November 3, 2025 • 62 mins
The woods have a way of staring back. We open with a thank-you to our behind-the-scenes pro, Brodie, then head straight into a late-Halloween run of stories that test nerves and judgment—starting with a fresh reading of The Most Dangerous Game and rolling into true hunts that veer into nightmare territory.
Connell’s classic isn’t just literature; it’s a field lesson in staying rational when adrenaline surges. We break down how a hunter under pressure slows time: false trails, improvised traps, terrain you use instead of fight. That thinking echoes into the modern stories—a Newfoundland moose that appears stone dead until it doesn’t, a Michigan dusk sprint chased by a scream you can’t classify, and a Kentucky porch call that pulls eyeshine to fifteen feet with no sound until retreat. Each account lands with practical takeaways: confirm before approach, keep your rifle in hand, plan your exit in daylight, and respect that silence can be a sign, not a comfort.
We close riverside, where fog and footsteps edge into the paranormal. Believe in ghosts or not, the safety rules hold: control your light, move toward known exits, keep someone updated, and never ignore that gut drop when a pattern in the woods turns wrong. This episode blends campfire chills with hard-won field craft, built for anyone who’s dressed a moose, climbed into a tree stand, or simply felt the hair lift on their neck at the treeline.
If these stories stuck to your ribs, hit follow, share with your hunting crew, and drop your own backcountry scare in a review—what lesson did it leave you with?
Check us out on Facebook Hunts On Outfitting, or myself Ken Marr. Reach out and Tell your hunting buddies about the podcast if you like it, Thanks!
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
SPEAKER_00 (00:11):
This is Hunts and Outfitting Podcast.
I'm your host and rookie guide,Ken Mair.
I love everything hunting, theoutdoors, and all things
associated with it.
From stories to how-to's, you'llfind it here.
Welcome to the podcast.
Hey guys, gals, how's it going?
Thanks for tuning in to thepodcast.
(00:33):
This week, uh, it's going to besomething very, very different.
This is uh this podcast episodeis being dedicated to our uh uh
my tech guy, Brody Garnett.
Anytime you guys see a podcastprofile picture, that's not just
a simple picture where there'sstuff added in, people in the
background and more than oneanimal, things like that, that's
(00:56):
Brody doing it, not me.
I uh I do not have a sweet cluehow to do that, even though I
have a podcast.
My tech skills are barely beyondturning on a laptop.
So thanks, Brody.
So last year for the podcast,around this time, around
Halloween time, we had a guy onnamed Aaron Shediak, and Aaron
was telling us about some spookystories that happened to him
(01:19):
while out hunting.
And uh Brody really liked thatone, had a lot of people that
did, and they were asking formore something else like that uh
this year for Halloween.
So when this podcast episodedoes come out, it will be uh a
few days after Halloween, butit's still, you know, in the
season.
So I asked a lot of differentpeople I knew if they had any
stories like that, and theydidn't.
(01:41):
Uh so I started scouring aroundon the internet a little bit,
and uh I'll be reading to youguys at a third grade level uh
some spooky stories that I haveon here.
So hope you guys enjoy them.
And uh well, it's some differentstories.
Some are spooky, some are uhinteresting.
(02:02):
The first one I really liked.
Um, so also speaking abouttrick-or-treating, Halloween
time, give your dogs a treat,not a trick, with Nookshook dog
food.
Look, I'm telling you, I'm notjust saying this.
I have six dogs.
I was admiring them thismorning, just looking at how
nice and shiny their coats are,their fur, it looks great.
(02:24):
They all have, you know, goodbody shape to them.
The vets would call it, like thealmost, you know, hourglass
figure or however you want tocall it there.
Um, you know, nice and healthy,and a nookshook dog food is all
that we feed, and it keeps themlooking like that tip top shape.
It's hunting season, full tiltright now.
Been running them all week uhfor the past few weeks.
(02:48):
Not every day, but every coupledays.
So, I mean, it's keeping them inthat great shape.
So the first story that I'mgonna be reading is uh a little
bit of a longer one.
And I remember finding this whenI was younger, back when I'd
dial up internet and uh readingit, and I remember it's always
stuck with me.
It was an interesting story.
(03:08):
This story was written in, Ibelieve, 1921.
It's written by Richard ConnellConnell, and he lived in it from
1893 to 1949.
So this is this is an older one.
It's called The Most DangerousGame.
Off there, to the right,somewhere is a large island,
(03:30):
said Whitney.
It's rather a mystery.
What island is it?
Ransford asked.
The old church call it Ship TrapIsland, Whitney replied.
A suggestive name, isn't it?
Sailors have a curious dread ofthe place.
I don't know why, somesuperstition.
Can't see it, remarked Ransford,trying to peer through the dank
tropical night that was palpableas it pressed its thick, warm
(03:53):
blackness in upon the yacht.
You've good you've good eyes,said Whitney, with a laugh, and
I've seen you pick off a moosemoving in the brown fall bush at
four hundred yards.
But even you can't see fourmiles or so through the moonless
Caribbean night.
Nor four yards, admittedRansford.
Ugh, it's like a moist blackvelvet.
(04:15):
It will be light in Rio,promised Whitney.
We should make it in a few days.
I hope the jaguar guns have comefrom Prudy Prudies.
We should have some good huntingup in the Amazon.
Great sport hunting.
The best sport in the world,agreed Ransford.
For the hunter, amended Whitney.
Not for the jaguar.
Don't talk rot, Whitney, saidRansford.
(04:35):
You're a big game hunter, not aphilosopher.
Who cares how the jaguar feels?
Perhaps the jaguar does,observed Whitney.
Ha.
They've no understanding.
Even so, I rather think theyunderstand one thing fear.
The fear of pain and the fear ofdeath.
Nonsense, laughed Ransford.
This hot weather's making yousoft, Whitney.
(04:57):
Be a realist.
The world is made up of twoclasses, the hunters and the
huntees.
Luckily you and I are thehunters.
Do you think we've passed thatisland yet?
I can't tell in the dark, I hopeso.
Why?
asked Ransford.
The place has a reputation.
A bad one.
Cannibals, suggested Ransford.
(05:18):
Hardly.
Even cannibals wouldn't live insuch a godforsaken place.
But it's gotten into sailor loresomehow.
Didn't you notice the crew'snerves seemed a bit jumpy today?
They were a bit strange now thatyou mention it, even Captain
Nielsen.
Yes, that tough minded old Swedewho'd go up to the devil himself
(05:40):
and ask him for a light.
Those fishy blue eyes held alook I never saw there before.
All I could get out of him wasthis place has an evil name
among seafaring men.
Seafaring men, sir.
Then he said to me very gravely,don't you feel anything?
As if in the air about us wasactually poisonous.
(06:02):
Now you mustn't laugh when Itell you this.
I did feel something like asudden chill.
There was no breeze.
The sea was as flat as platplate glass window.
We were drawing near the islandthen, what I felt was a mental
chill, a sort of sudden dread.
Pure imagination, said Ransford,one superstitious sailor can
(06:25):
taint the whole ship's companywith his fear.
Maybe, but sometimes I thinksailors have an extra sense that
tells them when they're indanger.
Sometimes I think evil istangible thing, with
wavelengths, just as sound andlight have.
An evil place can, so to speak,broadcast vibrations of evil.
(06:47):
Anyhow, I'm glad we're gettingout of this zone.
Well, I think I'll turn in now,Ransford.
I'm not sleepy, said Ransford.
I'm going to smoke another pipeup on the after deck.
Good night, then, Ransford.
See you at breakfast.
Right.
Good night, Whitney.
There was no sound in the nightas Ransford sat there, but the
muffled throb of the engine thatdrove the yacht swiftly through
(07:09):
the darkness, and the swish andripple of the wash of the
propeller.
Ransford, declining in a steamerchair, indotently puffed on his
favorite briar.
The sensuous drowsiness of thenight was on him.
It's so dark, he thought, that Icould sleep without closing my
eyes.
The night would be my eyelids.
(07:31):
An abrupt sound startled him.
Off to the right he heard it,and his ears, expert in such
matters, could not be mistaken.
Again he heard the sound, andagain, somewhere, off in the
blackness, someone had fired agun three times.
Ransford sprang up and movedquickly to the rail, mystified.
He strained his eyes and went inthe direction from which the
(07:54):
reports had come, but he waslike trying to see through a
blanket.
He leaped upon the rail andbalanced himself there to get
the greater elevation.
His pipe striking a rope wasknocked from his mouth.
He lunged for it.
A short, hoarse cry came fromhis lips as he realized he had
reached too far and had lost hisbalance.
The cry was pinched off short asthe blood warm waters of the
(08:17):
Caribbean Sea dosed over hishead.
He struggled to the surface andtried to cry out, but the wash
from the speeding yacht slappedhim in the face and the salt
water in his open mouth made himgag and strangle.
Desperately, he struck out withstrong strokes after the
receding lights of the yacht,but he stopped before he had
(08:38):
swum fifty feet.
A certain cool headedness hadcome to him.
It was not the first time he hadbeen in a tight place.
There was a chance that hiscries could be heard by someone
aboard the yacht, but thatchance was slender and grew more
and more slender as the yachtraced on.
He wrestled himself out of hisclothes and shouted with all his
(08:59):
power.
The lights of the yacht becamefaint and ever vanishing
fireflies.
Then they were blotted outentirely by the night.
Ransford remembered the shots.
They had come from the right,and he doggedly and doggedly he
swam in that direction, swimmingwith slow, deliberate slokes.
Strokes, conserving hisstrength.
(09:22):
For a seemingly endless time hefought the sea.
He began to count his strokes.
He could do possibly a hundredmore, and then Ransford heard a
sound.
It came out of the darkness, ahigh screaming sound, the sound
of an animal in extremity ofanguish and terror.
He did not recognize the animalthat made the sound.
He did not try to.
With fresh vitality, he swamtoward the sound.
(09:44):
He heard it again.
Then it was cut short by anothernoise.
Crisp stick sticato.
Pistol shot, muttered Ransfordswimming on.
Ten minutes of determined effortbrought another sound to his
ears, the most welcome he hadever heard, the muttering and
growling of the sea breaking onrocky shore.
(10:05):
He was almost on the rocksbefore he saw them.
On a night less calm he wouldhave been shattered against
them.
With his remaining strength hedragged himself in the swirling
waters.
Jagged crags appeared to jut upinto the opaqueness.
He forced himself upward, handover hand.
(10:25):
Gasping, his hands raw, hereached a flat place at the top.
Dense jungle came down to thevery edge of the cliffs.
What pearls that tangle of treesand underbrush might hold for
him did not concern Ransfordjust then.
All he knew was that he was safefrom his enemy, the sea, and
(10:46):
that utter weariness was on him.
He flung himself down at thejungle edge and tumbled headlong
into the deepest sleep of hislife.
When he opened his eyes he knewthe position from the position
of the sun that it was lateafternoon.
Sleep had given him new vigor, asharp hunger was picking at him.
He looked about him, almostcheerfully.
(11:06):
Where there are pistol shots,there are men.
Where there are men, there isfood, he thought.
But what kind of men?
He wondered.
And so in a such forbiddingplace, an unbroken front of
snarled, ragged and raggedjungle fridged the shore.
He saw no sign of a trailthrough the densely knit web of
(11:27):
weeds and trees.
It was easier to go along theshore, and Ransford floundered
along by the water.
Not far from where he landed, hestopped.
Some wounded thing by theevidence, a large animal had
thrashed about in theunderbrush.
The jungle weeds were crusheddown and moss was lacerated.
One patch of weeds was stainedwith crimson.
(11:49):
A small, glittering object, notfar away, caught Ransfer's eyes,
and he picked it up.
It was an empty cartridge.
Twenty two, he remarked.
That's odd.
It must have been fairly largeanimal too.
The hunter had his nerve withhim to tackle it with a light
gun.
It's clear that the brute put upa fight.
I suppose the first three shotsI heard was when the hunter
(12:12):
flushed his quarry and woundedit.
The last shot was when hetrailed it there and finished
it.
He examined the ground closelyand found what he had hoped to
find, the print of huntingboots.
They pointed along the cliff inthe direction he had been going.
Eagerly he hurried along, nowslipping on rotten log or loose
(12:33):
stone, but making headway.
Night was beginning to settledown on the island.
Bleak darkness was blackeningout the sea and jungle when
Ransford sighted the lights.
He came upon them as he turned acrook in the coastline, and his
first thought was that he hadcome upon a village, for there
were many lights.
But as he forged along, he sawto his great astonishment that
(12:56):
all the lights were in oneenormous building, a lofty
structure with pointed towersplunging upward into the gloom.
His eyes made out the shadowyoutlines of the chateau.
It was set on a high bluff, andon three sides of it cliffs
dived to where the sea lickedgreedy lips in the shadows.
(13:18):
Mirage, thought Ransford.
But it was no mirage.
He found when he opened the tallspiked iron gate.
The stone steps were realenough.
The massive door with a leeringgargoyle fur knocker was real
enough.
Yet above it all hung an air ofunreality.
