This man didn't say whether to use his name or not, and I won't. But here's what he writes. And this is a short, little This is a short, impactful story with a big punch. In the summer of nineteen eighty eight, we went on a family camping trip to North Pines in Yosemite. We were there for two weeks and our campsite was right next to the lake. On the second to the last night, my cousins and me decided to go to the lake. The idea we were going to see if
we could see any animals. Back then, I had a maglight. It was one of the big ones with the four D sized batteries. I was scanning the other side of the lake and we could all see a pair of red eyes glowing. They were low to the water, and I assumed it was drinking water. We could not see the body, just the eyes, so I had the bright idea of shooting at it with our wrist rocket slingshots. We took turns trying to hit it. Like I said, it was an idea. Well, then the animal stood up. I know it stood
up because the eyes went up and up and up. It must have been ten feet tall and the eyes got bigger. We freaked out. Well, we got scared and we ran and that's when the animal or whatever it was, got up and walked, and all we saw were these huge red eyes move like a float. We ran to the campsite and my cousins went and hid in the tent, and I sat by the fire with an odd look on my face. My two uncles asked me, what did you guys do The boys ran into the tent. I said, we saw something that scared
us. I said, well, I thought it would be funny to shoot at it with rocks. My uncle said, well, that wasn't smart, you idiot. I said, yeah, right, I think it was a bigfoot. And then both of my uncles laughed at me and they said, don't be stupid. There's no such thing. I will tell you what they really said in Spanish, but some people would get offended. Until this day, I'm still confused about what I saw. The question I have is why would a bear stand up and walk away. I'm not saying it was bigfoot.
I'm just not sure what it was. It's a good story, good story, three boys shooting at a bigfoot with wrist rocket slingshots, that'll get them pissed off. That's a great story. I really appreciate it, thanks to the writer. Hey, welcome to the Dixie Crypti channel. I really appreciate you clicking on the video. You know, we're also out on the podcast apps if you have Apple Podcasts, Google podcast which is going away real soon, Spotify, Stitcher, pod Bean, and there's one hundred podcast apps
out there. If you just do a search for Dixie Cryptid or what if It's True podcast, it'll be right at the top. You can listen that way. It's a lot less draw on your mobile device battery, and it saves you a ton of data if you were on a data plan. But I thought I would just mention that, so maybe I save somebody some money. Let's take a minute and get a word from our sponsor. Nah, I'm just mess away. I don't really have a sponsor. I just want
to say hi to everybody. I usually just jump into these stories and I don't say much, but I thought I would just say hi, and I appreciate all of you listening. This is a pretty good video. I think I've got four You just heard one short story. I've got three more. It's an assortment of different types of stories, and I hope you guys enjoy it all. Right, here we go. This is an email from Tony. I really enjoyed reading this. I hope you like it. I remember
it vividly. It was a summer of nineteen ninety eight. Sarah, my wife at the time, and I had spent a lovely first week of our vacation with my parents and siblings in Michigan's Upper Peninsula along the southern shore of Lake Superior, camping and canoeing near the mouth of the Two Hearted River. It is a wild and beautiful place that I have been visiting since my childhood,
and it always seems to call me back. Sarah and I had not spent much time in the lower portion of Michigan before, so we decided to split off from the rest of the family and do some exploring For the remainder of our vacation. We spent several relaxing days at Lake Anne State Forest, then planned to break camp take a day to hike the Sleeping Bear Dunes, which culminates with the breathtaking view of Lake Michigan and its many shades of blue.
This is where the story beginsans the day was sunny and hot, and by late afternoon the ambient temperature on the dunes was probably hovering around ninety degrees or above, and we were ready to be done. Once we completed our hike, we planned to find a camp site, preferably by the water, and then drive back home to Ohio. The following day, we stopped at the ranger station to inquire about nearby camping, only to discover that pretty much
every campground in this part of Michigan was full. In retrospect, I should have expected this, since it was a Friday in the high summer and at a very popular destination for weekend vacationers. The ranger told us that we were probably out of luck, though he knew of a trail camp some ten miles distant, primarily used by equestrian campers. It wasn't much to look at,
yet would do as an overnighter. I was grateful for the tip, and we thanked the ranger and set out for our destination, and we followed the directions he had written down for us. The site was not easy to find, since it ended up being on a road or off a road off another road, but we finally located it and pulled into the entrance. We travel further down the dusty gravel course that ended with a loop and a clearing.
