But this email is from Sarah. She lives in the UK. I live in andover in the United Kingdom. I have a story for you that I have only told just two other people, and I don't think they believe me. I moved into my bungalow four years ago and I've been complaining that someone's been coming into my garden at night. I can hear footsteps, thinking it was one of my neighbors where an ex boyfriend. I put a lock on my gate. I don't sleep well and I'm up most nights when everyone else
here seems to be in bed by ten pm. Here in the UK, the local council turns the street lights on and off as a cost cutting measure on the housing estate. I have a strange, unavoidable feeling someone has been watching me. I put up a blanket on my kitchen window so I wouldn't feel uncomfortable. My friend, who lifts twenty feet away from my front door, got curious and asked me why. I was honest with her, but it was awkward. I didn't want her to think I was blaming her or
her husband, so I reluctantly took down the blanket. It was a few months later deep into December, and as usual, I was awake in the middle of the night because I couldn't sleep. There was a full moon and it was a little windy outside. I walked into my kitchen to make myself a drink when I spotted something that rendered me speechless. Across the way, peering into the window of my next door neighbor's kitchen, there was some sort
of a small gray being with a faint shimmering light around it. The stream whistling from my kettle must have startled it. The being turned and it looked at me and proceeded to conceal itself inside the bush next to the fence that separated our properties. I lost sight of it when the street light went off. The bushes were rustling, as if a wild animal had gotten itself tangled
up within its branches. The street light came back on, and I swear I spotted this thing struggling to get free, when suddenly it vanished from view, as if it had turned invisible. It ripped the bush right out of the ground and carried it along, scurrying right over the fence, still entangled well. The next morning, I followed the trail of dirt out of my yard and found the bush blowing around in the alleyway. I started to pick it up, thinking I could replant it, but thought better of it.
What if there was some sort of alien residue on the leaves? And if there was, I didn't want any on my clothes or my skin. I left the bush for the rubbish men in their gloved hands. My next door neighbor's front door has a motion sensor next to it. They owned two massive dogs, but on that night, when I saw whatever I saw, they didn't bark and the motion censors didn't come on. I'd clearly seen something, but I didn't know what to do. If I call the police, what
would I say. I went on the Internet and first reported it to the Mutual UFO network in the States, and then the British equivalent, but no one ever got back to me. In the interim, I developed a phobia about entering my kitchen after dark, and for six months I couldn't go to sleep at night. It might have happened again a couple of months later, when I heard something scamper across the roof. I have never been afraid of the dark, but now I keep a night light on I'm so full of
anxiety these days that it's hard to cope. Am I excited to have possibly seen something alien? Believing in them and watching UFO movies and documentaries and hearing all the stories and viewing the odd UFO flying over a pasture is all well and good. But seeing a day glow being in real life just inches from your unlocked door is a different thing altogether. Oh man, this thing didn't hurt you. I hope you're I hope you've let go of your anxiety.
I don't remember when I got this story, but I kind of feel bad for folks like this because they're just scared to death. You know, the things showed no aggression towards you or your neighbors, and if it is something from outer space or some whatever, who knows what it could be, it's obviously not after you, so I would just I would let it go. Sorry to comment on that story, but I I just kinda felt sorry for this lady. But anyway, thanks for the story, Thank you for clicking
on the video, and welcome to of the Dixie Cryptid Podcast. I appreciate you. Let's get rolling with these stories. I think I've got four total. Three more left to go. All right, here we go. This writer doesn't give his name, but this is Bigfoot related and I think there are several stories in this account. So get ready, get ready to strap in. This is a collection of true stories that happened to me when I was growing up in the Los Casas area of Tennessee, fifteen miles outside of
Murphosborough. From day one, my grandfather was my favorite person in the world and my best friend. He didn't officially raise me, but I spent every summer there, Thanksgiving in spring, and even Christmas break, as well as weekends at his house. As I got older, I pretty much knew every inch of the hundred acres that he owned, as well as the surrounding land of his neighbors. My grandfather claimed for years that someone was building a barn
and hammering nails somewhere in the woods. On nights, I heard the sounds of tool striking wood. The noise seemed to come from different directions. It was odd because there weren't any lights to be seen through the trees, and nothing to the naked eye that would suggest laborers out there hard at work. His advice to us was that if we ever heard anything that sounded like a woman screaming in the woods to get out of there, because it was probably
