Bigfoot Alligator Death Match

I knew she wasn't alive, but I wasn't scared. Not long after that, my great uncle told me about a time that he encountered a wild man nine feet tall, and he was covered in hair. He moved so fast that he could vanish one second and reappear the next and possibly far away. I was playing outside once when I heard a high pitched scream coming from the tall grass across the road. I didn't know what it was, but I knew it was big, and I took off running.

My father said it was probably the panther known to live in the area. Needless to say, I was cautious about being outside alone after that. Well, life went on and I grew up, and now I have kids of my own. It was a fall night, one where you know your hear codes all around. I didn't worry because we had great dogs that kept us safe, and I was inside with all the windows open. My children were tuck safely in bed, and I was watching my favorite show.

The next thing I knew, something started talking outside my window. It sounded straight out of National Geographic like orangutang speaking gibberish back and forth to one another. I quickly shut and locked all the windows and went to bed that night, my heart filled with fear, not knowing what was outside my house. The next day, I visited my sister, who told me it was probably just owls mating, since it

was that season. That eased my worries for a while, until one night I heard what sounded like a horse breathing into one of my open windows. The window was ten feet off the ground. I rushed over and shut the window, knowing no owl on earth had breath that heavy. About a year ago, I went on a walk to my friend's house a country mile away. On one side of the road was a pasture with grazing cows, but on the other side was a dense, dark wall of trees so thick and dark you couldn't see into them.

I was walking, I noticed the sound of the brush and the leaves crunching underfoot of something just inside the trees. At first, I thought it was one of my dogs trying to stay quiet while stalking a rabbit or a squirrel. That was until I realized whatever it was, it was keeping pace with me. When I stopped, it stopped, and when I walked, it walked. I got scared, and I picked up my pace, and I heard it following me the whole way. It's footsteps weren't light like a dog's.

They were heavy, like something much bigger, taller than me. When I finally got to the clearing before my friend's property, I sprinted across the open field all the way to her house. Like everything else in my life, the more strange things that happen, the more I get used to them. I believe some of us are like beacons in the night, and we can't control what is drawn to us. My kids and I don't go on walks at dusk anymore,

and I rarely leave my windows open at night. I don't know if it's because I've become more cautious of what's hanging around my family, or because of the logging in the forest around our home, but we don't experience nearly as many any strange things as we used to. In the summer of nineteen seventy one in southern Kentucky, my dad was in the living room with his family when a twelve foot tall bigfoot suddenly appeared in the front window, so large that it blocked all the light.

It ran off when his dad jumped up and ran outside with his rifle in his hands. Well a little while later, noise erupted from the barn, and my dad ran outside and headed toward it, wondering what was going on, And on the way he passed a giant footprint and the mud. Then he decided to stop and wait and see if this thing would come out. The noise settled for a moment and then picked up quickly again. As it burst outside, my dad ran back toward the house,

shouting to his family that it was coming back. It let out an ear splitting scream just as he made it inside, and then turned worse and headed for the woods. Nobody talked about it after that. It wasn't until I began talking about bigfoot that they finally told me the story. I had often played in those woods as a kid. More than a few times I heard strange noises and knocks nearby. Now that I know what they saw, I wait for the day that I can see one myself.

I experienced something with my brother by my side, and neither of us will ever forget it. I was eleven years old in the summer of nineteen fifty one, and we had recently moved to Lake Charles, Louisiana. Our dad was assigned to a small neighbor group there as a supply officer. We were cut from the cloth of the nineteen fifties. We were told to get out and play and not come back until dark thirty. My brother and I lived wild and free, or at least as far

as our minds and muscles would take us. Lake Charles was surrounded by swamps of varying densities and darkness. My brother and I found the remnants of a narrow gage railroad track the week before, and we were held bent for leather to follow it. We knew it was not in use due to the rust on the rails in the poor condition of the endless trustle so with our sack lunches tuck securely in our belts, and our daisy red Rider BB guns loaded up, we took off on

our adventure. Some well meaning older people warned us to mind the gators, but their words of wisdom went right over our heads because we couldn't think of anything an alligator would tell us that we would have to mind. Hell, we barely minded our own parents. We carefully walked the tracks, and then the trustle, then the tracks, going deeper and

deeper into the swamp. Occasionally we would shoot at water moccasin swimming away away from us, And the further we went, the more we wondered who would run a railroad through such a precarious trestle, and to what end? The tracks turned south and came upon an eastern berm. Nestled next to the berm were the remnants of an old rice mill. Most of the brick walls were still standing, forming a large square enclosure, and the floor was covered with brackish water.

