The story I'm about to tell you happened in the summer of twenty and fifteen in the western mountains of Maine. I'm a third generation logger. I've been in the woods all my life. I love the outdoors up here and all that it has to offer. Now, I've never been afraid of the woods or what's in there till that summer that changed things a bit. We had just started a logging job a few miles west of Bethel. It's a quaint
little tourist town on the edge of the Appalachian Mountains. I was always the first man on the crew into the woods, and since I ran the machine that cut down the trees, I was usually the furthest inn as well. On this day, I had parked my machine over a mile off the blacktop the night before, and I had intended on driving in the next morning. A lazy dump truck driver who couldn't follow directions dumped his load in the middle of our road, only one hundred yards off the pavement, and it made
it impassable. It was three point thirty am. I was supposed I could have just gone home for the day and let someone else deal with it, but that's not me. So I threw my lunch in my backpack, and I grabbed my head lamp and I started hoofing it for my machine. It was only a mile anyway. It was dark and cloudy, so the moon and stars were not visible. I probably couldn't have seen them anyway. The canopy of the Eastern Pine had made a very thick ceiling over the forest floor.
I hadn't gone far and I came to another load of gravel that had been dumped in the middle of the road, and then I came to another I began cursing this truck driver, and I was thinking about giving him a piece of my mind a little later. But that's when things started to feel strained. Everything got quiet. I got chills, and the hair on the back of my neck was standing on in. I paused, and I looked around. I didn't see anything in the small bubble of light that my headlamp
was emitting. But never in my thirty eight years had I experienced a feeling like that. My sweat had turned cold, and the chill became unbearable. And again I scanned my bubble and I saw nothing. There was a voice inside me that told me to get moving thoughts raced through my head as I quickly continued my walk, almost at a jog. Now was it a ghost or a bigfoot? Or was it a murderer or someone just messing with me? Heck, I didn't know. The voices in my head were battling each
other. I didn't believe in ghosts or bigfoot, and I was sure a murderer wouldn't be in these woods. It had to be somebody messing with me, and I was becoming angry when my machine popped into view. I fired it up and I hopped into the safety of the cab. There will still be a couple of hours before any of the crew arrived, but my cab was safe, surrounded by metal and bulletproof glass. The feelings of unease quickly subsided, and I went about my day. Two weeks later in a nice
gravel road and a busy logging job in full motion. Trucks were coming and going in the crew pumping out load after load. It was a Friday afternoon and I was scheduled to have some welding done on my piece of equipment a little later in the evening, so I quit early to print for the job with our company welder. Our welder was new to the area, having just gone through a nasty divorce in Florida. He had relocated with his two children
for a fresh start. He was a hard working, trustworthy guy who knew his stuff when it came to welding and heavy equipment, and in the short time that he had been here we had become pretty close, spending time hunting and riding snowball mills in the winter and just doing outdoor stuff that we all love. When he got there, we jumped right on the job with hopes of finishing up at a decent hour so we could hit the local pub after and with the sun still pretty high in the sky, he crawled under my
machine and started doing his thing. A short time later, the rest of the crew had made their way to us, and with the usual Friday afternoon banter taking place, along with some ribbing and poking fun at each other, everything seemed pretty normal. A few minutes later, the ripping zip of the welding ride comes to a stop. Jason, our welder. He came crawling out from under the machine and quickly made his way to the group. He was pale, white, turning green, and he was noticeably stressed. Well.
