When I was thirteen years old, I had an unforgettable experience in the woods near my home in northern Georgia. I was exploring with three friends, one of whom entertained us with random stories. As we wandered through the forest, my friends decided to run ahead, laughing as they disappeared into the trees, leaving me behind. I didn't mind. I've never been one to run unless it was necessary, so I kept walking at my own pace, soaking in the
stillness of nature. My friends came sprinting back towards me. There was panic written on their faces, and before I could react, a large tree limbs swung into my path. It hit me hard and it knocked me to the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and I gasped for air as I tried to understand what had just happened. A little later, one of my friends grabbed me by my arm, pulled me to my feet. Run,
he shouted. I didn't hesitate. I turned and bolted after my friends and we fled, and I heard the sound of heavy footfalls behind us, and there were snapping branches in the thud of something large slimming into the trees. There was also a deep, laboring panting, like whatever was chasing us was close. It was way too close. Even now, I have no idea what it was. Was it a bigfoot or some other creature. Well, I'll never know, but
the memory still sends chills down my spine. Years later, I moved with my mother to another part of northern Georgia, where I now take care of her. One Saturday morning, around six am, I got up early for work. I was half asleep, and I threw on my clothes and I stepped outside to lock the door. Just as I turned the key, a sound pierced the stillness. It wasn't a scream or an animal's cry. It was a call,
one I'd never heard before. The sound was deep and guttural, and it carried a strange, almost haunting quality, nothing like a human or animal could make. Worst of all, it came from just around the corner of my house, next to me. Well fear washed over me. I was too afraid to investigate, so I locked the door as quickly as possible, and I walked away, pretending I hadn't heard it. For days, that sound lingered in my mind. Its unnatural tone was impossible to forget. Two weeks later, more strange
things began happening. My mother and I found a reddish brown hair tangled on the side of our fence. Around the same time, my mother managed to take a photo of something standing in the woods. It was watching her and our dogs, though partially obscured by the trees. The figure was tall and unnerving, with a reddish brown hair. I was determined to figure out what was going on, so I asked my neighbor to help me investigate. He
was a close friend. Late one night, armed with a flashlight, we went into the woods where the figure had been spotted. The forest floor was covered with leaves and natural debris, making it impossible to find clear footprints, but we did notice deep impressions in the ground where something heavy had stood. And as we discussed our findings back at my front door, a loud, piercing whoop echoed from the woods. The sound was immediately followed by a deep, unsettling laugh that sounded
so powerful it vibrated our chests. My neighbor drew his pistol and I ran inside to warn my mom not to let the dogs out. I grabbed my phone and rushed back outside to join him. We stood together, trying to make sense of what we were hearing. Then another call rang out, This one was different from the first. Then came the distinct sound of tree knocks that were sharp and deliberate, as if something was communicating with us
or warning us to stay put. We got the message loud and clear and decided not to push our luck. Since that night, strange activity around our home has become almost normal. We hear clicking sounds, grunts, tree knocks, and calls that very in pitch and tone. Each sound feels distinct, leading me to believe there's more than one creature in the area. It's as if they're communicating with each other
and possibly watching us. Wife chosen to keep my name in location anonymous because I don't want anyone disturbing the creatures that seem to share the space with us. If they're peaceful, they'll stay peaceful. For now. We coexist and we keep a respectful distance. I hope it stays that way. I am a social worker and I spend ninety percent of my time in my car. On this day, I was driving my challenger over a mountain pass and I
had a fifteen year old client riding shotgun. She was a foster child from Feather County who had been kicked out of her home. The county was small, a pale reflection of the Appalachian settlers where I come from. We called a Feather County residents. Hillbilly's meth was a major export, and as my partner once said, people don't give a damn about kids up here. Part Way through our drive, my client asked if she could plug her phone into my stereo. Your old man music is good, but this
is a long ride, she said. She was being more than kind. Some of the groups that I had hit their heyday and retired long before she was born. I'm pretty sure that she had never heard of Jimmy Page. The light began to fade as we climbed into Lassan National Park. The road curved at dangerous angles, with sheer
drops into what seemed like bottomless canyons. The setting sun flickered blindingly between the leaves and needles of trees that flanked the highway, and a deer grazed on the shoulder and it looked up startled as I suddenly slammed on the brakes, The Chevy pickup behind me barked at the bumper of the car. It sad like shining in my rear view mirror, the driver probably shouting curses at me.
But I had had no choice. I had to slow down or I would have run straight into the beast that stood up out of nowhere in the middle of the road. It was jet black and impossibly huge. What the hell? Came the teenage squeal from the shotgun seat. I hit the brakes harder and spun the wheel to avoid it, and the tires screeched in protest as I cranked the wheel, doubting there was enough room left on the highway to miss the beast and the edge of
the road. The monster let out a roar and blended in with the horn of the truck behind me, and my high school traffic safety instructor screamed from twenty five year old memories, Turn into the skid, Turn into it. I cranked the wheel like a speed racer rerun. What was that smell? Was it burning rubber? Had I hit a skunk? It all ran through my mind in one second. The car came to a rest and a puddle of pine needles at the side of the road, and I
looked to my right out the passenger side window. The pickup rested broadside in the middle of the road, and the Bigfoot, I narrowly avoided heating, took two steps and disappeared into the tree. I sat there for a minute, breathing and collecting my thoughts, and I looked at my client. She dropped the F bomb as she questioned the nature of reality. We both stared at where the Bigfoot had disappeared.
I pulled the charger back onto the highway, and the baseball cap guy in the pickup waved as I passed him at five miles an hour, looking as stupefied as I felt he had seen the creature too. I turned off the radio, stunned into silence, and neither of us uttered a sound as we drove back to her Foster home