One of the questions that I often get asked when it comes to the matter of Cryptozoology goes something broadly like this: “If Bigfoot, the Abominable Snowman, the Loch Ness Monster, and all the rest, are real, then why can’t we ever catch, or find, just one example of them?” Well, there’s no denying, at all, that it’s a very good question!

The skeptic, of course, would say the reason for the lack of such a specimen is simple: all the reports can be explained away via folklore, fantasy, mythology, mistaken identity, and hoaxes. Those monster-hunters who believe the beasts they seek to be flesh and blood and nothing else, would say the creatures are just incredibly elusive. I say neither approach is correct.

There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that Sasquatch, lake-monsters, and the many and varied other types of mystery animal that get seen every now and again, are absolutely real. In that sense, I believe the skeptics to be mistaken. But, there’s a problem with the flesh and blood angle of the conventional cryptozoologists - as I see it,  at least.

If this bizarre “monster-menagerie” is just comprised of animals that science and zoology have not classified (or downright refuse to classify), then we should be seeing them purely at random locales – places that are normal, everyday environments, but that just happen to be home to some very strange animals. When we look closer, however, we see that is not what is actually happening: The places are often as profound as the beasts themselves.

Indeed, in many cases where crypto-creatures are seen, the location is already noted for its high-strangeness. And, with that said, let’s take a look at a few such places.

I live just outside Dallas, Texas, and – with good friend and fellow creature-seeker, Ken Gerhard – wrote a book a couple of years ago called Monsters of Texas. The book included a chapter on sightings of Bigfoot-type beasts in a massive area of East Texas forest called the Big Thicket. Many of the reports emanate from a long road that runs through the dense woods. Its name is Bragg Road.

Locally, however, the road is known as “Ghost Light Road.” The reason for this is simple: strange, ethereal balls of light are seen flitting among the trees on a regular basis. Thus, we have an area renowned for supernatural activity where Bigfoot just happens to be seen, too.

Now let’s take a trip to Loch Ness, Scotland. If you thought that Nessie (or the Nessies) was the only weird thing in residence at the loch, you would be dead wrong. Aleister Crowley once had a home at the loch – Boleskine House – and while there tried to summon up demons from the dark waters.  Large black cats have been seen roaming the shores of the loch. UFOs have soared overhead, while Men in Black have been seen prowling the surrounding, wooded areas.

It’s the same with England: from the Cannock Chase woods, numerous reports have surfaced of so-called “Alien Big Cats.” Now, they might be escapees from zoos and private menageries. But, many of the reports from the Chase come from a cemetery in the woods known as the German Cemetery (it houses the remains of German military personnel who died on British soil during the First and Second World Wars). Here’s the other thing: large, black cats are not the only kind of crypto-beast seen at the cemetery.

Bipedal, wolf-like animals – definitive werewolves, some might say – have also been seen there, as have Bigfoot-style entities. And a number of reports of the ghostly and spectral style, too, have surfaced from among the old gravestones.

Moving back to the US: Stan Gordon’s excellent book, Silent Invasion, is an in-depth study of an early 1970s wave when UFOs and Bigfoot were seen repeatedly at the same time, and at the same place, in various parts of Pennsylvania. Easily rivaling John Keel’s The Mothman Prophecies – in terms of multiple weird phenomena all manifesting in one area – Silent Invasion makes it very difficult to conclude that Bigfoot is just a giant ape and nothing else.

Linda Godfrey’s first-class research into American werewolves has demonstrated connections to cemeteries, to areas that were perceived as sacred and magical by Native Americans, and – bizarrely – to old military bases, too. Her books Hunting the American Werewolf and Real Wolfmen make that abundantly clear.

Now, I’m most assuredly not saying that unknown animals don’t exist – they clearly do. There is a massive amount of evidence that obviously leads in that direction and – in my view – nowhere else. But, when the locations where lake-monsters, lycanthropes, and Bigfoot (to name just three) have been seen are teeming with additional paranormal phenomena – or where the site has, for centuries, been perceived as magical or mysterious - then I think we need to look outside the box.

I will be the first to admit it’s difficult to know what we should make of these cases that tie strange creatures to a wide variety of other “things,” but there is one thing I do know for sure: when a strange creature is seen at an already-strange and renowned site, there’s something afoot that goes way beyond the conventions of just Cryptozoology.

Among the circles of cryptozoologists that take seriously the study of Bigfoot, a manlike biped only presumed to exist in North America, few would argue that there is some compelling, though still inconclusive evidence. That evidence is good enough to keep the “weekend warriors” out there searching for their inhuman quarry, and good enough to cause a rift between the notions of what can be accepted as pure myth, and the actual fabric of reality.

Some of the Bigfoot evidence has been good enough to sway men of science in its favor, including the likes of Jeffery Meldrum, as well as Loren Coleman, who lately, due to the unfortunate amount of violence occurring in America, has received almost equal attention for his sociological interests, as well as the cryptozoological pursuits he is best known for. And some of the Bigfoot evidence has been good enough to cause the unassuming layman to question whether there might be some validity to reports of strange creatures that are barely a breath away from being human, or something damned close to it.

But the preponderance of Bigfoot evidence has also been good for those who seek to build an industry around it, just as well. Television shows, documentary films, books, and even action figures have all made the legendary Sasquatch a central focus of their enterprises. Furthermore, the American towns which are lucky enough to be near any reported sightings of the beast may also seek to capitalize on the beast’s alleged presence. And so the question is, do the reports themselves actually promulgate the purported existence of the creature, or are mere legends kept alive by a spurious industry that seeks to profit from belief in the creature’s existence?

In a modern world (or at least a Western culture) that largely favors belief in those things for which there is nonetheless little evidence to support, it may indeed seem like an unfair question to ask, with regard to the validity of the existence of Sasquatch, versus the industry that profits from people’s belief in their presence among us. My intention here is not to try and disuade the “believer,” however, so much as it is to point out a very valid cultural phenomenon ongoing in our midst. The Bigfoot industry would not be the first example of cryptozoological mythos adapted to an economic niche that supports such things as local tourism: by at least the 1940s, it could be argued that the same sort of thing was underway at Loch Ness, Scotland, following a series of sightings dating back to the 1930s that begun to attract not just the public attention, but arguably the hoteliers and gift-shop operators who became interested in playing up the wonder of a “beast” lurking beneath the depths of the Loch.

In fairness, while we can see that Bigfoot wasn’t the first cryptid to have an industry built around his presence, I can neither claim to be the first who ever brought this argument regarding to the industrialization of cryptozoology to public attention. In his aptly titled 1972 book Bigfoot, Smithsonian researcher turned cryptozoologist John Napier made a similar observation:

On the face of it the Yeti is a more attractive subject to investigate than the Sasquatch. Bigfoot in some quarters of North America has become Big Business, a commodity to be exploited to the full. It can no longer be considered simply a natural phenomenon that can be studied with the techniques of a naturalist; the entrepreneurs have moved in and the folklore has become fake-lore. For example, in the township of Willow Creek, California, there is an eight-foot statue of Bigoot carved in redwood in the town centre; each year carnivals are held called “Bigfoot Daze”; footprints are emblazoned on the sidewalks and Bigfoot ashtrays and Bigfoot rings are for sale in every local tourist trap… Naturalists don’t expect to have to contend in the field with professional publicists and  carnival showmen; indeed, by their training, they are exceedingly ill-equipped to do so.

And perhaps, in the modern era, the gift shops and novelties have been replaced with reality television and citizen journalism running rife amidst the blogosphere (note the irony in this statement, by the way, as the pot ever-so-nobly calls the kettle black). The carnival atmosphere that surrounded Bigfootery in the days of yesteryear has been replaced in the modern sense by a prime-time glorification of the weekend warrior, whose presence amidst the serious, scientific study of anomalous biological specimens is about as useful as air to a dying man. Then again, in such a climate, one must acknowledge that it also becomes difficult to commandeer any sort of serious scientific interest; thus, it all becomes a chicken or the egg argument… were the scientists run away from the field first, or did they turn their backs initially, making way for the entry of the enthusiasts who, armed with their camouflage gear and tranquilizer guns, felt it was prudent to enter the field and carry on where science would not?

