April 21, 2025 • 26 mins
This episode delves into the extraordinary and the enigmatic, guiding us through two compelling narratives that challenge our understanding of reality. The first tale, "There Be Giants Here," recounts a harrowing encounter faced by a team of Green Berets in Afghanistan, where they confront a colossal creature that defies explanation. The second story, "The Haunting of Hale Bar," follows Clara Henshaw, a determined reporter, as she investigates supernatural occurrences at a dam steeped in tragedy and local lore. Through these narratives, we explore the thin veil separating the known from the unknown, raising profound questions about the nature of fear, belief, and the inexplicable phenomena that lurk in the shadows of our reality. Join us as we venture into realms where the extraordinary disrupts the ordinary, inviting contemplation of what lies beyond the surface of our understanding.
A vivid exploration of the unexplainable begins with a narrative that transports us to the Badik Shan Province in Afghanistan during the tumultuous period of Operation Enduring Freedom. The story, 'There Be Giants Here,' recounts the harrowing experiences of a team of Green Berets who venture into the heart of unforgiving terrain, only to confront a terror beyond comprehension. The backdrop of war is a catalyst for extraordinary occurrences, as soldiers return with tales that blur the lines between reality and myth. The narrative intricately weaves the psychological impacts of combat with the eerie notion of mythical creatures lurking in the shadows. As the team encounters a mysterious goatherd who warns against entering a particular valley, the tale unfolds with an ominous sense of foreboding, culminating in a confrontation with a colossal being that defies the natural order. The recounting of this encounter not only serves as a testament to the resilience of the human spirit but also leaves the listener questioning the very nature of reality itself. The episode invites us to ponder whether these accounts are rooted in truth or merely figments of a soldier's mind grappling with the horrors of war.
Takeaways:
- The podcast episode showcases the intersection of reality and the extraordinary, exploring tales that defy explanation.
- Listeners are taken on a journey through two captivating stories, each steeped in mystery and intrigue.
- The first narrative recounts a harrowing encounter with a giant creature during a military operation in Afghanistan.
- The second tale delves into the haunting experiences of Clara Henshaw at a cursed dam in Tennessee.
- These stories prompt contemplation about the nature of belief, the supernatural, and the unknown.
- The episode encourages us to consider whether such phenomena are real or merely products of the human imagination.
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:03):
Imagine a world teetering onthe edge of the familiar, a place
where the fabric of theeveryday begins to unravel, revealing
glimpses of the extraordinarylurking beneath.
You're about to embark on ajourney into the enigmatic, where
the peculiar and theperplexing intertwine, where every
tale twists the mind and tugsat the spirit.
(00:25):
It's a descent into thestrange, the mysterious, and the
unexplained.
This is when reality frays.
New episodes are publishedevery Monday and Thursday, and when
Reality phrase is availableeverywhere, find podcasts are found.
(00:46):
Before we move on, please takea moment and hit that Follow or Subscribe
button and turn on allreminders so you're alerted when
new episodes are released.
Today's episode contains two stories.
First up, is There Be GiantsHere, a story from a war zone about
(01:07):
a creature that can't be explained.
And the second story of theday is the Haunting of Hale Bar,
a tale of strange happeningsthat a reporter will wish she had
never investigated.
Thank you for listening.
Now let's get to the stories.
(01:31):
Since the dawn of armedconflict between humans, soldiers
have returned from thebattlefield with fantastic stories
of unexplainable events.
Commonly, the tales they tellwould seem to be of supernatural
origin.
Why is that?
Is there something about thevisceral, adrenaline fueled viciousness
of killing another human beingthat causes a soldier's mind to fabricate
(01:55):
something as a copingmechanism to retain his sanity?
Or perhaps are there thingsout there in the shadows that we
haven't discovered yet?
Because only in time of war doheavily armed groups of men come
face to face with them.
Where a simple shepherd or anadventurer or a hiker who wanders
(02:15):
away from civilization won'tsurvive an encounter with a one of
these creatures.
A team of heavily armed mensuperbly trained in the art of war
fighting can come outvictorious with a story no one will
believe.
This story is notable becausethe US government, specifically the
DoD and the CIA, categoricallydeny these events ever occurred.
(02:40):
There is nothing in publiclyavailable DoD records to support
the claims of those involved,but that denial, along with five
bucks, will buy you a smallblack coffee.
This is the story of There begiants here, 2002 in the Badik Shan
(03:01):
Province, Afghanistan.
It's the height of OperationEnduring Freedom.
US Forces are hunting theTaliban and Al Qaeda in some of the
world's most unforgivingterrain, and we're coming along in
the search for a missing teamof Army Green Berets.
The Badikshan province spansabout 17,000 square miles, making
(03:22):
it one of Afghanistan's larger provinces.
It's dominated by the HinduKush mountain range and home to Afghanistan's
highest peak.
The province is a nearlyindecipherable maze of jagged peaks,
steep valleys, high plateausand rushing rivers.
It's a hard place, one of themost remote on the planet, peopled
(03:44):
by nomadic herders and opiumfarmers, and with an extensive system
of naturally occurring caves.
It's also perfect forinsurgents to hide from the American
military.
The missing six man team ofGreen Berets had made their last
check in four days ago.
They were following up onwhispers picked up by the CIA that
(04:05):
insurgents were massing in anarea high in the Hindu Kush in preparation
for a major offensive.
So far, they'd found nothingto substantiate the intelligence,
but they had encountered anAfghani man and his two sons, who
were tending a flock of goats.
The father had seemed friendlyenough, even warning them against
(04:27):
approaching a specific valleyseveral thousand feet higher in the
mountains.
