I could tell that they were telling the truth, and I kept hoping they'd burst out laughing at any moment, but they never did. They got in the truck and we left. I have not been back to those woods, and I've spent a lot of time mulling over these events. What did I see in the woods that day on my way to my grandmother's And what in this world could have screamed at me

in the woods or made my truck rock like that. I'm content to believe that whatever it was did not want me there for whatever reason, and I'm happy to oblige. Oh dude, that's a good story. South Mississippi gets a lot of these stories. The whole state does, and I don't Mississippi Alabama. Here's the point. These things apparently are everywhere. There's some form

of these creatures all over the United States. The only place I haven't heard of encounters like this, and I'm just thinking off the top of my head is the Great Plains States. You know, the middle of the United States where the uh, the Great Grass Plains are think a little big horn, that type of area because there's no cover, there's no place for them to go. And those you know, those are just just grasslands, is what

they are. So I don't recall having a story from there, but in any place that's wooded, especially in the southeast or the east, or the Pacific Northwest, not necessarily the desert, although Arizona has a few with the mogion thing. Anyway, I'm just I'm just talking out loud. I don't know what I'm talking about, but all these thoughts come to my head and just I don't know, they just come out of my mouth. But I'm just thinking and about when was the last time that I got a story from

those great plains or like the deserts of southern California, for example. But anyway, this is a great story, and I really appreciate the man riding in. I've had it for a long time and I've been anxious to get it out. So there you go. The guy claims it's true, but it's just the wonderful story. The writer says, I'm from the beautiful small town of Princeton, Indiana. It's grown a bit in recent years, but back when I was seventeen the time when this encounter happened, it was still

a typical small town America kind of place. I grew up in a hunting and fishing family. We were taught how to live off the land and respect life at an early age. My dad took each of us kids squirrel hunting at the young age of ten. He taught us proper gun handling and safety and the best techniques for hunting. I did pretty well on my first but my brother Gary not so much. Dad said he had never been aimed at so much in his life. Every time he turned around, he was staring

down the barrel of Gary's gun. That probably wouldn't have bothered him nearly so much if it hadn't been for my brother's evil grin. For me, hunting was a man's ride of passage. I had my dad and older brother as examples of everything a hunter should be, and I was bound and determined to meet their standards, and it was not easy. The first squirrel that I ever killed was on a hunt with my dad, and it was the biggest

thrill of my life until I had to feel dress it. Mom's awesome fried squirrel biscuits and gravy didn't quite taste the same that night, as I stared down at my plate of food, all I could see was that little squirrel staring back up at me while I was pulling its guts out. Finally, Dad leaned over and he said, God provided our food, and it's wrong

to kill anything you're not going to eat. Those were Dad's standard. So I tried to ignore the tiny little Alvin in the chipmunk's voice whispering from my plate, telling me all about his wife and kids, and I finished off every bite. Over the years, I toughened up a bed and it became a little less bothersome, until eventually I couldn't hear Alvin talking at all. Every year, I'd get more and more excited waiting for August, when squirrel

season would begin. On the first day of the season. The year I was seventeen, I called my best buddy to go with me. He was busy, so I asked my dad and my older brother. They were both working. I wasn't about to risk being shot at by my other brother, so I decided to man up and go alone. This is something I never did, but I saw this as my path to manhood laid out before me. The night before, I told Mom and Dad where i'd be hunting. It was a great spot down by the river and known to be the home

of lots of squirrels. Then I cleaned my rifle, a birthday present from my dad that I was especially proud of, and I gathered my gear and did my best fall asleep. It seemed like my head had just hit the pillow when the alarm sounded. Feeling a little groggy but anxious to get out there and hunt me some squirrels, I jumped out of bed and threw on my clothes and grabbed my gear and I headed out, wolfing down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as I drove. I needed to be in the woods

and settle down before sunrise or the squirrels might see me. I went down the old winding road across the creeky bridge, and I parked by an oil well in the field. The sky was beginning to pale and I could see a light fog rising off the river. I walked the short distance across the field and into the woods along the river with my gun in hand, and I was covered in skeeter dope. It was a beautiful morning, despite the fact that the fog gave everything a slightly creepy feeling. The waist high grass

was covered in dew. As I quietly made my way down to my hunting spot, making sure to be very very quiet so as not to spook the squirrels. My dad my brother were like squirrel hunting ninjas in the woods, capable of walking right up behind a person without breaking a twig. I moved more like a squirrel hunting bull, breaking twigs and crunching leaves with every step. I came to a fallen tree about four feet in diameter that had fallen

away from the river and into the field. As I approached it, trying to figure out how I was going to get over it or around it, I stepped on a small branch that snapped like a rifle shot. Cursed under my breath as the sound echoed through the fog, A nearby beaver slapped his tail on the water in protest, and I jumped a little at the loud splash it made. But I was mentally prepared for run ends with almost any animal that morning. I just wasn't prepared for what happened next. I watched

as the angry beaver swam off and was about to resume my journey. When I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I froze as I watched what looked to be a grall hooded cobra rising up from behind a tree not more than six feet in front of me. As my eyes focused in the low light, reality set in. This was a no snake, and it continued to rise until it was at eye level with me. Its neck was long, with two large golf ball sized shiny black eyes perched on top.

It did not make a sound or blink stared at me. My mouth went dry as the adrenaline pumped through my veins. Now I tried to rationalize what I was seeing, but all I could think of was a story my brother in law had once told me. He and some friends were out in the country one night having a party when he had to answer nature's call. At the edge of a cornfield, he came face to face with a classic, big headed, large black eyed, gray alien wearing a silver jumpsuit.

My brother in law jumped and the alien jumped, and each ran back in the direction from which they came. My brother in law told his friends about it, but they all accused him of just being drunk in anger, he insisted they come and see. When they finally went out there, they found seven to eight inch long, three toed tracks like a chicken would mate. They tried following the tracks toward the neighbor's field, but it started raining,

so they gave up. The next morning, the sheriff showed up, accusing them of making a big circle in the neighbor's cornfield. With that story running through my head, I couldn't help but compare the alien my brother in law described with the alien that was currently staring at me from the other side of the fallen tree. This wasn't a classic gray though. It was more like the alien in Close Encounters of the Third kind. I wondered, should I

whistle that tune to protect myself? I slowly took the safety off my gun. I didn't point it at the creature for fear of making things worse, but at least I would be ready if I needed it. In response, it began to rock from side to side as it moved a little closer to me. Fear was setting in, and I felt beads of sweat trickle down my face. Why doesn't it speak, I wondered, Maybe it's telepathic. After what felt like a millennium, it turned its head. I didn't expect

this, and I caught my breath anticipating the worst. It was staring at me from its left eye. Now. My knees grew weak and my stomach churned a little as I saw the protrusion on its face. It looked just like a bill. In fact, it looked just like the bill of a sand crane. I exhaled in relief as I saw the alien before me for what it really was. It was a sand crane. Just as I was beginning to laugh at myself, the beaver slapped the water again, getting one

more startled jump out of my already jangled nerves. That was enough for me. I had manned up and had gone hunting alone, but I didn't enjoy it. I put the gun on safety and turned and left the alien sand crane still standing behind the tree. I walked back to my car, ignoring the squirrel that was barking at me. I was too shaky to even shoot. He probably knew that, and I'm sure if I could still hear Old Alvin's voice, he was probably making fun of me. I didn't care.

I was kind of laughing at me too. The next weekend I went hunting with my brother and had a great time. The story is all true, as best as I can remember it. Thank you for hearing it. The challenges we face as young people can be tough, but they make us who we are today. I had read through half of this, and I had not got to the point where he realizes that the crane looking straight at him, and when it turned its head he could figure out what it was.

And I can see that. I can see that. But I thought it was a great story, a great, fun, good hearted story from a good writer, and I wanted to share it with you guys. Let me go see if I can find another one. All right, the writer wants to be a none. It's about bigfoot, and they're all true. They all claim they're true, and I don't tell them a bit. My father

passed away in two thousand and four. He was a Vietnam veteran who wasn't scared of anything, but in the early nineteen seventies something happened that terrified him. It was a fall afternoon in the small town of Bird's Eye, Indiana. My father was squirrel hunting on my mother's family property. He used the opportunity to scout the land for signs of deer for the upcoming season. There was a nice autumn day and Dad wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere.

He was enjoying being in the woods and surrounded by nature. As he made his way through the forest, he came across what he believed were some animal bones. He took a minute to look at them, but he wasn't all that interested, so he moved on. He hadn't gone much farther when he came across some more bones, and he moved on and he found more, and the deeper he moved into the woods, the more bones he came across. That was when he noticed a trail of bones leading up the hill.

All these remains lying around was odd, and Dad was the curious type. He decided to follow the trail of bones, and as he made his way up the hill, he noticed that the bones seemed to be getting bigger. Some of them almost looked human a Dad was a medic in the Marines. He was familiar with human bones, and about halfway up the hill he started smelling something pungent. If he was a Medican, the Marines he was a navy corman, by the way, just the heads up. My son was

in the Marine corpns. I learned all this stuff back to the story. At the top of the hill he found a cave, and all around it were more bones of all shapes and sizes. And when he approached the mouth of the cave, the odor got so strong it nearly overpowered him. The smell burned his eyes and he fought back the knee to vomit as he looked into the black open and a pair of red eyes stared back at him. He jumped backwards and shock at the glowing eyes that were easily seven feet off

the ground. An instinct kicked in and he emptied both barrels of a shotgun into the mouth of the cave. But even as the shells were spent, he was turning and heading back down the hill at break next speed. He didn't wait to see if he'd hit anything or if he just made it angry. He got out of there. My father was never an animated man. He believed in getting right to the point. He kept a poker face at all times. But when he told this story, I could see the fear

in his eyes, and I could hear it in his voice. Years later, when I was thirteen, Dad and I were squirrel hunting on my uncle's place in Taswell, Indiana. Like always, while we were there, we were scouting for deer trails and scrapes and rubs. It was a hot day in the middle of a dry spell. Dad decided we'd follow a creek bed that wasn't more than a few water puddles here and there. And when we came around to ben in the creek, Dad stopped so quickly that I nearly

ran into his back. I'll never forget the expression on his face when he turned around and looked at me. It was out of place for him. I really only remember having seen it when he spoke of that day at the cave. I was looking at my dad and he was scared. I don't know what the hell made this track, he said, but we're not going to stick around to find out. I was born with my father's curious nature.

I had to see what he was talking about. I thought maybe he was joking with me, and I looked around him, and at first I thought I was looking at some kind of deer track where the deer might have slipped or something, and then I realized next to the half dried up puddle was a track that must have been eighteen inches long and nine inches wide. I could clearly see the tow prints in the hud well. Dad was right, we didn't need to stick around to see what had made that track.