It was sparse, with trees and hitching posts set at regular intervals. To our surprise, there was absolutely no one within view, and my first thought was perfect, we'll have this place to ourselves. And I turned off the van and we got out to look around and decide which site to choose. This is when things got freaky. As in a side I should point out
that I have always considered myself to be somewhat of a psychic brick. If anyone is going to hear ghosts talk with their spirit guides or have premonitions, it isn't going to be me. Not that I'm not open to it. I'm just not very sensitive in that way. The sun was getting low in the sky and the air was warm, but still it was quiet here, even peaceful. Yet I could not explain this growing sense of dread. I scanned the area to explain my cognitive dissonance. Where was this perceived danger coming
from? All I saw was an apparently tranquil meadow with nobody around in virtually no places for a threat to be concealed. I pushed down the feeling, telling myself that I was just imagining things all because I didn't want to worry Sarah. She looked at me and she asked, so, what do you think. I don't know. I said, something feels off. She agreed too quickly, and it turned out that she had been sensing the same unease
and didn't want to mention it to me either. Let's get the hell out of here, I said, in a low voice, Without wasting another moment, we hurried back to the van and locked the doors and spun the tires in our haste, leaving a cloud of dust behind all to put some distance between us and a nameless menace. We traveled east toward home, and we
molded over, trying to understand what had just transpired. There had been absolutely no visual or auditory queue to indicate that anything was amiss in that camp, yet we both had the distinct feeling that something very bad was about to occur, and had we stayed, we most certainly might die. Since then,
I have never experienced that level of dread for something that didn't happen. More than twenty four years later, I still think about it from time to time, and I wonder what did we avoid Had there been an axe murderer in camouflines hiding behind a tree preparing to pounce. Was something paranormal about to unfold? I wonder if that feeling of something being wrong precedes an abduction event or
the spontaneous opening of time and space portals. Only many years later did I discover that the Great Lakes area, particularly Michigan, is known for its unexplained disappearances of people, ships, and aircraft, as well as other paranormal activity. On multiple occasions, I have tried to locate the trail camp that we visited using internet searches based on its probable position, but without any success. Unfortunately, the original written directions have long been lost. Did we wander into
and out of an unstable pocket of reality just before it collapsed? I'd love to know the answer from a distance, though I'm eternally thankful that we didn't experience at firsthand whatever it was. I hope your audience finds this interesting and thanks for reading, and he signs off. Tony, Tony, it's fascinating to me these premonitions, these feelings of dread. I get those. Sometimes
I don't. I can be sitting here and I can get a feeling of dread, and I'm like, oh, man, the hammer's about to drop them. You never know what it could be. Uh. I've been through a few of those in my life and they are devastating and you get through it. But it's a and I'm talking about superficial things, but you're talking about a life and death thing. But anyway, I thought it was very interesting and I couldn't wait to share it. Thanks for the story. It
doesn't matter to me if you ever use this story on your channel. It's not a Bigfoot story. It's just something I was thinking about and I felt like talking kind of straightened it out in my own mind, I suppose, so I decided to write it down. By all accounts, my grandfather was not a very nice man. He was a strict disciplinarian, a man who beat his wife and kids. By today's standards, he'd be a criminal.