When pressed for anexplanation, the man hinted at a
demon or Jinnah haunting thearea, a claim dismissed as superstition
by the Green Beret team leader.
He was suspicious of thegoatherd's warning and reported they
would be scouting the valley.
(04:47):
He was warned against approaching.
This was the last contact withthe team, despite multiple scheduled
check ins having come and gone.
Overflights of Air Forcereconnaissance planes equipped with
thermal and high resolutioncameras that can identify a flea
on a Camel's ass from 10,000fthad failed to find any trace of the
(05:08):
team.
Now 12 Green Berets were onthe ground searching for their missing
brothers.
This team had been dropped 12cliques away from the suspect valley
under a moonless sky.
The air was thick with dust,the silence broken only by the moaning
sigh of a frigid wind.
The going was hard, but sowere the men and they pushed on all
(05:32):
night and the following daythey didn't encounter any of the
goatherds known to be in the area.
But as the sun was setting,they came across the bloody remains
of what appeared to have oncebeen a goat.
It was a relatively fresh killand the hardened warriors were slightly
unnerved by the state of theanimal's corpse.
Its legs had been violentlywrenched from its body and stripped
(05:55):
of flesh.
Bones were cracked open andmissing the marrow.
Deep gouges in each spoke ofincredibly powerful jaws and sharp,
hard teeth.
The men were left with a senseof foreboding as they trudged on
and darkness descended overthe Hindu Kush.
Near midnight, the teamcautiously approached the valley.
(06:17):
It was Broad, the valley floorcut by fissures and flanked by sheer
rock faces pocked with caves.
It felt like a natural trap.
The men spread out as theysurveyed the valley through night
vision.
The team leader used a thermalscope to check for heat sources that
might be hidden from nightvision, but saw nothing other than
(06:37):
cold, hard stone, until hescanned across the mouth of a large
cave and caught the briefestof flashes of heat.
It could have been a manmoving out of sight or an animal
settled in for the night thathad been disturbed by their arrival.
He'd been unable to identifywhat was in the cave that was producing
body heat.
(06:58):
With hand signals, hecommunicated to the rest of the men
instructing the team's sniper,who was equipped with a.50 caliber
rifle and gunner, who carrieda saw or squad assault weapon, a
light machine gun, to remainon overwatch.
Their job was to protect therest of the team in case they came
under attack.
(07:19):
Standing silently, the leadergestured, and the rest of the team
moved with him.
As they neared the caveentrance, a stench hit them, A rancid
mix of decay and somethingmusky, like wet fur left to rot.
Bones littered the ground,gnawed and splintered, the same as
the goat they'd encountered earlier.
(07:41):
The team's point man raised afist, signaling a halt, then gesturing
for the team leader to joinhim on the ground.
At his feet was a dismemberedhuman skeleton, violently ripped
apart with the femur bonescracked open and missing their marrow.
Dread gripped the teamleader's heart when he spotted a
(08:01):
shred of fabric amongst the bones.
It was colored and patternedthe same as the camouflage he wore.
Then came a sound lo aguttural rumble more felt than heard,
vibrating through their chests.
Before they could react, agiant charged out of the cave.
(08:21):
The giant stood as tall asthree men, nearly 18ft.
Its frame was broad andsinewy, and muscles rippled beneath
a pelt of coarse reddish brownhair matted with dirt and blood.
Its skin were visible, wasleathery and grayish, scarred from
untold battles.
The face was the fuel of nightmares.
(08:43):
Vaguely human with aprotruding brow, deep set eyes glinting
like embers, and a maw ofjagged teeth.
Its hands, each with six longclawed fingers, gripped a crude weapon,
a spear or blade forged from bone.
The first strike was lightning fast.
The creature skewered a manthrough the chest with such force
(09:06):
that his body lifted off theground before being torn in half.
Scrambling to open somedistance from the rampaging beast,
the team opened fire.
A deafening cacophony of 5.56millimeter rounds.
The giant roared and swung itsweapon with such force that another
man's skull was crushed as hewas decapitated.
(09:28):
As the team created space, thethe gunner opened up the saw's relentless
chatter, shredding the night.
Bullets tore into the giant,but it hardly faltered under the
onslaught.
Grenades were thrown, thebeast's flesh shredded, yet it kept
coming, roaring, a sound themen compared to a lion.
Later, one of them claimed itswatted away a grenade in midair,
(09:52):
the explosion barelystaggering it.
The fight was an intense 30 seconds.
The giant's resilience defied logic.
It absorbed a barrage thatwould have felled any man instantly,
until the sniper fired asingle shot from his.50 caliber Barrett
rifle that punched through thebeast's head.
(10:12):
It collapsed in a heap ofstinking gore, its weight so great
the men felt the impact withthe ground in the soles of their
boots.
The surviving soldiers were rattled.
Two were dead.
The giant's corpse laysprawled across the cave entrance,
too massive to drag.
The team leader's voice wasrough with adrenaline and disbelief
(10:33):
as he made a call on asatellite phone requesting an emergency
evac.
A CH47 Chinook, a massivehelicopter with twin rotors, arrived
within hours.
The crew, briefed only toexpect a large asset, rigged the
body with cargo netting andchains, hoisting it beneath the chopper.
(10:55):
The giant's limbs dangled,swaying grotesquely as the helicopter
hoisted, the weight estimatedat 1400-1500 lbs.
The Giant's corpse and theteam were flown to an undisclosed
location where they were metby army intelligence officers and
some representatives of the CIA.
The giant was placed into ahermetically sealed box, which was
(11:18):
last seen being loaded aboarda C17 Globemaster.