When we got back to my uncle's house, my dad told him what we'd found, and I guess I half expected my uncle to laugh at us. Instead, he looked at my dad straight in the eye and he said, well, this doesn't surprise me. My uncle had been hearing weird howls and noises for the past few weeks. He told us that he saw a hairy man who was over seven feet tall take two of his pigs. Now, I guess we didn't have to wait around to find out what made the track.

My uncle already knew. Oh man, the way you wrote this was perfect, absolutely fantastic. And your dad was a Vietnam veteran, and he wasn't scared of anything. Those guys had been through, you know a lot of stuff, and so everything else that they would run into after that was just you know, it was small peas compared to the horrors they had seen in war. And the same thing for the Afghanistan and Iraqi vets and all the other vets who've actually seen combat. But they run into a bigfoot or

something like a bigfoot and it scares them to death. And I totally get that. I mean I get it. Following all those bones up up that mountain and then looking in a cave and two red eyes looking back at you. I don't think there's any doubt why those bones are there when you see that. And I would have shot into that cave too. But this was a great story and I appreciate it, and it's a good little legacy to

leave your dad. You know. It's an interesting story that he shared with you, and it'll be in a podcast for a long time, all right, brother, thanks for the story. Here's another odd email that I received. The title the writer gives it as strangeness in the South forty Our farm operation was several years behind the times. Our neighbors planted straight rose using GPS, and I enjoyed the comfortable, controlled environment of a modern tractor. We

didn't always have the luxury of a cab guided by dead reckoning. The tractors that did have cabs were nothing more than a noisy box to shelter from wind and rain. I had learned to layer of clothing to utilize my own body heat. I actually preferred to drive an open station unit anyway. There was something about the feel and smell of that evening. The chill fall air was pleasant against my face, and I could smell the rich earth as the dirt

glided and rolled through the three bottom plow I was pulling. I was operating one of my favorite tractors. It was built several years before I was even born, but it stood up proudly to the duties to ask of it. The old farm all imperred, like the well tuned machine it was, and I admired the shine of the red hood before me. Hence of warmth came from the exhaust stack that lightly glowed from the work strain, and it was a wonderful evening to be farming. Dusk was starting to darken the pale clear

sky. Now the colorful pastel canvas displayed shades of blue, green, and hints of red. It wasn't quite dark enough to really need lights, but shadows were starting to creep from the timbered field edge. Darkness was beginning to claim the landscape. This particular area of the farm could give a particular sense of foreboding. Tonight revealed to be one of those nights of eeriness. I turned around, was coming up the evening row was shaded by the timber edge.

Now I noticed corn stalks were jamming up in the middle plowshar, which would need kicking out before it plugged Tightly, I rolled to a stop and idle detractor down. Sighing dejectedly, I stood up and stepped backwards down to the U shape of the drawbar, and I stepped further down until I was on the ground. I took out an earplug and let my hearing adjust to the surroundings. And it was silent, just way too quiet. The only sound was the tractor engine idly. This was very peculiar. My eyes gazed

slowly and carefully around, but I didn't realize anything extraordinary. I should be hearing crickets, maybe some woodland cadences, but I heard nothing. My footsteps loudly crunched as I maneuvered myself to clear the plow sheer. My body felt like electric adrenaline was quickly flowing, and this caused me to go on high alert. I couldn't shake the feeling as if I was being watched. I quickly bent to my task. The sooner I could get back on the operator's

seat, the sooner I could move on tink. I rocked. The size of my ft hit the shear to my right. I jumped, barely missing, bumping my head against the plow frame. As I turned to scan the tree line and other large rock zipped inches past my head. There had been power propelling this object, and I heard a whiz sound as it passed,

impacting the ground with a hard thump behind me. What the hell? I exclaimed, not finishing my thought, A very large, dark, indescribable shadow moved directly in front of me. Out of the darkness, a man shaped form materialized. This was nobody I recognized now. I judged the figure to stand at least eight feet tall. A very primitive looking being with menacing dark eyes stood just beyond my tractor. Dark hair covered a majority of the neked

body. This was very decidedly a male, and I'm not going into detail on that. Just trust me. He was well muscled and presented an athletic body a wrestler or a football player would desire. We stood within a few short yards of each other, and now I was trembling with fear, but I stood my ground, trying to hide my terror. I could feel a penetrating gaze, as if I was being measured and evaluated. Finally, the mighty beast nonchalantly turned and walked away, as if I were being dismissed.

I heard a loud crunch behind me, and I quickly turned to see a large fleeting shadow disappear into the woods on my right. There had been more than one shaking. I collected myself and I climbed back in the operator's chair on wobbly legs, and I was done plowing for the evening. In fact, I picked up a higher gear to get back to the farmstead. I didn't tell anybody about my encounter when I got to the barn lot who would believe me anyway, I had been there and was still processing the event had

it been nothing but my imagination. The rock throne that hit my plow sheer had left a chalk like mark, though I didn't get harassed about coming in. With darkness falling and the old reliable em didn't have the best lighting, which made it hard to see at night, the bitter chill was overtaking any warmth found. As the sunlight had retreated, it was time to call it a day. Anyway. I did overhear a mumbled comment about pushing the old

tractor too fast. My racing, bumping, and creating a clatter was unusual. Vintage and antique equipment were treated with great respect on this farm. I had great trepidation realizing I had to go back and finish plowing the south forty. The duties still needed completion, regardless of my attitude. The next morning, I swallowed as much of my fear as I could and I headed back to the field. The morning went with no incident. It was slightly warmer

as the sun rose higher in the pale sky. My eyes were constantly scanning all the scenery and my head was constantly swiveling in every direction possible. I was seeking any abnormalities hiding in the darker forest. It was difficult to stay focused on the task at hand, and the electric adrenaline feeling had returned, and I sensed I was being watched again. My nose soon alerted me to

an offensive smell. It was stronger when I neared the tree line. The pungent odor of wet, rank dirty talk, combined with the smell of a dead animal attacked my sinuses. No skunk would have smelled more pleasant. I had planned the plowing so that I had worked my way to the edge of the middle, and each pass drew me closer to the trees. I dreaded

my actions after last night's bizarre occurrence. The tree line felt as if nothing was closing in, making it easier for the spectators to reach out and grab me off the operator's seat. My imagination had gone into overdrive. Fortunately, the cornstalks weren't hampering the plow, and I wasn't real comfortable with the idea of stopping to clean that plug away anyway. I felt vulnerable enough slowly moving in the open, and this was one of the very few times I would

have rather dealt with the noisy confinement of a cab. There probably wouldn't have been any more safety in an enclosed area. That was nothing more than an idea, a false sense of security. Another rock zip passed my ear with fierce intensity. The projectile had been close enough that I felt it brush the side of my face. One inch closer and I would have been struck in the eye. My immediate reaction was to mash the clutch pedal, bringing the

unit to an abrupt halt. Angry and I looked all around but observed nothing out of the ordinary. Now it wasn't the reaction of fear. I was mad. After calming myself, I assessed the situation with more reason. The only place of concealment the rock could have come was still a good distance. Whoever or whatever made that pitch had more power and accuracy than a major league pitcher. Intelligence to no vulnerable points was also demonstrated. This knowledge was rather

disturbing. I heard the sound of another tractor in the distance. The volume was increasing, and I observed another plow unit head to the field. I sat back down and eased out the clutch, and the old m started forward with a slight strain, and I had my doubt, but maybe I'd be safer with the increase in numbers. The plowing force soon increased again, and

shortly there were three tractors and plows working in unison. A three bottom plow pulled by another M and an old John Deere fell into the work, and the old A's distinctive chugging sound overtook most of the created human noise pollution. The electric feeling of adrenaline faded in short time, and I started to get more comfortable now that there was companionship. It never occurred to me the unpleasant odor still lingered until I observed one of the other operators sniffing the air.

He gave me a puzzled look and pinched his nose and shrugged, indicating he had found the smell strange and offensive. He asked me later when we stopped, if I had hit a skum. The title of the story is The Ghost Demons of Prescott. The story begins in a place called Prescott, Arizona, a rather unique city commissioned by President Abraham Lincoln. In eighteen sixty four. President Lincoln sent a delegation to the Arizona Territory to establish a capital.

A site adjacent to Fort Whipple was selected and given the name Prescott, in honor of William H. Prescott, author of the history of the Conquest of Mexico. When Arizona won statehood in nineteen fourteen, Prescott became the first Arizona state capital. In nineteen sixty eight, my family moved to Prescott. I was going to be a junior in high school, and Prescott seemed to me to be really small and with not a lot of entertainment options for teenagers.

When such is the situation, teenagers can get really created. At least they could in the nineteen sixties, one summer night after church, a family with teenage daughters invited us to their place for refreshments and fellowship. While the parents visited out front, the two girls invited the teenagers to the back room for a little Wigi board action. I'd seen this wigi board thing before. It was something that for me never actually worked, and this time was no exception.

The sisters opened up the board. They lit a candle and turned out the lights, and laid their fingertips on the stylus and began calling on the great Wigi to answer a few simple questions. With a handful of onlookers gathered in the darkness around the table, Wigi did nothing. I mean nothing. This is exactly what I experienced every time some kid would drag out a wigi board. The two sisters that summer night insisted their wigi board work work for

them without fail. Why parents would allow the girls to dabble in such demonic tools as beyond me. It should not have been there in that home. It is important to point out that these little Wigi boards are nothing to mess with. They can provide a foothold for a portal for evil entities to come into a home. As I got older, I thought about this incident and I realized why the board probably didn't work that night. Many of the teenagers

who were there were actually real Christians. I believe old Wigi was powerless to show up due to the presence of God's angels surrounding and protecting us from evil. High schools started in the fall, and I met a great buddy, a guy named Louie. He's one of those people who brings a smile to your face with every remembrance. Having lived in Prescott his whole life, Louis had a laundry list of create things to do on Friday and Saturday nights.