It is indeed very difficult to remove the corporate aspect of all this, despite whether or not it’s always a bad thing to have business interest underlying the proliferation of cryptozoological studies. Where we had articles and books, exclusively, in the old days, today we are afforded media attention, books, film, and the reality TV shows. Maybe there is good with the bad, just as well, and the attention these subjects receive, while putting money in the pockets of the successful entrepreneur, may also garner the kind of interest that science alone could not have mustered in ages past.

Just over six years ago (almost to the very week) a deeply strange series of events kicked off in the woods of central England, just a stone’s throw from where I used to live. On April 26, 2007, the Stafford Post newspaper stated the following: “A rash of sightings of a ‘werewolf’-type creature prowling around the outskirts of Stafford has prompted a respected Midlands paranormal group to investigate.”

The newspaper continued: “West Midlands Ghost Club says they have been contacted by a number of shocked residents who saw what they claimed to be a ‘hairy wolf-type creature’ walking on its hind legs around the German War Cemetery, just off Camp Road, in between Stafford and Cannock. Several of them claim the creature sprang up on its hind legs and ran into the nearby bushes when it was spotted.”

Nick Duffy, of West Midlands Ghost Club, said of the strange affair: “The first person to contact us was a postman, who told us he had seen what he thought was a werewolf on the German War Cemetery site. He said he was over there on a motorbike and saw what he believed was a large dog. When he got closer, the creature got on his hind legs and ran away. I’ve spoke to many witnesses and I know when they are putting it on. But what struck me as strange about this was the way he told it. I’m in no doubt that he was telling the truth.”

The creature was also apparently spotted by a scout-leader walking over the forest land earlier in April. The man, who the Stafford Post stated did not want to be named, said he saw what he initially believed was a large dog prowling by the bushes. It was only when he got into his car to drive away that he realized something very weird indeed was afoot.

He said: “It just looked like a huge dog. But when I slammed the door of my car it reared up on its back legs and ran into the trees. It must have been about six to seven feet tall. I know it sounds absolutely mad, but I know what I saw.”

Were real-life werewolves really living deep in the woods around the German Cemetery? True or not, the local media, recognizing that the story was undoubtedly a great one, continued to run with it whenever and wherever possible; one month later, the following account appeared within the pages of the Chase Post: “A tribe of subterranean creatures who surface on Cannock Chase to hunt for food could be behind a rash of ‘werewolf’ and Bigfoot sightings near Stafford. And the mysterious beings could also be responsible for a string of pet disappearances, it has been claimed.”

Newspaper staff added: “Theories behind the sightings range from a crazed tramp to aliens. But now another paranormal expert has put forward the theory the sub-human beast is not a werewolf at all – but a Stone Age throwback. The investigator, who wishes to remain anonymous, told us: ‘Strange sightings in this area have been made over many years by civilians, military, police, ex-police and scout leaders on patrol. Some incidents have been reported and logged but others not: some people don’t want to be classed as mad.’”

The newspapers elaborated further: “The strangest rumor has come from a senior local resident who believes the mysterious intruders to be subterranean. He told us: ‘The creatures have made their way to the surface via old earthworks to hunt, for example, local deer.’”

And, on the surface (no pun intended!), the far-fetched tale could have easily been dismissed. However, the Post’s source added: “It’s a fact that there has been significant mining activity under Cannock Chase for centuries. And it’s a fact there is a high rate of domestic pet disappearance in the area – especially dogs off the lead. Just ask anyone who walks their dog near the German War Cemetery.”

Needless to say, with tales of wild werewolves on the loose, underground caverns, monster-haunted spooky mines, and pets vanishing mysteriously in the woods, there was no chance whatsoever of the controversy grinding to a halt. Indeed, I still get tales to this very day of werewolf-style creatures seen in the vicinity of that spooky cemetery. And I’m not the only one.

Lee Brickley, who has just created a new blog, titled Paranormal Cannock Chase, and which focuses upon the many and varied mysteries of the area, has uncovered further details of man-wolves seen in the area.

Lee notes in one particular report: “…a group of 3 teenagers who, whilst stopping for a cigarette break on a popular car-park near to the village of Brocton (a place that describes itself as the Gateway to Cannock Chase), witnessed the understandably terrifying sight of what they described as an ‘oversized, upright, wolf’ rummaging through a litter bin. Luckily, at a distance of around 20 meters, the creature didn’t notice them and soon moved on, but those lads have been deeply affected by it nonetheless.”

And here’s Lee’s complete story on the weird saga.

Is lycanthropy well and truly afoot in central England? Are savage werewolf-like beasts wildly on the loose? For at least six years such stories have surfaced, suggesting, incredibly, the answer might just be an ominous “Yes”…

It’s fair to say that I’m not just a regular recipient of strange tales of a supernatural nature. Just occasionally, I’m the recipient of tales that easily exceed what could be termed strange.  I’m talking about those distinctly rogue cases that veer into territories where a researcher is forced to take one of two views: (a) what the witness reported simply did not happen; or (b) some of the mysterious things that people such as me chase down are not just weird. They’re beyond weird. The following case is a perfect example of the latter.

It came to me a few years ago from a couple named Donnie and Lynne, a thirty-something pair originally from Tulsa, who were living on the fringes of Oklahoma City when I interviewed them. March 8, 2007, Donnie told me, marked the couple’s second wedding anniversary. And, as keen outdoors-people with a love of nature, they decided to avoid the typical vacation resorts that would normally spring to mind, and instead decided to spend nine days deep in the heart of the grand Ouachita National Forest. The decision was one they would later come to bitterly regret.

Covering the western section of Arkansas and parts of eastern Oklahoma, the Ouachita National Forest is the oldest National Forest in the southern United  States. It encompasses almost two million acres, including most of the scenic Ouachita Mountains – Ouachita being the French spelling of the Indian word Washita, which means “good hunting grounds.”

Around 5.00 p.m. one day before their vacation ended, the pair was walking along the aforementioned Ouachita National Recreation Trail, when Donnie developed a distinct and foreboding feeling that we all experience now and again: namely, that of being watched. He was not wrong.

As the pair strolled along the trail hand-in-hand, to the left of them and at a distance of no more than twenty feet a huge, hairy creature came crashing through the trees. Although up until this point, they had no more exposure to the world of cryptozoology than most people, they instantly knew what they were looking at: a Bigfoot.

Donnie told me that the creature was truly immense: at least eight and a half feet tall, “obviously male,” and with very bulky arms and legs. It had a cone-shaped head, a “massive chest,” and was covered in “dark brown hair that had a lot of white in it [and] which made us think he was really old.” Too shocked to move – “I fell to my knees,” Lynne told me – the couple merely stared, as the huge creature did likewise in their direction.

But then something truly strange occurred: in somewhat hesitant tones, Donnie said they continued to look on in both awe and fear, when suddenly their minds were filled with a soothing female voice that uttered the words: “Do not be afraid. You will not be harmed. Do not come closer.”

It was as if “we were thinking the words, but listening to them, too, if that makes any sense,” Donnie said, as he grappled to explain the sensation of hearing the disembodied, telepathic-like voice. And, of course, the fact that a soft female voice emanated from a beast that looked like it could tear apart a small car, only made the whole situation even stranger. But even weirder things were to come.

Trying to compose himself, at least as best he could, as his wife still sat shaking on her knees and clinging to his right leg for support, Donnie’s first thought was to take a photograph of the beast. As he made a move to open his back-pack and pull out his digital-camera, two ever so slightly stern words reverberated around his head: “Do not.” For a moment, he tried to ignore the words and continued to frantically dig for his camera. “No, do not. No, do not,” the voice repeated, as the face of the creature changed from one of a blank stare to a distinctly malevolent frown.

“Do not,” the voice continued, still in eerily calm-and-collected female tones. Perhaps wisely, Donnie finally did as he was told, and sank to his knees and held Lynne tightly. At that moment, the mighty Bigfoot edged closer and to a point where he was about ten feet from the by now terrified couple. “The smell was terrible: like a dead animal,” Lynne recalled.

As it loomed over them, they heard one final message: “You will not be hurt and you need not fear. Go. One more time I shall see you.” Needless to say, Donnie and Lynne needed no encouragement and, struggling to stand on their trembling legs, headed off at high speed down the trail, constantly looking over their shoulders until the creature was lost from sight as the pathway took a turn to the left. The event was over.