The survivors of the GreenBeret team and the Chinook's pilots
and crew were held for severaldays in isolation before receiving
a visit from a pair of unknownmen accompanied by an army general
whose uniform was missing thename tape.
This never happened, they weretold, then were required to sign
(11:43):
multiple national security nondisclosure agreements acknowledging
they would be subject toimmediate arrest and indefinite detention
if they revealed anything theyhad experienced.
The two soldiers who died inthe fight with the giant were recovered
and their deaths attributed toenemy action, as were the deaths
of the first team of GreenBerets who had gone missing.
(12:06):
The Giant's remains unknown,but there are reports that the same
C17 that departed Afghanistanwith a creature landed at Wright
Patterson Air Force Base thefollowing day.
That's as far as the trail goes.
Is there any truth to this story.
Consider that Afghani Pashtunhave told tales for centuries of
(12:29):
giant, hairy man like beingsprowling the Hindu Kush.
They are often linked to jinn,or cursed warriors.
The bones in the cave hint ata predator that had remained undisturbed
until the war broughtintruders into its home.
Could such creatures hide inthe dark, dusty corners of the world,
(12:50):
waiting to be discovered?
Or is it the fever dream of asoldier who's seen too much combat?
Very likely we'll never knowthe truth.
Today's second story is thehaunting of Hale Barr.
Clara Henshaw, a woman armedwith a camera, a notebook and a skepticism
(13:14):
as sturdy as the concretewalls of the Hales Bar Dam.
She arrives at this quietmarina, a speck on the Tennessee
river, seeking stories ofrestless spirits and cursed waters.
What she finds, however, isnot merely a tale to scribble down,
but a doorway, one that swingswide to a realm where the past refuses
(13:35):
to drown and the whispers ofthe dead are louder than the living.
This is the story of thehaunting of Hale's Bar.
Clara Henshaw wasn't afraid ofthe dark.
At least not until Hale's Bar.
At 32, she had spent a decadechasing the uncanny, her life a patchwork
(13:55):
of dusty archives, sleeplessnights and half finished coffee cups.
She had written aboutpoltergeist in Ohio, farmhouses,
spectral hitchhikers on emptyArizona highways, and the inexplicable
wails of the Louisiana bayous.
Her readers, mostlyenthusiasts on obscure forums, called
(14:15):
her fearless.
She called herself stubborn, afreelance writer with no roots.
Cuera lived out of a beat upToyota, corruption, a camera and
notebook, her only constant companions.
Hale's Bar Marina and Dam,nestled on Lake Nickajack in Tennessee,
was her latest fixation, itslegends tugging at her like a loose
(14:38):
thread.
In late October 2023, withautumn leaves blazing red and gold,
she packed her gear and headedout of Nashville, chasing whispers.
The drive was quiet, the radiocrackling with static as she wound
through the hills.
In preparation, she hadresearched the dam obsessively.
(14:59):
Construction began in 1905, agrand vision to harness the Tennessee
River's power.
But the limestone bedrockbetrayed it.
It was porous, leaked relentlessly.
Sudden floods due tostructural failures claimed nearly
a hundred lives over thecourse of its construction and failed
filling.
Workers died by the dozen,crushed under falling beams, swept
(15:22):
away in the floods, and anunfortunate few were sealed alive
in wet concrete when a tunnel collapsed.
The locals blamed a Cherokeecurse tied to sacred land, drowned
by the rising waters.
A chief, it was said, hadstood on the Bluffs in 1906, his
voice thundering a vow thatthe river would would Never forgive.
(15:44):
By 1967, Hale's Bar wasreplaced by Nickajack Dam downstream,
but the old powerhouselingered, a crumbling shell turned
marina oddity, its floodedtunnels and rusted turbines a magnet
for rumors of dark curses andunseen phantoms.
Clara arrived at Hale's BarMarina as the sun dipped low, casting
(16:08):
long shadows over the wall water.
At first blush, the place wasa postcard, floating cabins bobbing
gently, boats humming acrossthe lake, and the air smelled of
pine.
She checked into Cabin seven,a weathered rental with creaky floors
and a porch overlooking the dock.
The clerk, Hank Grayson, was awiry man in his 50s, his face etched
(16:32):
with sun and tobacco.
You here for the ghost?
He had asked, sliding her the key.
His tone was light, but hiseyes lingered on her.
Camera maybe, she replied witha grin.
Heard any good stories lately?
He gave her an annoyed lookand scratched his beard.
Don't go poking too deep, you hear?
(16:52):
She nodded, accustomed to thereaction when people found out why
she was there.
She tried to brush it off, buthis warning had coiled itself around
her chest.
As she hauled her bag to thecabin that first evening, Clara settled
on the porch with her notebook.
The river glinted gold in thefading light.
The marina's bar thrummed withweekenders, fishermen, retirees,
(17:16):
a few college kids.
She sipped coffee from herthermos, jotting notes.
Cherokee curse 1906construction deaths Dozens Flooded
graves.
The dam's silhouette loomedacross the lake, its powerhouse a
dark hulk against the trees.
As night fell, the airthickened, the temperature plunging.
(17:40):
Despite the mild forecast, thewater stilled, a mirror for the moon.
And then she heard it.
Whispers, faint and fluid,like voices.
Submerged, Clara froze, pinhovering, she leaned toward the sound,
but it slipped away, masked bya fish's splash.
(18:00):
She shook her head, passing itoff to a night breeze, and retreated
inside, locking the door witha click that felt too loud.
Sleep came fitfully at midnight.
A sharp tapping snapped her awake.
Three wraps.
Precise.
She bolted upright, heartthudding as she fumbled on the weak
bedside lamp.
(18:21):
Outside, the night was inkblack, the light reflecting her wide
eyed face in the window pane.