He looked at me and he asked, who's that woman? And what's she doing here? Puzzled? We all looked at him. No one said a word. He was staring at me with a very concerned look on his face, but the group was silent. Jason again asked, who is she is? She? Is she all right? Confused? I looked at him and I said, what's he talking about? It's just us here, man, just the five of us. He whipped his head around and looked beyond my machine to a group of freshly cut stumps. I could see him getting
tense, and the sweat was pouring down the side of his face. And when he turned back we made icontact, and I swear to god, this guy started to cry. One of the other guys on our gang piped up and asked, dude, are you on something. Jason got a little defensive, and he quickly replied, she was right there, just standing there, smoking a cigarette. She was watching me. She was wearing a short white dress, and she was barefoot. This girl looked rough like she was crying
and upset. He was serious. He was as serious as a horror attack. And this was bothering him. Our group was speechless and there was nobody there. Why would I half dressed woman be way out here in the woods barefoot. At that moment, a ten shot through my body, and my experience from two weeks prior came flooding back to me. We were standing in the same spot along our road where I had felt that crazy fear. We never made the pub that night, and for the remainder of that job,
I waited for daylight before I started going into the woods. I can no longer say I don't believe in ghosts. Jason was shaken pretty good, and it was more than a week before he acted normal. Then he had another incident I'd love to share on another time. I'm a believer now. There is no question in my mind that these kinds of things exist. Although I hope to never have an experience like this again, I am a little bit more aware now. I just wanted you to know found your podcast about a
month ago and I'm hooked. Oh man, that's awesome. I haven't spoken too much about this story, but I wanted to share it and I would love to hear you read my words. Thank you very much. Any signs off you know these ghost stories. I love them. I love these ghost stories, but the ghost stories in the woods, especially in the woods of like Maine. Maine has some creepy looking woods. I've watched some of these
Appalachian Trail videos of people going up through Maine. They're almost to the end of their track if they're going north, if they're a through hiker, I think they get into a place called one hundred mile Wilderness, and for I think it's one hundred miles. There is nothing but trail. There's no bushwhacking. There's a well worn trail there, and if you stay on the trail and follow the trail, you're good. You just keep heading north. But
I think they have to camp along the way. I don't know if there's any of those hostels or what do they call them, camping shelters or whatever on the way. Probably there are. I don't think they just step off the trail and pitch a tent. But anyway, the point is is that looking at the videos of those woods is uh man, they're so creepy. They're a lot creepier than these woods in the southeastern part of the United States. I think our woods are beautiful, and people in Maine probably think their
woods are beautiful. I think they're beautiful too, but they're kind of creepy too. So and there's also moose up there. I understand people on the Appalachian Trail walking through that section of the trail they run into big male bull moose every once in a while that those things will kill you. I mean
they'll they'll absolutely trample you to death. They're not friendly animals. And anyway, Maine is a wild place that but this was such a great story, and the way he wrote it, I could just see that woman standing on a stump's got she's got some white clothes on, she's smoking a cigarette, she's barefooted. It's probably kind of chilly out there, and I would I don't know. Do most people when they encounter go so they get a sense about it? Do they get sweaty to the hairs on the back of their
neck stand up? I don't know, But I just thought this was a great story and I appreciate the man sending it. Thank you. This is a short story about a creature that is a creature, but it may or may not. It's probably not a bigfoot. Let's read and let's read on and see the following story is not mine, says the writer. It's my paternal grandfather's story. He and my grandmother were married in nineteen thirteen. This
happened before that. He told me this story many times over the years before he died in nineteen seventy nine, and no matter how many times he told it, it never changed. Back when he was courting my grandmother, he had to walk to her house in Hendrix, Alabama, over Berry Mountain. Since his visits were always at the end of his workday, he often found himself walking home in the dark. Well, he didn't care. Men in
love rarely do. He'd walked to my grandmother's house and he'd visit for a while, and then he'd head home, happy to have spent time with her. On one of those nights, when he stayed late and had to walk home in the dark, he noticed the log lying across the road or the trail up ahead. My grandfather didn't have a flashlight or any other form of illumination, but the moon was full enough to light his way. He approached the log and a creature stood up on its hind legs and it growled at
him. My grandfather's friends, the dee Hart Brothers, were known to be pranksters, so at first he thought this must be one of them having some fun with him. Well back then, my grandfather owned a single shot twelve gage shygun that he called the Hero, and he carried it with him at all times. He didn't want to accidentally shit thank you to human beings,
so he raised it and he called out speaker, I'll shoot. Naturally, he expected to hear one of the Deehart brothers break into peals of laughter, a couple of them would jump out of the woods and they'd all have a good laugh together. But that didn't happen. Instead, that creature dropped down on all fours and it charged him. Well, instinct took over and he quickly fired around of number six shot into this thing's face before turning and running
as fast as he could. Rather than fall down dead, it began to chase him, and it was gaining ground fast. Clearly he wasn't going to be able to outrun it, but my grandfather managed to load another shell, and he turned and he fired one more round. At this point, it didn't matter. If this round didn't take the animal down, he would sure to be a dead man. Thankfully, that first shot had finally done his job, and when he turned, the creature fell dead at his feet.