There were snakes of plenty to shoot, and that we did with much gusto. The pool of water erupted into a violent frenzy, and it scared me so bad it took two years off my life. A portion of one of the brick walls had come down, allowing a ten foot long alligator to slip in during the high tide event, trapping it there. My brother was of the opinion that he was going to kill this thing and drag it back to the house and stuff it need. I remind you,

Daisy does not make high pur bb guns. The gator sank to eye level, all the water around it began to vibrate from a deep throated sound that it started to make. Our limited knowledge of this creature left us amazed. Little did we know it was calling for reinforcements. During this commotion, we heard another terrifying sound in the distance, a loud, promal roar, nothing like the sound of gator makes.

There was crashing and splashing coming toward us, and with our collective valor, my brother and I hauled our butts back the way we came. But before we ever got out of the swamp, we heard the confrontation, the likes of nothing we had ever heard before or since. We never saw the creature that came to challenge the alligator, nor did we know why. The following weekend we screwed up the courage to go back and see what happened in that pit. We were apprehensive about going back, but

youth has no shortage of stupid. The rice meal was in shambles, mud and blood had been splattered at least eight feet up the wall. There were tufts of reddish brown hair caught up in some places of the wall, and the head of the alligator was in the corner of the room where it was shallow. It looked like something had grabbed the upper and lower jaws and ripped its mouth apart. That would not have killed the gator, but it sure made it impotent as a killing machine.

The neck appeared to have been separated by a series of bites. That alligator had been every bit of ten feet long when we saw it, but besides the head, the rest of it was missing. That had to be at least four hundred pounds of meat and bone. We never went back into the swamp that far again. We mentioned in passing a little of what we experienced to our friends whose family lived on a houseboat and the

Caucasou River. He casually mentioned there was a swamp man creature back in there, and we'd best not do that again. Thank you for letting me get this off my mind. I have never told a single soul of this event, though my brother told everyone who would listen. Of course,

in Lake Charles, he was preaching to the choir. When I was twelve years old, a friend and I were messing around on the watch Tall River in Oklahoma, where I'm from, running with my full blooded German shepherd and shooting at cans and different things with our bebee guns. We started thinking we were being messed with by some friends who must have followed us down the river, because rocks and sticks started being thrown at us. At one point, a boulder went right over our heads and landed in

the river. We couldn't see who was doing it, and when we yelled at whoever it was, we got no answer. The whole time, the dog was acting skittish, which was unusual for him, so we finally decided to get out of there, and we took the road instead of walking through the wheat field the same way we came in. We made it to the railroad tracks six hundred feet from the river when we looked back and got the biggest surprise of our lives. Right behind us was a

bigfoot crouched in the tall brush. My friend and I couldn't move. We just stared as it slowly stood upright, towering over the branches of the trees around it. But our legs started working again in a hurry and we got out of There. Must have been a week later along the same river that a farmer reported seeing a huge black creature walking upright like a man. I joined the army at seventeen, and I became a paratrooper right

out of high school. In April of nineteen ninety three, I was part of a training exercise at Fort Chaffee, Arkansas, on the border of Oklahoma. We were conducting patrols on the Devil's Backbone, an area with rugged rocky cliffs. It was a clear and chilly night, and by training, our senses were on high alert. It's amazing how sharp they become when you spend lots of time outdoors. Sight, smell,

and hearing all become sharper. At two in the morning, we heard a blood curdling scream as animal as it was humid, and it echoed through the woods below the Backbone and had all of our heads turning. We started whispering to each other trying to figure out what it was. When it screamed again, and then the knocking started, like something was hitting trees with a giant baseball bat. We never figured out what it was, but the experience stayed

with me. I know there's something out there, and I have to believe it was a sasquatch or a dog man. I'm a retired master who deployed three times to Iraq during the Iraq War and the Global War on Terror, and I served my country for twenty seven years. I love watching and listening to your channel. Thanks mister Buckner for reading my story. You're welcome, sir, appreciate everything you did for us here in the United States. We do

appreciate you, and what a good story. Thanks. When I was six years old, my parents built a house on family land. For several nights after we moved in, I heard steps outside. They were heavy, four steps past my window and then four steps back. When I was six years old, I knew it wasn't normal, and in the morning I would look for footprints, but the ground was always too hard. This happened every night until I finally

told my parents. One night, I waited for the steps and I told my dad, who went out and he checked. He didn't see it anything, And after that I never heard the steps again. Often saw trees crossed in the woods behind the house, and I would look for an explanation of how they became bent like that, but I never could find anything. This was years before I heard about Bigfoot or sosquatch, and long before the Patterson Gimlin film. I always wished I had looked out the window, and