a bobcat. He thought all of these unusual occurrences were somehow connected. I spent a lot of time hunting deer and squirrels in those woods. His land was split up into two different parcels, the smaller one he lived on and the larger one that stretched out to his property line at a mile from where his home sat. A lot. Chose to hunt on the parcel he lived on because of its proximity to the house. I was following a trail from the bottom of the yard through a large open field, past his old log
barn and into some thick woods. There was an access logging trail two hundred yards long that ended by my grandfather's sage grass field. I would walk the length of the field to a deer stand. It's not a good idea to tramp through the area where you're going to hunt, but I didn't know that at the time. I had a twenty gage single shotgun with a quail load,
and there was one in the chamber and two in my pocket. I known this movement coming out of the thick woods on my right, I saw the outline of a very large man, seemingly dressed in all brown boots, gloves, and coveralls and topped with a toboggan hat. Encased in all that brown, he resembled a walking hershey bar. The air around him seemed to shimmer like the rising heat from a hot tar road. There was a janitor at my school who was seven foot three is tall, and he was the
largest man that I had ever seen. I realized then that the Good Lord made people this big, but maybe not a lot of them. Well, this man I was watching walked slow and deliberate, and his enormous arms stretched almost to his knees, and he swung them in an exaggerated motion. There was an unusual arch to his back, and he seemed to almost fall forward with each step. His necklace head was wedged between his shoulders like it was a jammed despenser on a liquid soap bottle. When he looked up at me,
I realized it wasn't a man at all. It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and this human light creature was bathed in sunlight. His hairy body glistened as he stared back at me. His manner suggested that we could both be passive with each other, or that we could go to war. While I watched the beast walk across my grandfather's field, and when he vanished into the horizon, I ran the half mile back to my grandfather's house, all junior. My grandfather Josh, when I described the man beast in the
woods, you just saw slew foot. I went back to that same field during deer season. My curiosity was greater then than any fears that lingered from my initial encounter. This time, I chose to carry my Marlin thirty thirty
with one in the chamber and five more rounds in the magazine. I was deep in the woods when I heard voices coming from somewhere ahead of me, and because of the trees in the distance, I could only make out a few bits of what sounded like a conversation between two very guttural sounding males. The dialect wasn't like anything I'd ever heard in Tennessee. Four years later, when I was sixteen, I sold my fourteen foot v bottom boat to a
neighbor named Benny. He was thirty, and he was a ugged outdoorsman who wasn't afraid of anything, or so it seemed. I was more interested in cars and girls than I was fishing. Benny and I put in the boat below Guy James Bridge on a chilly night in April, and we drifted down toward Brown's Mill Dam fishing for smallmouth. That night we camped on a gravel bar two miles away from any roads or houses, and I was familiar with the place because we used a limb line for catfish and stay the night there.
My buddy's dad once hooked something there that suggested an object larger than a fish. It was late in the evening Benny and I were catfishing with no luck. Now about the time he turned to me and uttered, shears quiet out tonight, as if on que, the biggest splash I ever heard in my life broke the surface of the water sixty feet away from us. We sprang to our feet, alive with the adrenaline coursing through us, and Benny grabbed the flash Now I followed him to the end of the gravel bar,
where the rocks along the edge were wet with splash marks. His flashlight battery was dying and had all the power of a live firefly with its butt pointed in a given direction, but we pressed onward. Benny leaned out and pointed its fading light at something massive in the water. It looked like the top portion of a half submerged head with two glowing red eyes the size of bicycle reflectors. Benny started muttering under his breath, it's a monster. It's a
monster. You're crazy. I encountered that's a cow. A cow's come down here to get in the water. Well, it was obvious, judging by the size of this thing, that this was no Mama heifer. A shiver went up my spine as I realized it was turning its enormous head in our direction and it was checking us out. I knew that the water surrounding the gravel bar was eight feet deep. Well, this thing pushed off from the rocks towards the middle of the river and went down the stream and his zig
zag pattern and it outpaced the current. It didn't appear to be swimming, but taking measured steps, like an adult slashing through a kid's waiting pool. Benny had his twelve gage loaded with buck shot, and he put it to his shoulder and took aim as the thing duck beneath the surface of the water. It's got to come up for air, he whispered, and his hands were shaking. After fifteen minutes of waiting for the beast to resurface, Benny
