Until recently, bigfoot was just a fun subject that my husband and I enjoyed together. We listened to podcasts about the subject, not really knowing if Bigfoot was real or imagined. It was intriguing to think of another life form undiscovered and roaming the woods. The scenery is usually great in these videos as well. Sometimes we would drive out to the Bankhead National Forest on the weekend for peace and quiet and our kids chatting, Oh there goes Mam and
dad again squatching. We talked about what it would be like to see a bigfoot, but it was mostly a lighthearted chit chat. At Christmas, we adopted a pitbull Terrier named Bond. He is an obedient dog and well tempered with my grand children. He almost never barks at anyone but strangers. He is a faithful friend and he follows me everywhere. We had had him for a couple of
months when he began to act strange. I take him out one last time after dark and he would be ready and excited to go, and then as soon as the door would open, he would back up and dig in and refuse to go outside since it's the last time he'll go out before bed. When this happens. I have to pull his sixty pound butt out the door. One evening, I was taking him out around eight thirty pm. He put up a fuss. The moment the door opened. He tried running under the chairs on the porch, so
I took him out onto the driveway. Then he tried to crawl under the vehicle. What's wrong with you? You beg scaredy cat, I said. I pulled him down the drive a few feet where there was nothing to tangle himself in, and he sat on my feet. I continued to fuss at him. I'm wondering what on earth had gotten to him, and was trying to get him to get on with his business. That's when the loudest growl I ever heard, the deepest, longest howl, burst into the air.
It was so close the sound vibrated my chest. I would have looked for the sores, but the dog, being on a leash, dragged me down the sidewalk into the house. I'm no delicate, frail little woman. Bond went straight to the house and into his kennel, and my mind raised. I checked the doors and windows. I checked on my
kids and they were still in the house. I began to think about my daughter, who would come home from work in a few minutes, so I sent her a text and told her that i'd meet her in the driveway. My husband worked second shift, so he would be coming home later. I thought of the large kitchen picture window not three feet off the ground on that side of the house. There wasn't any curtains because it faces the
pasture and the woods. Later, when my husband got home, I met him with a spotlight and I said, Bigfoot isn't funny anymore. I haven't been able to identify the sound. I have hunting experience, but I've never heard anything like this. I started researching animal sounds, but I didn't find anything
remotely similar. The days went on, and I thought of the nights the boys and I slept in the tents on the hill in the back of the property when they were younger, even with my girls once, and how we walked back at two in the morning because they kept saying someone was walking and throwing things at us. At that time, my husband and I didn't take them seriously.
I remembered my grandmother, who used to own this property, and it was so out of character for her to lie, and even she would tell me to be in by dark or the boogers would get me. I didn't take her seriously either, until that night I heard one with my own ears. I recall the strange behavior of the deer on our property recently. Once three bucks and two dos were trotting down the paved road with three cars
behind them. Only when the driver honked did they turn it onto a gravel road that led to the barn in the woods behind our house. My husband and I have hit three deers since New Year's Eve. Instead of crossing in front of us, they tried to run alongside the cars. One ran into the back of my husband's truck less than a week ago. It's as if they think that by being closer to us they are safer,
like the vehicle as some sort of a shield. We're surrounded by fields, woods and ponds and creeks, but we are three miles from town and there's never been a bear report in our county. We are at the front of the foothills, and they say there are very few bears in the Bankhead National Forest to the southwest. Now we know people who say that there are some near the southeast. But the sound I heard was not a bear or a wild pig or any kind of cat. Well,
I didn't see anything. I know something big passes through. I like to believe it only passes through and does not stay here very long. From time to time, Bond still refuses to go outside. I'm good with that. I don't want to share my name. I live in a small southern community. Bless their bless their hearts. If you know what I mean, Yes, I know what you mean. And the creepiest part of this story are the deer.