I was too afraid. Even to this day, fifty five years later, I won't look out a window at night. I'm afraid i'll see something looking back at me. Back in the nineteen sixties, we lived in the woods of Georgia in a place called aChn. It was wild back then, just four or five old log cabins without houses. We would fill a tub with water and put it over the wood heater, and that's how we bathed. We were poor growing up, but I look back and I know

those were the good old days. One morning, Mama wanted me to walk with her down to the little pond by the house was overgrown with bushes and trees. As we turned off the road toward the pond, I saw some huge dog tracks. Right then Mama grabbed my arm and she said don't move. Seventy five feet from the water's edge stood an eight foot long black panther, hissing at us. My hair stood up at thing's legs were as tall as mine, and all I had to defend

ourselves with was two cane poles. Mama told me, don't turn you back on him, and don't run. His legs were as big as mine, and I had already made up my mind that I could hit that cat a hundred times before you could take me down. But then he turned, and he ran along the pone's edge and leapt over a fallen tree, and he was gone. My uncle Daniel lived down the road, and the next day I told him what happened. He said he'd seen him years earlier, but didn't tell us because he didn't want

to scare any of us. I told him I was going to catch that cat. My uncle gave me one of his old bear traps, and I took it back to the pond, and every day after school I checked on it. On the third day, I saw the trap was clamped shut, with a half inch cloth stuck in it and black hair and some meat caught inside. I showed it to the game warden who said there was no black panthers in Georgia. I thought that man was full of it. Almost got eaten by one. I couldn't

believe he was a game. Warning didn't know about him. Those cats would howl behind our house at night. Sounded like teenage girls getting murdered. I'd shoot in their direction to quiet them down, and it would work for a few hours, but they always picked back up after a little while. Always wondered why I'd find little wooden crosses tied together with vines in the woods, or why we'd find rocks stacked on the banister of the back porch. It makes me wonder what else was out there running

with that panther. Sometimes I'd be home alone at night and I'd hear things hitting the house. I think I was only seventeen then, and it scared me because I thought it might be that panther trying to get in well. About a year later, I was coming home with Daddy and right at the pond, the panther ran across the road with two smaller cats, all solid black. And then three months after that, Daddy asked me to get my

bike and go to Uncle Daniel's for some coffee. I didn't want to ride through that branch that early because it was really foggy, but I made it to his cabin in one piece. I knocked on the door a couple of times, but he didn't answer, so I gave the door a good shove. It opened just enough for me to see inside, and even though he didn't have any lights, I saw his feet in the bed. I called out and started pushed my way in. When I finally got through, I saw his face and his shoulder

were missing. I set the grass on fire. Leaving his cabin, I got back to the house screaming for my dad, telling him that Uncle Daniel was dead. And when he rushed back to his cabin, I stayed outside and looked around. I found those panther tracks outside, right below a window with the screen torn out. Years later, in nineteen eighty two, I was bowhunting at the Sansavia Management Area. I parked my truck about one hundred yards down an old logging road.

I took my eight foot tree standing bow, and I set up down the road. I was sitting in my stand when I looked to my left and I saw two doughs heading my way. I waited for him. But when they got near me, they froze. They were so close I could see their eyelashes, but they weren't looking at me. They were focused on my truck. Just as I started to draw back, they bolted and I heard the most pissed off growl I'd ever heard sound through those woods, coming from near my truck. I'd never heard

something so deep and angry in my life. Then I heard trees breaking logs five to eight inches snapping. I heard a growl again as it crossed the road, moving away from me, and I got the nerve to leave my stand. I held my ladder in front of me the whole way, thinking I might need to fight my way out. I made it out okay, though, but the growl scared me so bad it burned into my brain. Thanks for letting me vent. You really are a good storyteller,

and he signs off, well, thank you. You're a good storyteller. You wrote it. All I did was just read it. Man, You're a good storyteller. But I sure appreciate the story, brother, Thank you. Okay, here's a story about dogs. You know. I asked for dog story while back. I've been dropping one here and there, let's read a good dog story. I think y'all are like this. Watching your chickens amuses me and it brings to mine. An experience that happened when my wife and I just moved to Bradenton, Florida.

We needed a place to park and live in our converted step vand we found a newspaper ad for caretakers to watch over Honest Bob's Orange Grove while they were up north in New Jersey at the zoo where they always took their animals during the summer. The couple had two African lion cubs, a chimpanzee named Timmy, a cougar named Dusty, and several show doverman pincers, which they displayed at the zoo. It's so happened that a lot of circus and zoo people wintered in the same area with

their animals. It was nothing to hear lines roar and elephants trumpeting and a cougar snarl and Timmy doing his chimp sounds and jumping around. Then there was an occasional wild board that would come into the grove rooting around early in the morning. We were happy there and life was really good. We had our jobs to go to during the day and would come home to the grove,

as we called it. The couple soon took off with their menagerie of animals in tow, and we would come home and shoe the chickens out of a fenced in area that had a small flatbed trailer in it. Then we would let out our dogs out of a smaller, high fenced kennel area so they could roam and move around. As luck would have it, The one chicken that the woman cherished was a white Chinese silky, which we promptly named Phyllis, after my wife's mother, who had the same shape.