He was that close to being overtaken by the beast. The next morning, he and a couple of his friends went back out to the place where he'd shot that thing. Its body was still lying there right where it fell, but none of them was sure exactly what they were looking at. After some discussion, they finally agreed that it must have been a black wolf. But a wolf that stands on its hind legs. That's the part they couldn't explain. Okay, so this is a dog man's story prior to nineteen thirteen.
Oh man, this is a scary story. I just read this cold. I had not read it before. I just read it to you, guys. I mean, imagine no flashlight, walking down a dark road or a trail. You see something dark laying across the road. You think it's probably a blown down or rotten piece of wood that's fallen, and then it gets up and it starts growling at you, and then it starts chasing you. Thank goodness, this guy had a shotgun in his hand. I wonder what
they did with the body. That's what I'd like to know, I wonder if this man's grandfather ever told him. I said, man, yeah, it's a man who wrote me the letter. I wonder if this man's grandfather ever told him what they did with the carcass, that would be interesting. But prior to nineteen thirteen, you know, that's one hundred years ago. More than one hundred years ago, we may never know. This was a great story, and I appreciate the man sending it to me. Thank you.
All right, this is a shown up Bigfoot story. I think you guys are gonna like this one. My story begins in the winter of two thousand and two when I was seventeen. I was in West Virginia at the time with my childhood friend Joel. Every year we would head over to his grandfather's house that was nestled deep in a thick patch of woods to do some honting. Now, Joel's grandfather was an experience hunter with thirty two years under his belt. He taught us the basics and then gradually, as we got
better, helped us improve our skills to an expert level. His favorite thing to hunt was deer in Turkey, so naturally that's what we hunted too. We'd spend a little time with Joel's grandfather, and then we'd head out into the woods. We both carried hunting rifles and a nine millimeter handgun for secondary defense in case we came up against something we weren't expecting, like a crackhead. Yeah, I digress, excuse me. We'd hike in anywhere from two
to four miles and set up camp. That year, we had also bought a twelve gay shotgun in three flashlights, and by six am we made it three miles in and that's where we decided to camp. Once we'd put up our tent, we followed a small stream two hundred and fifty yards. We'd been there for forty five minutes checking the area out with our scopes binoculars when Joel pointed over to a spot for me to check out. It was a deer, all right, but it was a dead deer. It wasn't entirely
uncommon to find dead animals in the wild. We'd been hunting Joel's grandfather's property for seven years by then, so we had seen this before. Predators will kill prey and then come back for it later, and bears will do that often. But it was pretty late in the year for a bear to still be out hunting. The deer didn't look like it had been killed by a bear, though its left hind leg looked like it had been twisted off. Macawdies wouldn't tear off a leg and then leave their pack hunters, even if
something scared them off before they could finish their meal. Tearing a leg off like that wouldn't have been a normal thing for them to do. We couldn't imagine what could have done this. We walked over to get a closer look, and right away we noticed that its eyes were missing and its tongue had been ripped out. It looked like its neck had been snapped too, and its furs showed definite signs of grip prints. The whole thing gave me and
Joel and uneasy sensation. I could feel my heart pounding a little harder, even before I began to sense that we were being watched. Joel said he felt it too. It was then that we began to smell the horrible odor that was a lot stronger than the smell of the dead carcass in front of us, and nervously we scanned the whole area. We didn't see anyone or anything out there that could be spying on us. But we decided it was a good time to head back to camp anyway, and that feeling of being
watched had never left us all the way back. We hung out at our camp for most of the day. Neither of us was willing to admit why, but we were there to hunt, so that afternoon we loaded our backpacks with our flashlights and we headed out. We decided to take the twelve gage with us too. I guess it never hurts to have a little extra protection. First, we went back to where we had found the dead deer, and it was gone. We checked the whole area, but we didn't see
any tracks where something could have dragged it off. There was no doubt that it was dead when we found it, and even if by some strange twist of fate it had been alive, there were no deer tracks leading away from the scene either. So with nothing more to see there, we went looking for a good spot to hunt. By the time we found a spot down stream, it was getting dark, but we set up and we began to look around. We were still preparing our rifles and getting settled in when a
tree fell. I suppose it's possible that a tree gets old enough and rots from the inside out. And besides, this is a good time is any to fall down? But they generally wait for a good wind, and there wasn't any. Why would a tree fall when there's no wind, I asked Joel. Maybe it's a bear leaning up against it. He offered this late in the year, I asked. A few minutes later, another tree fell. This one was closer, and it was much louder. It was so
loud that I felt the sound of it vibrate through my gut. Now, one tree might get old and fall over, but two and so close together. Joel aimed his rifle in the direction of the fallen tree. We were lying on the ground, too scared to do much else. After a minute or two, we screwed up our courage and ho tailed it back to camp, and we slept with a shotgun between us that night. I was the first to wait the next morning, so I got our breakfast ready, and
then we grabbed our stuff and we headed out. By eight pm, we were in position under a beautiful sky and hoping for the best. We were rewarded half an hour later when Joel got a deer it didn't go down right away, so we had to track at maybe twenty yards from where he shot it. But as we were approaching that deer, that feeling of being watched came over me again. I could tell that Joel was feeling it too. We decided to wait until we got back to camp to feel dressed the deer.