The tapping didn't repeat, butat the threshold of hearing began
a hum, low, resonant,vibrating through the cabin's walls,
breath coming short.
Clara grabbed her camera andstepped out onto the porch.
(18:42):
She immediately began snappingphotos, turning a few degrees after
every push of the shutter.
The flash flared across thewater like silent lightning.
Back inside, Clara eagerlychecked the digital images she had
just captured.
She grew disappointed as photoafter photo showed only mist creeping
over the water.
(19:02):
One frame, though, revealedsomething on the dock, a tall, thin
shape, its edges smudged like smoke.
She tried to pass it off as ablur, but goose flesh prickled her
back the longer she stared atthe image.
She zoomed in, but whatever itwas dissolved into noise.
Imagination, she whispered.
(19:25):
Morning brought clarity.
Or so she thought.
Over coffee, Clara reviewedher notes and photos, the Bory figure
gnawing at her skepticism.
She decided to explore the powerhouse.
Hank had mentioned guidedtours, but she preferred solitude.
At the marina office, sheflashed a smile at a $20 bill, coaxing
(19:47):
him into lending her a key.
Bring it back by dusk, he said sharply.
And don't be messing round inthe lower levels.
They've been flooded since 67,and things move down there that shouldn't.
She pocketed the key, ignoringthe chill.
His words sparked and headed out.
The powerhouse squatted at themarina's edge, its concrete stained
(20:10):
green with moss, its windowsshattered like broken teeth.
Inside, the air was damp andheavy, reeking of rust and rot.
Clara's flashlights swept overrelics of the past.
Rusted turbines, tangledcables, walls scrawled with graffiti.
They SEE YOU in red, GET OUTin black.
(20:32):
She descended a spiralstaircase to the turbine well and
shined her light at the inkysurface that hid the flooded depths
below.
The stories rushed back,workers trapped in collapsing tunnels,
their screams swallowed by cement.
Cherokee burial groundsflooded as the water rose.
Bodies that shouldn't havebeen disturbed were washed downstream.
(20:55):
The chief at the time claimedtheir spirits had been released and
were angry at being condemnedto roam the river for eternity.
Clara's flashlight flickered.
Old batteries, she told herself.
But a shadow darted across thewall, sharp and human.
Hello?
She called, her throat constricting.
(21:15):
Silence answered, but the airturned icy, prickling her arms.
She snapped a photo, the flashilluminating the room for a heartbeat.
It revealed a figure on thecatwalk above the briefest of impressions.
Impressions of a gaunt,eyeless face.
The head tilted as if listening.
Clara whipped up herflashlight, but the catwalk was bare.
(21:38):
Pulse pounding, she climbed upto the catwalk.
The metal groaned, threateningto collapse and carry her to her
own watery demise.
But she persisted.
Reaching the catwalk, shestared in disbelief at a pair of
wet footprints.
She knelt to photograph them,her light blinking out before she
could.
Darkness crashed over her,thick and alive.
(22:01):
Whispers surged in the dark, acacophony of voices, urgent and pleading,
punctuated by an occasionalscream that ignited a visceral terror
within Clara, Hands trembling,she brought out her phone as the
whispers became a wail.
The key Hank had let herborrow inadvertently came with it,
falling into the water belowwith an unnaturally loud plop.
(22:24):
Clara fumbled with the phone,desperate for light.
Something grabbed her arm,something colder than ice.
Clara screamed and stumbledback, dropping her phone.
Who's there?
She shouted, voice breaking.
The wail stopped, replaced bya hissed command.
Leave.
Panic clawed at her throat andher heart threatened to beat out
(22:48):
of her chest.
She groped along the railing,blind and gasping, until she reached
the stairs and fled upward.
Exiting the power station, shedidn't break stride, just ran for
the marina's lights, whichwere like a beacon of safety to her.
Back in cabin seven, Clarabarricaded the door with a chair
(23:08):
and sank onto the bed, shakingthe cold touch winger, and she could
barely breathe when she saw afaint handprint where she had been
touched.
A handprint the size of a child.
Sleep.
Impossible.
She watched the window as mistthickened over the lake.
At 3am the tapping returned,slower now, deliberate.
(23:30):
Circling the cabin, sheclutched her camera, too afraid to
look, until dawn broke, grayand heavy with a promise of rain
brain.
She checked out at firstlight, avoiding Hank's gaze.
Lost the key, she muttered,shoving some cash into his hand.
He studied her pale face, then nodded.
(23:51):
Happens, he said, but his eyesflicked to the powerhouse driving
away.
Clara glanced in her rearview mirror.
The marina faded, serene inthe morning haze, the powerhouse
a silent sentinel.
She exhaled, tension easing,until she saw her notebook on the
passenger seat.
It lay open to a blank page,now scrawled with jagged words.
(24:16):
We stay.
Her stomach dropped.
She swerved, nearly clipping a guardrail.
Screeching to a stop.
She snatched the notebook offthe seat and flung it into the backseat.
Safely home in Nashville,Clara burned the notebook.
She refused to write about herexperience at Hale's Bar, instead
(24:37):
moving on to a Mainelighthouse story.
But Hale's Bar wouldn'trelease her.
At night she could hear thewind carry whispers, her name soft
and insistent.
Dreams drowned her in darkwater, small hands tugging at her
ankles.
One morning she woke to findher Nikon on the nightstand, Wynn's
(24:59):
cap off, though she'd boxed it away.
The memory card held a newphoto, the Powerhouse at dusk, mist
curling over the dock and acluster of shadowy child sized figures.
Clara burned the card in hersink, the plastic curling black.