The behavior of the deer. That is so odd that the deer would kind of cling close to vehicles to maybe they, like you said, maybe they think they're safer. I've never heard that before. That is really that's something new. And a lot of these bigfoot stories, you know, I've done hundreds even thousands of them, and that so many of them are basically with a few variations, the same. But I've never heard this before. This is a new one, so it kind of peaued my interest again about this
dear behavior. I'd like to know if any of you all have heard that, If you've heard about that comment below, thank you to the writer and bless your heart for sending the story. It was really good. Thank you, ma'am. Okay, this is a ghost story that I think you all will really be intrigued by and interested in and entertained, which is the purpose of this channel is to entertain you. In January of nineteen sixty eight, my family experienced a
strange event. What makes it interesting is that we were spread out among three different locations between New England towns. That evening, my father, my cousin and I were smelt fishing, which involves sitting in a shack on a rose and river and fishing through a hole in the ice. Across town at Augusta General Hospital, my grandfather, who we call Pampy, was lying in bed and enduring the final few hours of his life. My mother and grandmother were there by
his side. My grandparents' house was in a little town called Richmond. The house was a large, rambling, two story, multi roomed home built in the style of the nineteen fifties. My sister deb was sitting in the kitchen entertaining herself, and the rest of the adults were in the living room watching television. At around nine in the evening, my Pampy, who was coming in and out of consciousness suddenly started
singing a beautiful gospel song about heaven. My mom and my nanny said that they had never heard it before, even though they had attended church all their lives. Minutes later, Pampy had given up the ghost and was pronounced dead by the doctors. At that same time, in my grandparents' house, my sister said that she could hear a bird singing. At first, it frightened her. She ran from the kitchen too the living room where the adults were, and the
bird's song followed her. Every adult in the room heard it remarkably. Even my great grandmother could hear it too, even though she was quite deaf and could only hear if you spoke very loudly. They listened in silence as the bird's song passed into the second sitting room, and from there the noise went upstairs and finally faded away.
To say they were mystified would be an understatement. At that time, six miles away, as the crow flies, my dad, my cousin, and I were in our shacks fishing for smelts. My cousin walked from his shack over to my dad and me to see if we were having any luck. And when he went back to his shack, our life started to brighten. We attributed it to just a gas lanner needing air, But right then my cousin ran back to us with a look of fear and confusion on
his face. He told us that when he went to see us, he left his bucket of fish inside the shack, and when he went back, the door was open and the bucket was gone. We were the only ones fishing on that river. To prove it, there were no footprints in the snow other than our own. It wasn't until later that we shared the experiences we had had with one another and found out that they had occurred at all the same time. It has been fifty years since these events took place, and I'm glad I finally have
written them down. Though I still ponder on that night, I have come to one possible answer. That answer is one word, pampy. Oh, that's a good story. Maybe your grandfather was saying goodbye in a way, and God let him just kind of move around and give you all the sign that he was leaving. I thought this was a great story. I kind of I read this cold. I thought it was going to be a scary ghost story on the beginning. And I guess to some people this could be scary, but to me, it was kind
of good. It was kind of a peaceful, how would you call it, kind of a soft story. I like that. I appreciate it. Thank you to the writer, and I'm glad you wrote it down too, because now we all got to enjoy something that you experienced that you'll remember all your life. Thank you for that. All right, Bigfoot, Bigfoot, everybody likes Bigfoot. It's a short one, but it's a good one. I was raised outdoors in Arizona. In twenty eleven, my dad and I went elk hunting near Alpine, Arizona.
We had been up there for a few days when one night I was woke up by something heavy walking by my tent on two feet right away my hand. I went from my single action revolver, and as soon as I had my fingers around if the thing stopped. It must have heard me. And then right away I felt like I was about to be attacked. Whatever it was, it was like it was staring right at me through the walls of the tent. Well. I let out a slow breath and I heard it move toward the fire
pit in my dad's tent. As much as I wanted to get up and see what was moving around, something told me that that was a bad idea. I clutched my revolver. I heard the ice chest open, and I heard this thing rummage through the contents. I heard it close the lid, and then I listened to it leave the way it came in the next morning, when my dad got up, he asked me what I was looking
for in the cooler last night. I wanted to tell him that it wasn't me, that it was sasquatch, but instead I laughed and I told him I thought it was him making the noise. He looked through the ice chest to see if anything had been taken and said several sodas and candy bars were missing. Asked me if I was sure it wasn't me, and I finally had to tell him what I heard the night before. When I was younger, I always had a feeling of being watched in the woods, where the hair on my neck
would stand up. I would stop and look around for a bear or a mountain lion or something. But I never really put stock in bigfoot or aliens or any other thing of that nature. But after that night in Alpine, all that changed. Oh man, that was a good story. Apparently the bigfoot didn't want to hurt you. He just wanted a candy bar and a coke. That's what he wanted, and he was gone. So maybe that's a good lesson.