Many cryptozoologists might simply ignore and wipe their hands of such an outrageously controversial tale. But, I don’t consider myself to be a cryptozoologist in the way in which the term is intended. Rather, I would describe myself as a Fortean who happens to have a very deep interest in cryptozoology. The difference might sound slight to some, but I assure you it most certainly is not.

Rogue stories like that of Donnie and Lynne are as problematic as they are fascinating. And I don’t mean that disrespectfully to the pair. If the event happened as Donnie and Lynne reported it – and, I have to say, there was nothing odd or prankster-like about them - then Bigfoot is a creature even stranger than I generally consider it, which is as something with distinct and decidedly paranormal overtones.

But, there’s weird and then there’s beyond weird. This case clearly falls into the second category. Unfortunately, when faced with with these “beyond weird” cases it only makes it more and more difficult to fathom what’s really afoot.

That doesn’t make me want to give up the chase, however. In fact, the exact opposite: it encourages me to push further for the answers – but which might not be the answers we’re expecting. So, with that in mind, I say to fellow researchers of the unexplained (in all its many and varied forms) don’t ignore those cases that are difficult (or near-impossible) to fathom. Instead, embrace them. They may be seriously strange, but they may also be the ones that crack the puzzle.

Just on dusk on New Year’s Eve 2012, Trevor, from Stanwell Park. a small coastal town nestled on the southern fringes of Sydney’s Royal National Park, was going for a quiet walk through the nearby bush. He had walked this bush track many times before. But this time, in fading light, Trevor’s attention was suddenly drawn to a large animal perched in the undergrowth just metres from him off the track. Whatever was lurking there in the undergrowth, it was not any of the animals known to inhabit the area – an area which is very familiar territory to Trevor. 

Trevor described to me what he saw lurking in the undergrowth just metres from where he stood.

“The only brief view of the black profile in the low light of twilight shadows … resembled Mike Tyson the boxer – a big head blending into big shoulders about the width of a human, no neck,” he said.

From the position of the creature, and due to the low light, Trevor couldn’t see the animal’s tail or eyes. To Trevor, the creature also appeared all black with no markings visible whatsoever.

“It was facing me, raised itself to about one metre above ground, and one-third of a metre above the bush. It was just a hop, step, and a jump from me … and if it were hunting, I would be dead now, not hearing anything until it landed on me… my lucky day!”

Trevor also heard the animal “roar” at him. “I have since matched [the roar] on You Tube to a similar roar of a leopard in a cage being fed, roaring at the handlers to leave it alone to eat in peace.”

Trevor’s unnerving experience with a so-called Alien Big Cat in the bushy environs of Sydney’s outskirts is certainly not all that out of the ordinary.

In January 2005, Andrew Prentice from Grose Vale, to the north west of Sydney, recounted his sighting of an Alien Big Cat to The Sun-Herald on 27 February.

“I was up for work, daylight had just broken … I opened up the curtains and, as I did so, I noticed this large black animal come out from the side of my dam. It walked up to the high side of the driveway. I looked at it in utter disbelief. I looked again and again. It was at least a metre long, it had a tail that was dragging down to the ground. But what really stood out was the way it walked. It was sly and it was slinky. It stopped, turned, gave a quick look towards the house and then strolled out of view. The rumours, for me, had all of a sudden come true. The thought of a camera never even came into play. I just kept thinking, this is bloody unbelievable.”

Andrew’s sighting was just one of hundreds of similar reports in the area going back many years.

Back in 2003, a New South Wales State Government inquiry into the “black panther phenomenon” concluded that “more likely than not a colony of ‘big cats’ is roaming Sydney’s outskirts”. One National Parks and Wildlife Service (NPWS) official stated that: “While we still haven’t got conclusive evidence that the creature exists, compiled evidence points strongly to the fact that it does.” And an expert on big cats involved in the inquiry, Dr Johannes Bauer, concluded that: “Difficult as it seems to accept, the most likely explanation of the evidence … is the presence of a large feline predator.”

GI’s Mascots Set Free?

So, if big cats are prowling the remote bushland surrounding the modern metropolis of Sydney, as well as many other places throughout Australia, the logical question is: “What are these Alien Big Cats …. and how did they get here?”

One prevailing theory for Alien Big Cats living in the Australian bush is that they are the offspring of mascots brought here by American forces during the Second World War and released into the wilds when the GIs packed up and left for home.

But reports of big cats go back many years prior to hostilities erupting across Europe and the Pacific in the 1940s.

Big Cats in the 1930s

During the 1930s, for example, sightings of Alien Big Cats were reported right across Victoria’s Gippsland district.

On 30 October 1933, the Gippsland Times reported that a “big fawn-coloured, cat-like beast” had been spotted roaming the Gippsland ranges for the past 12 months.

“The mystery of an unknown animal, said to have been seen in different parts of the Gippsland ranges during the past 12 months, has been deepened by a report made on Monday by a Trafalgar farmer. He says he has seen a big fawn-coloured, cat-like beast roaming in the rugged outback country of Gunyah. The farmer, Mr. George Siggins, and his two sons, all experienced bushmen, believe the animal is a lioness, or something like it.”

Then, on 20 January 1934, The Argus reported that a man was stalked by a mystery big cat in the bush around Gunyah.

“Mr. R. Le Plastrier of Gunyah met the mystery animal of the Gunyah bush late on Wednesday night. He was passing through Mr. G. Smith’s property … when a large tawny-coloured animal leaped on to a log.

“Mr. Le Plastrier said that he could see two large green eyes glaring at him. He hurried to the road, and the beast, after following him for a time, bounded into the bush, from which it stalked him for 300 yards. Mr. Le Plastrier carried a gun, but did not use it for fear he might only wound the beast and possibly be attacked.”

Here we have sightings almost a decade before the German Blitzkrieg of Poland and the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, so does this rule out the Soldier’s Mascot theory?

Even Earlier Big Cat Sightings

An even earlier big cat report, of a well-respected schoolteacher being stalked at night and in fear of his life, occurred way back in 1903 according to the Queanbeyan Age of 11 March.

“The tiger, which must have been crouching behind a bush, came bounding at me with gaping mouth, and eyes which glared like bull’s-eye lanterns.”

“He made about four bounds, growling fiercely all the time, and before I could scarcely realise my position, let alone gather up my reins, the horse was at a mad gallop down the road.

After the frightened horse skidded into a gate and barrelled through it, the witness, after regaining control of his horse, looked back. “I could clearly see the flaming eyes of the tiger, and, although feeling pretty certain he had given up the chase, my hair was up and my blood cold, for I suppose both my horse and self had mild panic.”

According to the Hawkesbury Herald, it was speculated that this particular big cat was an escaped pet … brought home by an Australian soldier after serving in South Africa during the Boer War of 1899 – 1902.

“We have received private and confidential advice from a friendly correspondent which clears up the mystery of the Marulan tiger,” the paper confidently proclaimed.

“An officer had brought a young leopard back with him from South Africa, and went to stay with a friend in the district. He took his pet with him, but the latter escaped, and has since amused itself by chasing peaceable citizens and otherwise harrowing the feelings of the people of Marulan.

“The owner, with visions of a huge bill of expenses for ‘moral and intellectual damage,’ is lying very low, and keeps on saying nothing. He hopes nobody ever saw him with the leopard in his possession. This is said to be the explanation of the Marulan mystery.”

Is this not only the “explanation of the Marulan mystery” but also the explanation for Alien Big Cat sightings in Australia? Could all the sightings be escaped pets, circus animals or mascots set free following the end of hostilities?

Or, as some Australian big cat researchers believe, are there native species that have long inhabited the Australian bush, but have thus far cunningly evaded scientific detection?

The Gundungurra people of the Blue Mountains have a Dreamtime story involving Mirragan, the Fisherman, a tiger-cat renowned for catching only the largest fish.

With sightings in Australia so widespread, and reaching back so many years, perhaps Alien Big Cats aren’t so alien to the Australian bush after all.

As many readers of Mysterious Universe will know, one of my biggest interests – when it comes to the domain of all-things weird and Fortean – is the field of Cryptozoology. Or, in simple terms, the study of unknown animals, mysterious beasts and monsters – call them what you will. But, there are other categories of animal that, for some – but certainly not all – creature-seekers also play a role in how we define Cryptozoology. They are the out of place animals.