She sold the camera, quitfreelancing, and took a job at a
(25:21):
small local newspaper coveringzoning laws and bake sales.
Something safe, something mundane.
Months passed and lifereturned to normal for Clara until
a package with no returnaddress arrived.
Inside was the key she lostinside the power station, rusted
and wrapped in a yellownewspaper clipping from 1910.
(25:45):
Dam claims another boy, eightlost in flood Clara Henshaw thought
she could leave Hale's Barbehind, pick up her fears, trade
her camera for a desk job, andsilence the echoes of that haunted
place.
But the river, it seems, has amemory longer than any notebook and
(26:06):
its tenants.
Those lost souls of concreteand flood followed her not in body
but in shadow and whisper, areminder, perhaps, that some doors
are better left closed.
The stories presented areinspired by true events.
(26:26):
Names may have been changedfor privacy reasons.
New episodes of When RealityFreys are uploaded every Monday and
Thursday.
If you're enjoying the journeyinto the strange, the mysterious,
and the unexplained, be sureto press that Follow or Subscribe
button and turn on allreminders so you're alerted whenever
an episode drops.
(26:47):
Until next time, thank you forlistening to When Reality phrase.
Imagine a world teetering onthe edge of the familiar, a place
where the fabric of theeveryday begins to unravel, revealing
glimpses of the extraordinarylurking beneath.
You're about to embark on ajourney into the enigmatic, where
the peculiar and theperplexing intertwine, where every
tale twists the mind and tugsat the spirit.
(00:25):
It's a descent into thestrange, the mysterious, and the
unexplained.
This is when reality frays.
New episodes are publishedevery Monday and Thursday, and when
Reality phrase is availableeverywhere, find podcasts are found.
(00:46):
Before we move on, please takea moment and hit that Follow or Subscribe
button and turn on allreminders so you're alerted when
new episodes are released.
Today's episode contains two stories.
First up, is There Be GiantsHere, a story from a war zone about
(01:07):
a creature that can't be explained.
And the second story of theday is the Haunting of Hale Bar,
a tale of strange happeningsthat a reporter will wish she had
never investigated.
Thank you for listening.
Now let's get to the stories.
(01:31):
Since the dawn of armedconflict between humans, soldiers
have returned from thebattlefield with fantastic stories
of unexplainable events.
Commonly, the tales they tellwould seem to be of supernatural
origin.
Why is that?
Is there something about thevisceral, adrenaline fueled viciousness
of killing another human beingthat causes a soldier's mind to fabricate
(01:55):
something as a copingmechanism to retain his sanity?
Or perhaps are there thingsout there in the shadows that we
haven't discovered yet?
Because only in time of war doheavily armed groups of men come
face to face with them.
Where a simple shepherd or anadventurer or a hiker who wanders
(02:15):
away from civilization won'tsurvive an encounter with a one of
these creatures.
A team of heavily armed mensuperbly trained in the art of war
fighting can come outvictorious with a story no one will
believe.
This story is notable becausethe US government, specifically the
DoD and the CIA, categoricallydeny these events ever occurred.
(02:40):
There is nothing in publiclyavailable DoD records to support
the claims of those involved,but that denial, along with five
bucks, will buy you a smallblack coffee.
This is the story of There begiants here, 2002 in the Badik Shan
(03:01):
Province, Afghanistan.
It's the height of OperationEnduring Freedom.
US Forces are hunting theTaliban and Al Qaeda in some of the
world's most unforgivingterrain, and we're coming along in
the search for a missing teamof Army Green Berets.
The Badikshan province spansabout 17,000 square miles, making
(03:22):
it one of Afghanistan's larger provinces.
It's dominated by the HinduKush mountain range and home to Afghanistan's
highest peak.
The province is a nearlyindecipherable maze of jagged peaks,
steep valleys, high plateausand rushing rivers.
It's a hard place, one of themost remote on the planet, peopled
(03:44):
by nomadic herders and opiumfarmers, and with an extensive system
of naturally occurring caves.
It's also perfect forinsurgents to hide from the American
military.
The missing six man team ofGreen Berets had made their last
check in four days ago.
They were following up onwhispers picked up by the CIA that
(04:05):
insurgents were massing in anarea high in the Hindu Kush in preparation
for a major offensive.
So far, they'd found nothingto substantiate the intelligence,
but they had encountered anAfghani man and his two sons, who
were tending a flock of goats.
The father had seemed friendlyenough, even warning them against
(04:27):
approaching a specific valleyseveral thousand feet higher in the
mountains.
When pressed for anexplanation, the man hinted at a
demon or Jinnah haunting thearea, a claim dismissed as superstition
by the Green Beret team leader.
He was suspicious of thegoatherd's warning and reported they
would be scouting the valley.
(04:47):
He was warned against approaching.
This was the last contact withthe team, despite multiple scheduled
check ins having come and gone.
Overflights of Air Forcereconnaissance planes equipped with
thermal and high resolutioncameras that can identify a flea
on a Camel's ass from 10,000fthad failed to find any trace of the
(05:08):
team.
Now 12 Green Berets were onthe ground searching for their missing
brothers.
This team had been dropped 12cliques away from the suspect valley
under a moonless sky.
The air was thick with dust,the silence broken only by the moaning
sigh of a frigid wind.
The going was hard, but sowere the men and they pushed on all
(05:32):
night and the following daythey didn't encounter any of the
goatherds known to be in the area.
But as the sun was setting,they came across the bloody remains
of what appeared to have oncebeen a goat.
It was a relatively fresh killand the hardened warriors were slightly
unnerved by the state of theanimal's corpse.
Its legs had been violentlywrenched from its body and stripped
(05:55):
of flesh.