He lifted the knocker and itcreaked up stiffly, as if it had
(13:40):
never been used before.
He let it fall, and it startledhim with its booming loudness.
He thought he heard stepswithin.
The door remained closed.
Again, Ransford lifted the heavyknocker and let it fall.
The door then opened.
As suddenly as if it were on thespring, and Ransford stood
(14:00):
blinking in the river of glaringgold light that poured out.
The first thing Ransford's eyesdisconcerned was the largest man
Ransford had ever seen, agigantic creature solidly made
and blackbearded to the waist.
In his hand the man held a longbarreled revolver, and he was
(14:21):
pointing it straight atRansford's heart.
Out of the snarl of the beard,two small eyes regarded
Ransford.
Don't be alarmed, said Ransford,with a smile which he hoped was
disarming.
I'm no robber, I fell off ayacht.
My name is Sanger Ransford ofNew York City.
The menacing look in the eyesdid not change, the revolver
(14:43):
pointing as rigidly as if thegiant were a statue.
He gave no sign that heunderstood Ransford's words, or
that he had even heard them.
He was dressed in uniform, ablack uniform, trimmed with grey
ashtrakin.
Oh Sander Ransford of New York,Ransford began again.
(15:05):
I fell off a yacht.
I am hungry.
The man's only answer was toraise with his thumb the hammer
of this of his revolver.
Then Ransford saw the man's freehand go to his forehead in a
military salute and saw himclick his heels together and
stand at attention.
Another man was coming down thebroad marbles marble steps and
(15:27):
an erect, slender man in eveningclothes.
He advanced to Ransford and heldout his hand.
In a cultivated voice, marked bya slight accent that gave it
added precision anddeliberateness, he said, It's
very great pleasure to honorit's it is a very great pleasure
and honor to welcome Mr.
(15:49):
Sanger Ransford, the celebratedhunter to my home.
Automatically, Ransford shookthe man's hand.
I've read your book abouthunting snow leopards in Tibet,
you see, explained the man.
I am General Zerof.
Rancer's first impression wasthe man was singularly handsome,
and his second was that there isan original, almost bizarre
(16:12):
quality about the general'sface.
He was a tall man past middleage, for his hair was a vivid
white, but his thick eyebrowsand pointed military mustache
were as black as the night fromwhich Ranchford had come.
His eyes, too, were black andvery bright.
He had high cheekbones, a sharpcut nose, a spare, dark face,
(16:36):
the face of a man used to givingorders, the face of an
aristocrat.
Turning to the giant man inuniform, the general made a
sign.
The giant put away his pistol,saluted, withdrew.
Ivan is an incredibly strongfellow, remarked the general,
but he has the misfortune to bedeaf and dumb.
(16:57):
A simple fellow, but I'm afraid,like all his race, a bit of a
savage.
Is he Russian?
He is Cossack, said the general.
His smile showed red lips andpointed teeth.
So am I.
Come, he said, we shouldn't bechatting here.
We can chat later.
Now, you want clothes, food,rest?
(17:18):
You shall have them.
This is a most restful spot.
Ivan had reappeared, and thegeneral spoke to him with lips
that moved, but gave forth nosound.
Follow Ivan, if you please, MrRansford, said the general.
I was about to have my dinnerwhen you came.
I'll wait for you.
You'll find that my clothes willfit you, I think.
(17:39):
It was a huge beam sealedbedroom that which with a
canopied bit bed big enough forsix men that Ransford followed
the silent giant.
Ivan laid out an evening suitand Ransford, as he put it on,
noticed that it came from aLondon tailor who ordinarily cut
and sued for none below the rankof Duke.
(18:01):
The dining room to which Ivanconducted him was in many ways
remarkable.
There was a medieval medievalmagnificence about it.
It suggested a burano hall offeudal times, with its oak
panels, its high ceiling, itsvast refectory tables with two
(18:21):
score men, where two score mencould sit down to eat.
About the hall were mountedheads of many animals, lions,
tigers, elephants, moose, bears,larger or more perfect
specimens.
Ransford had never seen.
At the great table the generalwas sitting alone.
(18:42):
You'll have a cocktail, Mr.
Ransford, he suggested.
The cocktail was surpassinglygood, and Ransford noted, the
table appointments were of thefinest linen, the crystal, the
silver, the china.
They were eating Borsch, therich red soup with whipped cream
so dear to Russian palates.
(19:02):
Half apologetically, General Zovsaid, We do our best to preserve
the amenities of civilizationhere.
Please forgive my lapses.
We are well off the beatentrack.
Do you think the champagne hassuffered from its long ocean
travel?
Not in the least, declaredRansford.
He was finding the general amost thoughtful and affable
(19:25):
host.
A true cosmopolite.
But there was one small trait ofthe generals that made Ransford
uncomfortable.
Whenever he looked up from hisplate, he found the general
studying him, appraisinglyappraising him narrowly.
Perhaps, said General Gerf, youwere surprised that I recognized
(19:47):
your name.
You see, I've I read all bookson hunting published in English,
French, and Russian.
I have but one passion in life,Mr Rands Ford, and it is the
hunt.
You have some wonderful headshere, said Ransford, as he ate a
particularly well cooked filletmignon.
(20:08):
That Cape Buffalo is the largestI ever saw.
Oh, that fellow, yes.
He was a monster.
Did he charge you?
Hurled me against a tree, saidthe general.
Fractured my skull, but I gotthe brute.
I've always thought, saidRansford, that the Cape Buffalo
is one of the most dangerous ofall game.
For a moment the general did notreply.
(20:30):
He was smiling his curious redlipped smile.
Then he said slowly, No, youwere wrong, sir.
The Cape Buffalo is not the mostdangerous big game.
He sipped his wine.
Here in my preserve on thisisland, he said, in the same
slow tone, I hunt more dangerousgame.
(20:51):
Ransford expressed his surprisehis surprise.
Is there a game is there game onthis island?
The general nodded.
The biggest.
Really?
Oh, it isn't here naturally, ofcourse.
I have to stock the island.
What have you imported, General?
Ransford asked.
Tigers?
The general smiled.
(21:11):
No.
He said.
Hunting tigers ceased tointerest me.
Some years ago I exhausted theirpossibilities, you see.
No thrill left in tigers, noreal danger.
I live for danger, misterRansford.
The general took from his pocketa gold cigarette case and
offered his guest a long blackcigarette with silver tip.
(21:33):
It was perfumed and gave off asmell like incense.
We will have some capitalhunting, you and I, said the
general.
I shall be most glad to haveyour society.
But what game began Ransford.
I'll tell you, said the general,you would be amused, I know.
(21:55):
I think I may say, in allmodesty, that I have done a rare
thing.
I have invented a new sensation.
May I pour you another glass ofport?
Thank you, General.
The general filled both glassesand said God makes some men
poets, some he makes kings, somebeggars.
(22:16):
Me, he made a hunter.
My hand was made for thetrigger, my father said.
He was a very rich man with aquarter of a million acres in
the Crimea, and he was of ardenthe was an ardent sportsman.
When I was only five years oldhe gave me a little gun,
specially made in Moscow for meto shoot sparrows with.
(22:38):
When I shot some of his prizedturkeys with it, he did not
punish me, he complimented me onmy marksmanship.
I killed my first bear in thecaucus when I was ten.
My whole life has been has beenone prolonged hunt.
I went into the army.
It was expected of noblemen'ssons, and for time commanded a
(23:00):
division of Cossack Cavalry.
But my real interest was alwaysthe hunt.
I have hunted every kind of gamein every land.
It would be impossible for me totell you how many animals I have
killed, the general puffed acigarette.
After the debacle in Russia, Ileft the country, for it was
(23:21):
imprudent for an officer of theCaesar to stay there.
Many noble Russians losteverything.
I, luckily, had invested heavilyin American securities, so I
shall never have to open a tearoom in Monte Car Monte Carlo or
drive a taxi in Paris.
(23:41):
Naturally, I have continued tohunt grizzliest grizzlies in
your Rockies, crocodiles and thegangs, rhinoceroses in East
Africa.
It was in Africa that the CapeBuffalo hit me and laid me up
for six months.
As soon as I recovered, Istarted for the Amazon to hunt
(24:01):
jaguars, for I had heard theywere unusually cunning.
They weren't, Cossack sighed.
They were no match at all for ahunter with his wits about him
and a high powered rifle.
I was bitterly disappointed.
I was lying in my tent with asplitting headache one night
when a terrible thought pushedits way into my mind.
(24:24):
Hunting was beginning to boreme, and hunting, remember, had
been my life.
I have heard that in America,businessmen often go to pieces
when they give up the businessthat has been their life.
Yes, that's so, said Ransford.
The general spot smiled.
I had no wish to go to pieces,he said.
(24:45):
I must do something.
Now mine is an analytical mind,mister Ransford.
Doubtless that is why I enjoythe problems of the chase.
No doubt, General Sayoff.
So, continued the general, Iasked myself why hunt no longer.
Fascinated me.
You are a much younger man thanI am, Mr.
(25:07):
Ransford, and I have not huntedas much.
But you perhaps can guess theanswer.
What was it?
Simply this.
Hunting has ceased to be whatyou call a sporting proposition.
It had become too easy.
I always get my quarry.
Always.
There is no greater bore thanperfection.
(25:30):
The general lit a freshcigarette.
No animal had a chance with meanymore.
There is no boast.
It is a mathematical certainty.
The animal had nothing but hislegs and his instinct.
Instinct is no match for reason.
When I thought of this, it was atragic moment for me, I can tell
(25:50):
you.
Ransford leaned across thetable, absorbed in what his host
was saying.
It came to me as an inspiration,what I must do, the general went
on.
And that was the general smiled,with the quiet smile of one who
has faced an obstacle andsurmounted it with success.
(26:11):
I had to invent a new animal tohunt, he said.
A new animal?
You're joking.
Not at all.
Said the general, I never jokeabout hunting.
I needed a new animal.
I found one.
So I bought this island, builtthis house, and here I do my
hunting.
The island is perfect for mypurposes.
(26:32):
There are jungles with a maze oftraits in them, hills, swamps.
But the animal, General Zerof.
Oh, said the general, itsupplies me with the most
exciting hunting in the world.
No other hunting compares withit for an instant.
Every day I hunt, and I nevergrow bored now, for I have a
(26:55):
quarry with which I can match mywits.
Ransford's bewilderment showedon his face.
I wanted the ideal animal tohunt, explained the general.
So I said, What are theattributes of an ideal quarry?
And the answer was, of course,it must have courage, cunning,
(27:16):
and above all it must be able toreason.
But no animal can reason,objected Ransford.
My dear fellow, said thegeneral, there is one that can.
But ye can't mean gaspedRansford, and why not?
I can't believe you wereserious, General Zaof.
(27:36):
This is a grisly joke.
Why should I not be serious?
I am speaking of hunting.
Hunting?
Great guns, General Zerof.
What you speak of is murder.
The general laughed with anentire good nature.
He regarded Ransfordquizzically.
I refuse to believe that somodern and civilized a young man
(27:58):
as you seem to be harborsromantic ideas about the value
of human life.
Surely your experiences in thewar did not make me condone cold
blooded murder, finishedRansford stiffly.
Laughter shook the general.
How extraordinary drol you are,he said.
(28:18):
One does not expect nowadays tofind a young man of educated
class, even one in America withsuch a naive and if I may say
so, mid Victorian point of view.
It's like finding a snuff box ina limousine.
Ah, well doubtless you have youhad Puritan ancestors.
(28:40):
So many Americans appear to havehad.
I'll wager you'll forget yournotions when you go hunting with
me.
You've a genuine new thrill instore for you, mister Ransford.
Thank you, I'm a hunter, not amurderer.
Dear me, said the general, quiteunruffled, again that unpleasant
word.
(29:00):
But I think I can show you thatyour scruples are quite ill
founded.
Yes?
Life is for the strong, to belived by the strong, and, if
needs be, taken by it if I win,began Ransford huskily.
I'll cheerfully acknowledgemyself defeat if I do not find
(29:23):
you but midnight of the thirdday, said General Serv, my sloop
will place you on the mainlandnear a town.
The general read what Ransfordwas thinking.
Oh you can trust me, said theCossack.
I will give you my word as agentleman and a sportsman.
Of course you, in turn, mustagree to say nothing of your
(29:45):
visit here.
I'll agree to nothing of thekind, said Ransford.
Oh said the general, in thatcase, but why discuss that now?
Three days, hence we can discussit over a bottle of Viv.
Cole, unless the general sippedhis wine.
Then a business like airanimated him.
(30:08):
Ivan, he said to Ransford, willyou supply W Ivan, he said to
Ransford, will supply you withhunting clothes, food, a knife.
I suggest you wear moccasins.
They leave a poorer trail.
I suggest too that you avoid theswamp.
The big swamp in the southeastcorner of the island.
(30:29):
We call it Death Swamp.
Just quicksand there.
One foolish fellow tried ittried it.
The deplorable part of it wasthat Lazarus followed him.
You can imagine my feelings, Mr.