One evening, we came home and we shewed the chickens out of the enclosed yard and turned the dog's loose in it. My dog was named Dog. He was a fifty pound German short hair pointer. My wife's dog was named Ben. He was a mix of New Founlin and black lab and he weighed in at eighty pounds. We came out later and found both of them lying down. They were looking guilty. Phillis, the Chinese silky chicken, was

lying dead nearby. Ben had this look on his face like chicken, I don't know nothing about no chicken, all the while sitting there with the white feather sticking out of his big mouth. It was something like you'd see in an old cartoon. Dog would occasionally glance at Ben and his partner in crime, chiding him for not wiping the feathers off before we came out. We decided the prize chicken had committed suicide, as it had hidden under the trailer until we were gone and then left itself

to the mercy of Beavis and butt Head. Every morning we would be up before daylight, and before heading off to work, we would put the dogs in the high fence pen. One evening, we came home to find the rooster dead in the pen with the dogs. It was stiff and it looked like it had been running around with them with no place to go. The fence was at least six feet high. We finally figured out that he had roosted in a tree above the kennel, and when he woke up, he flew to the ground and

he landed and the dog pin. Now, I like chickens. I grew up around chickens, and I love eggs and fried chicken. But the way these two met their demise was a bit disturbing, even to me. Although this story has nothing to do with cryptids, I hope it gave you a life. Two chickens were indeed harmed in this story. In fact, they were terminated. I have several Bigfoot stories for you, as well as a ghost story and a demon story, and lots of UFO experiences. I look forward

to relating them to you and your listeners. I was born deep in the Appalachian Mountains in southern West by God, Virginia in nineteen forty nine and had an amazing childhood. We grew up wild and free. My cousin Eddie and I ran those mountains like we owned them. We both carried large hunting knives from the age of six or seven and only came home when we got hungry. I think the Bigfoots watched over us as we explored. Oh that was a good dog story. I mean it wasn't

a sweet sentimental stories. These dogs are killers, chicken killers. When we first got chickens, our dog Roxy, she snuck in the pen and she killed a couple of these. Y'all ever see these chickens with her every real skinny, tall necks and have strange looking feathers on their heads. We bought two of them, a little one and a big one. They were grown up. They were, you know, either adolescent or adult chickens, but nobody would buy them

because they were so ugly. So we bought them and brought them home, and we kept them separate from the other chickens because there's always the pecking order, you know, you kind of have to slowly introduce new hens into the flock so the other hens won't pick on them. So we had them in a little I don't know, I think I made just this little wire cage with a top on it, just to keep them in the pen with the other chickens so they could get used to them. And you know, after a while you turn

them loose and they fin for themselves. But little o' Roxy worked her way in that wire chicken wire get up, I did, and she killed both of those chickens, and they were laying dead in there. I knew she did it, and she was acting like she had nothing to do with it. She'd walk up and she'd see that little pen and then she'd kind of walk away and like not even look at it. It's funny how dogs will know when they're in trouble, and they'll they're just like us.

They'll act like they didn't do anything. But that's what that story reminded me of. Anyway, I thought that was a good dog story. I really appreciate it. Lived in a house for forty four years in upstate New York along the Susquehanna. I think that's how you pronounce it, Susquehanna River. It's a beautiful old Victorian on the side of a hill. The front overlooks a dying small town across the river. In the back faces a hillside a thick forest. I came upon this place when I was

in the market. The long winding driveway was a plus because we like our privacy. The place had already been emptied. When I spoke to the owner, whom I knew from work. He couldn't wait to sell the place, and he kept lowering the price until I couldn't say no. This was nineteen seventy nine. Later I found out why he was so anxious to sell. Whenever we'd get to talking at work, he would ask me if anything weird ever happened to

me there. I finally asked him what he was referring to, and he began telling me that his wife wouldn't stay there because of the noises she heard at night. One time, he and his buddies were sitting around a campfire. They heard the noises too, and their pit bull ran scared back to the house. He finally admitted that he thought it was bigfoot, and I thought he was pulling my leg. I had lived there for decades, and it wasn't until

two thousand and four that something finally happened. On a hot summer afternoon, a fire station pickup came zooming up the driveway after getting a report of a fire on our back hill. I'd been outside and I'd not seen any trace of a fire, so he drove back down. Fifteen minutes later, he came back up after driving to the opposite hill to get a better view. He said he saw a glowing ball that looked like a fire. He looked around my property, but once again we didn't

see any flames. My kids and I spent a lot of time up in the woods on our back hill. One day, not far from our house, there was a stand of about thirty saplings twenty feet tall, all bent at forty five degree angles. It was clearly intentional, but we had no explanation for it. We would often hear what we thought was drumming from different spots, sometimes close and sometimes far off. One summer night, my daughter came into my bed because she said she heard something throwing

stones on the driveway. In the fall of two thousand and five, my German shepherd and I were inside. I had my music blasting while I was cleaning, when out of nowhere, there was a loud bang on the side of the house. My dog barked and ran to the window. I turned down the music and I looked, but I didn't see anything. It didn't hit me until I happened U point your channel what these things could have possibly been.