But I think maybe he was a victim of his times. Born somewhere around eighteen eighty, he was of a time when it was the job of the man to keep his house in order. A man who failed to keep his house in order could not be the deacon of a church. And was looked upon as weak. Any failings in his family would have been his failings as a man. Now I'm not making excuses for him. God knows, I have my own reasons to question his actions, and I try not to view
him too harshly. My grandfather died when I was two. I was the only grandchild that he lived to see, and by all accounts, in my one memory of him, he loved me very much and he was very proud of me, even though at the time my greatest achievement was in having been born. Mama told me that he died lying on the sofa in the living room of the house he built and owned. He owned and built another home for my uncle and his wife just behind us. Now that's no small feet
for a black man born only sixteen years after slavery. On the day he died, the corner was playing golf, and no one could move the body until the corner pronounced him dead. And this house was out in the country, and the corner didn't see any reason to interrupt his golf game. After all, Granddaddy wasn't going anywhere, and he laid there for hours, and finally the corner showed up verified the obvious, and the funeral home was called,
and while they waited for the hers, Grandpa sat up. Everybody in the house saw it. He stood up, and he walked over to his rocking chair. He sat down in it and started rocking, and after a few minutes of rocking, the chair slowed to a stop. A little while later, the funeral home picked him up from that chair, and when they got there, everybody told them what had happened, and the director nodded,
and he says, these things can happen sometimes. That should have marked the end of my time with my grandfather, but that was not the case. When I was three or four, I was playing in the dirt in the front yard when someone blew in my ear. First, I was engrossed in my game and I didn't pay it much mine. As it happened again and again, I tried absently to brush it away, and finally I stopped playing entirely, and I looked around. It now had my full attention. I
knew this wasn't the wind. For one thing, the air was still in For another, the wind doesn't blow directly into your ear. There was no one there. I stood up and I ran in the house and I told my grandmother that someone was blowing in my ear, but nobody was there. Oh, that's just your grandfather, She said, don't worry, he won't hurt you. Well. I was shocked, and I tried to process that information. I knew my granddaddy was dead and he didn't have any business blowing
in my ear, but mother acted as if it was normal. And I was used to taking my cue from her, and I decided to let it go. But it troubled me, and I didn't go back outside all day. I didn't know then that my grandmother was both right and wrong. He wouldn't hurt me, but he would most definitely try. In fact, he would try to kill me. For the most part, the things that happened
during my years of being shadowed by my grandpa's ghost were innocuous. Once, when I was turning flips on the sofa, I heard a voice that sounded just like my uncle, my grandfather's brother, say stop that right now. I looked over and no one was there. There wasn't even a car in the yard. I found my grandmother in the back of the house hanging out the wash and I stayed outside with her. Another time, it got into my head to try to see my face in the bottom of the well.
I was about six at the time, and I noticed that I could see a round circle of blue sky in the dark depths of the well. I figured if I could lean over far enough, I could see my face in the middle of that circle. Now I knew I might fall, and I knew I couldn't swim, so I let the bucket down into the water, believing that I could grab the rope and scream until my grandmother came and found
me. But it never occurred to me that I could hit my head on the way down, or that the rope may come loose when I grabbed it. I scrambled my way up the side of the well and I leaned over, and I couldn't see my face. I needed to get high, and I pushed and scraped and pulled my way up the stone sides, and I still wasn't high enough. I took a deep breath and I tried again. This time, I heard a loud, stern voice shout, get down. I let go of the well and I dropped back to the ground, fully
expecting to get a good chewing out from my uncle. But there was nobody. I didn't learn until a few months ago that my baby brother had also heard the same voice, and he too thought it was our uncle. The last thing to happen before my grandfather's forced departure happened in front of my friends, Brenda and Benny, who lived up the hill. My mother was friends with their mother, and one day she walked up to the hill to visit, and I went with her. We were playing on the swing set in
their yard while our mothers talked outside. They were both older than me, and they could swing higher than me, and I was desperate to get as high as they did. But no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't do it. And then suddenly my swing froze in mid air. The chain attached to the seat was outstretched and taught. Brenda and Benny jumped off their swings and stared up at me, and I looked down at them,
and I needed a lighter or something. And my swing went four feet higher, and I started to kick and scream, and my swing came loose from whatever force held it, and I swooped backwards through the air. More than anything in the world, I did not want that swing to go up again, and I dug my feet in the dirt to stop it, while my
friends watched, wide eyed and frozen. And when I managed to get off, we all stood there looking at the swing, in each other and in the way of children who have just experienced something they know adults will not believe. We went and played somewhere else. We never got back on that swing, not that day, not ever, And that brings me to the culmination of these events. My grandfather's house was in a small country town where there