One of his favorite pastimes was trying to scare the girls who happened to be with us, and variably he would suggest we venture to what we considered to be the haunted areas of Prescott. This included a famous spot east of town called the Baby Grave. It was reputed that one could hear the sound of a baby's mother crying on a moonlit night. That never happened. When we visited. We didn't hear a mother crying, and we didn't even hear a

baby either. But it was fun to get the girls out there and creep around in the dark. It was kind of spooky, and it gave us the willies. One night, Louie decided we needed to get serious about escalating our spooky adventures. There were four of us. It was me, Louie, Louie's sister Dolores, and her girlfriend Susie. The four of us piled in the front seat of Louis's step side pickup truck and we drove to an old cemetery. Although it was well past dark, the cemetery gate was standing

wide open. No one tended this deserted place. Louis cranked the wheel and pulled off Sheldon Street and smack into the center of what could be labeled Spookville, USA. The truck tires crackled on the gravel driveway as we slowly made our way deep into the center of ancient gravestones. Tall weeds and overgrown trees and bushes had taken over this place was definitely creepy and immediately invoked the willies. Louis drove us to the back of the graveyard and turned the truck around,

being careful not to drive over any actual grave plots. Once the truck was facing the gate, Louis stopped and announced that we were now getting out to look at some old gravestones. Seriously, I was all ready. He freaked out. Louie's sister, Dolores flatly refused to get out of the truck. There was no way she was getting out, No way not happening. Louis, Susie and I got out and we stepped into the darkness, and we left Dolores behind by herself in the truck. She was a little bit

spooked. The three of us began cautiously prowling about like some adventurers from the Raiders of the Lost Arc. There was no light except for the moon, and it was difficult trying to read what was etched into the gravestones. When we reached the west side of the graveyard and bent around the front of a gravestone to see what was written there, we got the ultimate scare of our

lives. As we bent forward to look at the gravestone. Suddenly, an opaque, iridescent, lime green, absolutely hideous man's face came straight out of the gravestone in our direction. It scared us so badly that Susy screeched abruptly and Louis cried out in horror. The three of us turned on our heels

and bolted like lightning back to the truck. With the truck doors flying open, we dove into the cab, hit the ignition, and ripped out of the graveyard, throwing gravel from the back tiers all the way to the front gate. When we got about a quarter mile down Shelton Street, Louis finally caught his breath and he gasped, what was that? My answer was quick and final. I don't know, but I'm never going back to another graveyard ever again, especially at night, and especially with you. What we saw

that night in a Prescott graveyard was definitely a demon. If there was ever a doubt in my mind that demons existed anywhere beyond the pages of the Bible, I had just experienced a startling revelation. Demons do exist, and I had just seen one. The sight of that evil thing is still etched in my mind to this day. Throughout my life, that single event has kept me vigilant to never allow a foothold or portal for any of these beings in

my life or the lives of my family. I took it especially seriously when my kids were growing up. If there was anything questionable that showed up in the house, it was thrown out immediately. I wanted to keep the kids safe, just in case there were any hitchhiking evil entities attached to those questionable things. Ten years ago, while living in a rental property, I became aware of the presence of a ghost in my home. It was probably left

behind by the previous resident. At night, whatever this thing was, it would come into my bedroom and cause the hair on my arms to stand up with goose bumps, and just generally give me the creeps. I would hide under the covers and hope that it would go away. Imagine that a grown man hiding under the covers. I thought maybe it would get tired of hanging around and eventually move on. I had no luck at that. It just kept hanging around, and it freaked me out fairly frequently, mostly after dark

when I was in bed trying to get some sleep. But while living there, I got a request from a friend who needed a place to land for a short time, so I let her stay in the guest a bedroom. A few weeks after she was gone, the weirdest thing happened while home alone. I walked into the hallway in the middle of the day and I smelled that Gal's perfume in the air. What Why am I smelling her perfume? She's been gone for weeks. That was the last straw I was sure it

was another manifestation of a demon. I called a Christian buddy and asked him to come over and help him, praying that the Lord would get rid of this evil thing. My buddy came over, we prayed, and the ghost was gone. From that day forward, I never had another creepy visit from the rental ghost. Another ghost issue came up about six years ago. I was working at a private golf club. Hanging out there in the men's locker

room was a particularly pesky and annoying demon. It would make itself known anytime I had to go into the men's locker room by myself, especially at night, I would feel its presence and the hair on my arms would stand up with goosebumps like crazy. It really annoyed me. My coworker, the cleaning lady from the maintenance department, also complained about this thing. She was bilingual

and referred to it as li fantasma, the Spanish word for ghost. I believe this evil entity came in with some Kachina dolls that were on display in the locker room. Kachinas are one of those items that I personally would not have around. I think they provide a portal or foothold for demons, at least that's what I believe. Manifestations of the golf club ghost got so bad that even the manager in the lounge complained. The ghostly thing opened a sliding

patio door one night after she had closed and locked it. She was there by herself late at night closing up. Everyone was gone except her. Her routine was to go around checking all the doors to make sure they were all locked. When she came back into the lounge, the sliding door leading out to the patio that she had just closed and locked was now standing open. It was very freaky. Workers from the pro shop also reported problems with this

evil thing was overseed time. Overseed is when a golf course shuts down for a couple of weeks to make the transition between summer grass and winter grass. With the golfer's gone, the pro shop gets new displays and any change is needed in anticipation of the golfer's return once the grass is ready. The pro shop guys had set up a new clothing display. One day, closed and locked the pro shop doors, and they went to lunch. When they came

back, they found the new clothing display knocked over. It was very annoying, especially when no one else was around and the pro Shop was locked until they returned. They set up the display again and went outside the pro Shop to their storage area. When they returned a few minutes later, the display was overturned again. A real nuisance this demon was. Knowing the demon was always hanging around the men's locker room, I decided to torture at a bit.

When I walked into that area by myself and I felt the goose pumps coming up on my arm. I would start singing some good old Christian hit songs like Amazing Grace and when we all get to Heaven. I was just messing with the ghost. You know, I'm guessing it didn't appreciate my song selections or my singing. Either one was probably pure torture. This whole golf club ghost situation finally came to a head one morning when my coworker and I

were folding table claws. We were at the linen closet just inside the men's locker room, quietly working away with our folding. What we knew to be an empty locker room except for us, suddenly had somebody else in it. We could hear noise on the other side of the golf lockers to my right. Those lockers stood about seven feet tall, so there was no singing over them, but we could hear somebody on the other side. Knowing well that we had a demon in that locker room, we both looked at each other

with our eyes as wide open as they would go. We either had a golfer over there that we didn't know about, or it was the demon. My coworker whispered life on tasma. Not sure what to do, we both continued to work in complete silence, wondering whether it was a golfer that we didn't know about, or was it the demon. It didn't take long until there was more rustling on the other side of the lockers. This time, it sounded like someone was fiddling with something inside of the locker. That was

it. I had to go around the corner and check. I walked around and there was no one there. No one. The ghost was at it again. It had gotten to be such a nuisance that I determined to go to the general manager and report the problem. I recommended that we remove the koachdales and see if that would make a difference. Over the weekend, I had dinner with a Christian gal who worked for Southwest Airlines. I told her about what was going on in the men's locker room at the golf club.

When I expressed my concern in what I was planning to do after that weekend, my friends suggested, why don't we just pray and ask the Lord to sweep that thing out of here. Then, without hesitation, she began praying and asked Jesus to get that evil thing out of there. When I went back on Monday, the demon was gone. Later, there was a remodel in the men's locker room and the kachinas were disposed of. I worked there for two more years in the evil entity. The golf club ghost never came

back once again. It was amazing to me the power of prayer, even from a long distance away. These evil entities are no match for the Lord. One last incident, while visiting with a lady friend from the west side of town, she was complaining about ghosts in her family's cabin at South Lake Tahoe. Several of the family members had seen these things over the years, and she had also seen them as recently as the previous summer. There were

two of them, she said. They looked like dark shadows as they moved across the main room of the cabin. She was there alone, and the appearance of these two evil entities was unnerving, to say the least. She hollered at them, telling them to give her a break and please move on. Now. It was getting close to her vacation and she was headed for

Tahoe again and not looking forward to encountering the cabin ghosts. Without my friend from the west side knowing, I later called the guy who had helped me pray the demon out of the rental property, the same guy, but a different ghost. He and I prayed together over the phone that these two creepy cabin ghosts would be removed from my lady friend's family cabin in South Lake Tahoe. When she came back from her summer vacation, I asked her if she

had seen any of the cabin ghosts this year. She said no, I didn't see them at all this year. She had no idea that two guys had prayed asking Jesus to sweep those demons out. It's amazing to me that the Lord hears and answers our prayers even in these really creepy situations. In closing, if you're having issues with ghosts, demons, or evil entities in your home or business, go through the place with a critical eye and see

what might possibly be providing a portal or a foothold. If you find anything that looks like it might be remotely responsible, throw it out. Then have a Christian friend pray with you, asking the Lord to sweep out whatever evil entity might be hanging around. Things will change, and if you haven't done so, invite Jesus into your life. Your life will be better. John three sixteen. This emails from Jacob. I have a couple of pretty tame

encounters I'd like to share. In twenty fifteen, I moved to Montana, I'd always love the idea of living in the mountains and exploring in nature. By twenty and sixteen, i'd finally become a resident and was chomping at the bit to go on my first deer hunt. Up in Little Bear Canyons south of Bozeman. I'd driven up the ten mile access road using my spotting scope. Along the way, i'd spotted a really nice buck mule deer, along

with a few dos up on the side of Wheeler Mountain. I parked at the base, partially blocking an ATV trail to let people know the area was occupied for about a mile, and then tested the wind. I figured if I went straight for them, they'd catch my scent and my hunt would be over for the day. I decided to make my way around the mountain above them and come down from the top. After about three hours of stalking, carefully making sure not to spook anything else that would alert the deer to my

presence, I finally made it to the top. It was very thickly forced it to one side, so I decided to stick close to that tree line for cover while I worked my way down to the deer. When I got to thirty yards from the trees. I began hearing some kind of grunting. I stopped, thinking maybe it was a bear or some other large creature. I couldn't make out the sound very well, but whatever it was definitely knew I was there and was walking towards it. I took a knee and I

listened. It had runned off and on for about five minutes when I heard what sounded like a large branch breaking. Now I was thinking it might be a moose. Everything went dead silent. I checked the place where I'd last seen the deer to see if they were still there, and they were, but now they were looking in my direction. I remained down on one knee, not moving an inch, and began slowing my breath to try to keep calm. I thought whatever it was would looted's interest in me and move off.

I looked back over the tree line, squinting to try and locate the source of all the noise. The sun was up all the way by now, warming my cheeks against the frosty air. It was seven am. Shadows were casting everywhere in the forest. Another five minutes passed since I'd heard the limb snap, and I hadn't seen anything else. So I turned my attention back to the deer. I didn't want to walk into the forest after all that noise, so I looked for a different route to get down to them.