Ransford.
I loved Lazarus.
He was the finest hound in mypack.
Well, I must beg you to excuseme now.
(30:51):
I always take a siesta afterlunch.
You'll hardly have time for anap, I fear.
You'll want to start, no doubt.
I shall not follow till dusk.
Hunting at night is so much moreexciting than by day, don't you
think?
Auvoie, Mr Ransford, auvoi.
Janazuroff with a deep, courtlybow, strolled from the room.
(31:13):
From another door came Ivan.
Under one arm he carried khakihunting clothes, a haversack of
food, a leather sheathcontaining a long bladed hunting
knife.
His right hand rested on acaulked revolver, thrust in the
crimson sash about his waist.
Ransford had fought his waythrough the bush for two hours.
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I must keep my nerve, I mustkeep my nerve, he said through
his through tight teeth.
He had not been entirely clearheaded when the chateau gate
snapped shut behind him.
His whole idea at first was justto put distance between himself
and General Seraph, and to thisend he had plunged along,
spurred on by the sharp rowersof something very like panic.
(32:00):
Now he had got a grip onhimself.
He stopped and was taking stockof himself and the situation.
He saw that straight flight wasfutile.
Inevitably it would bring himface to face with the sea.
He was in a picture with a frameof water, and his operations
clearly must take place withinthat time frame.
(32:24):
I'll give him a trail to follow,muttered Ransford, as he struck
off from the rude path he hadbeen following into the
trackless wilderness.
He executed a series ofintricate loops.
He doubled on his trail againand again, recalling all of the
lore of the fox hunt and all thedodges and all the dodges of the
fox.
Knight found him leg weary withhands and face lashed by the
(32:47):
branches, branches on thethickly wooded ridge.
He knew it would be insane toblunder on through the dark,
even if he had the strength.
His need for rest wasimperative, and he thought, I
have played fox, now I must playthe cat of the fable.
A big tree with a thick trunkand outspread branches was
(33:08):
nearby, and taking care to leavenot the slightest mark, he
climbed up the crotch andstretching out on one of the
broad limbs after after fashionrested.
Rest brought a new confidenceand almost a feeling of
security.
Even so zealous as a hunter asGeneral Zerof could not trace
(33:29):
him there, he told himself.
Only the devil himself couldfollow that complicated trail
through the jungle after dark.
But perhaps the general was adevil.
An apprehensive night crawledslowly by like a wounded snake,
and sleep did not visitRansford.
Although the silence of dead ofa dead world was on the jungle.
(33:52):
Toward morning, when a dingygray was vanishing from the sky,
the cry of some startled birdfocused Ransford's attention in
that direction.
Something was coming through thebush.
Coming slowly, carefully, comingby the same winding way Ransford
had come.
He flattened himself down on thelimb and through the screen of
(34:13):
through a screen of leavesalmost as thick as tapestry, he
watched.
That which was approaching was aman.
It was General Zeroff.
He made his way along with hiseyes fixed in utmost
concentration on the groundbefore him.
He paused, almost beneath thetree, dropped to his knees and
(34:33):
studied the ground.
Ransford's impulse was to hurlhimself down like a panther, but
he saw that the general's righthand held something metallic, a
small automatic pistol.
The hunter shook his headseveral times as if he were
puzzled.
Then he straightened up and tookfrom his case one of his black
cigarettes.
(34:53):
Its pungent, incense like smokefloated up to Ransford's
nostrils.
Ransford held his breath.
The general's eyes had left theground and were traveling inch
by inch up the tree.
Ransford froze there, everymuscle tensed for a spring.
But the sharp eyes of the hunterstopped before they reached the
limb where Ransford lay.
(35:15):
A smile spread over his brownface.
Very deliberately, he blew hissmoke ring into the air.
Then he turned his back on thetree and walked carelessly away.
Back along the trail he hadcome.
The swish of the underbrushagainst his hunting boots grew
fainter and fainter.
The pent up air burst hotly fromRansford's lungs.
(35:38):
His first thought made him feelsick and numb.
The general could follow a trailthrough the woods at night.
He could follow an extremelydifficult trail.
He must have uncanny powers.
Only by the merest chance hadthe Cossack failed to see his
quarry.
Ransford's second thought waseven more terrible.
(36:00):
It sent a shudder of cold horrorthrough his whole being.
Why had the general smiled?
Why had he turned his back?
Ransford did not want to believewhat his reason told him was
true, but the truth was asevident as the sun that had now
pushed through the morningmists.
The general was playing withthem.
The general was saving him foranother day's sport.
(36:22):
The cossack was the cat.
He was the mouse.
Then it was that.
Then it was that Ransford knewthe full meaning of terror.
I will not lose my nerve.
I will not.
He slid down from the tree andstruck off again into the woods.
His face was set and he forcedthe machinery of his mind to
(36:44):
function.
Three hundred yards from hishiding place, he stepped where a
huge dead tree leanedprecariously on a smaller living
one.
Throwing off his sack of food,Ransford took out his knife from
his sheath and began to workwith all his energy.
The job was finished at last.
He threw himself down on thefallen log a hundred feet away.
(37:06):
He did not have to wait long.
The cat was coming again to playwith the mouse.
Following the trail with thesureness of a bloodhound came
General Zeroff.
Nothing escaped those searchingblack eyes, no crushed blade of
grass, no bent twig, no mark nomatter how faint in the moss.
So intent was the Cossack on hisstocking that he was upon the
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thing Ransford had made beforehe saw it.
His foot touched the protrudingbow that was the trigger.
Even as he touched it, thegeneral sensed his danger and
leaped back with agility of anape, but he was not quite quick
enough.
The dead tree, delicatelyadjusted to rest on the cut
(37:50):
living one, crashed down on thestruck and struck the general a
glancing blow on the shoulder asit fell.
But for his alertness he musthave been he must have been
smashed beneath it.
He staggered, but he did notfall, nor did he drop his
revolver.
He stood there, rubbing hisshoulder, and Ransford, with
fear again gripping his heart,heard the general's mocking
(38:13):
laugh ring through the jungle.
Ransford, called the jungle, ifyou're within sound of my voice,
as I suppose you are, let mecongratulate you.
Not many men know how to make aMalay mancatcher.
Luckily for me, I too havehunted Malacca.
You are proving interesting,mister Ransford.
(38:33):
I am going now to have my wounddressed.
It's only a slight one, but Ishall be back.
I shall be back.
When the general, nursing hisbruised shoulder, had gone,
Ransford took up his flightagain.
It was flight now, a desperate,hopeless flight that carried him
on for some hours.
(38:54):
Dust came, then darkness, andstill he pressed on.
The ground grew softer under hismoccasins.
The vegetation grew ranker,denser, insects bit him
savagely.
Then, as he stepped forward, hisfoot sank into ooze.
He tried to wrench it back, butthe muck sucked viciously at his
(39:14):
foot as if it were a giantleech.
With a violent effort he torehis feet loose.
He knew where he was now, deathswamp in its quicksand.
His hands were tight closed, asif nerve as if his nerve was
were something tangible thatsomeone in the darkness was
trying to tear from his grip.
The softness of the earth hadgiven him an idea.
(39:37):
He stepped back from thequicksand a dozen feet or so,
and like some huge prehistoricbeaver, he began to dig.
Ransford had dug himself infront had dug himself in in
France when the second delaysmeant death.
That had a pla that had beenplacid pastime compared to his
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digging now.
The pit grew deeper.
When it was above his shoulders,he climbed out and found some
hard saplings, cut stakes andsharpened them to a fine point.
These stakes he planted in thebottom of the pit were the boy
were the with the pointssticking up.
With flying fingers he wove arough carpet of weeds and
branches with it, and he coveredthe mouth of the pit.
(40:21):
Then, wet with sweat and achingwith tiredness, he crouched
behind the stump of a lightlightning charred tree.
He knew his pursuer was coming.
He heard the padding sound offeet on the soft earth.
The night breeze brought withthem the perfume of the general
cigarette.
It seemed to Ransford that thegeneral was coming with unusual
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swiftness.
He was not feeling his way alongfoot by foot.
Ransford, crouching there, couldnot see the general, nor could
he see the pit.
He lived he lived a year and aminute.
Then he felt an impulse to cryaloud with joy, for he heard the
sharp crackle of the breakingbranches as the cover of the pit
(41:03):
gave way.
He heard the sharp scream ofpain as the pointed stakes found
their mark.
He leaped up from his place ofconcealment.
Then he cowered back.
Three feet from the pit, a manwas standing with an electric
torch in his hand.
You've done well, Ransford, thevoice of the general called.
Your Burmese tiger pit hasclaimed one of my best dogs.
(41:27):
Again, you score.
I think, Mr.
Ransford, I'll see what you cando against my whole pack.
I'm going home for rest now.
Thank you for your most amusingevening.
At daybreak, Ransford, lyingnear the swamp, was awakened by
a sound that made him know thathe had new things to learn about
(41:48):
fear.
It was a distant sound, faintand wavering, but he knew it.
It was the bang of a pack ofhounds.
Ransford knew he could do one oftwo things.
He could stay where he was andwait.
That was suicide.
He could flee.
That was postponing theinevitable.
For a moment he stood therethinking, an idea that held a
(42:11):
wild chance came to him, andtightening his belt, he headed
away from the swamp.
The bang at the hounds drewnearer, then still nearer,
nearer, ever nearer.
On a ridge, Ransford climbed atree, down a watercourse, not a
quarter of a mile away.
He could see the bush moving.
Straining his eyes, he saw thelean figure of General Zeroff.
(42:36):
Just ahead of him, Ransford madeout another figure, whose wide
shoulders surged through thetall jungle weeds.
It was the giant Ivan, and heseemed pulled forward by some
unseen force.
Ransford knew that Ivan must beholding the pack in leash.
They would be on him any minutenow.
His mind worked frantically.
(42:57):
He thought of a native trickthat he had learned in Uganda.
He slid down the tree, he caughthold of a springy young sapling,
and to it he fashioned hefastened his hunting knife.
With the blade pointed down thedown the trail with a bit of
wild grapevine, he tied back thesapling.
He then ran for his life.
(43:18):
He knew the hounds raised theirvoices as they hit the fresh
scent.
Ransford knew now how an animalat bay feels.
He had to stop to get hisbreath.
The bang of the hound stoppedabruptly.
And Ransford's heart stoppedtoo.
They must have reached theknife.
He shined excitedly up a t heshined he shin he climbed up a
(43:42):
tree excitedly and looked back.
His pursuers had stopped, butthe hope that was Ransford's
brain was in Ransford's bladewhen he climbed, died for he saw
the shallow valley that GeneralZarov was still on his feet.
But Ivan was not.
The knife, driven by the recoilof the springing tree, had not
wholly failed.
(44:04):
Ransford had hardly tumbled tothe ground when the pack took up
the cry again.
Nerve, nerve, he panted as hedashed along.
A blue gap showed between thetrees dead ahead.
Ever nearer drew the hounds.
Ransford forced himself ontoward that gap.
He reached it.
It was the shore of the sea.
Across a cove he could see agloomy grey stone of the
(44:26):
chateau.
Twenty feet below him the searumbled and hissed.
Ransford hesitated.
He heard the hounds.
Then he leaped far out into thesea.
When the general and his packreached the place by the sea,
the cossack stopped.
For some minutes he stoodregarding the blue green expanse
of the water.
He shrugged his shoulders.
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Then he sat down, took a drinkof brandy from a silver flask,
lit a cigarette, and hummed abit.
General Zarov had an exceedinglygood dinner in his great paneled
dining hall that evening.
With it he had a bottle of polerago and half a bottle of
Chamberton.
Two slight annoyances kept himfrom the perfect enjoyment.
(45:10):
One was the thought that itwould be difficult to replace
Ivan.
The other was that his quarryhad escaped him.
Of course, the American hadn'tplayed the game, so, thought the
general, as he tasted his lasthis after dinner liqueur, in his
library he read to soothehimself from the works of Marcus
(45:30):
Aurelialis.
At ten he went up to hisbedroom.
He was deliciously tired, hesaid to himself, as he locked
himself in.
There was little moonlight, sobefore turning on his light, he
went to the window and lookeddown at the courtyard.
He could see the great hounds,and he called Better luck
(45:50):
another time to them.
Then he switched on the light.
A man who had been hiding in thecurtains of the bed was standing
there.
Ransford screamed the general.
How in God's name did you get inhere?
Swam, said Ransford.
I found it quicker than walkingthrough the jungle.
The general sucked in his breathand smiled.
(46:11):
I congratulate you, he said.
You have won the game.
Ransford did not smile.
I am still a beast at bay, hesaid in a low, hoarse voice.
Get ready, General Serov.
The general made one of hisdeepest bows.
I see, he said.
(46:31):
Splendid.
One of us is to furnish a repastfor the hounds.
The other will sleep in thisvery excellent bed.
On guard, Ransford.
He had never slept in a betterbed, Ransford decided.
Okay, so this one is from Fieldand Stream.