If you're camping, you know bigfoots are or in the area, leave out a candy bar and a coke and they'll just walk off in the woods. But I can imagine, seriously, I can imagine this being a scary event. It's a very good story, very concise. I appreciate the writer. Thank you, sir. All Right, we'll end this up with a good ghost story from Texas. This is a good one. In two thousand and eight, I moved from Texas to Nashville. No,
it's a ghost in Nashville. Sorry about that. In two thousand and eight, I moved from Texas to Nashville for work, and I purchased an old craftsman home. For those who don't know, East Nashville is in the process of gentrification. Old houses that were left to the colect are now being renovated. The neighborhood is so old, in fact, that Frank and Jesse. James went into hiding there for a while. At the time, I had two dogs, a Dalmatian and a Wymaraner. I never knew how to say that word.
Why Whymaraner? We mariner? I don't know how to say it. You know what dogs, the gray dogs with the short tails, and they slept on the floor next to my bed. I had been in the house a couple of weeks when I awoke in the wee hours of the morning to the smell of smoke. Once I got my wits about me, I realized it was cigarette smoke. I was smelling. Oh crap, I thought someone's in the house. The dogs were sleeping peacefully, which meant no intruder, so I went
back to sleep. The next week, I was walking through the house when I smelled cigar smoked. It was like I had walked through a cloud of it. But upon entering the next room, that smell was gone. Two weeks later, I was chatting with a neighbor who had lived in the same house on my street her whole life. I asked her if anyone had ever died in my house. Oh yeah, she said, mister b He died in the bathtub back in the nineteen fifties. So I asked her if he smoked. She said, yes, he smoked. He lit
the next one with his last one. Now I was getting somewhere. I had a ghost with a name and the nasty habit of chain smoking. As it turned out, he had some other annoying habits as well. He left the back door while it'd open one night. As is true in most neighborhoods that are in transition, safety can be a street to street affair. This is the case in East Nashville. Mister B would march around in the attic at all hours, and I couldn't leave dishes in the sink. If I did, I'd find a cup or
cooking utensil on the kitchen floor the next day. There was one wall I couldn't hang art on. I'd hang a picture and the next day it would be on the floor. It was evident he lived in the attic. Sometimes i'd hear old timey radio from the nineteen forties coming from up there. That's where i'd hear him the most of the time, though I would see the occasional
orb zooming around the corner downstairs. By this time I had become used to it, and then one day both of my dogs were cowering in my bedroom and they would not come out. That was the last straw for me. I went up to the attic and I read him the Riot Act. He could stomp around all he wanted, opening, close inside doors and cabinets, and he could play his music, but he was to leave the front and back doors closed and locked, and my dogs were not to be
messed with in any way. If you break those rules, I do everything in my power to get him out of the house. After that, we had a clean kitchen, one bare wall, locked doors, and happy dogs. At one point I had to have major surgery, which led to a long recovery. My father was retired and bored, and he traveled from Texas to Nashville to help me out. He's left in the spare bedroom in the attic that
also acted as my music room. One night, he was shaking away and my dad told me he heard a male voice tell him that he had to get out right now. I had told my dad all about mister B, and my dad said he told mister B to f off, And the next thing my dad heard was one of my guitars hitting the floor. I eventually had to move back to Texas for family reasons, and in the years I had lived in the Craftsman home, I tried to bring it back to what it looked like when it
was built in nineteen thirty eight. The guy who bought it told me that I had wasted my money because he was going to gut it and then flip it. What a jerk. As I was walking out the door for the last time, I told mister B that if he were so inclined, he should give that your card. Oh that's great. After I moved, I stayed in contact with my old neighbors. They told me that the activity at the house would start and then stop after a week,
and then start and abruptly stop again. I imagine the workmen witnessing a hammer go flying across the room, or a lighter just falling over on its own. It was finished. The house was on the market for six months. If a flipped house isn't finished and sold in six weeks, it costs the flipper money. If the TV programs are to believed, I could just hear mister B slamming a door, being a disembodied voice from another room saying get out right now as prospective buyers toward the property. The jerk
lost his shirt on that one. Thank you so much for the stories and you continued enthusiasm for bringing great content to your listeners. You're welcome. Pay no attention to the critics. Their words tell you more about themselves and how miserable they are than any flaws you may have. Well, you know, I think I've I'm going to zero in on that last paragraph. I think I've run off all the nasty people, mainly the mean bigfoot people. I have a smaller audience now, and I'm so happy about that.