I saw one game trail that that was my best bet, and, due to the fresh layer of snow that had fallen that morning, my least slippery option. Unfortunately, it took me closer to the thick forest. With my hand resting on the grip of my side arm, I started walking towards the trail. I was only ten yards from the trees when a perfectly healthy, maybe eight inch in diameter lodge pole pine fell across the trail that I was planning to take. At this point, I was feeling nervous, so

I decided maybe something or someone was just saying this isn't your day. And since sound of the crashing tree had sent the deer bounding over the next ridge, I made the decision to not test whatever it was stopping me. I turned around and went back to my truck, following the same way that I had come in. I have a great respect for nature and conservation. I've hunted deer since I've been old enough to hunt on my own, and I listened very closely to what nature tells me. In twenty fifteen, and I

only moved to Montana, also got my CDL. Needless to say, I've spent a lot of time trucking in Montana, and here's my second encounter. At the beginning of twenty nineteen, In early February, I was asked to haul a load of hay down to Utah Idaho state line. The weather was bad the night before, so I decided to leave a couple hours later than usual to allow the road crews time to stand the roads. It was nine eighteen am, and I will never forget it. I was almost thirty miles

south of Enis, Montana, going about forty five miles an hour. The roads were still a little slick, and I was taking my time and being careful. I was almost to the point where the road parallels to Madison River. As I rounded the bend, I looked down into the clearing across the river, and there it was. It was about one hundred and fifty yards from the road, covered in black from head to toe. It was walking back towards the forest, but it stopped and turned to look back at me.

Its shoulders were extremely broad, and it was incredibly tall. Its hair was blowing in the wind that was coming off the canyon. I had a perfect view of it. There was no question about what I was seeing. There was a small mound up ahead that was going to block my view for a split second, so I slowed down. When I came to the mound, I decided if I saw it again on the other side, I was going to stop and try to take a picture. And it was still there,

but running towards the forest. Now, by the count of three, it had covered the roughly two hundred yards from the river to the forest, and it was gone. I called a friend of mine who lives in Indiana. First. He's a strong believer in bigfoot, and I told him what I saw. He said, finally, I'm not alone. I've always loved movies and stories about bigfoot. Wife and I often talked about the possibilities of seeing one. She's somewhat of a believer, so I called her next.

I had debated about telling her for a good reason, and our conversation went something like this, good morning, darling, You'll never believe what I just saw. Really, what did you see? I finally saw a bigfoot? She started to laugh at me. Yeah right, No, seriously, Look, I want to believe you. Any other time I would have if you hadn't been watching bigfoot documentaries all weekend. Crickets started chirping. We love to

go back to this conversation. We like to tease each other about it, but I don't think she will ever believe me until she sees one for herself. Unfortunately, we may never go back to where I saw it. We recently moved to Texas from my work. Hopefully, one day on one of our mountain excursions, we will get another glimpse at one of these amazing creatures. And he signs off. Jacob. Look, you're Jacob. Your encounter in Montana is exciting. But the most funny, interesting, entertaining part of

your story is how your wife reacted to you seeing a big foot. That's hysterical. Man. What a great story and a couple of good experiences. What a great way to relay a story. And I'm glad you and your wife have a sense of humor with each other. My wife and I tease

each other all the time, and it's a lot of fun. It's really cool to have a spouse you can do that with especially for a guy, because we're used to teasing each other all the time, and so, hey, this is a great story, and I really appreciate Jacob sending you this is really interesting, really interesting. The writer doesn't say whether to use her name, so I won't. She writes, I live on a short one

mile long road in the Dairy Township of Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania. My house sits at the halfway point of the road, with a few other neighbors dotted here and there along the way. My backyard butts up to a large pond in an open field, and to my chagrin, I have recently discovered that this part of Pennsylvania is pretty much sisquat Central. I might never have bothered to learn the small bit of trivia if not for what had happened to me

on Sunday, May the ninth, twenty twenty two. At one pm that day, I took my dogs for a walk. I opted to walk down the end of the road where a retired federal government employee lives. That he values his privacy is evident, and the no trespassing signs posted, and the fact that his property is gated, I usually stop at the gate and turned

around. When I choose to walk the dogs in that direction, I had walked past another home on the opposite side of the road when I saw what I thought was my neighbor walked from the corner of his yard and on to the driveway. At the same time, both of my dogs began to react strangely. They dropped their tails and began to whine and whimper as they backed away. I stared in amazement as what I had first taken for a human being crossing the driveway in two strides. Realization began to set in. This

was not my neighbor. This was not a human being. This was something seven and a half to eight feet tall, and it was covered in long, matted, dark brown and black hair, and it was only fifteen feet away from me. It never looked at me or in my direction. There was no accurate smell that so many have talked about, nor did it make any sounds. It simply crossed the driveway, which was about two feet wider than a car, and then it went up a slight embankment and disappeared into

the woods. At this point I still didn't realize, or perhaps I hadn't accepted the reality that I had seen a bigfoot. I was surprised and rattled and in denial. But I couldn't tell you what I was thinking at that moment, and I wish I could. I was still holding on to the thought that it was my neighbor as I began walking back toward my house. When I reached the spot where it had stepped into the woods, I realized

there was no earthly reason why anyone would venture into that heavy thicket. It would be dangerous to do so. A healthy man would struggle with it, and someone like my neighbor, who smokes heavily and enjoys his drinks, would never be able to make it through there. Well. This is when I began to get nervous. The dogs had stopped whimpering and whining, but they were in as much of a hurry to get home as I was. I kept checking back over my shoulder, but I didn't see the creature, nor

did I hear anything. And when I realized I didn't hear anything, it occurred to me that even the birds had on silent. There were no normal woodland noises at all. A few days later, I was able to have a conversation with the man who owns the property, and I began by saying, so, I saw something while I was on a walk the other day. There was a nervous pause while I collected my thoughts. You're probably gonna think I lost my mind. I began again, Did you see bigfoot?

He cut in. His question caught me off guard, and I wasn't expecting that answer, But I can't say I wasn't hoping for it either, I believe, so I managed to get out, have you seen Bigfoot? No? He answered again, not what I was hoping for, but not entirely unexpected. There isn't much to tell beyond that it isn't the most exciting story. It certainly isn't how I imagine things would play out if I ever saw Bigfoot. But it is what it is, and I know what I saw.

I don't know the writer's name. I've got his email address, but that doesn't matter. Because this is a good story. Let's jump into it. In nineteen seventy nine, my best friend and I flew to Texas to see the Royals play the Rangers in a three game series. We were juniors in high school at the time and big fans of the Royals. Typical of teenagers. We didn't get our reservations in time to fly down with the team, so we had to make separate accommodations. We still managed to get there

without any trouble. It was a great weekend. We spent our days at six Flags over Texas Amusement Park, riding rides and enjoying our freedom the way kids on the verge of adulthood can. And in the evenings we went to the ballgames. That was a great experience too. We watched the Royals take two out of three games. Everything was fine right up until we were ready to leave that Sunday evening twenty second. From that point forward, things went

downhill. We were in a hurry to get to the airport, and I guess I must have left my return ticket on top of the cab. I didn't realize it until we got to the airport. I was lugging around three suitcases in a gym bag. I may have overpacked just a bit, and I had no place to go. My friend went ahead and got on our flight while I tried to reach my parents to tell them what happened. And right away my parents contacted the airport to try to make arrangements to get me

home. By now, it was pretty late and Branefayr had no more flights leaving for Kansas City that night, nor could they find any other flights to put me on, so I had no choice but to wait until early the next morning to fly out. I got the typical lecturer from Dad. Don't talk to strangers and do whatever the airport people say, he said. And then it was my mom's turn. Now don't worry, she said, I know a Christian science woman there who has direct communications with God, and I'll

ask her for help. Okay, sure, Mom, I answered back, trying not to sound too sarcastic. Then I didn't give it another thought. By the time I hung up the phone and found a spot to sit with my bags all around me, where I could watch out a big window at the planes taking off and landing. It was ten forty five pm. I was watching a Boeing seven twenty seven taxi down the runway when it all started

over my right shoulder. The room became very bright with an amber light, and I looked over to see a nine foot tall image of a very broad shouldered being. At first I thought it was a man, and then he began to speak to me telepathically, Get up and follow me. It was saying, I will get you home. The crazy thing was I wasn't in the least bit afraid. I picked up my bags and I followed him. No one else was around except for an old man cleaning the floors a few

feet away. The being led me to a gate and he pointed at the door. Gone, Now this is your way home, he said, still speaking telepathically. I entered the tunnel that led to an open door of an air liner and inside the plane, and to my left was the pilot in his associate doing their pre flight checks. To my right were two stewardesses helping others. And I went to the open seat in the first row and I sat down with all my stuff in front of me on the floor. The

stewardess came back and closed the door. Neither one ever looked at me or offered me anything. After we took off. It was like I wasn't even there. Eventually, the pilot came over the intercom to announce that we would be landing in ninety minutes, and that was it. The plane landed without any issues. I got up to exit the plane, and the pilot came out of the cockpit, looked right at me and said, well, I hope you enjoyed your flight. Don't worry, you have friends with you,

and smiled. Well. I called my parents and let them know I had arrived and to have them come pick me up. Well, they were both surprised I was already home, but Dad more so than Mom. By the time Dad got to the airport Dallas Fort Worth was calling the house frantic that they couldn't find me, and I tried to explain what I had experienced, but neither one of my parents believed me. They accused me of stowing away on another plane until they remembered there were no flights out that night. Oh,

another great story that. Oh man, these I don't even know what to say about that. What a cool, strange experience. And I've never heard a story like this. I'm just speechless. I don't know what to say. And I'm not just saying that, I really don't know what to say. Why would none of it makes any sense? But it is so mesmerizing that this happened to this guy, and who would make a story like this up. It's so it's so non eventful, and very you know,

there's no action to it. There's just a strange occurrence in this guy's life. Now, Could it be all natural and people just didn't talk to him and they let him carry his luggage, just carry on and pack it all around him. That could be the truth, But it sounds more like this being he saw was really there and guided him on the plane and just got him home. I don't know. It's weird, but it's a great story. Thanks to the writer for sending it. This is an email about Bigfoot,

and the writer says, my siblings call me Buckshot. I guess you can tell by that name that I've spent most of my life in the woods hunting everything from white tailed deer to turkey to coyotes and hogs. Because of that, I've also spent many an early morning and night listening to the sounds of mother nature. Where I'm from, coyotes are pretty common and black bears aren't unheard of. We also have black panthers or black cougars here, but

don't tell the authorities. They ain't figured it out yet. I know I haven't seen or heard everything, but I've always been pretty comfortable with my knowledge of Mother nature. That's why I was so shook up by what I heard One night a few weeks back. I was sitting in my barn taking a rest before heading to the house, when out of the blue, I heard an extremely loud roar or I guess you might say it was a yell.