The author is Rodney Buffett,and it talks about a uh a close
(46:54):
call moose hunting story inNewfoundland.
I still have nightmares.
I see the bull's eyes andthey're glowing red.
He's like pure evil in thosedreams, and I know he wants to
kill me.
I first spotted him from a hillin the morning as he fed in a
bog.
He had a big 14-point rack andweighed probably 600 pounds,
maybe 800.
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I was hunting with a buddy andmy wife and had also come along
to watch.
The two of them stayed backwhile I snuck through the patch
of woods, and when I got to theedge, the bull was 150 yards
out.
I rested my 30 aught six on abranch and put the crosshairs on
his shoulder.
He went down like a ton ofbricks.
I couldn't believe it when heshot back up.
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I hit him again and for a secondtime he went down hard.
I could see his antlers stickingup above the bog and he never
moved a muscle as I walked in.
When I got there, his eyeslocked open and lifeless, and
his tongue was hanging out.
I'd seen enough dead moose toknow what one looks like.
I figured so I put my gun downin a nearby bush.
(47:59):
Then I turned toward the hilland signaled to my wife to bring
the knives.
When I turned back, that bullwas charging at me full speed
and grunting.
I had no place to go.
He was only feet away and cominglike a freight train with his
antlers lowered.
It felt like a car hit me, andthen as I was flying through the
air, a bull moose stands aroundeight feet at the withers, so he
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must have tossed me at least tenfeet high.
When I landed in the bog, hestepped back three or four feet
and did it again.
Hit me and scooped me up in hisantlers all in one motion, then
tossed me over his head.
As I hit the ground, he wascharging at me, but this time I
grabbed his rack and startedscreaming and kicking him in the
(48:43):
forehead.
One of his antler points punchedthrough the flesh between my
thumb and trigger finger, and hestarted dragging me through the
bog.
Then he stepped back and rammedhis antlers into my left side,
and another point punctured myribs and left a hole the size of
a silver dollar.
I was just about out of it whenhe stomped me in the head.
(49:04):
I saw his big black hoof comingdown and then everything went
dark.
When I came to, the bull wasgone, and there was blood coming
out of my nose and ears.
I started thinking that I mightnot be able to make it.
My wife and buddy had called911.
The paramedics came in on quads,but they couldn't take me out
that way.
So they called in a helicopterfrom St.
(49:26):
John's.
It was actually prettyincredible to watch that chopper
touch down five feet away fromme in the only area in the bog
dry enough for a landing.
I've always wanted to ride ahelicopter, but not this way.
I had several broken bones andribs and punctured wounds, and
for days afterward I had visiblehoof print on my forehead.
(49:47):
The bull somehow got away evenwith two 30-06 slugs in him.
My doctor told me not to, but aweek later I went back to the
same spot with a couple ofbuddies.
My wife wouldn't go.
I spotted a 13-point bull in thesame spot and dropped him with
one shot.
But this time I made one of mybuddies go and make sure he was
(50:08):
dead and told him not to put hisgun down.
So here's another story from uhan unforgettable wilderness
encounter in northern Michiganby Mikey Williams.
I was 14 when the story tookplace.
It was my first year huntingdeer with my family to be
specific.
My father, my cousin, andmyself.
To paint a picture, my blind wastwo miles south of my father's,
(50:32):
and with his stand being ninemiles southwest of my camp.
We drove a four-wheeler about ahundred yards away from his
stand, which left me with awhile to walk before I even got
to mine.
I live in northern Michigan, andduring the winter it gets dark
quickly and early.
It was around four PM when Istarted to get cold and decided
(50:52):
to close up my tent.
I was hunting with a 243 riflethat had that had a pink camo
cover on it with a strap aroundit so I could hang it off my
back.
I closed up my blind zippers andput my garbage away in a bucket
I had.
As I was throwing away my trash,I heard a couple of leaves
crumble, so I immediately turnedaround to head up and see if it
(51:14):
was a deer.
After about a minute, I brushedit off as a squirrel or a bird.
Disappointed, I closed my blindsand headed to my father's.
As I was taking my first stepsout of my blind, I could see a
fresh pathway of brush throughthe leaves.
It was a wide path, not from asmall animal or even a deer.
I'd immediately started thinkinga bear or a wolf.
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So I started speeding speedwalking to where my dad was.
I started to panic as it startedto get even darker, and I was
still roughly a mile away.
I was just walking as I wasstopped in my tracks by one of
the most haunting and horrifyingnoises I'd ever heard.
The best way to describe it wasa bear slash man that was being
(51:59):
murdered.
Sounded roughly a hundred andfifty yards back as I started to
run.
Running with boots and thickhunting gear was hard with
twenty pounds on my back.
But fear pushed me through and Ididn't stop.
Around twenty five secondslater, I was still running when
I heard it again.
This time it was louder andcloser.
(52:20):
At this point it was completelydark out with the moon.
It was completely dark out withthe moon being the only source
of light.
I turned around with myheadlight, and what I saw is
still the most terrifying thingI've ever seen, around fifty
yards away.
I saw a black figure in the darkilluminated by the moonlight
(52:40):
behind it.
It was around ten feet tall andskinny without thinking twice.
I started running while tryingto get my gun off my back.
I didn't know where I wasrunning, but I just ran.
I ended up on that road that Irecognized as Rabbit Road, the
road that connects my map withthe entrance to my hunting area.
(53:01):
I ran on the road until I got tomy camp.
By the time I got into sight ofmy cabin, I turned around again
and saw it again, this time alittle further away.
I was still standing up, and Ican only describe it as a tall,
black, skinny figure.
It had long arms and long legs.
As I got on my cabin steps, Ithrew up from exhaustion and
(53:25):
continued to vomit for about aminute as I later passed out.
I woke up to the sound of mydad's four-wheeler turning into
the cabin driveway.
I started crying and ran up tohim, hugging him.
I quickly told him the story ofwhat happened and how I ran back
without stopping.
He didn't believe me at first,but as we got settled inside,
his face started to change as hesaw the desperation in my eyes.
(53:47):
I didn't sleep that night or forweeks after.
People told me it was mostlikely a bear or I was just
seeing things, but I know what Isaw.
I'm older now, and I only huntwith someone with me.
I also hunt with a bigger gunbecause it reassures me that I
could shoot something larger asI'm writing this.
This was the most scaryexperience of my life.
(54:08):
So here is another uh anonymousstory that I have.
When I was a boy, my parentsused to take me and my older
sister to my relative's house ineastern Kentucky, right around
Lecher County.
The closest city is WhitesburgWhitesburg.
My uncle, who taught meeverything I know about the
outdoors, lived in a cabinnestled in a holler way back up
(54:30):
the mountains.
His place was at the base of abig strip mine scene up on the
side of the mountain.
As a boy, he and I used to goand sit on his back porch at
night and use predator calls totry and call something down out
of the hills.
Well one night he and I were outusing one of his tapes.
We'd been out there for a goodtwo hours and seen nothing, so
(54:53):
we were thinking of calling it anight.
We were back we were about topack everything up when he
realized his squirrel feeder wasempty.
He then decided to go fill itback up with his seed.
His cedar was about fifty yardsfrom the cabin on the
mountainside and bordered thetree line.
He walked up the hillside abouttwenty five yards when his wife
came out to see while we wereall still outside.
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The only light that came out ofthe house, the only light that
came out that night was thelight from the porch.
He was about thirty five yardsup the hill and called back and
said he forgot his flashlight,so his wife, my aunt, went back
inside and got one of hisspotlights.
We had forgot to turn the tapewith the predator calls on it,
so I reached down to the tapeplayer to turn it off when I
(55:38):
noticed my aunt was about stiffas a board.
I hit the off button and lookedup at her and she had my
spotlight shining straight upthe squirrel feeder where my
uncle was at.
I heard her say, It's coming toyou, Jim.
Jim, my uncle's name, he turnedback and goes, huh?
Then a little louder that time,she goes, It's coming straight
(55:58):
towards you, Jim.
That's when I looked up and sawa set of eyes shine about 15
feet away from where my unclewas standing and closing in.
Whatever it was was massive.
The eyes were about four to fivefeet off the ground.
Also, whatever that creature wascompletely and totally got the
drop on my uncle, who has prettymuch spent his whole life in the
(56:20):
woods studying and trackingpredators.
Well, he was turned aroundlooking at us with his back to
the woods, so we told him tofreeze.
We all just kind of stood therefor about three minutes, which
seemed like a lifetime.
It was dead silent, no crickets,no sounds of the night.
It was the most eerie and creepythree minutes of my life.
(56:42):
It just sat there at the treeline staring at all of us, and
staring at us staring right backat it.
The brush at the tree line wasthick so we could not see what
shape it was, just the eyes andwhere they were in relation to
the ground.
After those three minutes, myuncle slowly turned around to
see what was about fifteen feetaway from him.
(57:03):
With their spotlight on it, ashe was about to turn and look it
directly in the eyes, it split.
And for the next fifteen minuteswe could hear limbs cracking and
snapping all the way up the sideof the mountain as this animal
decided to retreat.
Scared the heck out of me.
And my uncle literally, my unclewet himself.
I think that was the thing thatscared me the most about it was
(57:27):
that he was so scared.
He was shaking, and I've neverseen him like that.
The other thing that scared usboth is that we had been sitting
out all night listening intentlyand watching that tree line like
hawks.
Whatever animal or creature itwas did not make a single sound
coming down the side of thatmountain.
It never made a sound until ittook off.
(57:48):
I didn't sleep that night andneither did my aunt nor uncle.
My name is Randy, and I'vealways been drawn to the
solitude of nature.
There's something about thestillness of the woods and the
gentle rush of the river thatputs my mind at ease.
So when the opportunity arosefor a solo camping trip near a
secluded river, I couldn'tresist.
(58:09):
The first night I settled intomy tent and near the water's
edge an eerie fog rolled in.
It clung to the ground,obscuring my vision and muffling
the sounds of night.
Strangely, faint whispersdrifted through the mist,
carried by an abnormally coldbreeze.
With my heart pounding in mychest, I strained to listen.
(58:31):
Leave.
The voices whispered, theirwords filled with warning.
I shivered, my breath choking inmy throat.
I cautiously approached theriver's edge, peering into the
dense fog, but there was nobodyaround at all.
The whispers grew louder, themore urgent and angrier.
Yet I could not find the sourcefor the sound.
(58:52):
Fear gripped me.
I couldn't abandon my campsitejust yet.
I convinced myself it was simplymy imagination running wild.
Determined to enjoy my celerity,retreat away from the bustle of
the city and work, I shruggedoff the unsettling encounter and
embraced the second night.
Darkness came filling the skywith stars, and I nestled by the
(59:14):
campfire, the roaring fireproviding a false sense of
security.
But then I heard footsteps,heavy, deliberate footsteps.
They were unmistakable, echoingthrough the silence of the night
and crunching on fallen leaves.
I looked cautiously from side toside, scanning the perimeter of
my campsite, but my eyes onlymet empty darkness.
(59:37):
The footsteps continued growingcloser until they seemed to
circle my tent.
Panicking, I fumbled for myflashlight, shining it into the
night.
Nothing.
No sign of anyone or anything.
The footsteps faded, graduallydissipating into the darkness.
That night I couldn't sleep.
Every rustle of leaves and everydistant hoot of an eye.
(01:00:00):
Now kept me on edge.
Doubt gnawed at my mind.
Was I truly alone in thesewoods?
Or was something lurking justbeyond my reach?
I couldn't shake the feelingthat another camper was toying
with me, playing a sinister gameof hide and seek.
I didn't believe in ghosts, anda stalker was the obvious.
The third night arrived and Inervously tended to the
(01:00:22):
campfire, seeking comfort in itswarm glow.
As the flames danced, castingeerie shadows, I scanned the
area.
And then, out of nowhere, aghostly figure of a farmer
emerged from the darkness, aneerie glow around his body.
He wore tattered overalls, hisface etched with weariness and
sorrow.
In his hands he carried amenacely large machete.
(01:00:45):
My heart froze as her eyeslocked.
His gaze pierced right throughme, his blue eyes glowing.
A chilling scream tore throughthe air, emanating from his
twisted, gaping mouth.
I stumbled backward, my pulseracing, my mind paralyzed with
fear.
The farmer's face twisted into amass of hollow darkness and
swirling smoke, showing theanguish and torment of a
(01:01:07):
thousand lost souls.
At this point I knew there wasno human, no human at all.
It was far worse than any personor animal I'd ever seen before.
I suddenly believed in ghosts.
In that moment instinct tookover.
I abandoned all rational thoughtand ran for my life.
The campsite and fire were leftabandoned, swallowed by darkness
that had taken hold.
(01:01:27):
Branches whipped across my faceas I sprinted through the night,
desperate to put as muchdistance as possible between me
and the haunting spectre.
I found the road leading intothe woods, breathless and
trembling, leaving behind thesanctity I had thought.
The once serene river that haddrawn me in now seemed tainted,
(01:01:50):
its beauty shattered by theencounter with the ghostly
farmer.
I vowed never to return, toleave those woods and their dark
secrets behind.