suggested that we take turns sleeping at night with the shot gun. I think could come back up out of the water and kill us, he said, his eyes nervously skinning the black river. I slept through my turn at guard duty, and when I woke the next morning, Binny was still holding a shot gun. He was staring at the river. It never came up for air, was all he muttered. It was a quiet ride home that day. I'm fifty three years old now, and I've never had any experience as
quite like what Benny and I encountered that night. A friend of mine, heavily into Cryptid's, played me some audio once, something he referred to as the Sierra Sounds, and it reminded me of what I heard when I was a kid, way back when stalking the deer in the backwoods of my grandfather's place. Benny was a genuinely good man who was dealing with a lot of demons. I have no idea how he chose to process what he saw that
night on the gravel bar. I was sixteen and two, naive to recognize the signs of PTSD, and about a year and a half later, Benny took his own life. That's the end of the story. Man, that ended sad, poor Benny, Dad Gum. Anyway, this was a great story. I don't know. This story seems familiar. I don't know if I've gotten this twice and pulled it up and read it again. A matter of fact, I know I've read this story before. Anyway, maybe I
did it justice better justice the second time. Sometimes that happens. People send the same story, sometimes several times, and they think I'm not getting their emails. But I get them. I just have I have a thousand to do, so it takes a little time to get to them all. But I'm almost sure I did this one before. Anyway, you got to enjoy it again. This email is from Buddy. Here's what he writes. I've
had two sidings that I believe or bigfoot or Bigfoot related. Both occurred while I was hunting, and luckily for me, neither of the encounters escalated into something violent. The first happened just outside of Donaldsville, Ohio, where I was positioned inside a twenty foot tree stand. The stands were all high because of the train and the deer trails. There were five in the area,
close to the bedding and feeding areas. It was late in the afternoon when I saw the largest thing I believe I have ever seen in all my days as a hunter, and I struggled to identify it. Whatever the heck it was. It was seventy five yards to the right of me, rooting through the grass behind me and walking on all fours. Not having a clue as to what it was, I kept an eye on it until I got distracted
by noise coming from my left. I spun and aimed my rifle, thinking there might be a deer coming out to feed, but I saw nothing. By the time I turned back to look at this big creature on my right, it was gone. After much research, I came to the conclusion that the large beast I saw was a big foot. I'm sure the thing was familiar with our locations out there, it just didn't see me that evening until
the noise on the left got the attention of both of us. I honestly think it left me alone because it thought that it was interfering with my hunt. My second encounter was much the same. I was in the Rockies elk hunting. One thing I remember clearly was the stench in the air. It burned my nostrils. It was that bad. I set about fifty yards above a fire road, making various cow calls when I heard a limb crack above me. I looked up and saw something huge running down the hill away from
me. I caught a better look this time. The week before was gun season, and I'm sure the soul boy had seen the damage a hunter could do with a gun, so he chose to run for safety. I think in both cases it was simply a bigfoot walking around in my hunting area and decided to leave me alone. I'm afraid that had I intruded into a bigfoot hunting ground, it might have been a different story. If someone broke into your home to take your food, wouldn't you defend it too. This email
is from Bill. Here's what Bill writes. My name is Bill, and the stories I'm going to relate can be considered a twofer. One is a UFO story and the other is well, I don't know what to call it. I have allowed myself to think it was a screech owl or a bobcat, but my best instinct says that it was something else, maybe a bigfoot. We owned property in southwest Arkansas that has been in the family since the eighteen fifties. It was farmed until my grandfather retired around nineteen sixty eight.
After his death in nineteen seventy two, my grandmother moved into town to be near her children, but the farmhouse and the acreage remained intact in the family. Half of the total acreage is planted with pine tree thanks to the USDA incentives offered at the time. However, as the property is located along the Gulf Coastal Plain, which marked the edge of the Gulf Coast in prehistoric times, the sandy lone quality of the soil is unfit to grow anything but cedar
trees. In fact, for many years, families from our area harvested their Christmas trees from our property. Now I say all this because I spent much of my time growing up on this land and I know it well. Some years ago I had decided to camp in this cedar covered area over several weeks to determine the feasibility of building an off gred cabin. The site was way off the main road and way out of sight. This event occurred on the first night that I camped there. It was in April of two thou and
sixteen. Sometime after three am, I woke for no apparent reason, and I sat up in my cot. I looked around the tent. I saw that everything was in order, and then I heard four heavy wax or thuds on the ground very near the tent. Imagine the sound if you hit the earth with a baseball bat as hard as you could, only it was much louder than that. Next there came a scream unlike anything I've ever heard.