Well, whichever it was, it was something I've never heard before. I've heard everything that might have come close to it, but this wasn't any of them. I'm sure of that. There's something else I'm sure of. Whatever made that noise was huge. The sound repeated itself three more times. With each successive yell, my heart beat a little faster until it felt like it was beating out of my chest. I retreated to the house as quickly as

I could. Since then I carry whenever I step outside, especially late at night. So naturally I told my dad and sister and nephew about it, and just as naturally, they laughed and picked fun at me for it. After a week of being mocked by them, we were all sitting out in the yard one night, enjoying the evening air. It was getting to be around eleven forty PM, and I was half listing for another yell and half

hoping I didn't hear one. Just as my dad opened his mouth to say something, that loud, bellowing howl came from the woodline along the backfield of my proper. In the daylight, we could have seen where it came from, but at night it was too dark. As that sound echoed across the barnyard, everyone went still. My dad frozen midward and his eyes bulged from

his face. We all sat looking at each other as that same sound came from the bowels of the woods a few more times over the next several minutes, and no one spoke a word, probably because no one needed to. That effectively ended our night. The next night, we regrouped in the barnyard,

with everyone anxious to talk about what happened the night before. As my dad and siblings discussed the loudness and the possible source of the sounds, my nephew and I searched the Internet on our smartphones looking for animal sounds that might explain what we'd heard. We searched for several hours, but we came up empty. Nothing came close to what we he heard. Then we stumbled across the site that had bigfoot sounds. They were remarkably close to what we'd heard.

After hearing those recordings, we all looked at each other and came to the same collective conclusion that thing roaring in my woods had to be a bigfoot. A few days after that, my nephew and I were walking in a field on my property when he came across an unusual track in the soil. He called me over to look at it. What I saw led me to conclude that it was definitely a bigfoot. The print was very human in appearance, except that it was six or seven inches wide at the top and four

to five inches wide at the heel. I could see the toes and the curve of the arch and the foot. My heart was racing as fast as it was that first night. I've always believed in the possibility of their existence, but I never thought I would actually see a print or hear one yell. A few nights passed and I was standing out on my front porch to catch a bit of fresh air before turning in for the night, and from the woods across the road from my house, I heard that roar again.

Having heard it several times now, I wasn't so quick to retreat. It was a little different, this time, more like a squeal of pain with a hint of a roar in it. Fear gripped me, but I was determined to stand my ground. My wife heard it and came outside to see what it was. This was the first time she'd heard it, and I could see fear and worry in her eyes as she stood there and shot.

Two nights later, my son and I were out checking my grapes at eight pm, and I was studying how many grapes were producing when I heard that familiar sound in the distance. I marveled at the power it had, even from so far away. With white eyes. My son looked at me and he said, is that what you've been hearing? And I nodded my answer as he turned to run for the house. Come inside, he called over his shoulder, and I followed on his heels. A couple of more days

went by with no unusual sounds from the woods. I had just gotten comfortable with the idea that we wouldn't hear any more of those yells when as my wife and I were lying in bed that night, somewhere between awake and dreamland, and a loud bellow came through our bedroom window and rattled our walls. We both immediately sat up right in bed and looked around, neither one knowing what to say. All we could do was stare at each other when another

loud roar shook the window glass. After that, all was silent for the rest of the night. It was just enough to keep either one of us from getting a good night's sleep, and we spent the rest of the night sitting up, waiting and listening. By now I was contemplating looking for more evidence, despite my internal struggle between fear and curiosity, I decided to take a walk along my property line at the edge of the woods. This time

I found two different sets of prints. One was fifteen inches long and the other was ten inches. Both were very wide, and I realized then that I was going to have to accept that whatever this was, it had chosen to make my property its home. Judging by the size of the Prince and the strength of its roer, there wasn't going to be much I could do about it. I told my siblings about the Prince the first chance I got.

They all ran over to look at them, but I could tell that they were struggling with the same internal battle between curiosity and fear that had me tiden knots. I've lived on this property for the last six years. Before that, I left five miles from here. Now i've lived in this general area thirty one years. Never have I heard anything like this. I'm sure my siblings could all say the same. That night, after I showed my siblings the Prince, we all decided to wait up to see if we might

hear it again. The neighbor who was living three houses down was having a shin dick that night, and around nine pm, the creature in the woods let loose with a long, bellowing yell, and the neighbor heard it. How do I know that he heard it? Not two seconds later all of his friends started leaving in a hasty manner. The fire went from lighting up his yard to darkness, and I laughed a bit, but I understood their fear. So far, it's the last time I've heard that yell. I

can't remember when I got this. I'm kind of reaching back and pulling some of these up that I haven't gotten to yet. So I wish I had the date on this, but I don't. But I'd be curious to know if he's heard it anymore. Man, This is interesting, and thank you to the writer for sending it. I appreciate you. Here is ay an email and the person doesn't give his name, so I don't know who they are, but here's what they write. I grew up in a suburban neighborhood

in New Jersey. I had no experience with the real outdoors. Growing up, all my activities took place inside the city limit. I never considered the unseen world as anything more than fantasy. I'm not a believer in conspiracy theories. I think most things can be explained by science or sound reasoning. Sometimes two plus two really does equal four. After graduating from high school, I

became a little less sheltered, maybe even a bit more open minded. Now I met my wife, who had a love for these topics I either dismissed or had a little interest in. She shared a few stories with me that happened while she was growing up, like the abandoned garage where the neighbor's kids claimed a pair of bright red, glowing eyes would stare at them from the

window. The old two story house where she lived with her family had a basement that had been dug out after the place had been constructed around the year nineteen hundred. It had a dirt floor and the foundation was starting to sag. There was a section that had an inlet crawl space. When she aimed a flashlighting into it, she could see nothing but cobwebs. One day, her mother sent her to the basement to retrieve some canned goods sitting on a

metal shelf. Her arms were loaded down with baked beans. When she looked up and saw a pair of red glowing eyes looking at her from within the crawl space, she let out a scream, dropped the canned goods, and fled to the safety of the first floor. Her father's response was to hang a few more lights from the basement rafters. My wife and I were visiting her mother one evening, shortly after we were married. The two of them left to visit a relative on the other side of town, leaving me alone

to watch the television. Well, maybe it was a mix of hearing my wife's scary stories and the power of suggestion, but I thought I heard something rumbling around in the basement. There was a loud crash, and I immediately thought about the metal shelf of canned goods, so I opened the door leading to the basement and reached for the light switch. The lone bulb hanging over the steps flickered and went out, and I peered down the stairwell into the

darkness, and I saw two red glowing eyes staring back at me. And I slammed the door and ran to my car, and I fled to a nearby fast food joint. My in laws were not bothered in the least by my story. They righted the toppled shelving unit, restacked the cans, and changed the bulb over the stairs. Critters was all they said. Since then, I've had what you call a heighten awareness of my surroundings. I readily admit that there are things in life that can't be explained, though I always

believe that two plus two equals four. Well, sir, that's very good reasoning, because two plus two does equal four, and sometimes there is a rational explanation for this. Could that have been like a raccoon or something? I don't know. I'm trying to and I've said this before, but I can't remember what animals eyes glowed red when you shine light on them. However,

he wasn't shining a light down in this basement. I'm assuming his wife wasn't either when she saw this, and the kids in the neighborhood who have seen it. But I know when he went in, the light bulb went out, so there's no light to reflect off the animals that back mirror part of their eye. I can't remember what it's called, but it reflects. It's how they gather, like to see at night. Or any of those. Do any of those reflect back red? I can't remember. I think

raccoons maybe I don't know. I don't maybe some birds, birds of prey I can't Maybe an owl, maybe that's what that was. And maybe it was some kind of creature that lives in the cross space in the duckwork in her in her parents' house. Either way, it was a scary story and it was very well written, and I loved it. I love these stories, so I appreciate the writer. Thank you. This is an email I got actually recently. I thought it was so good i'd pull it up and

do it. The woman does not want to want me to use her name, and there's the first paragraph of the email gives me quite a bit of it from quite a bit of information about where she lives and stuff that I think I'm not gonna talk about, but I'll say this. She's a US citizen. Apparently she married a man from Ireland and live in Ireland now and she lives on the coast. But she was born and raised in the United States. And she's remembering an event from her childhood, and that's where her

story picks up. So she writes, so, here's my story, which happened when I was sixteen years old. Our neighborhood backed onto a large forest which led right up to the I'm not even going to try to pronounce this Zeka zeka swamp z e kiah, which we used to explore up to the point back along the woodlands. I had three brothers, all of whom lived in the woods, and being the only girl, I tagged along like a

tomboy as best I could. My oldest brother and three of his friends decided to put their carpentry skills into practice and spent several weeks building a treehouse deep in the forest, two miles back from our neighborhood. All the materials were hauled in by hand or loaded on motorcycles. I was impressed with a construction project, but I was disappointed that it was so high off the ground,

I was afraid of heights. They hammered horizontal steps going up the tree, and the floor hatch door was a bit awkward to access, which made entering and exiting the treehouse a challenge. This was no treehouse for sissies. It was built solid and even had a small locking sliding window to block out critters from getting in. Back in those days, this was the nineteen eighties,

all the young people seemed to roam wild with little or no supervision. I have no idea how we kept this treehouse a secret from our parents for so long, but it was where we all went to smoke cigarettes and drink Boone's farm or beer. Don't forget the Mad Dog twenty twenty, MD twenty Mogan David twenty twenty. We called it mad Dog. Lot of people my age will remember that anyway. One of my friends, her name was Debbie. She got the idea that it might be fun to spend the night in the

treehouse. Besides being afraid of heights, I wasn't overly king on pitch black woods either, but hey, you're only a teen once, so I agreed it might be fun. We lied to our parents, and we told them we were spending the night at the other person's house, and we packed what we needed for the night to stay in the treehouse, including sleeping bags, candles, magazines, and food. We hiked into the woods and settled into

the treehouse before dark. We were grubbing on junk food and talking about school and things that girls talk about at sixteen, and we didn't tell anyone we were going to sleep in the treehouse for fear that someone would try to spoil the fun for us. We settled in for the night. It was quiet in the woods, unusually quiet up until something struck the side of the treehouse. We both stopped talking. We noticed the smell. It was like rotting

trash. Oh, you guys, I just have the best imaginations for a riting trash. Isn't that funny? But I think when I come up on smells, I always just naturally laughed anyway, She writes, I looked at Debbie and I wondered what she ate earlier that day, and then she pinched her nose and I knew the smell was coming from outside. And then bang, something hit the treehouse again, but it was much bigger. We were both very frightened, and we heard grunting sounds and scraping at the bottom of

the treehouse. We locked the hatch, which was made of wood and was almost invisible to the eye from outside, as the boys had made it look like a part of the flooring from underneath. But the thing wasted no time in finding it, and it tried to slide it open, or so it seemed to us. I said directly on top of the hatch, and Debbie was in a panic. I was too scared to be in a panic, and I sat frozen like a statue, and I prayed with all my heart