All the way back, we were conscious of any blood trail that we might be leaving behind us, but it couldn't be help. Once we got back to camp, we started working on the deer, and we hadn't been at it long when we began to hear branches being crushed under heavy feet. And then a rock came flying by. And while we were busy looking around for where the first rock came, another one was thrown at us. And while Joel was skinning the woods, I grabbed my nine millimeter and I fired
off around, hoping it would deter an he would be pranksters. Well, that was followed by thirty seconds of silence before a deep, menacing growl froze our blood. It must have lasted for fifteen seconds. No deer, elk or cod wolf could have made that sound, not that deep or that loud or for that long, and no, it wasn't a bear. We quickly finished our work and threw the scraps outside of camp as far as we could.
We didn't want to draw anything in. Joel went down to the stream to get some water while I scavened for some extra firewood, and we checked the remnants of the deer, expecting to find it gone, but it was untouched. That gave us a little feeling of security, so we thought we could relax some. But we were wrong. As soon as we began to get comfortable, the tree knocks started. The first one sounded like someone had taken a four by four and struck it against a large tree as hard as
they could. The second one was the same, but this was closer. The third one was even louder and closer, but it came from behind us. It was amazing to me how quickly the knocks were coming from different locations. I picked up a log from our pile of wood, and I hid it against the tree, and then I waited. All the tree knocking stopped. We decided that this would be our last day of honting. The sun had gone down and it was dark. We figured it would be better to
stay close to the fire than try to hike out in the dark. An awful smell permeated the air around us, and somewhere beyond the firelight, we could hear something growling demonically, like some kind of monstrous predator on the prowl that was periodically broken by the sound of deep hoffs, as if it were sniffing out its prey, and we knew it was watching us. When it sounded like it had moved over by where the deer remains were, I grabbed
my flashlight. I told Joel to grab the shotgun. We decided that I would point the light in the direction of whatever was out there, and as soon as I turned it on, Joel would fire at it. On three I turned on the light, and standing not more than six yards from us was a hulking, dark figure. And when it raised itself to its full height, I guessed it to be every inch of ten feet tall. But
it was the eyes that terrified me the most. They were red. It could have been the beam of the flashlight, but I felt like they were glowing of their own accord. This thing stared at us, and we stared back, so afraid that neither of us could move for several seconds, and then we both screamed, and Joel finally pulled the trigger. The creature released a deep, angry roar and retreated into the woods. Within three steps, it was gone, swallowed up by the forest. The image of that thing
standing in the beam of the flashlight was burned into my mind. It was covered in six inch long dark brown or black hair except on its face, and its arms hung down below its knees, and its eyes were large. They were very huge and looking. Staying at camp that night suddenly didn't seem like such a good idea. After all, it was time to go, so we reached Joel's grandfather's house before sunrise because he wasn't expecting us back for
another day. Grandpa immediately started asking questions. Well, we hesitated for a minute, but exhaustion and fear took over, and we told him in detail everything that happened to us. To our surprise, he didn't doubt us one bit. Instead, he told us his own story of having seen them on more than one occasion. He called it the devil of the forest. He said that he was our age when he had his first encounter, but he
never told anyone because he doubted that they would not believe him. I don't think I would have believed in myself if not for what had just happened to us. I guess it's easy not to believe in something like Bigfoot until one puts the fear of God in you. I've never felt that kind of fear before in my life, and I've never been that afraid since. And I'm just wondering, why would grandpa send these guys out there knowing there's monsters in
the woods. I don't know. Maybe I'm stupid, but or maybe he had only seen him once and didn't figure they were there. I'm not trying to be snarky about it, but if this grandfather knew that that place was covered up with bigfoots, why would he let his grandkids go out there and hunt. I wouldn't let my grandsons go out there for nothing. But this was a really great story. It's a scary story. This is obviously one of those stories where the bigfoots like in your face. They actually shot it.