Not only was it so loud that it made my ear drums distort, but it generated an immediate fear in me that I can only describe as primal. It wasn't like I felt like I was in danger, but rather the scream produced an authentic fear that I have never known. I imagined a banshee mask I made in the third grade during a study of myths and legends. The phrase she screamed like a band shee came to mind. Had I heard a
bandsheet? Immediately after I heard what could only be described as bipedal steps running away from the ridge, and in an effort to rationalize at all, I assumed it was a screech owl that produced the scream, and the flappings of its large wingspan was what produced the sound of rapid footsteps. But that explanation provides no rationale for what was thumping the ground. Now, bobcats can scream, for sure, but that doesn't fit with the other things I heard.
I have come to terms with the fact that whatever I experienced that night was meant to inform me that I wasn't welcomed there. Now. I understand territorial mentality, but that's my family's land, so if I decide to build there, we'll have to learn to coexist with whatever that thing is. I know I can gladly go the rest of my life without having to hear that scream again. Though. Next is UFO related, and it happened around the year
two thousand on this same property. Like many families who share land out in the Sticks, we would often gather over a weekend of fish and out and mow grass, or just sit around a bonfire and hang out. The farmhouse could get a little crowded when bedtime rolled around, so my crew would put a large tent in the back pasture. On this night, I was snoozing inside the tent with my middle school daughter when we both awoke to a fairly
loud sound. It was vaguely mechanical, like a turbo charger on a semi pulling a load uphill, but big riggs don't travel on our highway. Feeling a heavy drowsiness, I went back to sleep, but when I woke again, the sound was still there. My daughter was standing at the door of the tent and she said, Dad, you need to come see this. But I couldn't rouse myself from my cozy dream state. You fathers who have daughters will understand this. As a dad, there's absolutely nothing you won't do
for your daughter. No one reflection. This should have been my first indicator that something was going on. Why did I not get up out of that sleeping bag and go look at what my daughter wanted me to see. It almost felt like the twilight sensation during an anesthesia procedure, just before the doctor tells you to count backwards from one hundred. When I woke the next morning, my daughter was safely tucked inside her sleeping bag. All was well with
the world. But later that day she said, Dad, you really should have seen that thing over the pond last night. Well what did you see? I asked her. My daughter is very observational and painted a vivid picture of what drew her attention while I was dead to the world. The sound we heard was coming from this thing that was really moving slowly over our pond at about tree top level. She said. I couldn't really make out the shape of it, but it had two big red round lights at the back
of it. It moved over the pond and kept going toward the north over the highway. As a point of reference, the pine is fifty yards from the farmhouse and where we were sleeping that night. I wondered if that sound we heard had the hypnotic effect of neutralizing me. Yet it didn't seem to affect my daughter in the same way. I've heard of abduction stories, but she had no recollection of anything other than watching the craft ease its way to
the north. She remembers getting back in her sleeping bag and dozing off, but no one in the house heard or saw anything unusual. Well, those are my stories, and they're probably too long to use, but I feel better for having written them down while the details are still fresh in my mind. And I think it's important to share our experiences in a safe environment. It's not only therapeutic, but it builds a community that we all desperately need
during these strange times. You know, I've never thought of it that way, but I agree with that for people who have had strange events in their life. I guess to have a community like this is comforting. I guess for no other reason other than you know, see you don't feel like you're the only crazy person out there. But now, these stories weren't too long.
We uh, sometimes we edit these and cut out some you know, people write these stories and sometimes there'll be things added that really don't have much to do with the story, and we'll take those out. And that's not a punitive action on our part. It's just that for the for the purposes of the podcast, we just want to get right to the story and share your tale to other people. I don't know if the story was long when we got it, but it's it's eleven hundred words. That's a perfect length
story. Nioma who edits ninety five percent of the stories I do may have cut some stuff out anyway, I'm just rambling on, but no, it wasn't too long. It's a great story, very interesting stuff. And I almost want to say, what a cool experience your daughter had. She doesn't seem to be afraid. She just got to see something really interesting. So and last, I understand what you're talking about. You'd do anything for your
daughter. And it's like you're getting caught in a nightmare, like your daughter's in trouble, but you can't move, you know, it's like a nightmare scenario. That's what you know. You're running but you're not moving, or you can't get up, or you're trying to get up a hill and you keep sliding back. Those are I have those dreams. I don't much anymore, but I used to. Anyway, I'll shut up here, but I
thought these were great stories. Thank you, thanks for hanging with me on this podcast, and we'll see you guys on the next one.