for this thing to go away. I kept thinking that we were going to die. This thing was way too determined to figure out how to get inside. The trees that supported the treehouse were very substantial, and you could never imagine someone could actually shake them, and I could barely get my arms around them. But the treehouse shook slightly, and then we heard funny sounds. I don't remember exactly what they were, but they sounded like gibberish. Maybe

there was more than one, we couldn't tell. We heard the loud footsteps and undergrowth of the leaves and sticks snapping and I decided to blow out the candle, and then I walked over to one of the small windows which had a sliding covers, and I tried to peek out, but it was so dark that I couldn't see. Now, I shut the window back and I locked it, and then it or they started scraping the bottom of the treehouse again, and this went on for a long time. After a while,

we were both exhausted from fear. Things started landing on the roof of the treehouse too. Debbie had big blue eyes and she kept staring at me with them wide open. We spoke with our eyes, occasionally closing them tight. We were afraid to speak, and I wanted them to think that we were asleep. I didn't know what to do or think. I just wanted to

be in my own bed back home. After several hours of banging things hitting the treehouse and shaking and scraping, things started to quiet down just before sunrise, and then we heard a loud, roaring growl sound, but unlike anything else we had heard before, and it felt like it could easily have pulled the treehouse down and gotten inside. After hearing that, and I knew it was really big whatever this thing was, and then it went totally quiet and

everything stop. We waited for a couple of hours after they left, never speaking a word, until finally I said that we should take a look outside. By this time it was seven a m. And I whispered that we should leave very quietly and leave all of our stuff there and run like hell. Once we got down to the ground, she nodded and was softly crying, and I slid the hatch open and popped my head through to look as best as I could, and I didn't see anything, and we went for

it and we ran like hell. And as soon as we got home, we woke the boys and told them all about our experience. They called their friends and went back to retrieve our stuff for us and have a look around. Two of the boys took rifles. My older brother said that we were pretty stupid for going back there for the night, and we agreed. He was not going to get any argument from us. They said it was probably a bear or the goat man, and they teased us for months following this

event, but I knew they believed us. Needless to say, Debbie and I never went back there again at night. I moved up north after high school, and I lost touch with Debbie. I found her on Facebook a few years later and we chatted online a bit, and then one night I messaged her and asked her if she remembered that night in the treehouse, and I asked her if she would share what she remembered so I could fill in

some of the blanks. She never replied. I messaged her three times and I tried to rephrase my question being careful and considerate, but I got nothing from her. She never replied back at all. Eight. Fine. The writer's name is Jeremy. It's a short story, and here's what he writes. I have a sosquatch or monkey man's story to share that was told to me by my grandmother. We live in a very rural part of southwest Pennsylvania.

This area is still more forest than civilization. Back in the late nineteen thirties and early forties when this happened, it was even more so. My grandmother was fairly young at the time, about twelve to fourteen years old. Her parents, my great grandparents, were farmers. They lived mainly off of what they produced on the farm and hunted off the land. Things haven't changed

much we're still geared towards living off the land and our family. At the time of the encounter, my great grandparents had a few head of general purpose cattle. They were used for dairy and then once they got too old to produce milk, they were used for beef. It all started when these cattle began acting strange. At first, they just seemed nervous and jittery. They began bellowing a lot, and their tails were often tucked between their legs and

they were scared. Then they started kicking and butting. These were all clear signs that something was going on, they just didn't know what. Well. After a few days of this behavior, some of them all but quit producing milk. There was no doubt now that the cattle were spooked by something. Everyone thought a bear or a cougar was probably to blame. Finally, one night, the cattle wouldn't come to the barn for feeding or milking. This

was very strange. Cattle don't just decide not to feed. Plus, going without being milked can be downright painful for a cow. My grandmother and her siblings were sent out to the partially wooded pasture to round up arrant livestock and drive them back to the barn. And as they walked, they all knew to keep their eyes open for the predator they thought was scaring their cattle. If they spotted it and were able to drive it off, life could return

to normal on the farm. The pasture they were headed to was a fair piece back in an old mountain haller with boulders laying all around. As they made their way out there, they were able to make out in the evening light a bear sitting on top of one of those boulders. As soon as they recognized it, they all shifted into scare off mode. They clapped their hands and whooped and hollered and made all kinds of noise as they walked towards

the bear. They had only gone a few yards in that direction, though, When the bear stood up now they all got a good look at it, and they knew it wasn't a bear at all. My grandmother described it as a giant monkey that was larger than anyone who was there, or for that matter, anyone she had ever seen before in her life. Flight or fight kicked in, and none of them to fight. They ran back to the barn as fast as they could where my great grandfather was working. They

were all crying and scared half to death. Fear and adrenaline made it difficult to tell what they just witnessed, but evidently they got it out. My great grandfather didn't believe them, but he figured he'd better go see what was really out there. He took his gun with him, just in case he could make a free meal out of a bear. By the time he got all the way out to that back pasture, the only thing left there was the terrified her. He drove them back to the barn, more convinced than

ever that the kids did not see a giant monkey. However, once he got them into the barn, the cattle wouldn't go back outside for a week. My great grandfather had to conceive that something out there had terrified the cows, something that could scare them beyond the average bear. No one ever saw the monkey man again, but just to be safe, no one ever went out to that back pasture alone again either. There have been more Si squatch

sightings in this area than I can begin to tell you. A great many of them were recorded in the nineteen seventies by our local paranormal experts, Stan Gordon. Between the number of sightings he recorded my grandmother's stories and the countless times I felt unwelcome in the forest around here, I am inclined to believe that something does live in these woods. There are still more than enough forests in deep dark hollars for whatever is out there to have a place to live

and hunt and survive for many years to come. Here's a story from Georgia, just a little bit east of Atlanta. The man said I could use his name, but I don't know what his name is. He didn't sign the email, so or maybe I missed it. But this is really good. This is really good. Back in nineteen seventy four, when my cousin Bobby and when I was seventeen, we were both hunting white tailed deer on

our dear least east of Atlanta, Georgia. We had originally decided to sleep in Bobby's car that night, but there was an old, abandoned house on the property, so we went inside and put our sleeping bags on the floor and we went right to sleep. At three am, I was awakened when one of the brightest lights I've ever seen fill the room. It was coming through the windows from outside. My first thought was that the sheriff's deputy was

shining his spotlight on us. Well. I looked over at Bobby's sleeping bag to see if he was awake too, but he wasn't there. It wasn't anywhere inside the room we'd fallen asleep in. Had he gone outside. I thought I was scared to death. We were about to be carted off to jail. So I got up and I went to the window, and out in the yard was a small round craft like nothing I'd ever seen before.

I stood there staring out at it and shock and as I watched, a door open and three little gray creatures came out and started walking toward the house. A fourth one came out and stood on the ramp. The light from the little craft turned nighttime into daylight, so I could clearly see everything that was happening. All four of the creatures looked a lot like the aliens that other people describe. They were small, they had gray skin and large eyes

and oversized, edge shaped heads. And then one of the ones on the ground spoke to me. I don't know if it spoke telepathically or if it used actual words, but I do remember what it said, we are looking for male men. What are you talking about? I answered again. I don't know if they were reading my thoughts or if I was verbally speaking back to them. We're looking for males, another one repeated. The next thing I knew, I was lying in the middle of the flot my underwear,

and somewhere nearby Bobby was screaming, where am I? Where am I? The bright light was gone. We were in total darkness now. I was struggling to adjust my eyes to it as I scrambled to find the candles that we'd brought with us into the house. I found a candle next to my sleeping bag, but Bobby had the matches last before we went to bed, and I couldn't find him anywhere near the candle, so I knew he must

still have them. Bobby, I yelled, light a match. He kept repeating, where am I. I don't have any matches to light the candle. I yelled, light a match so I can find you. He went quiet for a minute, and then I heard the distinct sound of a match being struck. It went out before I could locate him, so he had to light another one, and he lit several before I finally found him. He was practically hanging feet first up the chimney. I managed to help him

get out. We'd both fallen asleep in our jeans, and he was still wearing his, but somehow I ended up in my underwear. I found my clothes piled in a corner, and I got into them as quickly as I could. We both ran out of that house like bullets fired from a gun. Seconds later, we were in his car and headed toward Interstate twenty to Atlanta. We didn't care that we'd left all our hunting and camping equipment in

the house. We just needed to get away from there. We pulled into a rest area and tried to sleep, but I couldn't let myself close my eyes. I was still shaking in fear, and just before daylight we drove to a waffle house and we had breakfast. Bobby told me that a demon had dragged him out of his sleeping bag and was trying to drag him up the chimney. I described to him what I saw, and he said it could have been demons. This was nineteen seventy four. There were zero et

movies out at that time. No one that I knew ever talked about aliens or being abducted. Heck, we had no idea what had just happened to us. We just knew we weren't going back in that house in the dark. It was well after daylight when we went back to the house to retrieve our stuff. Bobby kept watching the door while I ran inside and threw everything into one sleeping bag and I ran back out. I tossed it all into

the car and we hauled but out of there. The next afternoon, we went to the opposite side of the property and we hunted, but we were out of the woods and on our way back home before dark. I was at Bobby's house last week for a few days. He had never talked about this with his girls. Two of them were there. They were completely shocked when we started telling the story. I don't really talk about it to anyone. A few people that I've told said we must have been stoned. Well,

I've never had anything to do with drugs in my life. These days, I don't really care what people think of me. I'm old now and my family believes me, and they're the ones who really matter in the end. I was heavy into racing in the mid seventies, I'd been asked to tune a flat bottom circle boat in the SK class. They were headed to the World Championships to defend their number one title of the previous year. I was asked to come along by my friend Dan, the guy who built the

engine, to work on the tuning and the fuel. As usual with racing parts, people and shops, nothing ever lines up to get you on your way to the races on time. To make matters worse, we had a seven am Saturday morning tech time to meet that was almost six hours away. On Friday night, we found ourselves starting the new motor for the first time

at a eleven PM. We set the timing, jumped in Dan's Silverado crew cab, and let out for Phoenix from Santa Ana, California, with six hours to get there and sleep a bit before tech inspection while towing a flat bottom raceboat with a monstrous motor in it. Since I was the only coffee drinker in the bunch, I had guzzled a gallon in the course of prepping the motor that night, it was decided that I would drive the first leg

to Phoenix. Everybody else would sleep until it was their time to get behind the wheel. I asked Dan how fast he wanted me to tow with his truck. He and the boat owner debated and then told me that ninety miles per hour would be fine. The truck had a five hundred cubic inch big block in it. Apparently gas knowledge wasn't a concern. When I cleared the inner city freeways, I took it to ninety and I set the cruise control. We made it to Palm Springs by twelve fifteen am. That was fast,

considering we were towing a heavy load through a mountain pass. At the other end of Palm Springs is Shirako Summit, a nineteen mile long six percent grade, usually strewn with big rigs and the right lane plugging along at forty miles an hour. This night, there weren't many, and I was able

to slallom mile way around them at seventy to eighty miles per hour. There was no worry of anyone in the truck complaining, as they had all fallen asleep within ten minutes of leaving home base, including my shotgun Keep me awake guy Bobby. He was in full drool mode, slumped against the door. I was still lamped up on caffeine, so I decided to roll on past the first leg until someone became coherent and took the wheel from me. As we passed the top of the it was a downhill run for twenty miles to