I guess it just ran off and nursed its wounds. I don't know. This was a good story. It's terrifying. I really appreciate the man for sending it, Thanks sir. Okay, Now, y'all know that I get a lot of stories from people, and some of them are kind of it's crazy. I mean they are, and I've never I've never not read a story because it was too crazy. Sometimes I read a story when the writing is so bad it's just beyond editing. But this one was written pretty
good. We did edit it. There was a lot of information in this story that really had nothing to do with the story that we took out. We just want to tell the story of what happened. Neilma did a great job cleaning this story up. I don't think the writer Nathan and Tina, they told me I could use their names. Those aren't their real names. I think they'll be okay with us just telling the story of what happened, because that's what people want to hear. So let's get into it. They
right. We are originally from Massachusetts, but my wife and I moved to Johnson City, Tennessee, in two thousand and seven. Besides getting away from the wicked New England winters, it put us closer to where her parents lived. It was a good move for us. A year after we moved down here, we decided to take a many vacation to Chattanooga. We headed to get away in Jacksonville, Florida, which was my first choice, had too
many mosquitoes and too much humidity for my wife's taste. We arrived in Chattanooga on Friday night, checked into our room and checked out some of the local sites, and then we went to bed A. Saturday was great, and we spent part of the day in the Bluff View Art district before venturing over to Lookout Mountain. It was a stunning autumn view with trees covered in red,
gold and brown leaves. I was reminded of the times when I was a kid and my parents used to take me and my siblings to New Hampshire on camping trips. My pop was big on making sure we got outside as much as possible. Well, Tina was so impressed by the view that she said she wanted to go for a day hike. I said I was cool with that, after all, the scenery really was beautiful. Besides, what I wanted most was to make Tina happy, because a happy wife makes a
happy life. So that afternoon I asked around and got direction from the hotel staff where to go for a day. Height The next morning we arrived at the base of the trail. There was only one other car in the parking lot, so we figured we'd have it to ourselves. It was everything that we thought it would be. The scenery was stunning, and the colors on the trees were like something out of a Bob Ross painting, only bolder and more vibrant. Tina was ooing and eyeing over everything as we walked along.
We continued onward, enjoying all the beauty around us, until we crested a hill. It was slightly ahead of Tina, who was off to my right side, and a half step behind me, but we both saw it and rest assured. Everything I tell you from this point forward sounds crazy, but this is what we saw. I swear to it. Fifty feet ahead of us, lying motionless on the trail was what I can only describe as a bigfoot. I know who hasn't heard of bigfoot. I heard about it as
a kid. I don't know if this one was dead or not, but it was lying on its side, with its left arms stretched out and its hairy, reddish brown buttocks facing us. And beyond it was another similar looking bigfoot, that had to be at least ten feet tall. It wasn't facing us because it was engaged in a life or death battle with what looked like
a dinosaur man. I don't know what else to call. It looked like a t rex with a short snout and very pointed teeth that reminded me of an alligator's teeth, but its arms were long and looked more human except for the curved of five inch long claws at the end of them. Its left arm was dangling at its side, and it looked like it was badly broken from what I could make out on the chest and stomach area. It looked
like it was covered in black scales like a snake. It had a long green tail, and it stood twelve to fourteen feet tall, and the bigfoot it was fighting looked like a massive block of chiseled granite, but beside the dinosaur creature, it looked relatively small. I nearly lost control of my bladder watching these two bohemous dow battle. I glanced over at Tina, and she looked absolutely horrified and mesmerized and in a state of disbelief at all the same
time. That pretty much covered my emotions as well. And all my years growing up, spending time outdoors with my parents and siblings, I had never seen anything like this. Once I saw a black bear, which was a bit scary, but it was nothing compared to what I was looking at now. I started slowly backing up, bumping Tina in the process. It snapped her out of her days, and she began to do the same. I don't think it mattered. Neither one of those things was paying us any attention.