I started doing a little research, looked at the BFRO and found an actual sighting on my hill a half mile down the road. I'm now convinced that there was a group of Bigfoot, maybe not always present, but perhaps a stopover on their migration. I no longer live there. My wonderful kids have grown, and I've downsized to a cabin that borders the state land. Obviously, I have proven I can coexist with the wild world, though I'm glad I was oblivious to the Bigfoot activity when it was happening.

All right, that was eight stories. I hope you guys enjoyed that. I'm going to put an archived story or two behind this, so there's still a little bit more to go on the podcast if you want to stick around and listen to some of these older stories that are excellent. They're just all the stories I do are really good. I don't know how you guys write them so well and have such odd experiences. It is so fascinating to me. But I give all the credit to you. Like I told a person who wrote in the story

in this podcast, all I do is read them. None of this stuff happened to me. You all are sharing your stories with the rest of the world, is what you're doing, and I'm just reading them, so I sure appreciate it. Here comes a couple of stories from the vault, and then the podcast will end after I guess maybe I don't know second story. Hope you guys have a good weekend and we'll see on the next one. Thanks.

Back in nineteen eighty four, my family lived on a farm on the edge of town in the heart of Kentucky. The house sat on a hilltop with a big black barn behind it and a long, narrow valley beyond that. The house set well above the roadway and even higher above the valley. The valley set even lower and was surrounded by woods. I was sixteen and feeling pretty low. My girlfriend had just called me on the phone and broken up with me after two months. She didn't even

give me a reason. It was February, but the weather was beginning to show signs of spring after a long winter. The temperature was somewhat in the mid forties and there were only a few patches of snow here and there. I needed to get away and think, so I headed for my favorite spot, and for me, that was the woods. I spent a great deal of time there, and sometimes with friends, but usually alone. My father had left my mother when I was young, so the male role models

in my life were my two uncles. They taught me to hunt and fish, and to appreciate the beauty and wonder of nature. In those woods, there were a couple of great guys. Looking back, I really missed those times that we spent together. I walked down to the bottom of the valley, like I generally did, I was deep in thought about why my girl would break up with me, and I wasn't paying attention when I heard I heard a thumping sound. It was something solid hitting the grass

covered ground. I looked around and saw a rock about twenty feet from me rolling uphill. I figured it was either my sister or my brother playing a trick on me, so I turned to look back the way I came, expecting to see one of them, and I scanned around looking, but they weren't there. As I turned to my left, still looking for my siblings, I saw a twenty foot patch of snow with four human shaped footprints in it. It was a little unnerving to see the footprints because first,

whoever made these prints wasn't wearing shoes. It wasn't freezing out, but it was still cold. Walking in the snow would have made it feel even colder. Second, these prints were huge. I walked over and compared them to my boot. They were nearly twice as long as my foot and much wider, and the stride was a lot longer than I could have made. I was still examining the footprints when I heard another rock hit the ground and I turned in the direction of the sound, and I saw the rock

twenty feet away rolling downhill. This time it was bigger than the first, roughly the size of my fist, and I knew immediately it couldn't have been my brother or sister. I was far older and stronger than them, and I doubt I could have thrown it from any possible hiding spots. I then thought it might have been one of my friends who lived close, and I knew Tommy was out of town visiting relatives, and Scotty had been in bed

all week with a bad case of the flu. They were the only ones who ever came over, so I looked around again. Who was throwing rocks at me? The tracks probably should have sent me running home, but I honestly thought someone was playing a prank on me. My uncles taught me that tracks made in the snow will expand when they melt, so I figured it was just a joke. I walked forward with a lot of confidence. You better knock it off. I'm throw rocks too, I said.

Another rock was chucked at me. This time I saw it in mid flight, so I knew it was coming from the left corner of the woods, near the property line. It was two hundred feet from me, and I thought, whoever was throwing these rocks must have a pretty good arm. Another rock landed ten feet to my right. I was getting angry now, so I walked over and picked it up before it stopped rolling. It was a little bigger than I would have normally wanted to throw, but in

my frustration, I threw it back. Then I screamed an insult at whoever this was for good measure. My throw was way off the mark. It hit the ground well short of the tree line, so I looked around for another rock to throw. I found a few in the grass between the patches of snow, so I picked one up that fit my hand better. This time. It hit a tree just inside the woodline. Then I saw a movement eighty feet to my left in the nearest section of trees. It was a lot closer to me than

where the rocks were coming from. I only got a glimpse, maybe four or five seconds at most. Most of it was obscured by the thick brush and trees. I saw a dark upper portion of a massive right shoulder blade and a huge moving arm about seven feet off the ground. Also, I saw what looked like thick legs as it ran behind a tree. It was completely covered in reddish hair that bounced as it disappeared into the trees. I was nearly awe struck. Its movements were so graceful and fluid.