Desert Center, which has only a cafe in some vacant buildings. Highway ten is one desolate stretch of road. The occasional semi rig we passed was the only sign of life. In my usual watch the sky mode, I noticed a bright green star out past the mountaintops on my right, about seven miles away. I didn't think much of it, and I didn't watch it for very long. But ten minutes later I looked back and I saw that it was still directly out the passenger window, not moving behind where I had first

seen it. That was strange, and I kept my eye on the green light. There were no aircraft, running lights or strobes, and it kept pace with the truck. As I traveled, I realized it was no longer on the other side of the mountaintops. It was on my side, and the mountains were behind it. It was now clearly pacing the truck a quarter mile away. I slowed down to sixty and it slowed down, and when I sped up, it sped up. All I could make out was this

bright green, glowing object. There was no discernible shape. I shoved Bobby to wake him up. Where are we, he asked. I pointed out the window, and I said, never mind that, look at that thing. Just as he began to turn his head, this thing made a left turn and it came blazing straight at the truck. What the hell, Bobby yelled. It was coming right at the truck, and I braced myself for

impact. I slowed and I held the wheel tight, and then it was by so fast that I pulled my foot off the accelerator and hadn't been able to put on the brake before it had disappeared to our left. This happened in less than a second, almost instantaneously. I fully expected a Vortec's turbulence to blast the truck at any moment, but none ever came. How it missed the truck. We had no idea this thing was going at least one

thousand miles per hour. If it was going one, It literally looked like a seventy five foot diameter green blur as it passed the front of the truck and the back seat boys never even woke up. Bobby and I rode in silence for a mile or two, and he finally said, are we going to tell the other guys about this Hell to the Noah? I said, they're going to think we're crazier full of it. He agreed, and in ten minutes he was sound asleep again. Me, on the other hand,

I was adrenaline amp to the Bejesus belt. Between my gallon of coffee and the adrenaline rush, I could have run to Phoenix at that point. Not wanting to stare at the ceiling in the truck. The rest of the way, I kept pushing that five hundred cubic inch that was under the hood of the Chevrolet. With the hum of the engine and the highway lanes snapping past, I think I went into autopolot mode. I was shocked out of my trance when a CBE radio barked at me. I almost jumped out of my

skin. Hey, Seafer, where's the fire? It crackled in a Southern accent. Seafer is what truckers call the guys pulling boats in California. Registration numbers for Cali boats started with the letters CF. Dazed, I grabbed the mic and I said, ah, we're late for the races in Phoenix. His reply was, well, I ain't seen a smoky for a while coming your way, but you better watch your speed. Besides, you're almost there anyway. I looked over at the speedometer and I was rolling at one hundred

miles per hour. How had I gotten to this speed? And he was right, I was coming up on the Lake exit in two miles. I looked at my watch and it read two forty five am. When the craft passed in front of us at Desert Center, it was one thirty am. From there, we were an easy three hours from our destination. We rolled into the hotel at three am. I woke everyone up. They were all trying to figure out how we got to the hotel in four hours, especially

towing that big ass boat. The trip was three hundred and eighty two miles on the odometer. I would have had to average ninety to ninety five miles per hour to make it in that time frame. From Desert Center to Phoenix is one hundred and ninety seven miles, and I had made it in an hour and a half. That section alone would have required me to be flying at around one hundred and thirty five miles per hour. Even creepier was the

fuel consumption. We should have run out of gas long before Phoenix. With only fifty gallons on board and the trucks usual six miles per gallon towing at sixty five, we would have been seventy miles short. As fast as I was driving towing that big boat, four miles per gallon should have been great. If I thought the weirdness had passed, I was wrong as wrong could be. I finally fell asleep around three point thirty am, or I passed

out from the letdown off of adrenaline and in caffeine. At six I was shaken awake by Dan and he was asking me what the hell happened to my truck. I looked at him and I said, I don't know. I never stopped, so nothing that I know of. He insisted that I get out of the truck and come look at the front end. I dragged my warn ass out to the front of the truck to see that the chrome and

the paint on the front end was all bubbled up. Bobby walked over and took a peat, and then he grabbed his head and he said, oh damn man, I thought I had dreamed that The other guys were confused, so we related the story to them. They were incredulous, as we expected, but we had to get to the tech inspection and there was no time for a debate. On the way to the lake, I started running some math through my mind. Hey, Dan, how much gas is left in

the tank? He looked down at the gage and he said there was a quarter of a tank, and asked where I had stopped to fill up. I told him I had never stopped for gas. How could I have with the time that I made. We finished our day and the boat ran fine, and not much was said until dinner on Sunday night in Buckeye, Arizona. Dan, being an engine builder, was no slouch at math and had been doing his own calculations. It was at dinner that night that we decided

that we would never speak of the trip's details again. When we had to stop for fuel on the way back, despite having filled up in Phoenix, we all looked at each other and we shook our heads. None of us have any idea where the time or the miles went. I only know when the trucker coming the other way woke me from my trance. I wasn't aware of where we were or how we had gotten there. All right, the writer wants to be anonymous. It's about Bigfoot, and they're all true.

They all claim they're true, and I don't tell them a bit. My father passed away in two thousand and four. He was a Vietnam veteran who wasn't scared of anything, but in the early nineteen seventies something happened that terrified him. It was a fall afternoon in the small town of Bird's Eye, Indiana. My father was squirrel hunting on my mother's family property. He used the opportunity to scout the land for signs of deer for the upcoming season.

There was a nice autumn day, and Dad wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere. He was enjoying being in the woods and surrounded by nature. As he made his way through the forest, he came across what he believed were some animal bones. He took a minute to look at them, but he wasn't all that interested, so he moved on. He hadn't gone much farther when he came across some more bones and he moved on and he found more, and the deeper he moved into the woods, the more bones he came

across. That was when he noticed a trail of bones leading up the hill. All these remains lying around was odd, and Dad was the curious type. He decided to follow the trail of bones, and as he made his way up the hill, he noticed that the bones seemed to be getting bigger. Some of them almost looked human a Dad was a medic in the Marines. He was familiar with human bones, and about halfway up the hill he started smelling something pungent. If he was a medic in the Marines, he

was a Navy corman. By the way, just a heads up, my son was in the Marine corpns. I learned all this stuff back to the story. At the top of the hill he found a cave, and all around it were more bones of all shapes and sizes. And when he approached the mouth of the cave, the odor got so strong it nearly overpowered him. The smell burned his eyes and he fought back the knee to vomit. As he looked into the black opening, and a pair of red eyes stared

back at him. He jumped backwards and shock at the glowing eyes that were easily seven feet off the ground. An instinct kicked in and he emptied both barrels of a shotgun into the mouth of the cave. But even as the shells were spent, he was turning and heading back down the hill at break next speed. He didn't wait to see if he'd hit anything or if he just made it angry. He got out of there. My father was never

an animated man. He believed in getting right to the point. He kept a poker face at all times, but when he told this story, I could see the fear in his eyes, and I could hear it in his voice. Years later, when I was thirteen, Dad and I were squirrel hunting on my uncle's place in Taswell, Indiana. Like always, while we

were there, we were scouting for deer trails and scrapes and rubs. It was a hot day in the middle of a dry spell, and Dad decided we'd follow a creek bed that wasn't more than a few water puddles here and there. And when we came around to ben in the creek, Dad stopped so quickly that I nearly ran into his back. I'll never forget the expression on his face when he turned around and looked at me. It was out of place for him. I really only remember having seen it when he spoke

of that day at the cave. I was looking at my dad and he was scared. I don't know what the hell made this track, he said, but we're not going to stick around to find out. I was born with my father's curious nature. I had to see what he was talking about. I thought maybe he was joking with me, and I looked around him, and at first I thought I was looking at some kind of deer track

where the deer might have slipped or something. And then I realized next to the half dried up puddle was a track that must have been eighteen inches long and nine inches wide. I could clearly see the toe prints in the mud. Well, Dad was right, we didn't need to stick around to see what had made that track. When we got back to my uncle's house, my dad told him what we'd found, and I guess I half expected my uncle to laugh at us. Instead, he looked at my dad straight in

the iine and he said, well, this doesn't surprise me. My uncle had been hearing weird howls and noises for the past few weeks. He told us that he saw a hairy man who was over seven feet tall take two of his pigs. Now, I guess we didn't have to wait around to find out what made the track. My uncle already knew. Oh Man, the way you wrote this was perfect, absolutely fantastic, And your dad was

a Vietnam veteran, and he wasn't scared of anything. Those guys had been through, you know a lot of stuff, and so everything else that they would run into after that was just you know, it was small peas compared to the horrors they had seen in war, and the same thing for the Afghanistan and Iraqi vets and all the other vets who've actually seen combat. But they run into a bigfoot or something like a bigfoot, and it scares them to death. And I totally get that. I mean I get it.