This was an equation that my wife and I didn't figure into, and for that we were wicked grateful. Tina turned and ran down the trail. Then and my stupid self stood and watched the fight a little longer. They were giving each other pure hell. It was obvious to me that the t rex man thing had severely injured or killed the bigfoot on the ground, and the other was smashing it with its fists, trying to drive it back while
evading those sharp claws on its working arm. The bigfoot moved one hand under the throat and jaw the dinosaur thing and pushed upwards, presumably so it wouldn't get bitten, and then it bawled its other hand into a fist and repeatedly punched its opponent in the stomach and chest. The sound was a booming thwack, whack, whack every time the bigfoot landed a blow. If the bigfoot were hitting a human with those punches, the person would have already been dead.
I'm pretty sure of that. In the process of this happening, a huge rock the size of a beach ball came flying in from somewhere in front of me and to my left. It struck the t rex man in the head, causing it to reel from the impact. I traced the path of the rock backwards to where a smaller bigfoot that was around eight feet tall was swaying side to side and making whooping sounds. I could see it wanted to
help the larger one, but it didn't want to get too close. As big as it was, it was still smaller than the other bigfoot and much smaller than the dinosaur thing. Two more bigfoot came running into the scene at an almost supernatural speed. They were about the same size as the one in the battle, except that they were covered in black fur rather than the reddish brown of the others. The last thing I saw was if everything wasn't already
weird enough was some kind of shimmering poor behind the reptile man. It swirled a clockwise in a wavy motion that resembled heat rising off the asphalt on a hot summer day. Looking back, I think that's what the reptile man came through, and the bigfoot were trying to force him back through it. I watched the whole scene for no more than half a minute, but it felt like an eternity, and my mind was yelling for me to run. Stupid I had enough, so I listened to my mind, and I turned around
and I ran back up the trail. I caught up with Tina, and we both had to stop and catch our breath for a minute before heading to our car and back at the parking lot. The other car was still there, and I can't help but wonder if those people were out there on that trail somewhere, and if they saw the same thing we did Stupidly. I tried to tell my story to one person, but I got nothing but disbelief and derision from them. My co witness, my wife, is the only
person I can talk to about this. We've never been back to the woods since then, and we don't ever plan to go. I guess those mosquitoes in Florida wouldn't have been such a bad thing after all. Okay, that was a crazy story. He even said in his story that this is going to sound crazy. Now. I've gotten a few stories through the years, maybe two or three about these lizard dinosaur kind of creatures that people claim to
see. I don't know anything about them. But to me, if people say there's bigfoot, dog man, ghosts, aliens, why couldn't there be like a t rex man. I don't know. I just wish I could see it, that's all. I just want to see one of these things. I don't care it could chase me. It could chase me, because I mean I'm kind of old and fat, but I think I would be so scared I could outrun a t rex man. Maybe not, but I would still like to see one. I don't know what I'm talking about.
Maybe i'd like to see one fight in a bigfoot. Now, that would be better than the bare knuckle fights that everybody loved so much. But this was a fantastic story, but it was crazy. It was a crazy story, and I don't vet them. I've said this one hundred times. I never determined what I'm going to read on this channel based on if I think it's true or not. If somebody sends me a story, I'm gonna put it on here because if it's a good story, it's a good story.