It goes without saying that the British Isles are not home to large, black, exotic cats. Yet, numerous people – all across the nation – report seeing them every year. Out of place wallabies are common in both the UK and the United States. Australia has a huge number of incidents on record of large cats on the loose, eerily resembling their British cousins. And then there’s another type of creature that falls into this particular category: the camel. Say what? Yep!

It’s a little known fact that, now and again, reports of camels – sometimes solitary but often not – surface from the deserts of the American southwest. Of course, as with the big cats of Australia and the UK, camels are most assuredly not supposed to be running wild in the United States. But, that hasn’t stopped people from seeing them. And reporting them too. I have a number of such case-reports in my files.

So, with that said, from where did America’s camels come? And why are they roaming around desert environments, utterly oblivious to the amazement they provoke in the people that see them? Let’s take a look.

Back in the mid-1800s, the U.S. Army was acutely aware that the weather in the deserts of the southwest could be particularly torturous at times and that its horses often did not fare well when faced with the overwhelming heat (living in Texas, I know the feeling!). So, they came up with the idea of using animals that were far better able to withstand the heat than horses. A thought crossed military minds: why not create a U.S. Camel Corps that could be used as pack animals for the transport of sundry military items over vast arid distances? Well, that’s precisely what the U.S. Army chose to do.

As far back as 1836, during the Seminole Wars in Florida, one Major George H. Crosman chose to use camels instead of horses while fighting the Native Americans of the area, chiefly because the humped animals required very little in the way of sustenance. Problematic, however, was the fact that the Army’s horses seemed to have an unfathomable fear of the camels, and as a consequence inter-species fighting became a regular, chaotic sight. Thus the camels and the horses had to be kept well apart at all times, which did pose a bit of an issue for the military.

But certain influential people in the Army took careful note that a great deal of money and resources could be saved by using camels in campaigns where the temperature was high and the ground was dry. It was during the American-Mexican war of 1846 to 1848 that this hit home with the U.S. military, when the harsh conditions really took their toll on their horses. But, there were still concerns about the feasibility of having whole swathes of the military go from using horses to largely untried and untested camels.

That all changed in March 1855, however, when Congress passed a bill allowing for $30,000—a fairly impressive sum of money at the time—to be allocated to a project that would determine if the idea of a camel corps was worth pursuing, long-term, short-term, or not at all. This meant an overseas trip was in order for those assigned to the project. As a result, and three months after Congress approved the plan, a team working to the orders of a Major Henry C. Wayne boarded the USS Supply for a trip to distinctly faraway destinations.

The entire trek took months, but finally led to Wayne’s team securing 30 camels from a seller in Smyrna, an ancient city on the Aegean Coast of Anatolia, which today comprises most of the Republic of Turkey. Ten months after it left the United States, the unit was finally home, its quarry completely intact. Its first port of call was Indianola, Texas, where the initial batch of camels took their first steps on American soil.

All went well initially, and the camels were used routinely by the U.S. Army throughout the Southwest on missions that would probably have ended in death and disaster had the military been wholly reliant on horses and mules, as had previously been the case. But things changed for the worse when the American Civil War broke out in 1861. With the entire nation plunged into chaos, the military was thrown into a state of carnage, with Americans fighting and killing fellow Americans, and there was no-one around to take care of the camels.

The result was that some of the camels, which by the start of the Civil War had been housed on military land in California, Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico, were sold to zoos, circuses, traveling menageries, and ranchers. A sizable number had the good sense and instinct to make their escape, and others were secretly released into the wild by the animal-loving soldiers whose job it had been to care for them.

As a result, they began to live in the wild in the deserts and woods of the southwest, along with their ever-expanding number of offspring. Sightings of the huge beasts and their descendants were reported across the Southwest for decades, with the last encounter surfacing from Douglas, Texas, in 1941. Actually, the 1941 event was the last believed and accepted date upon which such a sighting was made. But maybe it wasn’t actually the last encounter, after all.

I have reports on file as late as the early 1980s – highly credible reports, too – from the deserts of Arizona, New Mexico, California, and south Texas. Does the camel still really roam the United States? Of course, I can’t say for sure, but what I can state with certainty is that such tales are as captivating and entertaining as they are intriguing. And maybe they are not just the stuff of folklore and urban-legend. Maybe the camel really has made a permanent – albeit stealthy – existence in the American southwest.

Looking back within the fossil record to around 300 million years ago, paleontologists today have managed to pry open a historical window to the past, and learn a lot about the kinds of deep-sea beasts that were swimming the warm waters of Earth’s deepest oceans. Though seldom, there have also been the occasional “holdovers” that harken from an earlier age, and by studying such creatures, we’ve managed to learn even more about how certain species may be able to sustain themselves for extended periods, given the right ecological conditions. 

Most recently, this practice has been put to use, and with great success, in the proper DNA sequencing of a creature known as the coelacanth. This prehistoric, blue-tinged and beastly-looking fish has managed to exist virtually unchanged in the waters off the coast of Africa for hundreds of thousands of years, which of course begs the question as to whether other species around the world might have been capable of doing the same.

Though many would call it wishful thinking, strange reports that date back hundreds of years involving the murky lake known as Loch Ness in the Scottish Highlands, have captured the imagination of those seeking to prove that larger aquatic species–and perhaps even those of prehistoric size and appearance–might still inhabit specialized environments in the world’s remote corners. But recently, another notion as to how the idea of a “monster” in the Loch has been offered by British media, and one which perhaps does more to show the influence of today’s “conspiracy culture” on the media. Hence, the question is, does Loch Ness really have a “monster,” or is the existence of Nessie instead merely the result of conspiratorial collusion between the area’s hoteliers in search of a viable market for tourism?

A living monster.

The original BBC News story has been reported in various other news and alternative media, existing on the premise that there are fishy statements appended to one famous and early “whale tale” from the Loch. Writing for the BBC, Emma Ailes discussed the work of marine biologist and skeptical Loch Ness researcher Adrian Shine (known in cryptozoological circles as “the one with the enormous beard”), and how he noted recently that, “more than a few hotel proprietors (have been) among typical spotters,” hence lending questions to whether stories about Nessie could indeed be a “conspiracy” to boost tourism:

It was 14 April 1933 and Mrs (Aldie) Mackay, manageress of the Drumnadrochit Hotel, was driving with her husband along the road to Inverness. As they drove, she glanced out across the still calm waters of Loch Ness towards Aldourie Castle. There, in the water, she saw something… ”It went in a circle, round and down. She yelled at her husband “Stop! The beast!”

“It is an interesting remark,” Mr Shine says. ”But the fact that she said “the beast”… It’s as though she knew there was something strange in the loch,” Mr Shine says.

Does and extant Plesiosaur still live in Loch Ness?

The BBC article goes on to note that Mrs Mackay’s famous story was recounted the following month in the May 2, 1933 edition of the Inverness Courier, in an article by Alex Campbell, who had been a part-time journalist, as well as water bailiff for Loch Ness at the time. However, the BBC report, while noting the Mackay sighting as being the first in modern times, failed to even mention the title of Campbell’s article: ”Loch Ness has for generations been credited with being the home of a fearsome-looking monster.”

Generations, huh? The implication here is that while the Mackay sighting helped bring popularity to legends of a monster in Loch Ness, the tradition of sightings in the area was far more involved, and perhaps more broad than the mere mention of a “beast” recorded in the ancient text, The Life of Saint Columba, which alleged that the cleric saved a man from the wrath of a hungry beast in the waters of River Ness. However, modern researchers again assert that, while there is indeed a history of stories pertaining to a beast in the Loch, it is difficult to find clear evidence of credible sightings that predate 1933, at which time the famous summertime sighting of Mr. and Mrs George Spicer became widely reported, along with that of hotelier Aldie Mackay.

The Loch

However, as the BBC article itself notes, while Mackay’s story appeared in print two months prior to the famous Spicer sighting, Aldie had not come forward with the story on her own accord; choosing to remain anonymous, it was her husband that shared the story with Campbell, as Shine also divulges:

“She was far from a self-publicist. It was her husband who told the water bailiff, and she stayed anonymous in the newspaper report. She didn’t say anything for two reasons. Firstly, because she thought she would be seen as self-advertising. But also because they used to say for people who had seen something in the loch ‘take more water with it,’ suggesting they were drunks.”