Following all those bones up up that mountain and then looking in a cave and red eyes looking back at you. I don't think there's any doubt why those bones are there when you see that, And I would have shot into that cave too. But this was a great story, and I appreciate it, and it's a it's a good little legacy to leave your dad. You know. It's an interesting story that he shared with you, and it'll be in a podcast for a long time. All right, brother, thanks for the

story. This email is from Mike, and this is what Mike writes. In September of 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 better 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 gater 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. Oh, 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. Why 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 and mumbled 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 Gaiter 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, and not once did we see anything. Gaiter 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 horn 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, and then he 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 see. Fifty years later, the house is still standing there, just like we walked out of it yesterday. The femails written by Travis. I'm a US Army veteran who served in Operation Iraqi Freedom from two thousand and seven to twenty thirteen. In my travels, I've seen a lot of crazy things, from camel spiders to unexplainable backwards flying birds in boshra Arak. I now work a third shift as an assistant manager in Wilkesboro, North Carolina,

a place well known for its bigfoot activity. I live on Noel Hays Road in State Road, North Carolina, a forty five minute drive away. Until recently, I have noticed on my long drives home that the deer population in our area has spiked because of our close proximity to Stone Mountain National Forests. There are hunting grounds nearby, but the population seems to be dwindling. One morning, when I came home, I was overcome with an overwhelming dread,

like I was being watched. It's hard to spook me, but for some reason this made me feel uneasy. And then I heard a distinct whistle sound I've never heard before. I noticed all the birds outside and thought this may be a new species or something. I thought to myself that I need to get this on video. I left my key in the door and went outside, armed only with my camera and started whistling back at it as I filmed,

the thing mimicked my whistle back to me in a low tone. I knew I needed to keep filming, but I was unarmed and alone, and for lack of a better word, I was scared. My side arm was in the house, but I wasn't leaving without knowing what this thing was. I stayed in the backyard but close to the house, and I continued filming and trading whistling noises with whatever out there. When the whistles started coming from two different directions, I stopped. As soon as I did, a rock

smashed the ground where the yard meets the woods. I started walking around towards the house, but turned around again, hoping to catch something on camera, and when I did, another rock tapped a tree and ricocheted into the tin roof of the building in front of me. That was all the confirmation I needed that this was no bird. I continued to video without further incident, so I decided to wait and try again the next night. The next couple

of days were much like the first with the whistling. I didn't interact this time because I was beginning to feel like I was going crazy. I showed the videos to some guys at work, but they only laughed at me, which was what I expected. It's a bird, they said, just one day, had never heard before. At least they admitted the rock throwing was abnormal. I tried to put it behind me and move on. On my day off, I decided to put up my Christmas tree in clean house.

I was doing the dishes when I heard a distinctive growl outside. My windows are fairly new and well insulated, so they're pretty good at muffling noises. Even so, it caught my attention and I looked out to the woods. Everything looked normal except for a giant shadow just behind the woodline. I grabbed my phone and began to put it in the camera mode, hoping that I could get a shot and catch something. As soon as I did, the giant shadow rose up and up until it was a full ten feet tall.

I took a few photos and then zoomed in and I got another shot. I couldn't make out anything in the regular shots, but when I looked at the zoomed in shot, I was mortified to see half of a face. This ten foot tall creature was watching me as I played house dad. It was staring me down and it was growling. I dropped my phone and went to bed. I wanted it to be my imagination, but when I looked at it again closer, sure enough, there it was. I now have

this picture in my phone and it haunts me. I grabbed what little of my prior military training I had left and went outside, and by then it was gone. But the next day, as my wife and I and our two children returned from dinner, I noticed a fence post in the yard had been knocked down. There was a clump of matted, dirty, auburn and gray hair on it that I put into a plastic bag and sealed. Do

I think it's the creature's hair? Well, I'm not sure, but too much has happened that says it exists, and I didn't want to let this possible hard evidence slip away. The reason I'm sending you this story isn't because of what happened in my backyard, though, It's what I found on my way home from work. Like clockwork, I was driving home from work, heading down Noah Hayes Road. I noticed several tree breaks and trees that had

been knocked down that hadn't been there before. It was the tpe shaped structure in the woods close to my house that made me whip my car around and get out my camera. It was a circle of trees broken about eight feet in placed vertically together with underbrush piled on it. The surrounding trees were untouched.

The evidence is there. If anyone had asked me three weeks ago if I believed in bigfoot, I would have said no. Now, I would tell anyone who doesn't believe that they're crazy not to thank you for your time. And he signs his name Travis, and that is three or four some kind of encounters either. You know, he's getting audible feedback from these things. He can see shadows, he got a picture of a half a face.

He's found the tpee type strung ructures pushed over trees. He's got rocks thrown him at him, and he's just got all kind of stuff going on. I don't know someone edits these, Naoma edits these for me now, And I don't have the date in front of me when this email came in. It could have been as long as a year or so ago. I'm

still that far behind. This is a great story. I mean, this guy's got a lot going on. I'm wondering what he's doing with all the pictures, and I would warn you if you put them on the internet, you're just going to catch a lot of crap for it. So I would say keep those to yourself. You're probably not going to further the calls or the evidence of Bigfoot any more than this story. People are going to shoot

down your pictures and debunk everything. But you know what you've got, you know what you've got on your phone, and you say it still haunts you. But this is great stuff, great stuff, Travis, Thanks for sending it, buddy. Here's an email from Stacy. I got this email back in November of twenty nineteen. You can see how far I'm reaching back and getting them. This is a great story. I don't I've never read anything like this, and I'm always so glad to get these that aren't. You

know, They're just some of them are different. This is one of those different ones, and I think you'll find it interesting. She writes. I'm a Bigfoot believer and I've read countless stories and have seen almost every photo or video documented on the internet. In two thousand and seven, i'd been studying encounter stories for a year and I'd heard of several in the Adirondack Mountains. It wasn't that far from where I live, so I convinced my best friend

to take a hiking trip with me in search of Bigfoot. We were both in our twenties at the time and looking for adventure. Within a few weeks, we made our plans, purchased our supplies, and loaded our backpacks, and we were on our way. We'd picked a remote hiking trail and headed out. An hour into our hike, the trail came to a fork and one path was well worn. It was clearly the path most people chose.

The other path was overgrown and grassy. Which way should we go, my friend asked, and I pointed to the overgrown path, and I said, let's go that way. For sure, I knew if I wanted to have an encounter of any kind, I would have to choose the path less traveled. We hiked a long way before we reached a point where we could take a rest. My friend immediately noticed that there was no sound in the forest. No insects were chirping, no birds were singing, no other animals were

even moving around. It was unsettling, and I thought maybe we were about to be attacked by a mountain lion or something. I knew that silence in the forest usually meant a predator was in the air, so we decided to keep moving. Not long after that, the forest grew dark. There wasn't nightfall yet, but the sun was shining on the other side of the mountain, and it cast a long shadow that made the whole area look like something

out of a creepy movie. The dark forest ahead of us felt like it was swallowing us up, and I couldn't help being a little bit afraid. My stomach sank and I took a few big gulps of air, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. Somehow I knew we shouldn't be there. I told my friend that I didn't want to go in there. She said, oh, come on, we can't stop. Now. Let's go just a little bit further. I was uneasy with every step. Finally

I convinced her it was time to turn back. I couldn't wait to get out of there. I had the sense that something was watching us, and I didn't know if it meant to harm us or what its intentions were. After a while, we got out of that area of the woods, and I felt a bit relieved. It was time to start heading straight back to the car. The woods had fallen darker, and I did not want to be lost out there. After the sun went down, we were still two

hours from the car. We picked up the pace as we walked back. I admit that I felt a bit disappointed that we didn't have an encounter with the creature, and that thought didn't last for long. Five minutes later, we heard a loud popping sound of a boulder hitting another rock as it landed on the ground, and then it rolled twenty yards before coming to a stop. It had come from our left and behind us. There were no hills in that direction that it could have fallen from, and the landscape behind us

was flat. I looked toward the sound to see what was going on, but we didn't see anything. But all of a sudden, I was excited, and it gripped me as I realized that something had to have thrown it. Maybe we had contact. Finally, this is what I had come for. I wasn't scared at this point. Suddenly I was thrilled. I picked up a handful of small rocks and I threw them back into the woods in

an effort to communicate with whatever had thrown the boulder. We slowly moved down the trail, looking into the woods, hoping to see this thing, and a handful of small rocks soared through the air and landed behind us. We stopped and smiled. This was it. I picked up more rocks, and I gently threw them in the forest, and we waited, and then more rocks came flying back to us. I couldn't believe this was happening. I

was growing more excited by the minute. For the next forty five minutes, we walked the trail, tossing rocks into the woods, and back and forth it went. I never saw herd or smelled anything other than the rocks, But what animal was possibly capable of playfully throwing rocks back and forth? When we reached a point with a small pond on one side and thick woods on the other, I heard the sound of a tree creaking back and forth at

a rapid pace. I'm not a stranger to the woods. I grew up in the country, and I spent most of my days playing and walking out there, and I know the sound of the wind blowing through creaky trees. This is not what that was. It sounded like someone was shaking the tree. My friend was now afraid, but I became more curious, and I begged her to let me inspect the sound a little closer. Against her better judgment, I stepped off the mark path and into the woods. That was

my first mistake. My intuition was telling me not to go any further. The energy in the area was heavy and thick, and it took everything I had to move my legs forward. I looked down at my arms and the hair was standing straight up. I should have turned back right then, but I didn't. I picked up a large rock and I threw it as far into the woods as I could. I had a good throwing arm, and I sent it as deep into the darkness as it would go, and the

tree continued to shake. One last rock. I thought, I'll just throw one last rock. Well, that was my second mistake, and it almost cost me my life. My friend walked up behind me with a rock in each hand. We must have looked like a couple of idiots creeping through the woods with those rocks. And I cranked my arm back and I began to throw and upon my release, a rock the sides of a softball came buzzing past my head at incredible speed, and it missed me by half an inch.

I felt the wind off of it as it hung by then it hit a tree behind us, and it landed on the trail. I turned to my friend and shocked, and I was hoping she was playing a joke on me. And all I could see was the fear in her eyes. As she held up both of those rocks in her hands. She said, I brought one for you and me, but we didn't throw them. Let's get out of here, we both said at the same time. Somehow, unintentionally, we had made this creature angry, and if that rock had hit me,

it would have killed me. If it was a person who'd thrown it, they would have had to be close enough that I would have seen them. We started beating feet out of the woods while more rocks were thrown at us. But this time it wasn't playful, and they weren't small rocks. They were being thrown directly at us, and for the next forty minutes, as we headed out of the trail as fast as we could, we had to take cover several times from the rocks being flung at us. We were

lucky. The rocks hit the leaves as they flew through the air and gave us a split second warning that they were coming. Again and again we had to duck to avoid being hit. These rocks kept coming at us until we were a half mile out of the trail. They were making sure that we were leaving. I should have never thrown that row. It was a stupid move on my part. You know the old saying, it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye. Right. There is no doubt in my

mind that I was interacting with a bigfoot that day. And this is one of my favorite stories to tell those friends who won't laugh at me, And now I'm sharing it with you all. Thank you well, Stacy, thank you. Good grief man. What a story. I was reading this earlier and then as I narrated it here, I was thinking, you know,

I would do the same thing. I would throw rocks back at it, not to try to hit it or hurt it or anything, but if someone's throwing rocks, you know, heck, throwing back kind of takes you back to your childhood when you had dirt clod fights. And rock fights and snowball fights. There's no way to know that you're going to hack this bigfoot off. You really didn't know if it was a bigfoot or not at first,

and here we go throwing rocks back at each other. Anyway, I don't know you did exactly what I would have done, so I wouldn't beat yourself up over that. But you did say you love telling this story, and you did come out of that whole experience with a great story, and now you've shared it with us, and we're all so appreciative. So thanks Stacy, and sorry it took so long to get to this, but I'm getting to them all