What that means is less views, less subscribers, less money that you two pays me. But I would rather. I would rather it be that way and have just a beautiful, nice set of people who enjoy these stories and we can all interact, and I can think about you during the day and think, oh, man, what a nice bunch of people follow along with this channel. You know, people say, don't pay attention to the comments and the meanness. That's
hard to do. I mean, I don't lose any sleep over it, or I didn't when it used to be that way. It does get under your skin. And you know, I'd be a mister tough guy if I said, oh, it doesn't bother me, but it does bother me. But I would always bite back at most of them or just ban them from commenting. With all that said, we have whittled this audience down. We've weeded all those a holes out and this is the absolute nicest bunch of people.
I've always said, y'all nicest audience on the Internet, and I mean it, and now it's nothing but nice people. You can tell if you read through the comment section, you can tell it. People are so nice. They interact with each other and they you know, I'm able to answer some of the comments, and it's just a good place to be. I'm not a comment reader. Like when I watch a YouTube video or Facebook video or whatever, I never comment. I never comment one way or another.
I'm just there to watch. You know, with this channel, there's only about five percent of the people that actually view a video that will leave a comment. But I have a feeling that the people who don't comment are just the same. They're just nice people who like to listen to a good story every once in a while. So I'll quit going on and on about that. But this was a great, lighthearted story about a ghost and a house in each Nashville, built in nineteen thirty eight
and the owner parent at least, still lives there. And this guy's comment about trying to summon the ghosts to run off the new owner, that was hysterical. But thank you for that. I enjoyed this story. I really appreciate the man sending it to me. Thank you, hey, thank you all for listening to this podcast. I appreciate you. I want to say one thing. I don't talk in
these videos anymore. I used to. In the first couple of three years I did this podcast, I talked to y'all, and I know some people like it and some people don't. But the truth is, I just really don't have much to say. I just like doing these stories. I like reading them, wrapping them up, editing, editing them, and getting them out to you all. But there is one thing that has really got has made me angry for the last ever since I opened the account. This account I
have with this spring company. It's where you buy T shirts. It's not I don't think it's under my YouTube videos anymore, because they are a horrible company. The quality of the T shirts is bad. They are overpriced, Their customer service is horrible. I even ordered two hoodies for my brother in law three months ago. I still haven't gotten them. Nobody's returning my call, nobody's returning my emails. I'm switching. You all have asked why I don't have T shirts
for sale anymore. The reason is is because I tried to get them. I can't figure out a way to shut down the store. That's the truth. I have looked at every button on their website and I've discontinued every ad I have. I've done everything I can to keep it off the channel. So don't buy anything from Spring, at least for my merchandise, because more than likely you're gonna get ripped off. And I think the company is about half broke. Maybe a year and a half ago.
You used to could click, you know, I'd make twenty thirty fifty sixty dollars a month off the commissions. If you buy a T shirt, I get a little piece of it. It got to where they were taking two to three months to pay me, and I could tell something's wrong. And then all of a sudden when I did start getting paid, and it still takes. I haven't gotten a payout in months, but the last few I got, they were sent to me by another company and it took still took two or three months to get paid.
So anyway, I just wanted to say I'm sorry that that company did not live up to what I thought they would do. I'm switching to a new company, and when I get time, I'm gonna put out Steve Lilly T shirts, Dixie Crypti T shirts. They're gonna be great. I just haven't had time to design a few T shirts and get them up, so I wanted to let y'all know that don't buy anything from Spring through my channel. Just don't do it. You're gonna lose your money. It's
over price. He's not good. They're these little thin T shirts. It's like I wear a two X and they send me it must send me a Chinese two X, because you know a two X and China is probably about half my size. I don't know. I just don't like anything about the company, and I'm trying to switch over. So I want to let y'all know that appreciate you listening to my rent and we will see you guys on the next podcast. Thank you