But even now, as I recount thischilling tale, I can feel the
weight of that encounterlingering in the depths of my
memory, the whispering voices,the phantom footsteps, the
tortured face of the farmer.
(01:02:11):
It all haunts my dreams, aconstant reminder of the
darkness that exists beyond thesafety of our everyday lives.
So if you ever find yourselftempted by the allure of
wilderness, heed my cautionarytale.
For in the depths of nature'sbeauty there may lurk an evil
that defies comprehension, adarkness willing to consume the
unsuspecting souls who dareventure too far into its grasp.
(01:02:35):
Boy, that uh that was quite astory.
And again, the sort the sourcefor that one is anonymous.
Um so yeah, cautionary tale, Isuppose.
On to the next.
This is Hunts and Outfitting Podcast.
I'm your host and rookie guide,Ken Mair.
I love everything hunting, theoutdoors, and all things
associated with it.
From stories to how-to's, you'llfind it here.
Welcome to the podcast.
Hey guys, gals, how's it going?
Thanks for tuning in to thepodcast.
(00:33):
This week, uh, it's going to besomething very, very different.
This is uh this podcast episodeis being dedicated to our uh uh
my tech guy, Brody Garnett.
Anytime you guys see a podcastprofile picture, that's not just
a simple picture where there'sstuff added in, people in the
background and more than oneanimal, things like that, that's
(00:56):
Brody doing it, not me.
I uh I do not have a sweet cluehow to do that, even though I
have a podcast.
My tech skills are barely beyondturning on a laptop.
So thanks, Brody.
So last year for the podcast,around this time, around
Halloween time, we had a guy onnamed Aaron Shediak, and Aaron
was telling us about some spookystories that happened to him
(01:19):
while out hunting.
And uh Brody really liked thatone, had a lot of people that
did, and they were asking formore something else like that uh
this year for Halloween.
So when this podcast episodedoes come out, it will be uh a
few days after Halloween, butit's still, you know, in the
season.
So I asked a lot of differentpeople I knew if they had any
stories like that, and theydidn't.
(01:41):
Uh so I started scouring aroundon the internet a little bit,
and uh I'll be reading to youguys at a third grade level uh
some spooky stories that I haveon here.
So hope you guys enjoy them.
And uh well, it's some differentstories.
Some are spooky, some are uhinteresting.
(02:02):
The first one I really liked.
Um, so also speaking abouttrick-or-treating, Halloween
time, give your dogs a treat,not a trick, with Nookshook dog
food.
Look, I'm telling you, I'm notjust saying this.
I have six dogs.
I was admiring them thismorning, just looking at how
nice and shiny their coats are,their fur, it looks great.
(02:24):
They all have, you know, goodbody shape to them.
The vets would call it, like thealmost, you know, hourglass
figure or however you want tocall it there.
Um, you know, nice and healthy,and a nookshook dog food is all
that we feed, and it keeps themlooking like that tip top shape.
It's hunting season, full tiltright now.
Been running them all week uhfor the past few weeks.
(02:48):
Not every day, but every coupledays.
So, I mean, it's keeping them inthat great shape.
So the first story that I'mgonna be reading is uh a little
bit of a longer one.
And I remember finding this whenI was younger, back when I'd
dial up internet and uh readingit, and I remember it's always
stuck with me.
It was an interesting story.
(03:08):
This story was written in, Ibelieve, 1921.
It's written by Richard ConnellConnell, and he lived in it from
1893 to 1949.
So this is this is an older one.
It's called The Most DangerousGame.
Off there, to the right,somewhere is a large island,
(03:30):
said Whitney.
It's rather a mystery.
What island is it?
Ransford asked.
The old church call it Ship TrapIsland, Whitney replied.
A suggestive name, isn't it?
Sailors have a curious dread ofthe place.
I don't know why, somesuperstition.
Can't see it, remarked Ransford,trying to peer through the dank
tropical night that was palpableas it pressed its thick, warm
(03:53):
blackness in upon the yacht.
You've good you've good eyes,said Whitney, with a laugh, and
I've seen you pick off a moosemoving in the brown fall bush at
four hundred yards.
But even you can't see fourmiles or so through the moonless
Caribbean night.
Nor four yards, admittedRansford.
Ugh, it's like a moist blackvelvet.
(04:15):
It will be light in Rio,promised Whitney.
We should make it in a few days.
I hope the jaguar guns have comefrom Prudy Prudies.
We should have some good huntingup in the Amazon.
Great sport hunting.
The best sport in the world,agreed Ransford.
For the hunter, amended Whitney.
Not for the jaguar.
Don't talk rot, Whitney, saidRansford.
(04:35):
You're a big game hunter, not aphilosopher.
Who cares how the jaguar feels?
Perhaps the jaguar does,observed Whitney.
Ha.
They've no understanding.
Even so, I rather think theyunderstand one thing fear.
The fear of pain and the fear ofdeath.
Nonsense, laughed Ransford.
This hot weather's making yousoft, Whitney.
(04:57):
Be a realist.
The world is made up of twoclasses, the hunters and the
huntees.
Luckily you and I are thehunters.
Do you think we've passed thatisland yet?
I can't tell in the dark, I hopeso.
Why?
asked Ransford.
The place has a reputation.
A bad one.
Cannibals, suggested Ransford.
(05:18):
Hardly.
Even cannibals wouldn't live insuch a godforsaken place.
But it's gotten into sailor loresomehow.
Didn't you notice the crew'snerves seemed a bit jumpy today?
They were a bit strange now thatyou mention it, even Captain
Nielsen.
Yes, that tough minded old Swedewho'd go up to the devil himself
(05:40):
and ask him for a light.
Those fishy blue eyes held alook I never saw there before.
All I could get out of him wasthis place has an evil name
among seafaring men.
Seafaring men, sir.
Then he said to me very gravely,don't you feel anything?
As if in the air about us wasactually poisonous.
(06:02):
Now you mustn't laugh when Itell you this.
I did feel something like asudden chill.
There was no breeze.
The sea was as flat as platplate glass window.
We were drawing near the islandthen, what I felt was a mental
chill, a sort of sudden dread.
Pure imagination, said Ransford,one superstitious sailor can
(06:25):
taint the whole ship's companywith his fear.
Maybe, but sometimes I thinksailors have an extra sense that
tells them when they're indanger.
Sometimes I think evil istangible thing, with
wavelengths, just as sound andlight have.
An evil place can, so to speak,broadcast vibrations of evil.
(06:47):
Anyhow, I'm glad we're gettingout of this zone.
Well, I think I'll turn in now,Ransford.
I'm not sleepy, said Ransford.
I'm going to smoke another pipeup on the after deck.
Good night, then, Ransford.
See you at breakfast.
Right.
Good night, Whitney.
There was no sound in the nightas Ransford sat there, but the
muffled throb of the engine thatdrove the yacht swiftly through
(07:09):
the darkness, and the swish andripple of the wash of the
propeller.
Ransford, declining in a steamerchair, indotently puffed on his
favorite briar.
The sensuous drowsiness of thenight was on him.
It's so dark, he thought, that Icould sleep without closing my
eyes.
The night would be my eyelids.
(07:31):
An abrupt sound startled him.
Off to the right he heard it,and his ears, expert in such
matters, could not be mistaken.
Again he heard the sound, andagain, somewhere, off in the
blackness, someone had fired agun three times.
Ransford sprang up and movedquickly to the rail, mystified.
He strained his eyes and went inthe direction from which the
(07:54):
reports had come, but he waslike trying to see through a
blanket.
He leaped upon the rail andbalanced himself there to get
the greater elevation.
His pipe striking a rope wasknocked from his mouth.
He lunged for it.
A short, hoarse cry came fromhis lips as he realized he had
reached too far and had lost hisbalance.
The cry was pinched off short asthe blood warm waters of the
(08:17):
Caribbean Sea dosed over hishead.
He struggled to the surface andtried to cry out, but the wash
from the speeding yacht slappedhim in the face and the salt
water in his open mouth made himgag and strangle.
Desperately, he struck out withstrong strokes after the
receding lights of the yacht,but he stopped before he had
(08:38):
swum fifty feet.
A certain cool headedness hadcome to him.
It was not the first time he hadbeen in a tight place.
There was a chance that hiscries could be heard by someone
aboard the yacht, but thatchance was slender and grew more
and more slender as the yachtraced on.
He wrestled himself out of hisclothes and shouted with all his
(08:59):
power.
The lights of the yacht becamefaint and ever vanishing
fireflies.
Then they were blotted outentirely by the night.
Ransford remembered the shots.
They had come from the right,and he doggedly and doggedly he
swam in that direction, swimmingwith slow, deliberate slokes.
Strokes, conserving hisstrength.
(09:22):
For a seemingly endless time hefought the sea.
He began to count his strokes.
He could do possibly a hundredmore, and then Ransford heard a
sound.
It came out of the darkness, ahigh screaming sound, the sound
of an animal in extremity ofanguish and terror.
He did not recognize the animalthat made the sound.
He did not try to.
With fresh vitality, he swamtoward the sound.
(09:44):
He heard it again.
Then it was cut short by anothernoise.
Crisp stick sticato.
Pistol shot, muttered Ransfordswimming on.
Ten minutes of determined effortbrought another sound to his
ears, the most welcome he hadever heard, the muttering and
growling of the sea breaking onrocky shore.
(10:05):
He was almost on the rocksbefore he saw them.
On a night less calm he wouldhave been shattered against
them.
With his remaining strength hedragged himself in the swirling
waters.
Jagged crags appeared to jut upinto the opaqueness.
He forced himself upward, handover hand.
(10:25):
Gasping, his hands raw, hereached a flat place at the top.
Dense jungle came down to thevery edge of the cliffs.
What pearls that tangle of treesand underbrush might hold for
him did not concern Ransfordjust then.
All he knew was that he was safefrom his enemy, the sea, and
(10:46):
that utter weariness was on him.
He flung himself down at thejungle edge and tumbled headlong
into the deepest sleep of hislife.
When he opened his eyes he knewthe position from the position
of the sun that it was lateafternoon.
Sleep had given him new vigor, asharp hunger was picking at him.
He looked about him, almostcheerfully.
(11:06):
Where there are pistol shots,there are men.
Where there are men, there isfood, he thought.
But what kind of men?
He wondered.
And so in a such forbiddingplace, an unbroken front of
snarled, ragged and raggedjungle fridged the shore.
He saw no sign of a trailthrough the densely knit web of
(11:27):
weeds and trees.
It was easier to go along theshore, and Ransford floundered
along by the water.
Not far from where he landed, hestopped.
Some wounded thing by theevidence, a large animal had
thrashed about in theunderbrush.
The jungle weeds were crusheddown and moss was lacerated.
One patch of weeds was stainedwith crimson.
(11:49):
A small, glittering object, notfar away, caught Ransfer's eyes,
and he picked it up.
It was an empty cartridge.
Twenty two, he remarked.
That's odd.
It must have been fairly largeanimal too.
The hunter had his nerve withhim to tackle it with a light
gun.
It's clear that the brute put upa fight.
I suppose the first three shotsI heard was when the hunter
(12:12):
flushed his quarry and woundedit.
The last shot was when hetrailed it there and finished
it.
He examined the ground closelyand found what he had hoped to
find, the print of huntingboots.
They pointed along the cliff inthe direction he had been going.
Eagerly he hurried along, nowslipping on rotten log or loose
(12:33):
stone, but making headway.
Night was beginning to settledown on the island.
Bleak darkness was blackeningout the sea and jungle when
Ransford sighted the lights.
He came upon them as he turned acrook in the coastline, and his
first thought was that he hadcome upon a village, for there
were many lights.
But as he forged along, he sawto his great astonishment that
(12:56):
all the lights were in oneenormous building, a lofty
structure with pointed towersplunging upward into the gloom.
His eyes made out the shadowyoutlines of the chateau.
It was set on a high bluff, andon three sides of it cliffs
dived to where the sea lickedgreedy lips in the shadows.
(13:18):
Mirage, thought Ransford.
But it was no mirage.
He found when he opened the tallspiked iron gate.
The stone steps were realenough.
The massive door with a leeringgargoyle fur knocker was real
enough.
Yet above it all hung an air ofunreality.
He lifted the knocker and itcreaked up stiffly, as if it had
(13:40):
never been used before.
He let it fall, and it startledhim with its booming loudness.
He thought he heard stepswithin.
The door remained closed.
Again, Ransford lifted the heavyknocker and let it fall.
The door then opened.
As suddenly as if it were on thespring, and Ransford stood
(14:00):
blinking in the river of glaringgold light that poured out.
The first thing Ransford's eyesdisconcerned was the largest man
Ransford had ever seen, agigantic creature solidly made
and blackbearded to the waist.
In his hand the man held a longbarreled revolver, and he was
(14:21):
pointing it straight atRansford's heart.
Out of the snarl of the beard,two small eyes regarded
Ransford.
Don't be alarmed, said Ransford,with a smile which he hoped was
disarming.
I'm no robber, I fell off ayacht.