So had Aldie Mackay been involved in a “conspiracy” to draw tourism to Loch Ness back in 1933, working quietly along with other hotel and local business owners to increase public speculation about the nature of the Loch’s potential wildlife? It seems unlikely, at best, and if the “thing” she witnessed were indeed anything other than a monster, it would be more likely that she had, in fact, seen something, but it could possibly have been misidentification of an otherwise known beast. Sine Mackay’s original description of the creature had been that it was “whale-like”, it stands to reason that she had not been lying about her encounter, but that a creature such as a very large sturgeon could have indeed fit such a description, especially if seen from a distance.

To assert that the fabeled existence of a Loch Ness Monster has more to do with a “conspiracy” actually seems to say more about modern attitudes today, especially when driven my the modus operandi of contemporary journalists who are hungry to find a compelling new slant for their stories.

Read Part 1 of Encounters with Gnomes

Pointed hats, long white beards, two-foot stature; gnome-like entities were once part of daily life in Scandinavian countries. John Carlson of New Jersey, author of the blog “The Paranomalist,” remembers his Grandma Alice’s stories of these entities well. Grandma Alice, born in 1891, and raised in Sweden, knew of the mischievous nature of these gnomes, the tomtar (also spelled tomte). “When I was a boy she told me stories of the tomtar,” Carlson said. “Small beings that took the appearance of old, bearded men.” Grandma Alice told him the tomtar were generally benign until a human upset them, then they would curdle milk, or break items around the house. Carlson said his grandmother told stories of seeing tiny tomtar footprints in the mud and snow.

Dr. Scott A. Mellor, professor with the University of Wisconsin-Madison, teaches Scandinavian Mythology and said these creatures were once important in some parts of Scandinavia, but that was a long time ago. “I am rather sure people may have believed in them over a hundred years ago, comparable to current belief in ghost,” he said. Today the tomtar has been relegated to the stuff of legend, although some Scandinavians still observe ancient customs when it comes to keeping these gnomes happy. “Because of tradition you might find people who still leave oatmeal, gröt, out during Christmas, but it is rather equivalent to leaving cookies for Santa Claus.”

But sometimes, stories of these gnome-like creatures can be much too real.

When Tammy moved herself and her three children to the country house by the Tule River near Porterville, California, she didn’t know something wicked waited for them. “We always got the feeling of being watched,” Tammy said.

One spot on the farm especially put her on edge, the barn. The family animals, dogs, a cat, turkeys, chickens, and ducks avoided that rickety, dark building. “We had had a lot more chickens and ducks but they had started disappearing,” Tammy said. “I also noticed that none of the neighbor’s animals, or stray animals for that matter, would go anywhere near that barn. It was without a doubt just creepy.”

She soon discovered why. “One evening my son, who was seven years old at the time, and I had just come back from grocery shopping,” Tammy said. “We parked and got out of the car and as I was opening up the back to get the groceries out I noticed a movement out of the corner of my right eye.”

As she lifted a grocery sack from the car, she saw the movement again. “This time I heard a very freaky, very evil-sounding chuckle,” she said. “I looked in the direction of the sound and there standing about 50 yards from my son and I was what I can only describe as a gnome.”

The creature, about two to three feet tall, wore baggy black pants, and a gold-colored shirt. A salt and pepper beard ran from beneath a red, pointed hat. “That thing grinned at us and the creepy grin spread from ear to ear and its teeth were a gross brown and pointed or jagged,” she said. “It had a bulbous nose and large, deep-set eyes.”

She dropped the groceries, and grabbed her son, the wicked little man cackling after her as she ran to the house. Tammy burst inside through the kitchen and slammed the door. As she tried to tell her daughters about her panic, something moved outside the kitchen window. She looked, and saw the top of the thing’s red, pointed hat. It had to be about ten feet off the ground.

The thing eventually disappeared from the window and Tammy retrieved the groceries from the car. She never saw it again, but until the day she moved, she heard the gnome’s creepy chuckle coming from the old barn.

Although Tammy’s family had gone, the gnome wasn’t finished terrorizing whoever lived in that house.

Charlie, her husband, their two-year-old twin girls and two golden Labrador retrievers moved into the two-story house by the river in March 2010. “The house was perfect for us,” she said. “Exactly what we were looking for, and we couldn’t wait to move in. There are three bedrooms, a huge kitchen, dining room and living room and lots of windows all around it.”

The deck that opened off the back door overlooked the woods and the nearby Tule River. A deck in the front overlooked a pond. Charlie placed fairy, gnome, and toadstool yard ornaments around the pond, and stocked it with Japanese koi fish to make it feel more like their home.

That feeling wouldn’t last.

One day, while walking back from the river to the house with her daughters and their dogs, the dogs became riled. As they approached a rickety outbuilding Charlie called “the shack,” the dogs began to snarl and bark, the hair in their backs standing up. “Something told me to run so I grabbed a twin under each arm and ran for home,” she said. “Something about that shack gave me the creeps, especially at night, but I don’t know why.”

She began to notice none of the animals, not even wildlife or stray cats, would go near the shack, until the day she heard the fight coming from inside. “It sounded like a cat was in a fight with something way bigger than it was,” she said.

Her husband grabbed a flashlight and ran to the shed. “Just as he got to the door the noise stopped,” she said. “He went in and looked around with the flashlight. There was a cat. It was totally skinned on one side and its neck looked as though some thing had taken a huge chunk out of it.”

He stepped outside the shack to catch his breath, and when he looked back in the cat was gone. “There was no way that cat moved by itself,” she said. “We were standing right there. Where did the cat go?”

They discovered the cat was the least of their worries.

One night around 3 a.m., a raspy, gurgling singing woke Charlie and her husband from sleep. “It was without a doubt the most hideous sound I have ever heard,” she said. “It freaked us out.”

Charlie and her husband looked out their bedroom window and saw something that challenged their sanity. “Standing by my pond holding one of my garden gnomes was what I can only describe as something out of a Grimm’s fairy tale,” she said. “The thing that was standing in our yard was hideous and grotesque.”

A human-like creature stood under the bright light of the motion detector. It was two to three feet tall, with a long gray beard, maroon pants, baggy yellow shirt, brown vest, a dark waistcoat, and a reddish brown pointed hat. “The thing that made this creature really hideous was its eyes and teeth,” she said. “It looked like it was grinning and its teeth were jagged and pointed. The eyes were little beady and dark and mean.”

As the creature stared at Charlie and her husband, it reached into the pond and grabbed a koi, dropped the fish into its mouth and swallowed. Charlie’s husband pushed the window open a few inches and screamed at the creature, telling it to leave their yard or he’d call the police. The gnome grinned, laughed, and gave them the finger.

They told the police they’d had an intruder, but the officers looking around their yard at 4 a.m. found only shoeprints the size of a small child.

The gnome came back night after night, holding a yard ornament and eating their fish. They eventually moved the ornaments and put the fish into a tank in the house. They instantly realized they’d made a mistake. “One night after we had removed the fairies and gnomes and fish from the yard the creature showed up at the usual time, 3 a.m.,” she said. “When it found that the yard ornaments were gone and the fish were gone it went crazy. It was yelling and screaming something that we couldn’t understand, but we did understand that this thing was pissed and wanted us to know it.”

The gnome ran around the house, screaming and gurgling. Then Charlie realized the dog door was unlocked. “It was big enough for our dogs to go through and it would be big enough for that creature to go through as well,” she said. “I took off running down to the kitchen and as I got there the dogs had started barking like crazy at the doggy door.”

She shut and secured the dog door, then ran upstairs to shut the windows. “A fear hit me like nothing I had ever felt and I ran back up to the twins’ bedroom where they were both sound asleep in their cribs,” she said.

Neither parent slept that night; they decided to leave the farm at Porterville. “The last we heard of that creature was a very loud screeching, cackling sound,” she said. “It was under one of the living room windows and when my husband went to check it out he saw the top of that creature’s hat under the window. Right then we decided that we were out of there. We couldn’t stay there with that creature.”

Did Tammy and Charlie live in the same house? I wanted to know, so I told Charlie about Tammy’s experience. “The description of that barn and everything else sounds just like it, and the Tule River runs behind the house,” Charlie said.

Her experience was too terrifying for her not to find out. “It’s too creepy to think that there are more of those creatures,” she said. “I would like to speak to those other people and find out if we were in the same house or close to it.”