Bones were cracked open andmissing the marrow.
Deep gouges in each spoke ofincredibly powerful jaws and sharp,
hard teeth.
The men were left with a senseof foreboding as they trudged on
and darkness descended overthe Hindu Kush.
Near midnight, the teamcautiously approached the valley.
(06:17):
It was Broad, the valley floorcut by fissures and flanked by sheer
rock faces pocked with caves.
It felt like a natural trap.
The men spread out as theysurveyed the valley through night
vision.
The team leader used a thermalscope to check for heat sources that
might be hidden from nightvision, but saw nothing other than
(06:37):
cold, hard stone, until hescanned across the mouth of a large
cave and caught the briefestof flashes of heat.
It could have been a manmoving out of sight or an animal
settled in for the night thathad been disturbed by their arrival.
He'd been unable to identifywhat was in the cave that was producing
body heat.
(06:58):
With hand signals, hecommunicated to the rest of the men
instructing the team's sniper,who was equipped with a.50 caliber
rifle and gunner, who carrieda saw or squad assault weapon, a
light machine gun, to remainon overwatch.
Their job was to protect therest of the team in case they came
under attack.
(07:19):
Standing silently, the leadergestured, and the rest of the team
moved with him.
As they neared the caveentrance, a stench hit them, A rancid
mix of decay and somethingmusky, like wet fur left to rot.
Bones littered the ground,gnawed and splintered, the same as
the goat they'd encountered earlier.
(07:41):
The team's point man raised afist, signaling a halt, then gesturing
for the team leader to joinhim on the ground.
At his feet was a dismemberedhuman skeleton, violently ripped
apart with the femur bonescracked open and missing their marrow.
Dread gripped the teamleader's heart when he spotted a
(08:01):
shred of fabric amongst the bones.
It was colored and patternedthe same as the camouflage he wore.
Then came a sound lo aguttural rumble more felt than heard,
vibrating through their chests.
Before they could react, agiant charged out of the cave.
(08:21):
The giant stood as tall asthree men, nearly 18ft.
Its frame was broad andsinewy, and muscles rippled beneath
a pelt of coarse reddish brownhair matted with dirt and blood.
Its skin were visible, wasleathery and grayish, scarred from
untold battles.
The face was the fuel of nightmares.
(08:43):
Vaguely human with aprotruding brow, deep set eyes glinting
like embers, and a maw ofjagged teeth.
Its hands, each with six longclawed fingers, gripped a crude weapon,
a spear or blade forged from bone.
The first strike was lightning fast.
The creature skewered a manthrough the chest with such force
(09:06):
that his body lifted off theground before being torn in half.
Scrambling to open somedistance from the rampaging beast,
the team opened fire.
A deafening cacophony of 5.56millimeter rounds.
The giant roared and swung itsweapon with such force that another
man's skull was crushed as hewas decapitated.
(09:28):
As the team created space, thethe gunner opened up the saw's relentless
chatter, shredding the night.
Bullets tore into the giant,but it hardly faltered under the
onslaught.
Grenades were thrown, thebeast's flesh shredded, yet it kept
coming, roaring, a sound themen compared to a lion.
Later, one of them claimed itswatted away a grenade in midair,
(09:52):
the explosion barelystaggering it.
The fight was an intense 30 seconds.
The giant's resilience defied logic.
It absorbed a barrage thatwould have felled any man instantly,
until the sniper fired asingle shot from his.50 caliber Barrett
rifle that punched through thebeast's head.
(10:12):
It collapsed in a heap ofstinking gore, its weight so great
the men felt the impact withthe ground in the soles of their
boots.
The surviving soldiers were rattled.
Two were dead.
The giant's corpse laysprawled across the cave entrance,
too massive to drag.
The team leader's voice wasrough with adrenaline and disbelief
(10:33):
as he made a call on asatellite phone requesting an emergency
evac.
A CH47 Chinook, a massivehelicopter with twin rotors, arrived
within hours.
The crew, briefed only toexpect a large asset, rigged the
body with cargo netting andchains, hoisting it beneath the chopper.
(10:55):
The giant's limbs dangled,swaying grotesquely as the helicopter
hoisted, the weight estimatedat 1400-1500 lbs.
The Giant's corpse and theteam were flown to an undisclosed
location where they were metby army intelligence officers and
some representatives of the CIA.
The giant was placed into ahermetically sealed box, which was
(11:18):
last seen being loaded aboarda C17 Globemaster.
The survivors of the GreenBeret team and the Chinook's pilots
and crew were held for severaldays in isolation before receiving
a visit from a pair of unknownmen accompanied by an army general
whose uniform was missing thename tape.
This never happened, they weretold, then were required to sign
(11:43):
multiple national security nondisclosure agreements acknowledging
they would be subject toimmediate arrest and indefinite detention
if they revealed anything theyhad experienced.
The two soldiers who died inthe fight with the giant were recovered
and their deaths attributed toenemy action, as were the deaths
of the first team of GreenBerets who had gone missing.
(12:06):
The Giant's remains unknown,but there are reports that the same
C17 that departed Afghanistanwith a creature landed at Wright
Patterson Air Force Base thefollowing day.
That's as far as the trail goes.
Is there any truth to this story.
Consider that Afghani Pashtunhave told tales for centuries of
(12:29):
giant, hairy man like beingsprowling the Hindu Kush.
They are often linked to jinn,or cursed warriors.
The bones in the cave hint ata predator that had remained undisturbed
until the war broughtintruders into its home.
Could such creatures hide inthe dark, dusty corners of the world,
(12:50):
waiting to be discovered?
Or is it the fever dream of asoldier who's seen too much combat?