My name is Sanger Ransford ofNew York City.
The menacing look in the eyesdid not change, the revolver
(14:43):
pointing as rigidly as if thegiant were a statue.
He gave no sign that heunderstood Ransford's words, or
that he had even heard them.
He was dressed in uniform, ablack uniform, trimmed with grey
ashtrakin.
Oh Sander Ransford of New York,Ransford began again.
(15:05):
I fell off a yacht.
I am hungry.
The man's only answer was toraise with his thumb the hammer
of this of his revolver.
Then Ransford saw the man's freehand go to his forehead in a
military salute and saw himclick his heels together and
stand at attention.
Another man was coming down thebroad marbles marble steps and
(15:27):
an erect, slender man in eveningclothes.
He advanced to Ransford and heldout his hand.
In a cultivated voice, marked bya slight accent that gave it
added precision anddeliberateness, he said, It's
very great pleasure to honorit's it is a very great pleasure
and honor to welcome Mr.
(15:49):
Sanger Ransford, the celebratedhunter to my home.
Automatically, Ransford shookthe man's hand.
I've read your book abouthunting snow leopards in Tibet,
you see, explained the man.
I am General Zerof.
Rancer's first impression wasthe man was singularly handsome,
and his second was that there isan original, almost bizarre
(16:12):
quality about the general'sface.
He was a tall man past middleage, for his hair was a vivid
white, but his thick eyebrowsand pointed military mustache
were as black as the night fromwhich Ranchford had come.
His eyes, too, were black andvery bright.
He had high cheekbones, a sharpcut nose, a spare, dark face,
(16:36):
the face of a man used to givingorders, the face of an
aristocrat.
Turning to the giant man inuniform, the general made a
sign.
The giant put away his pistol,saluted, withdrew.
Ivan is an incredibly strongfellow, remarked the general,
but he has the misfortune to bedeaf and dumb.
(16:57):
A simple fellow, but I'm afraid,like all his race, a bit of a
savage.
Is he Russian?
He is Cossack, said the general.
His smile showed red lips andpointed teeth.
So am I.
Come, he said, we shouldn't bechatting here.
We can chat later.
Now, you want clothes, food,rest?
(17:18):
You shall have them.
This is a most restful spot.
Ivan had reappeared, and thegeneral spoke to him with lips
that moved, but gave forth nosound.
Follow Ivan, if you please, MrRansford, said the general.
I was about to have my dinnerwhen you came.
I'll wait for you.
You'll find that my clothes willfit you, I think.
(17:39):
It was a huge beam sealedbedroom that which with a
canopied bit bed big enough forsix men that Ransford followed
the silent giant.
Ivan laid out an evening suitand Ransford, as he put it on,
noticed that it came from aLondon tailor who ordinarily cut
and sued for none below the rankof Duke.
(18:01):
The dining room to which Ivanconducted him was in many ways
remarkable.
There was a medieval medievalmagnificence about it.
It suggested a burano hall offeudal times, with its oak
panels, its high ceiling, itsvast refectory tables with two
(18:21):
score men, where two score mencould sit down to eat.
About the hall were mountedheads of many animals, lions,
tigers, elephants, moose, bears,larger or more perfect
specimens.
Ransford had never seen.
At the great table the generalwas sitting alone.
(18:42):
You'll have a cocktail, Mr.
Ransford, he suggested.
The cocktail was surpassinglygood, and Ransford noted, the
table appointments were of thefinest linen, the crystal, the
silver, the china.
They were eating Borsch, therich red soup with whipped cream
so dear to Russian palates.
(19:02):
Half apologetically, General Zovsaid, We do our best to preserve
the amenities of civilizationhere.
Please forgive my lapses.
We are well off the beatentrack.
Do you think the champagne hassuffered from its long ocean
travel?
Not in the least, declaredRansford.
He was finding the general amost thoughtful and affable
(19:25):
host.
A true cosmopolite.
But there was one small trait ofthe generals that made Ransford
uncomfortable.
Whenever he looked up from hisplate, he found the general
studying him, appraisinglyappraising him narrowly.
Perhaps, said General Gerf, youwere surprised that I recognized
(19:47):
your name.
You see, I've I read all bookson hunting published in English,
French, and Russian.
I have but one passion in life,Mr Rands Ford, and it is the
hunt.
You have some wonderful headshere, said Ransford, as he ate a
particularly well cooked filletmignon.
(20:08):
That Cape Buffalo is the largestI ever saw.
Oh, that fellow, yes.
He was a monster.
Did he charge you?
Hurled me against a tree, saidthe general.
Fractured my skull, but I gotthe brute.
I've always thought, saidRansford, that the Cape Buffalo
is one of the most dangerous ofall game.
For a moment the general did notreply.
(20:30):
He was smiling his curious redlipped smile.
Then he said slowly, No, youwere wrong, sir.
The Cape Buffalo is not the mostdangerous big game.
He sipped his wine.
Here in my preserve on thisisland, he said, in the same
slow tone, I hunt more dangerousgame.
(20:51):
Ransford expressed his surprisehis surprise.
Is there a game is there game onthis island?
The general nodded.
The biggest.
Really?
Oh, it isn't here naturally, ofcourse.
I have to stock the island.
What have you imported, General?
Ransford asked.
Tigers?
The general smiled.
(21:11):
No.
He said.
Hunting tigers ceased tointerest me.
Some years ago I exhausted theirpossibilities, you see.
No thrill left in tigers, noreal danger.
I live for danger, misterRansford.
The general took from his pocketa gold cigarette case and
offered his guest a long blackcigarette with silver tip.
(21:33):
It was perfumed and gave off asmell like incense.
We will have some capitalhunting, you and I, said the
general.
I shall be most glad to haveyour society.
But what game began Ransford.
I'll tell you, said the general,you would be amused, I know.
(21:55):
I think I may say, in allmodesty, that I have done a rare
thing.
I have invented a new sensation.
May I pour you another glass ofport?
Thank you, General.
The general filled both glassesand said God makes some men
poets, some he makes kings, somebeggars.
(22:16):
Me, he made a hunter.
My hand was made for thetrigger, my father said.
He was a very rich man with aquarter of a million acres in
the Crimea, and he was of ardenthe was an ardent sportsman.
When I was only five years oldhe gave me a little gun,
specially made in Moscow for meto shoot sparrows with.
(22:38):
When I shot some of his prizedturkeys with it, he did not
punish me, he complimented me onmy marksmanship.
I killed my first bear in thecaucus when I was ten.
My whole life has been has beenone prolonged hunt.
I went into the army.
It was expected of noblemen'ssons, and for time commanded a
(23:00):
division of Cossack Cavalry.
But my real interest was alwaysthe hunt.
I have hunted every kind of gamein every land.
It would be impossible for me totell you how many animals I have
killed, the general puffed acigarette.
After the debacle in Russia, Ileft the country, for it was
(23:21):
imprudent for an officer of theCaesar to stay there.
Many noble Russians losteverything.
I, luckily, had invested heavilyin American securities, so I
shall never have to open a tearoom in Monte Car Monte Carlo or
drive a taxi in Paris.
(23:41):
Naturally, I have continued tohunt grizzliest grizzlies in
your Rockies, crocodiles and thegangs, rhinoceroses in East
Africa.
It was in Africa that the CapeBuffalo hit me and laid me up
for six months.
As soon as I recovered, Istarted for the Amazon to hunt
(24:01):
jaguars, for I had heard theywere unusually cunning.
They weren't, Cossack sighed.
They were no match at all for ahunter with his wits about him
and a high powered rifle.
I was bitterly disappointed.
I was lying in my tent with asplitting headache one night
when a terrible thought pushedits way into my mind.
(24:24):
Hunting was beginning to boreme, and hunting, remember, had
been my life.
I have heard that in America,businessmen often go to pieces
when they give up the businessthat has been their life.
Yes, that's so, said Ransford.
The general spot smiled.
I had no wish to go to pieces,he said.
(24:45):
I must do something.
Now mine is an analytical mind,mister Ransford.
Doubtless that is why I enjoythe problems of the chase.
No doubt, General Sayoff.
So, continued the general, Iasked myself why hunt no longer.
Fascinated me.
You are a much younger man thanI am, Mr.
(25:07):
Ransford, and I have not huntedas much.
But you perhaps can guess theanswer.
What was it?
Simply this.
Hunting has ceased to be whatyou call a sporting proposition.
It had become too easy.
I always get my quarry.
Always.
There is no greater bore thanperfection.
(25:30):
The general lit a freshcigarette.
No animal had a chance with meanymore.
There is no boast.
It is a mathematical certainty.
The animal had nothing but hislegs and his instinct.
Instinct is no match for reason.
When I thought of this, it was atragic moment for me, I can tell
(25:50):
you.
Ransford leaned across thetable, absorbed in what his host
was saying.
It came to me as an inspiration,what I must do, the general went
on.
And that was the general smiled,with the quiet smile of one who
has faced an obstacle andsurmounted it with success.
(26:11):
I had to invent a new animal tohunt, he said.
A new animal?
You're joking.
Not at all.
Said the general, I never jokeabout hunting.
I needed a new animal.
I found one.
So I bought this island, builtthis house, and here I do my
hunting.
The island is perfect for mypurposes.
(26:32):
There are jungles with a maze oftraits in them, hills, swamps.
But the animal, General Zerof.
Oh, said the general, itsupplies me with the most
exciting hunting in the world.
No other hunting compares withit for an instant.
Every day I hunt, and I nevergrow bored now, for I have a
(26:55):
quarry with which I can match mywits.
Ransford's bewilderment showedon his face.
I wanted the ideal animal tohunt, explained the general.
So I said, What are theattributes of an ideal quarry?
And the answer was, of course,it must have courage, cunning,
(27:16):
and above all it must be able toreason.
But no animal can reason,objected Ransford.
My dear fellow, said thegeneral, there is one that can.
But ye can't mean gaspedRansford, and why not?
I can't believe you wereserious, General Zaof.
(27:36):
This is a grisly joke.
Why should I not be serious?
I am speaking of hunting.
Hunting?
Great guns, General Zerof.
What you speak of is murder.
The general laughed with anentire good nature.
He regarded Ransfordquizzically.
I refuse to believe that somodern and civilized a young man
(27:58):
as you seem to be harborsromantic ideas about the value
of human life.
Surely your experiences in thewar did not make me condone cold
blooded murder, finishedRansford stiffly.
Laughter shook the general.
How extraordinary drol you are,he said.
(28:18):
One does not expect nowadays tofind a young man of educated
class, even one in America withsuch a naive and if I may say
so, mid Victorian point of view.
It's like finding a snuff box ina limousine.
Ah, well doubtless you have youhad Puritan ancestors.
(28:40):
So many Americans appear to havehad.
I'll wager you'll forget yournotions when you go hunting with
me.
You've a genuine new thrill instore for you, mister Ransford.
Thank you, I'm a hunter, not amurderer.
Dear me, said the general, quiteunruffled, again that unpleasant
word.
(29:00):
But I think I can show you thatyour scruples are quite ill
founded.
Yes?
Life is for the strong, to belived by the strong, and, if
needs be, taken by it if I win,began Ransford huskily.
I'll cheerfully acknowledgemyself defeat if I do not find
(29:23):
you but midnight of the thirdday, said General Serv, my sloop
will place you on the mainlandnear a town.
The general read what Ransfordwas thinking.
Oh you can trust me, said theCossack.
I will give you my word as agentleman and a sportsman.
Of course you, in turn, mustagree to say nothing of your
(29:45):
visit here.
I'll agree to nothing of thekind, said Ransford.
Oh said the general, in thatcase, but why discuss that now?
Three days, hence we can discussit over a bottle of Viv.
Cole, unless the general sippedhis wine.
Then a business like airanimated him.
(30:08):
Ivan, he said to Ransford, willyou supply W Ivan, he said to
Ransford, will supply you withhunting clothes, food, a knife.
I suggest you wear moccasins.
They leave a poorer trail.
I suggest too that you avoid theswamp.
The big swamp in the southeastcorner of the island.
(30:29):
We call it Death Swamp.
Just quicksand there.
One foolish fellow tried ittried it.
The deplorable part of it wasthat Lazarus followed him.
You can imagine my feelings, Mr.
Ransford.
I loved Lazarus.
He was the finest hound in mypack.
Well, I must beg you to excuseme now.
(30:51):
I always take a siesta afterlunch.
You'll hardly have time for anap, I fear.
You'll want to start, no doubt.
I shall not follow till dusk.
Hunting at night is so much moreexciting than by day, don't you
think?
Auvoie, Mr Ransford, auvoi.
Janazuroff with a deep, courtlybow, strolled from the room.
(31:13):
From another door came Ivan.
Under one arm he carried khakihunting clothes, a haversack of
food, a leather sheathcontaining a long bladed hunting
knife.
His right hand rested on acaulked revolver, thrust in the
crimson sash about his waist.
Ransford had fought his waythrough the bush for two hours.
(31:36):
I must keep my nerve, I mustkeep my nerve, he said through
his through tight teeth.