I put Charlie in contact with Tammy. “Charlie sent me an email and she described the house that she lived in,” Tammy said. “She started naming some of the side streets and then I knew it was the same house or really close to it.”

The women eventually met and drove to the property. “It definitely was the same place,” Tammy said.

As Tammy stood, looking at the house where a three-foot tall man with pointed teeth, and evil cackle had laughed at her, she saw someone had torn down the barn. “Even with that shack gone the whole place still had an eerie feel to it and I don’t know if that is because of what we dealt with while living there or just the place itself,” Charlie said. “I don’t think I’ll be going back there again.”

Before they left, the women approached their old house and knocked on the door. The current resident did not want them there. “She was just hateful and when we tried to ask her about the barn she pretty much told us to get lost and not in those nice words,” Tammy said.

Charlie was equally taken aback. “We tried to ask about the shack and if she had ever experienced anything while it was there but she didn’t want to talk to us,” Charlie said. “In fact, she told us to leave the property. She didn’t have to tell me twice. I was happy to get away from there.”

Feature image by Rex Boggs via Flickr

Read Part 2 of Encounters with Gnomes

A storm raged outside the 100-year-old farmhouse in New York State’s Hudson Valley. Lightning flashes filled the bedroom, followed seconds later by booming thunder, dragging 10-year-old Dave Barsalow from sleep. As the boy lie in bed on the first floor, his parents and sister asleep upstairs, he realized in terror there was something outside his window.

“With the wind there came this other sound,” Barsalow said. “It made goosebumps race over my body. It was an ungodly howling. A wailing that didn’t – couldn’t – have come from human lips. No animal I knew could wail like that.”

This noise, from what Barsalow later called “the Howler,” drove him out of bed, sending him down the hall to his grandmother’s bedroom. He climbed into bed next to her. “What is that, Grandma?” he asked.

Barsalow’s grandmother said the noise was just the wind. “I knew it wasn’t the wind,” he said. “And I knew she knew it wasn’t the wind.” The wailing came around the house, closer to him. “Grandma put an arm around me and held me tight,” Barsalow said. “The howling was right outside her window now, just a few feet away from us. I buried my face in her shoulder.”

The sound finally died with the storm and Barsalow dropped into sleep. When he woke, sunlight streaming through the window, his grandmother was gone. He found her outside with a mop and bucket cleaning the front porch. “I could see what my grandma was cleaning,” he said. “There were muddy footprints all over the floor.” The muddy footprints were small, like those of a toddler.

“They were little, tiny footprints,” Barsalow said. “I got goosebumps again. I asked Grandma what made the footprints. She didn’t answer and she kept cleaning.”

The Mohegan, Pequot, Mohawk and Iroquois tribes that lived in and around the Hudson Valley all had legends of little people, some of which were tricksters associated with storms.

“I never did ask my grandmother about the Howler again” he said. “I think part of me was afraid to know what it really was outside the window that night.”

Legends of little people dance at the periphery of societies around the world. Elves, gnomes, goblins, trolls, ebu gogo, makiawisug, menehune; some of these entities are said to help humans, others kidnap, rob and devour.

Dr. Scott A. Mellor, professor with the University of Wisconsin-Madison, teaches Scandinavian Mythology, and said there’s a rich history of little people in Scandinavia. The tomte, small, white bearded, pointed hatted gnomes, lurked around farmhouses and were troublesome, often tying cows tails together if they were angered. “One did not want to be too nice or too mean to a tomte,” Mellor said. “If too nice, it would no longer help you, if too mean it would perform mischief.”

Like many cultures, Sweden is populated by more than one diminutive human-like creature. “They are one of several creature in Swedish folklore, along with trolls, näcke, water spirits, and elves,” Mellor said. “Mostly they are demonic creature, probably due to the church, that explain phenomenon here on Earth, often etiological stories.” In Sweden, at least, Mellor said these stories are no longer given much credence.

However, there are modern tales of these little people that come from places like Iceland, Hawaii, the United States, New Zealand and Colombia, South America, and the people who encounter them consider them all too seriously.

Dan Bortko’s family moved from Wyandotte County, Kansas, to Liberty, Missouri, in 1948 when he was about nine months old. His family didn’t know it, but something already lived in the house on High Street. The house, a stucco bungalow built atop a hill in the 1920s, wasn’t the only structure on that site. A old barn still sat outside the two-bedroom house when the Bortkos moved there.

In that house in 1952, Bortko saw something that has haunted him since. “I’ll call him a troll because that’s what he reminded me of,” Bortko said.

Bortko, 4, napped in the same room as his two younger brothers, both in cribs, when something brought him from sleep. As his eyes slid open, he realized he and his little brothers weren’t alone. “I had just awakened form a nap and was rubbing my eyes and saw (it),” Bortko said. “It was an old man with a long beard, large nose, about three feet tall standing at the foot of my bed. And I was astounded.”

The little old man wore German lederhosen and held a pipe in his hand, smoke rising from the bowl. As the troll stood looking at Bortko, he smiled through his beard, winked and disappeared through the closet door.

Although Bortko doesn’t think he saw the little man again, later in life his mother told him he often talked about someone no one else could see. “As a child my mother said I had an imaginary friend and I called it by its name,” he said. “My mother said it sounded like a science fiction movie name.”

During this time Bortko remembers looking out his bedroom window at night and seeing people near the old barn in the backyard; little people. “That’s what scared me,” he said. “There were fairy tales pictures on my wall. There was a man on the mountain smoking a pipe. And this reminded me of him.”

As a child, Bortko, now an artist with a master’s degree in photography from Southern Illinois University-Carbondale, once tried to capture his little man on paper. “I remember doing a drawing of a picture of a man’s face with large dark eyes,” he said. “And my brother Bill started crying. Every time he saw it he was out of his wits.”

Bortko and his brother weren’t the only ones to see the “troll.”

David Schwab, 54, grew up in Orange, New Jersey, and is familiar with tales of a similar entity. His friend Jerry saw one of these “trolls” in the early 1960s. “I remember Jerry always talking about some kind of troll/elf/leprechaun-type critter with a rather long beard being on his steps,” Schwab said.

Schwab met with Jerry in December 2009 before his friend moved to the Philippines and asked him about the story. “He said that when he was a kid, he was in his backyard and was startled by a small gnome-like man with a long beard, standing by his back porch,” Schwab said. “He said he had funny clothes on and a pointed hat and all.” The entity, about two or three feet tall, just stood at the steps, staring at him. This wasn’t the last time the gnome made an appearance at Jerry’s house.

When Jerry was in his 20s, his five-year-old nephew took a nap in an upstairs bedroom when he the boy suddenly screamed and ran downstairs, crying. “He said that he was woken by a small man with a long white beard that stood and looked at him,” Schwab said.

Sightings of these entities aren’t that uncommon, nor, as we will see in Part 2, are they as benign.

Feature artwork is by Daniel Dystedt.

Read Part 2 of Encounters with Gnomes

Now and again, I’m asked for my views on the so-called Alien Big Cats - or ABCs as they are also known – of the UK. Britain, of course, is not home to any sort of indigenous cat of the exotic and large kind. Yet, people report seeing such creatures all the time, and usually of the black or tan-colored variety. I’m convinced that some of these beasts are flesh and blood in nature. Others, however, I’m not quite so sure about, since I have more than a few reports on record of ABCs vanishing in the blink of an eye, or even seen in association with strange lights in the sky.

So, what might these other ABC’s be, if not wholly flesh and blood? For a possible answer, we have to turn to an old and sinister tradition known as the Taigheirm. Merrily Harpur, a British big cat researcher and the author of Mystery Big Cats, said of the Taigheirm: “This was an infernal magical sacrifice of cats in rites dedicated to the subterranean gods of pagan times, from whom particular gifts and benefits were solicited. They were called in the Highlands and the Western Isles of Scotland, the Black-Cat Spirits.”

The rites in question, Harpur added, “involved roasting cats to death on a spit, continuously for four days and nights, during which period the operator was forbidden to sleep or take nourishment, and after a time infernal spirits would appear in the shape of large, black cats.”