So to the writers, Nathan and Tina, I really appreciate you sending this because I loved reading it. Thank you. All right, all right, this is a show enough bigfoot story, and the man who wrote it is a good writer. He's a very good writer. Normally, I have to have most of these stories edited. Niomah does a lot of my editing, but this one I sent it to her and she said, I only had to change a common a couple of little words in this. Otherwise it was
perfect. She goes, I hate charging you for it, and I'm like, just charging me for it, So I would say she did a great job. But the writer did a great job. Okay, let me stop talking. Let's get to the story. You guys are gonna like this. This guy's a good writer, he writes. The night was pitch black as a heavy, oppressive fog rolled in from the creek, blanketing the woods in
a sinister embrace. Call Texas had always been a quiet small town of less than three hundred people nestled in the heart of southeast Texas near the Sabine River, But on this particular evening, an eerie tension hung in the air, as if the woods itself held its breath, waiting for something to happen. Two of my high school friends and I decided to spend the weekend at our family camp in Cow Creek in January of nineteen ninety. It was my senior
year of high school. We planned to do a little bass fishing and squirrel and rabbit hunting. We arrived after dark at around seven on a fret night. It was pitch dark and we needed to turn on the power to the camp and the water pump. After twenty minutes of turning on the lights and priming the pump, we finally unloaded our things and settled in for what we thought would be a fun filled weekend with just the boys. We got a
campfire started and gathered around to make s'mores and enjoy the evening together. Around the campfire, the flames cast an eerie shadow on the tall pine trees, making the woods seem like a ghostly cathedral tails of Bigfoot were shared earlier on the car ride to the camp and quickly dismissed as mere campfire stories. But now, as the night wore on, those stories began to take on a
life of their own. It was ten thirty PM when branches snapped in the distance, and the wind whispered through the trees, carrying an unsettling moan. Donald, one of my buddy, glanced nervously around. Did y'all hear that? He asked, His voice was trembling. There's probably nothing, Sean replied, trying to reassure him, But deep down he wasn't so sure. His bravado was a thin shield against the growing sense of dread. The campfire crackled,
casting an ever deepening ring of light. The shadows on the outskirts of the campyard seemed to grow darker and more menacing, And then, from the other side of the creek, one hundred and fifty yards out, came a sound that sent shivers down our spines. It was a guttural, otherworldly howl that seemed to echo from some prehistoric era. Okay, that's definitely not an
animal, Sean whispered, his eyes wide with fear. We huddled together, clutching our flashlights and pocket knife, scanning the woods for any sign of what could have made that spine tingling howl. And then we saw it. It was a towering, ape like creature, hunched and cowered in matted, dark fir, standing just beyond the reach of our campfire's glow on the edge of the creek bank opposite of us. It was a bigfoot, or at least that's what we all fought. I think it stood between seven and eight feet
tall. The creature's red eyes glinted with an intelligence that sent a shiver down our spines. Its breath came out in heavy, misty puffs that stared at us, and then, with a slow and deliberate movement, it raised one massive, gnarled hand and pointed a finger at us. Panic swept through us as we scrambled to our feet. We stumbled and tripped over each other in a mad dash to escape the campfire area and head inside the camp house.
The creature's eerie roar filled the night. We could hear it crashing through the water making its way to our side of the creek bank. In a panic. I must have dropped my car keys because I couldn't find the camp key to unlock the front door, so we decided to make a run for it up the hill to a neighbor's camp about a half mile up the road. We ran through the dark woods, guided only by the weak beams of our flashlights and branches tearing at our clothes, and the creature's heavy footfalls. Growing
closer. We could fill the earth's shake with loud thuds of its approach. But just as we thought we were doomed, we burst from the woods and into the moonlight, gasping for breath, our hearts pounding with fear, and the creature stopped at the edge of the woods near the hillside we had just climbed, its menacing presence retreating into the shadows, and its eyes still filled
with the haunting red glow. To this day, my high school buds, Shone and Donald have never returned to cow Creek, and they have never spoken of that night again. Some of the local folks say Bigfoot still haunts the woods of cal Creek it's guarding its territory, while others dismiss it as a mere legend. But for those of us who were there that cold January night
in nineteen ninety. The memory of those red, glowing, devilish eyes and that bone chilling howl remains etched in our minds, a reminder that some mysteries are best left alone and left unsolved. And the writer signs off, and I'm not going to make a single comment. Man, that was a great story. Who I love that this dude can write. He needs to write a book. He needs to come up with some kind of cool story, some kind of fictional thing with Bigfoot based on his experience, and write a
fifty thousand word novel with its writing skills. Hell, he's good. I wish I could write that good anyway. To the writer, I would say these people's names, guys, I would say your names, but you don't really say that I can use your name unless you specifically say I can use your first name. I just don't give names out. But this man, he didn't say it all, so I'm just well, he did introduce himself, but it's kind of like a note, personal note to me. He
does live in Texas, and he says he's got a Bigfoot story. He says his family had been going to cal Creek since the nineteen fifties. His dad built the camp and it's been in their family. And he said he'd never shared the story before with anyone until now. He said, I would appreciate you reading it on the Dixie Crypti podcast. You got it, baby, I just read it. I appreciate you sending it to me. It's a good one. Thank you, sir. All right, thank you for
joining me on this podcast. That was a good little series of stories. I thought, hope you guys enjoyed it, and hey, if you like the video, maybe you could give me a thumbs up, maybe even subscribe, come back and listen to some more. We got all kinds of stories, five years worth of stories of a library that goes back. It's probably four hundred videos, story after story after story that's just as wild and crazy as the stories you just heard. Take a look. Subscribe, follow on
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