He had not been entirely clearheaded when the chateau gate
snapped shut behind him.
His whole idea at first was justto put distance between himself
and General Seraph, and to thisend he had plunged along,
spurred on by the sharp rowersof something very like panic.
(32:00):
Now he had got a grip onhimself.
He stopped and was taking stockof himself and the situation.
He saw that straight flight wasfutile.
Inevitably it would bring himface to face with the sea.
He was in a picture with a frameof water, and his operations
clearly must take place withinthat time frame.
(32:24):
I'll give him a trail to follow,muttered Ransford, as he struck
off from the rude path he hadbeen following into the
trackless wilderness.
He executed a series ofintricate loops.
He doubled on his trail againand again, recalling all of the
lore of the fox hunt and all thedodges and all the dodges of the
fox.
Knight found him leg weary withhands and face lashed by the
(32:47):
branches, branches on thethickly wooded ridge.
He knew it would be insane toblunder on through the dark,
even if he had the strength.
His need for rest wasimperative, and he thought, I
have played fox, now I must playthe cat of the fable.
A big tree with a thick trunkand outspread branches was
(33:08):
nearby, and taking care to leavenot the slightest mark, he
climbed up the crotch andstretching out on one of the
broad limbs after after fashionrested.
Rest brought a new confidenceand almost a feeling of
security.
Even so zealous as a hunter asGeneral Zerof could not trace
(33:29):
him there, he told himself.
Only the devil himself couldfollow that complicated trail
through the jungle after dark.
But perhaps the general was adevil.
An apprehensive night crawledslowly by like a wounded snake,
and sleep did not visitRansford.
Although the silence of dead ofa dead world was on the jungle.
(33:52):
Toward morning, when a dingygray was vanishing from the sky,
the cry of some startled birdfocused Ransford's attention in
that direction.
Something was coming through thebush.
Coming slowly, carefully, comingby the same winding way Ransford
had come.
He flattened himself down on thelimb and through the screen of
(34:13):
through a screen of leavesalmost as thick as tapestry, he
watched.
That which was approaching was aman.
It was General Zeroff.
He made his way along with hiseyes fixed in utmost
concentration on the groundbefore him.
He paused, almost beneath thetree, dropped to his knees and
(34:33):
studied the ground.
Ransford's impulse was to hurlhimself down like a panther, but
he saw that the general's righthand held something metallic, a
small automatic pistol.
The hunter shook his headseveral times as if he were
puzzled.
Then he straightened up and tookfrom his case one of his black
cigarettes.
(34:53):
Its pungent, incense like smokefloated up to Ransford's
nostrils.
Ransford held his breath.
The general's eyes had left theground and were traveling inch
by inch up the tree.
Ransford froze there, everymuscle tensed for a spring.
But the sharp eyes of the hunterstopped before they reached the
limb where Ransford lay.
(35:15):
A smile spread over his brownface.
Very deliberately, he blew hissmoke ring into the air.
Then he turned his back on thetree and walked carelessly away.
Back along the trail he hadcome.
The swish of the underbrushagainst his hunting boots grew
fainter and fainter.
The pent up air burst hotly fromRansford's lungs.
(35:38):
His first thought made him feelsick and numb.
The general could follow a trailthrough the woods at night.
He could follow an extremelydifficult trail.
He must have uncanny powers.
Only by the merest chance hadthe Cossack failed to see his
quarry.
Ransford's second thought waseven more terrible.
(36:00):
It sent a shudder of cold horrorthrough his whole being.
Why had the general smiled?
Why had he turned his back?
Ransford did not want to believewhat his reason told him was
true, but the truth was asevident as the sun that had now
pushed through the morningmists.
The general was playing withthem.
The general was saving him foranother day's sport.
(36:22):
The cossack was the cat.
He was the mouse.
Then it was that.
Then it was that Ransford knewthe full meaning of terror.
I will not lose my nerve.
I will not.
He slid down from the tree andstruck off again into the woods.
His face was set and he forcedthe machinery of his mind to
(36:44):
function.
Three hundred yards from hishiding place, he stepped where a
huge dead tree leanedprecariously on a smaller living
one.
Throwing off his sack of food,Ransford took out his knife from
his sheath and began to workwith all his energy.
The job was finished at last.
He threw himself down on thefallen log a hundred feet away.
(37:06):
He did not have to wait long.
The cat was coming again to playwith the mouse.
Following the trail with thesureness of a bloodhound came
General Zeroff.
Nothing escaped those searchingblack eyes, no crushed blade of
grass, no bent twig, no mark nomatter how faint in the moss.
So intent was the Cossack on hisstocking that he was upon the
(37:29):
thing Ransford had made beforehe saw it.
His foot touched the protrudingbow that was the trigger.
Even as he touched it, thegeneral sensed his danger and
leaped back with agility of anape, but he was not quite quick
enough.
The dead tree, delicatelyadjusted to rest on the cut
(37:50):
living one, crashed down on thestruck and struck the general a
glancing blow on the shoulder asit fell.
But for his alertness he musthave been he must have been
smashed beneath it.
He staggered, but he did notfall, nor did he drop his
revolver.
He stood there, rubbing hisshoulder, and Ransford, with
fear again gripping his heart,heard the general's mocking
(38:13):
laugh ring through the jungle.
Ransford, called the jungle, ifyou're within sound of my voice,
as I suppose you are, let mecongratulate you.
Not many men know how to make aMalay mancatcher.
Luckily for me, I too havehunted Malacca.
You are proving interesting,mister Ransford.
(38:33):
I am going now to have my wounddressed.
It's only a slight one, but Ishall be back.
I shall be back.
When the general, nursing hisbruised shoulder, had gone,
Ransford took up his flightagain.
It was flight now, a desperate,hopeless flight that carried him
on for some hours.
(38:54):
Dust came, then darkness, andstill he pressed on.
The ground grew softer under hismoccasins.
The vegetation grew ranker,denser, insects bit him
savagely.
Then, as he stepped forward, hisfoot sank into ooze.
He tried to wrench it back, butthe muck sucked viciously at his
(39:14):
foot as if it were a giantleech.
With a violent effort he torehis feet loose.
He knew where he was now, deathswamp in its quicksand.
His hands were tight closed, asif nerve as if his nerve was
were something tangible thatsomeone in the darkness was
trying to tear from his grip.
The softness of the earth hadgiven him an idea.
(39:37):
He stepped back from thequicksand a dozen feet or so,
and like some huge prehistoricbeaver, he began to dig.
Ransford had dug himself infront had dug himself in in
France when the second delaysmeant death.
That had a pla that had beenplacid pastime compared to his
(39:58):
digging now.
The pit grew deeper.
When it was above his shoulders,he climbed out and found some
hard saplings, cut stakes andsharpened them to a fine point.
These stakes he planted in thebottom of the pit were the boy
were the with the pointssticking up.
With flying fingers he wove arough carpet of weeds and
branches with it, and he coveredthe mouth of the pit.
(40:21):
Then, wet with sweat and achingwith tiredness, he crouched
behind the stump of a lightlightning charred tree.
He knew his pursuer was coming.
He heard the padding sound offeet on the soft earth.
The night breeze brought withthem the perfume of the general
cigarette.
It seemed to Ransford that thegeneral was coming with unusual
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swiftness.
He was not feeling his way alongfoot by foot.
Ransford, crouching there, couldnot see the general, nor could
he see the pit.
He lived he lived a year and aminute.
Then he felt an impulse to cryaloud with joy, for he heard the
sharp crackle of the breakingbranches as the cover of the pit
(41:03):
gave way.
He heard the sharp scream ofpain as the pointed stakes found
their mark.
He leaped up from his place ofconcealment.
Then he cowered back.
Three feet from the pit, a manwas standing with an electric
torch in his hand.
You've done well, Ransford, thevoice of the general called.
Your Burmese tiger pit hasclaimed one of my best dogs.
(41:27):
Again, you score.
I think, Mr.
Ransford, I'll see what you cando against my whole pack.
I'm going home for rest now.
Thank you for your most amusingevening.
At daybreak, Ransford, lyingnear the swamp, was awakened by
a sound that made him know thathe had new things to learn about
(41:48):
fear.
It was a distant sound, faintand wavering, but he knew it.
It was the bang of a pack ofhounds.
Ransford knew he could do one oftwo things.
He could stay where he was andwait.
That was suicide.
He could flee.
That was postponing theinevitable.
For a moment he stood therethinking, an idea that held a
(42:11):
wild chance came to him, andtightening his belt, he headed
away from the swamp.
The bang at the hounds drewnearer, then still nearer,
nearer, ever nearer.
On a ridge, Ransford climbed atree, down a watercourse, not a
quarter of a mile away.
He could see the bush moving.
Straining his eyes, he saw thelean figure of General Zeroff.
(42:36):
Just ahead of him, Ransford madeout another figure, whose wide
shoulders surged through thetall jungle weeds.
It was the giant Ivan, and heseemed pulled forward by some
unseen force.
Ransford knew that Ivan must beholding the pack in leash.
They would be on him any minutenow.
His mind worked frantically.
(42:57):
He thought of a native trickthat he had learned in Uganda.
He slid down the tree, he caughthold of a springy young sapling,
and to it he fashioned hefastened his hunting knife.
With the blade pointed down thedown the trail with a bit of
wild grapevine, he tied back thesapling.
He then ran for his life.
(43:18):
He knew the hounds raised theirvoices as they hit the fresh
scent.
Ransford knew now how an animalat bay feels.
He had to stop to get hisbreath.
The bang of the hound stoppedabruptly.
And Ransford's heart stoppedtoo.
They must have reached theknife.
He shined excitedly up a t heshined he shin he climbed up a
(43:42):
tree excitedly and looked back.
His pursuers had stopped, butthe hope that was Ransford's
brain was in Ransford's bladewhen he climbed, died for he saw
the shallow valley that GeneralZarov was still on his feet.
But Ivan was not.
The knife, driven by the recoilof the springing tree, had not
wholly failed.
(44:04):
Ransford had hardly tumbled tothe ground when the pack took up
the cry again.
Nerve, nerve, he panted as hedashed along.
A blue gap showed between thetrees dead ahead.
Ever nearer drew the hounds.
Ransford forced himself ontoward that gap.
He reached it.
It was the shore of the sea.
Across a cove he could see agloomy grey stone of the
(44:26):
chateau.
Twenty feet below him the searumbled and hissed.
Ransford hesitated.
He heard the hounds.
Then he leaped far out into thesea.
When the general and his packreached the place by the sea,
the cossack stopped.
For some minutes he stoodregarding the blue green expanse
of the water.
He shrugged his shoulders.
(44:47):
Then he sat down, took a drinkof brandy from a silver flask,
lit a cigarette, and hummed abit.
General Zarov had an exceedinglygood dinner in his great paneled
dining hall that evening.
With it he had a bottle of polerago and half a bottle of
Chamberton.
Two slight annoyances kept himfrom the perfect enjoyment.
(45:10):
One was the thought that itwould be difficult to replace
Ivan.
The other was that his quarryhad escaped him.
Of course, the American hadn'tplayed the game, so, thought the
general, as he tasted his lasthis after dinner liqueur, in his
library he read to soothehimself from the works of Marcus
(45:30):
Aurelialis.
At ten he went up to hisbedroom.
He was deliciously tired, hesaid to himself, as he locked
himself in.
There was little moonlight, sobefore turning on his light, he
went to the window and lookeddown at the courtyard.
He could see the great hounds,and he called Better luck
(45:50):
another time to them.
Then he switched on the light.
A man who had been hiding in thecurtains of the bed was standing
there.
Ransford screamed the general.
How in God's name did you get inhere?
Swam, said Ransford.
I found it quicker than walkingthrough the jungle.
The general sucked in his breathand smiled.
(46:11):
I congratulate you, he said.
You have won the game.
Ransford did not smile.
I am still a beast at bay, hesaid in a low, hoarse voice.
Get ready, General Serov.
The general made one of hisdeepest bows.
I see, he said.
(46:31):
Splendid.
One of us is to furnish a repastfor the hounds.
The other will sleep in thisvery excellent bed.
On guard, Ransford.
He had never slept in a betterbed, Ransford decided.
Okay, so this one is from Fieldand Stream.
The author is Rodney Buffett,and it talks about a uh a close
(46:54):
call moose hunting story inNewfoundland.
I still have nightmares.
I see the bull's eyes andthey're glowing red.
He's like pure evil in thosedreams, and I know he wants to
kill me.
I first spotted him from a hillin the morning as he fed in a
bog.
He had a big 14-point rack andweighed probably 600 pounds,
maybe 800.
(47:15):
I was hunting with a buddy andmy wife and had also come along
to watch.
The two of them stayed backwhile I snuck through the patch
of woods, and when I got to theedge, the bull was 150 yards
out.
I rested my 30 aught six on abranch and put the crosshairs on
his shoulder.
He went down like a ton ofbricks.
I couldn't believe it when heshot back up.
(47:36):
I hit him again and for a secondtime he went down hard.
I could see his antlers stickingup above the bog and he never
moved a muscle as I walked in.