Without doubt the most detailed description of this archaic and highly disturbing rite can be found in the pages of J.Y.W. Lloyd’s 1881 book, The History of the Prince, the Lord’s Marcher, and the Ancient Nobility of Powys Fadog and the Ancient Lords of Arwystli, Cedewen, and Meirionydd. Since Lloyd’s words are vital to understanding and appreciating the weird story that will soon unfold in its unsettling entirety, I make no apology for quoting the author at length:

“Horst, in his Deuteroscopy, tells us that the Highlanders of Scotland were in the habit of sacrificing black cats at the incantation ceremony of the Taigheirm, and these were dedicated to the subterranean gods; or, later to the demons of Christianity. The midnight hour, between Friday and Saturday, was the authentic time for these horrible practices and invocations; and the sacrifice was continued four whole days and nights, without the operator taking any nourishment.”

On this matter, Horst himself said of the cruel rite: “After the cats were dedicated to all the devils, and put into a magico-sympathetic condition, by the shameful things done to them, and the agony occasioned to them, one of them was at once put alive upon the spit, and amid terrific howlings, roasted before a slow fire. The moment that the howls of one tortured cat ceased in death, another was put upon the spit, for a minute of interval must not take place if they would control hell; and this continued for the four entire days and nights. If the exorcist could hold it out still longer, and even till his physical powers were absolutely exhausted, he must do so.

“After a certain continuance of the sacrifice, infernal spirits appeared in the shape of black cats. There came continually more and more of these cats; and their howlings, mingled with those roasting on the spit, were terrific. Finally, appeared a cat of a monstrous size, with dreadful menaces. When the Taigheirm was complete, the sacrificer [sic] demanded of the spirits the reward of his offering, which consisted of various things; as riches, children, food, and clothing. The gift of second sight, which they had not had before, was, however, the usual recompense; and they retained it to the day of their death.”

Lloyd took up the story from there: “One of the last Taigheirm, according to Horst, was held in the island of Mull. The inhabitants still show the place where Allan Maclean, at that time the incantor, and sacrificial priest, stood with his assistant, Lachlain Maclean, both men of a determined and unbending character, of a powerful build of body, and both unmarried. We may here mention that the offering of cats is remarkable, for it was also practiced by the ancient Egyptians. Not only in Scotland, but throughout all Europe, cats were sacrificed to the subterranean gods, as a peculiarly effective means of coming into communication with the powers of darkness.

“Allan Maclean continued his sacrifice to the fourth day, when he was exhausted both in body and mind, and sunk in a swoon; but, from this day he received the second-sight to the time of his death, as also did his assistant. In the people, the belief was unshaken, that the second-sight was the natural consequence of celebrating the Taigheirm.” [15]

At this point in his narrative, Lloyd elected to quote Horst: “The infernal spirits appeared; some in the early progress of the sacrifices, in the shape of black cats. The first glared at the sacrificers and cried ‘Lachlain Oer’ [Injurer of Cats]. Allan, the chief operator, warned Lachlain, whatever he might see or hear, not to waiver, but to keep the spit incessantly turning. At length, the cat of monstrous size appeared; and, after it had set up a horrible howl, said to Lachlain Oer, that if he did not cease before their largest brother came, he would never see the face of God.

“Lachlain answered, that he would not cease till he had finished his work, if all the devils in hell came. At the end of the fourth day, there sat on the end of the beam, in the roof of the barn, a black cat with fire-flaming eyes, and there was heard a terrific howl, quite across the straits of Mull, into Morven.”

Lloyd himself then continued: “Allan was wholly exhausted on the fourth day, from the horrible apparitions, and could only utter the word ‘Prosperity.’ But Lachlain, though the younger, was stronger of spirit, and perfectly self-possessed. He demanded posterity and wealth, and each of them received that which he has asked for.

“When Allan lay on his death-bed, and his Christian friends pressed round him, and bade him beware of the stratagems of the devil, he replied with great courage, that if Lachlain Oer, who was already dead, and he, had been able a little longer to have carried their weapons, they would have driven Satan himself from his throne, and, at all events, would have caught the best birds in his kingdom.

“When the funeral of Allen reached the churchyard, the persons endowed with second-sight saw at some distance Lachlain Oer, standing fully armed at the head of a host of black cats, and everyone could perceive the smell of brimstone which streamed from those cats. Allan’s effigy, in complete armour, is carved on his tomb, and his name is yet linked with the memory of the Taigheirm.

“Shortly before that time also, Cameron of Lochiel performed a Taigheirm, and received from the infernal spirits a small silver shoe, which was to be put on the left foot of each new-born son of his family, and from which he would receive courage and fortitude in the presence of his enemies; a custom which continued till 1746, when his house was consumed by fire. This shoe fitted all the boys of his family but one, who fled before the enemy at Sheriff Muir, he having inherited a larger foot from his mother, who was of another clan. The word Taigheirm means an armoury, as well as the cry of cats, according as it is pronounced.”

In 1922, Carl Van Vechten commented on this particularly nightmarish ritual in a footnote contained in his book The Tiger in the House. It reads: “The night of the day I first learned of the Taigheirm I dined with some friends who were also entertaining Seumas, Chief of Clann Fhearghuis of Stra-chur. He informed me that to the best of his knowledge the Taigheirm is still celebrated in the Highlands of Scotland.”

Could it be the case that the Taigheirm still exists today? Certainly, I have heard such rumors, which makes me wonder deeply about the true nature of at least some of those ABCs of the UK…

Us Brits are known for having a wild time knocking back more than a few beers down the local pub on a Friday night. But, some pubs are wilder than others. Like really wild. As in monstrously wild. Wondering what on earth I’m talking about? Well, I’ll tell you. There are more than a few pubs in the UK that have legends attached to them of strange, hairy man-beasts in their very midst.

In a roundabout way, the first story has a connection to me. It came to me via my dad, Frank, who got it from a close friend of his: Eddie. The two of them, to this very day, work together on weekends as volunteer guides at the aerospace museum at England’s Royal Air Force Cosford. Eddie knows that I have a somewhat unusual job and passion (to say the least!), and a few years ago he shared with my dad a story, the origins of which date back to the 19th Century, and to Eddie’s great-uncle.

That the story related to an incident involving something that was rumoured to be a strange, monkey-like animal roaming around just outside the city of Birmingham (near to where I grew up), certainly made me take a high degree of notice. And yes, this story may be one of definitive “friend of a friend” proportions. But, for what it’s worth, here it is, in the words of legendary cryptozoologist and friend, Dr. Karl Shuker – the author of Karl Shuker’s Alien Zoo and many more titles – with whom I shared the known details in 2007:

“Around the end of the 19th Century, Eddie’s great-uncle Ned was driving a pony and trap on Rolfe Street, Smethwick, late one night when he heard some strange noises behind him. Suddenly, a weird-looking animal leapt out at him, but he supposedly fought it off with his horse-whip. The creature was killed, placed in a glass case, and displayed in the Blue Gate pub on Rolfe Street for some time, where the locals dubbed it ‘Old Ned’s Devil.’”

Moving on, there’s a fascinating story from the ancient English city of Norwich. Author, creature-seeker, and good friend Neil Arnold notes that: “Many years ago when I first began writing for Animals & Men magazine [the Center for Fortean Zoology’s in-house magazine] I mentioned to Jon Downes something regarding cryptozoological pub signs. There are many St. George and the Dragon signs, and I know a few which also mention unicorns. However, one particular pub sign which is of great interest to me is that which belongs to the Wild Man at 29 Bedford Street in Norwich. Now, most pub signs have a meaning, but the legend which pertains to the Wild Man is extremely intriguing.”

Neil continues: “So the folklore states, many, many years ago a six year old boy named Peter became lost in a wood in Germany. Around six years later the boy had grown wild, and in naked form would prowl the woods, living alongside the resident animals. Eventually he was found and picked up by a travelling showman who exhibited throughout Europe.”

As Neil also notes, St. Mary’s Northchurch adds more to the legend, for within its walls there is an inscription that tells the story of the wild boy. It reads as follows: “To the memory of Peter, known as the Wild Boy, having been found wild in the forest of Hertswold near Hanover in the year 1725. He then appeared to be about 12 years old. In the following year he was brought to England by the order of the late Queen Caroline, and the ablest masters were provided for him. But proving himself incapable of speaking, or of receiving any instruction, a comfortable provision was made for him at a farm in this parish, where he continued to the end of his inoffensive life. He died on the 22nd of February, 1785, supposed to be aged 72.” And there the inscription ends.