Very likely we'll never knowthe truth.
Today's second story is thehaunting of Hale Barr.
Clara Henshaw, a woman armedwith a camera, a notebook and a skepticism
(13:14):
as sturdy as the concretewalls of the Hales Bar Dam.
She arrives at this quietmarina, a speck on the Tennessee
river, seeking stories ofrestless spirits and cursed waters.
What she finds, however, isnot merely a tale to scribble down,
but a doorway, one that swingswide to a realm where the past refuses
(13:35):
to drown and the whispers ofthe dead are louder than the living.
This is the story of thehaunting of Hale's Bar.
Clara Henshaw wasn't afraid ofthe dark.
At least not until Hale's Bar.
At 32, she had spent a decadechasing the uncanny, her life a patchwork
(13:55):
of dusty archives, sleeplessnights and half finished coffee cups.
She had written aboutpoltergeist in Ohio, farmhouses,
spectral hitchhikers on emptyArizona highways, and the inexplicable
wails of the Louisiana bayous.
Her readers, mostlyenthusiasts on obscure forums, called
(14:15):
her fearless.
She called herself stubborn, afreelance writer with no roots.
Cuera lived out of a beat upToyota, corruption, a camera and
notebook, her only constant companions.
Hale's Bar Marina and Dam,nestled on Lake Nickajack in Tennessee,
was her latest fixation, itslegends tugging at her like a loose
(14:38):
thread.
In late October 2023, withautumn leaves blazing red and gold,
she packed her gear and headedout of Nashville, chasing whispers.
The drive was quiet, the radiocrackling with static as she wound
through the hills.
In preparation, she hadresearched the dam obsessively.
(14:59):
Construction began in 1905, agrand vision to harness the Tennessee
River's power.
But the limestone bedrockbetrayed it.
It was porous, leaked relentlessly.
Sudden floods due tostructural failures claimed nearly
a hundred lives over thecourse of its construction and failed
filling.
Workers died by the dozen,crushed under falling beams, swept
(15:22):
away in the floods, and anunfortunate few were sealed alive
in wet concrete when a tunnel collapsed.
The locals blamed a Cherokeecurse tied to sacred land, drowned
by the rising waters.
A chief, it was said, hadstood on the Bluffs in 1906, his
voice thundering a vow thatthe river would would Never forgive.
(15:44):
By 1967, Hale's Bar wasreplaced by Nickajack Dam downstream,
but the old powerhouselingered, a crumbling shell turned
marina oddity, its floodedtunnels and rusted turbines a magnet
for rumors of dark curses andunseen phantoms.
Clara arrived at Hale's BarMarina as the sun dipped low, casting
(16:08):
long shadows over the wall water.
At first blush, the place wasa postcard, floating cabins bobbing
gently, boats humming acrossthe lake, and the air smelled of
pine.
She checked into Cabin seven,a weathered rental with creaky floors
and a porch overlooking the dock.
The clerk, Hank Grayson, was awiry man in his 50s, his face etched
(16:32):
with sun and tobacco.
You here for the ghost?
He had asked, sliding her the key.
His tone was light, but hiseyes lingered on her.
Camera maybe, she replied witha grin.
Heard any good stories lately?
He gave her an annoyed lookand scratched his beard.
Don't go poking too deep, you hear?
(16:52):
She nodded, accustomed to thereaction when people found out why
she was there.
She tried to brush it off, buthis warning had coiled itself around
her chest.
As she hauled her bag to thecabin that first evening, Clara settled
on the porch with her notebook.
The river glinted gold in thefading light.
The marina's bar thrummed withweekenders, fishermen, retirees,
(17:16):
a few college kids.
She sipped coffee from herthermos, jotting notes.
Cherokee curse 1906construction deaths Dozens Flooded
graves.
The dam's silhouette loomedacross the lake, its powerhouse a
dark hulk against the trees.
As night fell, the airthickened, the temperature plunging.
(17:40):
Despite the mild forecast, thewater stilled, a mirror for the moon.
And then she heard it.
Whispers, faint and fluid,like voices.
Submerged, Clara froze, pinhovering, she leaned toward the sound,
but it slipped away, masked bya fish's splash.
(18:00):
She shook her head, passing itoff to a night breeze, and retreated
inside, locking the door witha click that felt too loud.
Sleep came fitfully at midnight.
A sharp tapping snapped her awake.
Three wraps.
Precise.
She bolted upright, heartthudding as she fumbled on the weak
bedside lamp.
(18:21):
Outside, the night was inkblack, the light reflecting her wide
eyed face in the window pane.
The tapping didn't repeat, butat the threshold of hearing began
a hum, low, resonant,vibrating through the cabin's walls,
breath coming short.
Clara grabbed her camera andstepped out onto the porch.
(18:42):
She immediately began snappingphotos, turning a few degrees after
every push of the shutter.
The flash flared across thewater like silent lightning.
Back inside, Clara eagerlychecked the digital images she had
just captured.
She grew disappointed as photoafter photo showed only mist creeping
over the water.
(19:02):
One frame, though, revealedsomething on the dock, a tall, thin
shape, its edges smudged like smoke.
She tried to pass it off as ablur, but goose flesh prickled her
back the longer she stared atthe image.
She zoomed in, but whatever itwas dissolved into noise.
Imagination, she whispered.
(19:25):
Morning brought clarity.
Or so she thought.
Over coffee, Clara reviewedher notes and photos, the Bory figure
gnawing at her skepticism.
She decided to explore the powerhouse.
Hank had mentioned guidedtours, but she preferred solitude.
At the marina office, sheflashed a smile at a $20 bill, coaxing
(19:47):
him into lending her a key.