wasn't much by the way of employment. My granddaddy had been a farmer, an occupation my father had no interest in continuing, so Daddy and Mama both worked in the larger town about an hour away, and sometimes they stayed there, and sometimes they came home, and on this night they were home. But I was used to my grandmother taking care of me, so when I woke up in pain that night, I tried to wake her. There were sharp pains in my stomach, as if my intestines were being pulled out of
my body. I shook my grandmother and I called her, but I couldn't wake her. And this was unusual because Grandmother was a very light sleeper, and finally I gave up and got out of bed and went to the door of the room where my parents were sleeping, and I was crying. When I opened the door, Mama heard me immediately. What's wrong, She asked, sleepy? I told her my stomach hurts, and I was crying from the ache and tears were streaming down my face. Mama threw back the covers
and got out of bed. They went to the bathroom and pulled a peptipismo from the medicine cabinet, and we went to the kitchen for a spoon and sat down on the sofa in the living room, and she gave me a dose from the bottle, and I fell asleep with my head in her lap. I don't know how long I slept, but she woke me up and sent me off to bed, saying, you'll feel better, now, go
get some rest. I did feel better, but not for long. As soon as I climbed into bed, the horrible jerking and pulling pain started again. I felt as if I was dying, and I sat up in bed crying, and I saw mother struggle to open her eyes, but she fell back to sleep. It was the only time in my life that I felt she didn't really care about me, but I knew that wasn't true, so I thought she must really be tired. I didn't want to go back to
Mama's room, but I didn't have a choice. This happened a time when television played the Star Spangled Banner when it went off at night, and I never thought of sitting up in the dark alone. Now opened the bedroom door, hoping that Mama wouldn't get impatient with me. It still hurts, I said again. Mamma threw back the covers, and I heard Daddy Mama, what's wrong with her? She says she's sick. Mama answered. This time Daddy got up and came with us. We were all in the living room
and I was sniffling on the sofa with Mama rubbing my stomach. Daddy was sitting in a chair, skimming through a magazine and talking to Mama, And after a while I went to sleep, listening to the soft sound of their voices as they whispered back and forth. I was later shaken awake by Mama, who was telling me to go back to bed, and I looked around and I saw that Daddy was gone. I didn't want to go back to bed. Something was happening in that bed, and every time I got in
the bed, those horrible pains would start. I walked slowly down the hallway to my grandmother's room, and as soon as I was back in the bed, the torture and my stomach began again. I held it, curling into a ball and willing it to stop, willing myself to be stronger so that I could endure it. That is the first time I heard the voice. It was a man's voice, and it seemed to be speaking to me telepathically. I had no idea at the time what telepathy was, but someone was
talking to me inside my head. Again. I was six or seven years old. I didn't question that. It's the same way we didn't question it when that swing stopped in midair and the voice told me that my grandfather wanted to take me with him. You have to stay awake, it said. I spoke back to it the same way it spoke to me, with a thought. But I have to sleep, I said. I can't stay awake forever, and he'll get me. He only has tonight. The voice answered,
If you'll live till the morning, you'll live well. I wanted to ask why he had any time at all, but Mama had taught us about messing in grown folks business, and this seemed to be grown folks business, if ever there was any besides. The voice could read my mind too. It knew the question I wanted to ask, and it had not answered, and I decided to leave well enough alone. Crying loudly now from the pain in my stomach, I struggled out of bed. This time. Mama met
me at the door to her room, Margaret Ann. She said, why is it that you only seem to be sick when you go back to bed, As long as you're in the living room, you seem fine. I wanted to ask her, well, if you know that, why do you keep sending me back to bed? But I knew better than to say that. She might at back talking and send me to bed, saying and you better not get up again, which would probably be the end of me.
So I stood there silently, staring up at her while she looked down into my tears stained face, And finally she sighed and took me back into the living room again. I went to sleep. I don't know how long we were there, but she woke me up, saying it's almost day. Go back to bed now. I got up, and as we walked through the still dark house, I looked toward the kitchen window, which faces east. I could just make out a pencil edge of daylight on the horizon. The
sun was coming up. Wouldn't be much longer. The voice had told me that he had till morning. So I climbed back in bed next to my grandmother, and immediately the pain in my stomach began even harder than before, and I buried my face and my pillow, and I cried while I held my stomach, and I tried not to go back to my parents' room. The sun was coming up fast now, and soon the pain began to go away, and as it drifted away, I drifted off to sleep. I
never saw or heard from my grandfather after that. In later years, I read something in the Bible that said, when the silver cord is loosed, the connection between life and after life. I also heard someone speaking on an astral projection talk about silver cords connecting the spirit body to the physical body, and when it comes loose, that's the end of life in this world. He said that it seemed to be around the navel or in the stomach area.