When I got there, his eyeslocked open and lifeless, and
his tongue was hanging out.
I'd seen enough dead moose toknow what one looks like.
I figured so I put my gun downin a nearby bush.
(47:59):
Then I turned toward the hilland signaled to my wife to bring
the knives.
When I turned back, that bullwas charging at me full speed
and grunting.
I had no place to go.
He was only feet away and cominglike a freight train with his
antlers lowered.
It felt like a car hit me, andthen as I was flying through the
air, a bull moose stands aroundeight feet at the withers, so he
(48:22):
must have tossed me at least tenfeet high.
When I landed in the bog, hestepped back three or four feet
and did it again.
Hit me and scooped me up in hisantlers all in one motion, then
tossed me over his head.
As I hit the ground, he wascharging at me, but this time I
grabbed his rack and startedscreaming and kicking him in the
(48:43):
forehead.
One of his antler points punchedthrough the flesh between my
thumb and trigger finger, and hestarted dragging me through the
bog.
Then he stepped back and rammedhis antlers into my left side,
and another point punctured myribs and left a hole the size of
a silver dollar.
I was just about out of it whenhe stomped me in the head.
(49:04):
I saw his big black hoof comingdown and then everything went
dark.
When I came to, the bull wasgone, and there was blood coming
out of my nose and ears.
I started thinking that I mightnot be able to make it.
My wife and buddy had called911.
The paramedics came in on quads,but they couldn't take me out
that way.
So they called in a helicopterfrom St.
(49:26):
John's.
It was actually prettyincredible to watch that chopper
touch down five feet away fromme in the only area in the bog
dry enough for a landing.
I've always wanted to ride ahelicopter, but not this way.
I had several broken bones andribs and punctured wounds, and
for days afterward I had visiblehoof print on my forehead.
(49:47):
The bull somehow got away evenwith two 30-06 slugs in him.
My doctor told me not to, but aweek later I went back to the
same spot with a couple ofbuddies.
My wife wouldn't go.
I spotted a 13-point bull in thesame spot and dropped him with
one shot.
But this time I made one of mybuddies go and make sure he was
(50:08):
dead and told him not to put hisgun down.
So here's another story from uhan unforgettable wilderness
encounter in northern Michiganby Mikey Williams.
I was 14 when the story tookplace.
It was my first year huntingdeer with my family to be
specific.
My father, my cousin, andmyself.
To paint a picture, my blind wastwo miles south of my father's,
(50:32):
and with his stand being ninemiles southwest of my camp.
We drove a four-wheeler about ahundred yards away from his
stand, which left me with awhile to walk before I even got
to mine.
I live in northern Michigan, andduring the winter it gets dark
quickly and early.
It was around four PM when Istarted to get cold and decided
(50:52):
to close up my tent.
I was hunting with a 243 riflethat had that had a pink camo
cover on it with a strap aroundit so I could hang it off my
back.
I closed up my blind zippers andput my garbage away in a bucket
I had.
As I was throwing away my trash,I heard a couple of leaves
crumble, so I immediately turnedaround to head up and see if it
(51:14):
was a deer.
After about a minute, I brushedit off as a squirrel or a bird.
Disappointed, I closed my blindsand headed to my father's.
As I was taking my first stepsout of my blind, I could see a
fresh pathway of brush throughthe leaves.
It was a wide path, not from asmall animal or even a deer.
I'd immediately started thinkinga bear or a wolf.
(51:37):
So I started speeding speedwalking to where my dad was.
I started to panic as it startedto get even darker, and I was
still roughly a mile away.
I was just walking as I wasstopped in my tracks by one of
the most haunting and horrifyingnoises I'd ever heard.
The best way to describe it wasa bear slash man that was being
(51:59):
murdered.
Sounded roughly a hundred andfifty yards back as I started to
run.
Running with boots and thickhunting gear was hard with
twenty pounds on my back.
But fear pushed me through and Ididn't stop.
Around twenty five secondslater, I was still running when
I heard it again.
This time it was louder andcloser.
(52:20):
At this point it was completelydark out with the moon.
It was completely dark out withthe moon being the only source
of light.
I turned around with myheadlight, and what I saw is
still the most terrifying thingI've ever seen, around fifty
yards away.
I saw a black figure in the darkilluminated by the moonlight
(52:40):
behind it.
It was around ten feet tall andskinny without thinking twice.
I started running while tryingto get my gun off my back.
I didn't know where I wasrunning, but I just ran.
I ended up on that road that Irecognized as Rabbit Road, the
road that connects my map withthe entrance to my hunting area.
(53:01):
I ran on the road until I got tomy camp.
By the time I got into sight ofmy cabin, I turned around again
and saw it again, this time alittle further away.
I was still standing up, and Ican only describe it as a tall,
black, skinny figure.
It had long arms and long legs.
As I got on my cabin steps, Ithrew up from exhaustion and
(53:25):
continued to vomit for about aminute as I later passed out.
I woke up to the sound of mydad's four-wheeler turning into
the cabin driveway.
I started crying and ran up tohim, hugging him.
I quickly told him the story ofwhat happened and how I ran back
without stopping.
He didn't believe me at first,but as we got settled inside,
his face started to change as hesaw the desperation in my eyes.
(53:47):
I didn't sleep that night or forweeks after.
People told me it was mostlikely a bear or I was just
seeing things, but I know what Isaw.
I'm older now, and I only huntwith someone with me.
I also hunt with a bigger gunbecause it reassures me that I
could shoot something larger asI'm writing this.
This was the most scaryexperience of my life.
(54:08):
So here is another uh anonymousstory that I have.
When I was a boy, my parentsused to take me and my older
sister to my relative's house ineastern Kentucky, right around
Lecher County.
The closest city is WhitesburgWhitesburg.
My uncle, who taught meeverything I know about the
outdoors, lived in a cabinnestled in a holler way back up
(54:30):
the mountains.
His place was at the base of abig strip mine scene up on the
side of the mountain.
As a boy, he and I used to goand sit on his back porch at
night and use predator calls totry and call something down out
of the hills.
Well one night he and I were outusing one of his tapes.
We'd been out there for a goodtwo hours and seen nothing, so
(54:53):
we were thinking of calling it anight.
We were back we were about topack everything up when he
realized his squirrel feeder wasempty.
He then decided to go fill itback up with his seed.
His cedar was about fifty yardsfrom the cabin on the
mountainside and bordered thetree line.
He walked up the hillside abouttwenty five yards when his wife
came out to see while we wereall still outside.
(55:14):
The only light that came out ofthe house, the only light that
came out that night was thelight from the porch.
He was about thirty five yardsup the hill and called back and
said he forgot his flashlight,so his wife, my aunt, went back
inside and got one of hisspotlights.
We had forgot to turn the tapewith the predator calls on it,
so I reached down to the tapeplayer to turn it off when I
(55:38):
noticed my aunt was about stiffas a board.
I hit the off button and lookedup at her and she had my
spotlight shining straight upthe squirrel feeder where my
uncle was at.
I heard her say, It's coming toyou, Jim.
Jim, my uncle's name, he turnedback and goes, huh?
Then a little louder that time,she goes, It's coming straight
(55:58):
towards you, Jim.
That's when I looked up and sawa set of eyes shine about 15
feet away from where my unclewas standing and closing in.
Whatever it was was massive.
The eyes were about four to fivefeet off the ground.
Also, whatever that creature wascompletely and totally got the
drop on my uncle, who has prettymuch spent his whole life in the
(56:20):
woods studying and trackingpredators.
Well, he was turned aroundlooking at us with his back to
the woods, so we told him tofreeze.
We all just kind of stood therefor about three minutes, which
seemed like a lifetime.
It was dead silent, no crickets,no sounds of the night.
It was the most eerie and creepythree minutes of my life.
(56:42):
It just sat there at the treeline staring at all of us, and
staring at us staring right backat it.
The brush at the tree line wasthick so we could not see what
shape it was, just the eyes andwhere they were in relation to
the ground.
After those three minutes, myuncle slowly turned around to
see what was about fifteen feetaway from him.
(57:03):
With their spotlight on it, ashe was about to turn and look it
directly in the eyes, it split.
And for the next fifteen minuteswe could hear limbs cracking and
snapping all the way up the sideof the mountain as this animal
decided to retreat.
Scared the heck out of me.
And my uncle literally, my unclewet himself.
I think that was the thing thatscared me the most about it was
(57:27):
that he was so scared.
He was shaking, and I've neverseen him like that.
The other thing that scared usboth is that we had been sitting
out all night listening intentlyand watching that tree line like
hawks.
Whatever animal or creature itwas did not make a single sound
coming down the side of thatmountain.
It never made a sound until ittook off.
(57:48):
I didn't sleep that night andneither did my aunt nor uncle.
My name is Randy, and I'vealways been drawn to the
solitude of nature.
There's something about thestillness of the woods and the
gentle rush of the river thatputs my mind at ease.
So when the opportunity arosefor a solo camping trip near a
secluded river, I couldn'tresist.
(58:09):
The first night I settled intomy tent and near the water's
edge an eerie fog rolled in.
It clung to the ground,obscuring my vision and muffling
the sounds of night.
Strangely, faint whispersdrifted through the mist,
carried by an abnormally coldbreeze.
With my heart pounding in mychest, I strained to listen.
(58:31):
Leave.
The voices whispered, theirwords filled with warning.
I shivered, my breath choking inmy throat.
I cautiously approached theriver's edge, peering into the
dense fog, but there was nobodyaround at all.
The whispers grew louder, themore urgent and angrier.
Yet I could not find the sourcefor the sound.
(58:52):
Fear gripped me.
I couldn't abandon my campsitejust yet.
I convinced myself it was simplymy imagination running wild.
Determined to enjoy my celerity,retreat away from the bustle of
the city and work, I shruggedoff the unsettling encounter and
embraced the second night.
Darkness came filling the skywith stars, and I nestled by the
(59:14):
campfire, the roaring fireproviding a false sense of
security.
But then I heard footsteps,heavy, deliberate footsteps.
They were unmistakable, echoingthrough the silence of the night
and crunching on fallen leaves.
I looked cautiously from side toside, scanning the perimeter of
my campsite, but my eyes onlymet empty darkness.
(59:37):
The footsteps continued growingcloser until they seemed to
circle my tent.
Panicking, I fumbled for myflashlight, shining it into the
night.
Nothing.
No sign of anyone or anything.
The footsteps faded, graduallydissipating into the darkness.
That night I couldn't sleep.
Every rustle of leaves and everydistant hoot of an eye.
(01:00:00):
Now kept me on edge.
Doubt gnawed at my mind.
Was I truly alone in thesewoods?
Or was something lurking justbeyond my reach?
I couldn't shake the feelingthat another camper was toying
with me, playing a sinister gameof hide and seek.
I didn't believe in ghosts, anda stalker was the obvious.
The third night arrived and Inervously tended to the
(01:00:22):
campfire, seeking comfort in itswarm glow.
As the flames danced, castingeerie shadows, I scanned the
area.
And then, out of nowhere, aghostly figure of a farmer
emerged from the darkness, aneerie glow around his body.
He wore tattered overalls, hisface etched with weariness and
sorrow.
In his hands he carried amenacely large machete.
(01:00:45):
My heart froze as her eyeslocked.
His gaze pierced right throughme, his blue eyes glowing.
A chilling scream tore throughthe air, emanating from his
twisted, gaping mouth.
I stumbled backward, my pulseracing, my mind paralyzed with
fear.
The farmer's face twisted into amass of hollow darkness and
swirling smoke, showing theanguish and torment of a
(01:01:07):
thousand lost souls.
At this point I knew there wasno human, no human at all.
It was far worse than any personor animal I'd ever seen before.
I suddenly believed in ghosts.
In that moment instinct tookover.
I abandoned all rational thoughtand ran for my life.
The campsite and fire were leftabandoned, swallowed by darkness
that had taken hold.
(01:01:27):
Branches whipped across my faceas I sprinted through the night,
desperate to put as muchdistance as possible between me
and the haunting spectre.
I found the road leading intothe woods, breathless and
trembling, leaving behind thesanctity I had thought.
The once serene river that haddrawn me in now seemed tainted,
(01:01:50):
its beauty shattered by theencounter with the ghostly
farmer.
I vowed never to return, toleave those woods and their dark
secrets behind.
But even now, as I recount thischilling tale, I can feel the
weight of that encounterlingering in the depths of my
memory, the whispering voices,the phantom footsteps, the
tortured face of the farmer.
(01:02:11):
It all haunts my dreams, aconstant reminder of the
darkness that exists beyond thesafety of our everyday lives.
So if you ever find yourselftempted by the allure of
wilderness, heed my cautionarytale.
For in the depths of nature'sbeauty there may lurk an evil
that defies comprehension, adarkness willing to consume the
unsuspecting souls who dareventure too far into its grasp.
(01:02:35):
Boy, that uh that was quite astory.
And again, the sort the sourcefor that one is anonymous.
Um so yeah, cautionary tale, Isuppose.
On to the next.
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