It was completely different from how a deer or a human would move. Now I knew immediately it wasn't a bear or a cougar. It was too large. Both bears and cougars are extremely rare in Kentucky, and neither of them throw rocks. I barely had time to register what I was seeing when another rock landed five feet from me. It came from the same direction as the others. Then I heard heavy footfalls in the woods from that same direction. There were definitely more than one of them. To say

I wasn't terrified would be a bold faced lie. I knew I had to get out of there. I was alone and unarmed. The nearest house was over half a mile away, on the other side of the valley and flanked by thick trees. I knew the elderly couple who lived there. They were nice people, but they wouldn't have been able to hear me even if they were outside, which they rarely were. My house was over three quarters of a mile away, and my mom and siblings had been inside watching TV when I left. At that moment,

I forgot all about my girlfriend. Survival was my priority. I wanted to run, but I remembered what my uncles had told me about predators. Never turn your back on them, and running will kick in their instinct to chase. Fear turned into anger as I picked up as many rocks as I could find and started throwing them back towards the woods as fast as I could. I at least a string of obscenities and foul language as I did, all the while moving backwards a few dozen paces at

a time. Years later, during my time in the military, I learned to call that a tactical retreat. More rocks are being thrown back at me now, and from two different directions. I switched targets back and forth as I slowly made my way back down the valley. Locked in combat with an unseen enemy, I was out numbered and out gun but I kept throwing and moving and cussing and cursing. I doubted the cussing helped me, but it

made me feel braver. It was probably only five minutes before I felt the hill under my feet, but it felt like hours. That meant I was closer to the relative safety of home, and by now those creatures had stopped throwing rocks at me. My accuracy had dropped off dramatically by then, anyway, and I scanned the woods once

more for movement and listened for sounds. I didn't see or hear anything, and exhausted and sweating like i'd run a marathon, I took off my coat and stood there for another five minutes before I felt it was safe enough to turn and high tailor at home. I didn't tell my mother and siblings what had happened. I didn't want to scare them. The next day I told one of my uncles, who brought his shotgun over and slipped down into the valley with me to retrace my steps.

I showed him the tracks in the snow. There were huge gouges in the hard dirt where the rocks and landed. We walked into the woodline where I had seen the one running. That's where I compared the s and height of the trees to the spot where I saw the shoulder and the arm. This thing must have been massive, but we didn't find any tracks there. We left the area, but not before I noticed that my uncle was being

unusually quiet. After we got back to the house and well away from my mom, he told me that he'd had a strange experience there many years before. My eldest uncle served in Vietnam. He's a quiet man who rarely shows his emotions or gets upset. When he came home from the war, he couldn't wait to get back into his beloved woods where he could hunt and fish. And then he finally got the chance. It was a bittersweet experience. It isn't an easy transition from life of daily combat

back to a peaceful civilian existence. The woods of Kentucky looked nothing like the jungles of Southeast Asia, but the impressive feeling of the dense vegetation and the limited visibility are similar. It took him quite a while to get over the nagging fear of someone waiting behind every bush to kill him. Slowly he worked his way back to his favorite fishing spots, and once he was comfortable, he began to hunt again. One day, he was out hunting

squirrels alone with his twenty two rifle. He was also carrying a revolver in his hip holster. He walked for hours and saw a few squirrels that they were too small to trouble with. When he decided to take a break, he sat down under a large tree on top of a heavily wooded ridgeline. From there, he had a clear view down into the nearby holler. He'd been sitting there for about ten minutes when he saw movement below. He only saw bushes moving, but he suspected it was a deer.

It was too early for deer season, but knowing that paths might help him decide where to build a stand later, he decided to go down check it out. He got up and slowly made his way down to the holler. The trees and underbrush made it impossible to get a clear view of whatever was moving around, but he found a little path that had made Whatever it was, he knew it wasn't a deer. It looked almost like a small bulldozer had made the path, like six deer had

walked inside by side. He never seen them move that way, and plus the vegetation look like it had been smashed aside and pulled out of the way. He didn't find any tracks, but it was clear that something heavy had walked through here. He told me he should have left right then and there, but he was young, and curiosity got the better of him. He moved forward, pondering what kind of critter could make such a path. Was it

a bear? No, Black bears aren't much whiter than a deer. Besides, he'd never seen a bear in this part of the state. Cougars and mountain lions came to mind, but he quickly ruled them out as well. Suddenly there was a loud crash, like a tree breaking under a great strain, and it echoed across the holler. Then the woods grew early quiet. There were no birds chirping, no bees buzzing, no squirrels

or any other animals making any sounds. Alarmed, and reverting back to his military training, he quickly veered off the trail and hid down among the tall grass on his belly. He lay there in the silence for several minutes, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him. He was about to move away when he heard a sound that I was familiar with. First there was a thump several yards away, and then another one a little closer. He looked up over the tall grass and he saw a