I wonder about that and that horrible pulling. But more than that, I wondered why my grandfather would try to kill me. He could have just let me fall into the well. Years before, I've come to the conclusion that he wanted to take me because he loved me and he wanted me to be with him. I don't think he really believed Mom and Daddy would take care of me. He did know my grandmother would, which is why I
think she wasn't allowed to wake up that night. Granddaddy was certain the family would fall apart without him, and that's why he fought so hard to live, and that's why his spirit reanimated his dead body. But he couldn't make it live. He could only make it move in a way. He was right. My uncle and his wife divorced shortly after his death, and my parents divorced five years later. If he had lived, could he have stopped all that? I don't think so. He may have delayed it, but
it would have happened anyway. That was the whole point. That was what the owner of that voice I heard was trying to teach him. People are in charge of their own destinies. He could even control a seven year old girl. And as for that voice, I still hear it sometimes when I do, I always listen. Here. This gentleman doesn't want me to say his name for a store last, so I wan't. Here's what he writes. My encounter takes place in Fort Stuart, Georgia, in the middle of
summer. For those who have never been there, Fort Stewart is tucked off in the low country of southern Georgia, and it's a sportsman's paradise. There are lakes and large animals everywhere you look. You don't even have to go outside to see wildlife. From my barracks room window, it wasn't uncommon to see a combination of deer, boar, alligators enjoying the pond behind our building. And after living there for a few years, I thought I had grown
comfortable with every creature Fort Stewart had to offer. But I quickly learned that this was not the case. One night, when I saw something in the woodline, I didn't recognize. It was a Friday in July a few summers ago. My plan for the evening was to go for a five mile run fold out a lawn chair and Blastom classic rock and relaxed with a few frosty adult beverages by the pun During the pause between the songs, I heard a knocking coming from the woodline. It's knock knock, tap, tap knock.
It almost sounded like Morse code, so I turned down the music and then I heard what had to be a reply from the trees on the other side of the pond, and another set of taps coming from my twelve o'clock and it was very clear whoever was outside there was talking to each other and they had me partially surrounded. I've heard stories of cult members living in the woods, and I thought maybe they were waiting on me to leave to start a
ceremony. Not wanting to get in the way of religious freedom, and with my healthy amount of fear bestowed upon me from horror movies, I took this as my queue to start packing up, so I grabbed my lawn chair in my radar, but I had to make a second trip for my cooler. I started to leave and I heard the taps intensify and whoever was out there was about to make a move, And as I headed toward the barracks to put my things in my room. I could see out of the corner of
my eye what was making all the noise, and it was prehystoric. I'm telling you. This thing was eight feet tall or taller, and it was covered in dark fur and belt like an Abram's tank. And my god, the hands on this thing. It looked like it could open handslap an alligator into two pairs of boots and a belt. Subconsciously, I knew I was out number three to one, so the last thing I wanted was a confrontation.
And to be honest, it took every fiber in my being to remember what little training I had, So I pretended like I didn't see it, with the hopes that it would keep doing what it was doing and it would leave me alone. And by the time I open the door to my building, my brain was manically freaking out about everything I had just witnessed. Was that a bigfood? Was it three bigfoods? I don't know what it was, but I have to get a better look at it, I thought to
myself. And from the safety of my barracks room window, I hid in the dark watching this giant fur person low crawl with extreme urgency toward where I was sitting, and with what has to be the largest hand I had ever seen, palm the lid of my cooler, reached in and snatched my four remaining beverages, and stealthy low crawled back to the woods. Now I don't claim to be a primate expert, but based on the way this guy was moving, I'm almost certain this wasn't the first time he had raided a cooler.
My friends who have deployed to Africa say that monkeys love people food and they'll rob you blind if they get a chance, So I guess there is some merit to the this type of behavior. Anyway, the next morning, I summoned the courage to retrieve my cooler, and it was warped from the grip of my furry friend. I can't help but wish there was a way to communicate with him better. I had a whole case in the fridge, and I was willing to share it with him. Oh man, that's a
great story. That's a you actually saw this thing. I'm kind of wondering what kind of detail you saw. At some point you were thinking, is that a bigfoot? Did you ever just verify to yourself it was a bigfoot. I got a lot of questions about this one. This guy was in the army and he was at his army base in Georgia and he was relaxing and three bigfoots are communicating between each other. One of them sneaks up, scares him off, and steals his beer. That sucks, all right,
great story. I appreciate the email. Thank you, sir, Thank you, thank you, Thank you for listening to this podcast. If you listen as far, I appreciate you so much. Thank you for the all the people who have been listening to me for over five years now. Can you believe I can't believe I've been doing this for five years. It seems like five weeks or not really five days, maybe five months. Maybe not five weeks, maybe five months. I don't know what I'm talking about. The
point is I appreciate you. This channel is still going strong. We're gaining new people all the time. It's not just one of these runaway kind of channels, but it's steady growth and I'm just tickled to death with that. And I just love doing these So thank you for listening. I really appreciate you. So with that said, I will see you guys. On the next podcast. Appreciate you all. Thanks,