Bring it back by dusk, he said sharply.
And don't be messing round inthe lower levels.
They've been flooded since 67,and things move down there that shouldn't.
She pocketed the key, ignoringthe chill.
His words sparked and headed out.
The powerhouse squatted at themarina's edge, its concrete stained
(20:10):
green with moss, its windowsshattered like broken teeth.
Inside, the air was damp andheavy, reeking of rust and rot.
Clara's flashlights swept overrelics of the past.
Rusted turbines, tangledcables, walls scrawled with graffiti.
They SEE YOU in red, GET OUTin black.
(20:32):
She descended a spiralstaircase to the turbine well and
shined her light at the inkysurface that hid the flooded depths
below.
The stories rushed back,workers trapped in collapsing tunnels,
their screams swallowed by cement.
Cherokee burial groundsflooded as the water rose.
Bodies that shouldn't havebeen disturbed were washed downstream.
(20:55):
The chief at the time claimedtheir spirits had been released and
were angry at being condemnedto roam the river for eternity.
Clara's flashlight flickered.
Old batteries, she told herself.
But a shadow darted across thewall, sharp and human.
Hello?
She called, her throat constricting.
(21:15):
Silence answered, but the airturned icy, prickling her arms.
She snapped a photo, the flashilluminating the room for a heartbeat.
It revealed a figure on thecatwalk above the briefest of impressions.
Impressions of a gaunt,eyeless face.
The head tilted as if listening.
Clara whipped up herflashlight, but the catwalk was bare.
(21:38):
Pulse pounding, she climbed upto the catwalk.
The metal groaned, threateningto collapse and carry her to her
own watery demise.
But she persisted.
Reaching the catwalk, shestared in disbelief at a pair of
wet footprints.
She knelt to photograph them,her light blinking out before she
could.
Darkness crashed over her,thick and alive.
(22:01):
Whispers surged in the dark, acacophony of voices, urgent and pleading,
punctuated by an occasionalscream that ignited a visceral terror
within Clara, Hands trembling,she brought out her phone as the
whispers became a wail.
The key Hank had let herborrow inadvertently came with it,
falling into the water belowwith an unnaturally loud plop.
(22:24):
Clara fumbled with the phone,desperate for light.
Something grabbed her arm,something colder than ice.
Clara screamed and stumbledback, dropping her phone.
Who's there?
She shouted, voice breaking.
The wail stopped, replaced bya hissed command.
Leave.
Panic clawed at her throat andher heart threatened to beat out
(22:48):
of her chest.
She groped along the railing,blind and gasping, until she reached
the stairs and fled upward.
Exiting the power station, shedidn't break stride, just ran for
the marina's lights, whichwere like a beacon of safety to her.
Back in cabin seven, Clarabarricaded the door with a chair
(23:08):
and sank onto the bed, shakingthe cold touch winger, and she could
barely breathe when she saw afaint handprint where she had been
touched.
A handprint the size of a child.
Sleep.
Impossible.
She watched the window as mistthickened over the lake.
At 3am the tapping returned,slower now, deliberate.
(23:30):
Circling the cabin, sheclutched her camera, too afraid to
look, until dawn broke, grayand heavy with a promise of rain
brain.
She checked out at firstlight, avoiding Hank's gaze.
Lost the key, she muttered,shoving some cash into his hand.
He studied her pale face, then nodded.
(23:51):
Happens, he said, but his eyesflicked to the powerhouse driving
away.
Clara glanced in her rearview mirror.
The marina faded, serene inthe morning haze, the powerhouse
a silent sentinel.
She exhaled, tension easing,until she saw her notebook on the
passenger seat.
It lay open to a blank page,now scrawled with jagged words.
(24:16):
We stay.
Her stomach dropped.
She swerved, nearly clipping a guardrail.
Screeching to a stop.
She snatched the notebook offthe seat and flung it into the backseat.
Safely home in Nashville,Clara burned the notebook.
She refused to write about herexperience at Hale's Bar, instead
(24:37):
moving on to a Mainelighthouse story.
But Hale's Bar wouldn'trelease her.
At night she could hear thewind carry whispers, her name soft
and insistent.
Dreams drowned her in darkwater, small hands tugging at her
ankles.
One morning she woke to findher Nikon on the nightstand, Wynn's
(24:59):
cap off, though she'd boxed it away.
The memory card held a newphoto, the Powerhouse at dusk, mist
curling over the dock and acluster of shadowy child sized figures.
Clara burned the card in hersink, the plastic curling black.
She sold the camera, quitfreelancing, and took a job at a
(25:21):
small local newspaper coveringzoning laws and bake sales.
Something safe, something mundane.
Months passed and lifereturned to normal for Clara until
a package with no returnaddress arrived.
Inside was the key she lostinside the power station, rusted
and wrapped in a yellownewspaper clipping from 1910.
(25:45):
Dam claims another boy, eightlost in flood Clara Henshaw thought
she could leave Hale's Barbehind, pick up her fears, trade
her camera for a desk job, andsilence the echoes of that haunted
place.
But the river, it seems, has amemory longer than any notebook and
(26:06):
its tenants.
Those lost souls of concreteand flood followed her not in body
but in shadow and whisper, areminder, perhaps, that some doors
are better left closed.
The stories presented areinspired by true events.
(26:26):
Names may have been changedfor privacy reasons.
New episodes of When RealityFreys are uploaded every Monday and
Thursday.
If you're enjoying the journeyinto the strange, the mysterious,
and the unexplained, be sureto press that Follow or Subscribe
button and turn on allreminders so you're alerted whenever
an episode drops.
(26:47):
Until next time, thank you forlistening to When Reality phrase.
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