rock coming in his direction. He crawled away, hoping that that would throw his attacker off his position, and it almost worked. The next rock landed farther away, but it was adjusting for his movement. He decided that this thing must be a human. He couldn't think of anything else in Kentucky that could throw rocks. With his rifle and pistol, my uncle felt reasonably assured that he was safe, so

he stood up and he called out. He doesn't remember what he said, but it was something to the effect of asking them not to throw rocks at him, but no one answered. He then told them that he was armed, and he expected to get an answer, or at least hear them leave, but he got neither. He began to make his way out of there. Like me, He walked backwards, with his eyes skinning for threats. He moved quickly. It was too late to worry about being quiet. Whatever it was,

it knew exactly where he was. Another rock hit the ground his feet and bounced into his right leg. It didn't hurt him, but it startled him greatly. He didn't lose his cool. He pulled his rifle up and scanned the area. In a quick three sixty. He was still convinced it was people, so he threatened to shoot if another rock was thrown. Well, something moved in the bushes, but he couldn't see what it was. It had to be a human. He wasn't prepared to accept any other alternative.

He kept backing up and moving his head from side to side, and then an incredibly loud growl broke the silence and reverberated through his chest. He said he'd never heard anything like it before or since. At this point, my uncle knew two things. It was very close and it wasn't. Human instinct kicked in. He fired into the bushes, shifted position, chambered another round, and then he fired again. He doubted he hid anything, but he was hoping to scare it off. And then another rock flew at him.

It landed a little further away than the last, but that was enough. He turned and bolted for a nearby grove of trees. It didn't offer much shelter, but it was better than nothing. He pulled at his pistol and sat there for maybe an hour, waiting for another confrontation. His nerves were on edge. He's not a religious man, but he said. He did a lot of praying that day, but nothing more happened, and soon the sounds of the woods were turned to normal, as if nothing had ever happened.

He was feeling foolish, and he made his way back to the ridge and looked over the area one more time. He didn't see anything unusual and gladly went home empty handed. He didn't tell anyone else about his experience for a long time. He didn't think anyone would believe him. He told his brother later, he told me. In a way, my uncle and I bonded that day. We both had a strange experience that we couldn't explain. At least, he'd been armed with throwing rocks back at something that's throwing

rocks at me. Probably wasn't very smart, but it seemed like my best option at the time. Fortunately, neither of us has seen anything since. Now that I'm older and perhaps a bit wiser, I don't think that whatever was throwing rocks at us was trying to hurt us. I think it was warning us to get out of the area. At least that's my two cents worth. You can believe

whatever you choose to believe. In the summer of nineteen ninety four, my husband and I bought a brand new home and one of the many housing subdivisions being built in the Sacramento Valley during the nineteen nineties housing boom. The area had originally been mostly farmland and floodplains, and there were dozens of subdivisions being built, and each subdivision displayed beautifully decorated home plans. The homes were much more affordable then, so we applied for a first time buyer

loan and crossed our fingers. The loan process seemed to take forever, but when we were approved, we got to pick out our very own flooring style and upgraded the kitchen appliances, which was so nice since the apartment we lived in had no dishwasher or self cleaning oven. We moved our family, which consisted of the two of us, our four year old son, and our future baby girl, who was due in mid August, and we were happy to have accomplished so much in a relatively short amount

of time. The house was on a dead end street since the owner of the property behind the subdivision did not want to sell any of his property, which would have allowed for the street to go through and join up with other subdivisions. There was still a lot of open land and homes in various stages of construction, and our neighbors had kids about the same age as our son, and he made new friends and all the kids played on the street since there was no traffic during the

day while most people were at work. Unfortunately, my husband was not able to find a job in Sacramento right away, so he would stay with his mom back in the Bay Area during the work week, and then he would drive back to the valley to check in on us so we could do our grocery shopping and other errands. At that time, we only had one car and I was left stranded until he was back from the Bay Area.

It was a long commute, but my husband was so happy to buy us the house that he was willing to commute with the hope that he would find a job in the valley soon enough and stop commuting. It was a whole year before he was hired at one

of the local auto body shops. When our daughter was born, my husband was able to take a week off from work to be with us and enjoy our new baby girl, and then he went back to work and to his commute he would get up at three am and make his coffee and get his overnight bag and leave at three thirty am so he could be at work by six thirty am. Back then, he was the bread winner, so we really needed him to keep that job, even

if it was one hundred miles away. I would normally get up with him and spend a few minutes with him before he would be off. I would go back to bed and try to sleep before the baby would wake up to nurse. Around five thirty am. I would feed her in bed and lay her between me and our four year old son, and the three of us would snuggle and sleep until around eight thirty before we started our day. We were so spoiled. On this Monday, after he left for his commute, I felt uneasy and

I felt scared, but I didn't know why. I I had to go back to our bedroom and lay down, thinking that the baby would be up soon enough to nurse, so maybe it would be better just to lay back down. I fell asleep and I had a horrible nightmare. I dreamt that our sun was missing, and that we were running to different streets looking for him and calling his name. I woke up suddenly and I was relieved that it was just a horrible dream. And my boy was fast asleep next to me, and the baby was still in

her bacinet next to the bed. I turned over on my side facing the bacinet, and I saw a bright light coming in between the window blinds, and thinking out loud, I said, is it morning already? The light was coming in between the blinds and it was so bright, but the rest of the room looked dark. There was a bright light on the wall next to the window, and I looked up to see where the light was coming from, and to my horror, just above the bacinet was an

alien gray's face. It was just the head, no upper body, legs, or arms. The head was dark in color, very round, ending in a pointed chin, and there were small slits for his mouth and nostrils. But the eyes, the eyes were large and almond shape and very shiny black, and it had some sort of glass lamp on the top of its head. The light on the wall was coming from this lamp. The being was looking down at the baby in the basinette. Oh my god, I couldn't speak.

My heart started pounding so hard that I started trembling uncontrollably. It saw me, and it scowled at me when it realized I was looking at it, and it moved towards me, and I started screaming and swinging my arms and kicking, and I remember that I set out loud. Oh my god, I'm going to lose my mind. I felt that I could not take the fact that this creature was there, and it was just there in the room above my

baby bassinette in the house. It floated from its original position above the basinette to just above my face, and I remember seeing this light blue fog build up in front of my face, and then, in a dreamlike manner, I remember a sound like pigeons mate, like a cooing sound. I remember feeling that whoever was talking to me was stern and was telling me that it was for our

own good. When I woke up again, it was still dark out, but it was around six am, and the blankets were perfectly made around the bed like nothing had happened,

and everything felt still. My son was asleep next to me, and the baby was in her basinette, and I got out of bed and turned all the lights on in the room and the rest of the house, and I checked all the rooms in the house, and I checked the locks on the front door and the lock in the backyard sliding glass door, and everything was just like I had left it. After my husband had left for work, I decided to stay up and just start my day. In fact, I got in the shower, even though that

was not my usual time to shower. When I was washing my hair, there was a sore spot on the top of my head. There was no blood, no bump, just very sore. I got dressed and I went to the kitchen and I had some coffee. While having my coffee, I was trying to make sense of all those events. Now. I remember the nightmare that I had woken up from and how relieved I had felt that it had just been a bad dream. But then that thing was there, and I couldn't decide if it had been another bad

dream or if that second part was real. It didn't make sense. But how can a bad dream as scary as that could be, was still making me afraid. My son was up at nine am, and I kept checking in on the baby, and she kept sleeping. She should have been and up once to nurse, but no she wasn't. And I called my sister, and I told her about my weird dream, and I started crying because it seemed like it had been real, but I kept thinking that

it couldn't be real. I checked on the baby and she had no fever, no rash, but she did not wake up to nurse until two pm that afternoon, and by then I was sore and engorged with milk. As the day progressed, I became anxious, and before it was evening, I called my sister asking if she could come over and pick us up. I didn't want to be there alone with the kids. When it was night again, she came over and took us to her apartment. My sister

wasn't sure what to make of this whole thing. I was just grateful that I didn't have to be alone in the house. We stayed in her kids room that night, and I remember feeling very scared because I didn't know if it would happen again. But I put both kids in me under the twin bed we were supposed to sleep on, but we slept under the bed. I called my husband and told him about my bad dream, but he thought it was just stressed from being left alone so many nights and taking care of the kids in

the house. My husband picked us up from my sister's place and drove us back to our house. That evening, I tried to go about my normal routine, making dinner, bathing the kids before bed, and watching a movie. And then it was time for me and my husband to go to bed, so I put both kids in the bed between us, and I put a large toy sword next to me in the bed. I was terrified that it would come back, that I would wake up, and that face would be there looking back at me when

I opened my eyes. I knew there was nothing I could do to protect us, and that made me more frightened than anything. My husband continued to commute for another six months, so I was still alone in the evening, and that was the worst part. For weeks, every night, I would stay up just until I could see daylight before I felt safe to fall asleep. I would leave the TV on in the bedroom, lights on, and fight sleep until I would see the early sunlight peek through

the windows. I didn't feel safe until around early spring, when the morning light starts just a bit earlier each morning. I went on like this for three years, every winter, and for years I was terrified to look out any window in the evenings. I would close all the blinds in the house at night and leave some lights on before going to bed. My husband would just tell me that it had been a bad dream, and after a few months he didn't like me to talk about it.

My daughter was only three months old when this happened. She doesn't have any strange scars or ill effects from the experience. I no longer fear the winter nights, but I know that it was not a dream. Regarding the description of the creature I saw, in the book titled Operation Trojan Horse, there is a description of an et that has been described wearing some type of light attached to or on the top of its head,