But why was there an association between wild Peter and the Norwich-based pub itself that led the owner to even name the inn after the slightly tragic soul? Neil provides the answer: “Around 1751 Peter was housed at the public house. In the past the sign would depict the unfortunate chap as a demonic character amid flickering flames. Now the pub sign shows him frequenting the forest alongside bears.”

Still on the subject of pubs and primitive people…

Richard Holland – formerly the editor of the sadly-defunct Paranormal magazine and the author of Haunted Wales: A Survey of Welsh Ghostlore and Haunted Clwyd – notes that: “In Sproughton, in Suffolk, according to John Michell and Bob Rickard, the Wild Man Inn was so named after a terrifying entity that attacked its builders in the 16th century.”

And that’s just the tip of the monstrous iceberg when it comes to the beastly pubs of the UK. One day, I’ll perhaps do an update and focus on some of the other famous (and not so famous) stories linking pubs and weird creatures…

It has generally been my experience that when I’m speaking at a UFO conference, I am approached by people wishing to impart the details of encounters of a distinctly alien kind. And in a similar fashion, on those occasions when I lecture for audiences whose interests are fixed firmly within the realm of cryptozoology, more often than not I end up being the recipient of tales pertaining to all things monstrous. But there have been exceptions to the rule.

One particularly notable exception came my way midway through November 2006 when I traveled to Sin City itself, Las Vegas, to give a lecture on crashed UFOs at the annual UFO Crash Retrieval conference that author Ryan Wood held, for many years, deep in the heart of the city.

It was shortly after coming off stage on the Sunday afternoon that I was approached out in the lobby by a dark-haired man, of about fifty, named James. He had a very strange and remarkable tale to tell concerning his own, personal encounter with a flying monstrosity some three years earlier. It was clear to me from the instant we met that James was somewhat concerned about whether or not he should reveal the startling story that was soon to reach my amazed ears.

James told me, however, that he realized I had a deep passion for some of the stranger and more surreal aspects of cryptozoology and monster-hunting, and had therefore elected to spill the beastly beans, so to speak, no matter what the cost. And so, as we sat back in our chairs and sipped on refreshingly cheap, and refreshingly tasty, Margaritas, he began his remarkable tale of monstrous terror.

James explained to me that he worked in town as a bus-driver, and on his nights off he would occasionally head off into the dark deserts of Nevada. He would hang-out and look at the stars, while regularly dosed up on a more than a liberal helping of Lophophora williamsii – or Peyote – which is well known for its psychoactive alkaloids.

As James told me, his late-night encounter had occurred on a Sunday in early November 2003 at Nevada’s oldest state-park: the Valley of Fire. Located around fifty miles outside of Las Vegas at an elevation of between 2,000 and 2,600 feet, the Valley of Fire sits in a basin fifteen miles southwest of Overton, Nevada. In times long gone, specifically around 300 BC to 1150 AD, the Valley of Fire was home to, among others, the Anasazi, who were farmers from the nearby fertile Moapa Valley. Hunting for food and taking part in complex ceremonies, that often involved the use of peyote, were commonplace for those ancient people.

According to James, he had been relaxing on a small outcrop of rock late at night when, after the Peyote had firmly kicked in, he was amazed – yet curiously calm – to see closing in from the distance a huge, shadowy entity flying low in the evening sky. At first, James said, he was unable to determine its nature and assumed, quite understandably, that it was perhaps some form of glider or remotely-piloted prototype aircraft of the military. It was neither. Indeed, it was far stranger than anything that could have come out of the heart of the Pentagon or Area 51.

As the aerial thing got closer and closer, James could see that it was a living creature: a giant, bat-winged, bird-like animal with a wingspan of around twenty feet that was black in color and which appeared to be both wet and shiny. James explained to me that at no time did he see the wings of the beast flap or beat: rather the animal just seemed to glide above the desert landscape in majestic fashion. James watched it until it finally faded into the distance and darkness, never to return.

James was certain that his encounter was somehow induced by the peyote; yet he was not convinced that the experience could all be relegated to the realm of hallucination. Rather, James was absolutely certain that he had been afforded a unique glimpse of a beast that inhabited a realm far different from ours; but one that it was possible to access, both specific circumstances and altered-mindset permitting. And who was I to argue with that?

Yes, the words above probably do amount to the strangest article title I have ever written! And the subject matter of that same article is no less strange, as you’ll now see. In the week leading up to Christmas 2007, I found myself on the receiving end of one of the strangest stories ever to darken my path. It has been my experience that when people are looking to speak with someone about their encounters with the unknown, they seek out those most amenable to what they have to say. By that I mean: most of my cryptozoological work is focused upon those fringe cases that exhibit evidence of high-strangeness and paranormal qualities. And so, the bulk of the reports that are brought to my attention usually tend to present such eerie qualities, too. Laura’s certainly did.

She was thirty-six, lived in Rochester, New York, and worked for the Post Office. Laura related to me a remarkable and disturbing series of events that occurred to her and several friends in the summer of 1985 – events that began with attempts to contact the spirit world and culminated in the manifestation of a fearful, hairy man-beast.

It was a Friday night, around June or July of that year, Laura told me, that she and three of her school-friends, Beth, Brooke and Alison, had come to visit her. Laura’s parents were out for the evening, and so a slumber-party, loud music, and discussions about boys were the order of the day; or, rather, the whole night. That was not all, however.

Brooke’s older brother possessed a 1940s vintage Ouija board and she surprised the friends by pulling it out of her bag when she arrived at Laura’s. As Laura told me, none of them were seriously frightened by it: rather, they found the idea of “playing with the Ouija board while my mom and dad were out” to be both fun and exciting. But what began as a bit of light-hearted entertainment for four teenaged girls, soon mutated into something very different.

Laura admitted that none of the four girls had any real idea of how to use the board, aside from “what we had seen in horror movies.” Nevertheless, they improvised to the best of their collective abilities, pulled out the obligatory wine-glass, placed it in the center of the board, and the index fingers of their right hands atop it.

Questions of a typical “Is anybody there?” nature abounded, while each of the girls attempted to use the board to contact a long-dead relative, such as a great-grandparent, a great-aunt, and so on. Laura told me that on no occasion did the spirit world answer back, and, having eventually got bored, the girls returned to their favorite topic: the boys at school.

But not before, on two occasions, the electricity went off – something that disturbed the four friends, given the fact they had been indulging in a bit of ghostly activity only minutes before. The rest of the evening progressed without further incident, Laura assured me; however, the same thing could most definitely not be said for the following night.

For reasons that she is at a loss to explain, Laura stated that after her friends had departed the following morning, and after the all-night slumber-party was over, a feeling of dread began to build within her – but for reasons she was never able to fathom. That dread only increased when, once again, the electricity went out: at around 6.00 p.m.

Then, just after she bid her parents good night and retired to her bedroom, Laura heard a strange, animalistic scream coming from the direction of a small wooded area near her home. She opened her bedroom window, looked out, but nothing could be seen in the overwhelming blackness. Still feeling somewhat disturbed, Laura climbed into bed and anticipated getting a good night’s sleep. Some chance of that happening.

Around 2.00 a.m., Laura was woken by what she said was the “grossing smelling thing ever: like an old rotting cabbage.” She was about to reach for her bedside lamp when she could see silhouetted across the room a large, black, man-like figure that seemed “hunched over and had huge, long arms and big, white eyes.”

As I sat in my office and listened down the telephone, Laura told me that at the moment she attempted to scream for her parents, it was “like I’d been paralyzed. I was sitting up, but couldn’t speak or move at all.” Worse still: the hairy, smelly creature slowly moved towards her and stopped about eight or nine inches from her face. It was, Laura told me with some significance, “just like Bigfoot: a big hairy thing that I couldn’t tell if it was a monkey or a hairy man.”

The beast stared intently into her for several moments, and then backed away, until such a point that its black form was practically indistinguishable from the shadows of the far wall, and it eventually disappeared, “like it had been sucked into the shadows.”

Interestingly, Laura explained that although the monster had undoubtedly terrified her, she did not get the impression that it was hostile. Rather, she felt – but could no precisely explain why – that it had manifested with the specific intent of warning her “not to get mixed up with ghosts and Ouija boards.”

And, since that day, she has not. As for the man-beast, he never returned.

One of the things that has long fascinated me is how and why certain places on our planet seem to attract an incredibly large amount of paranormal activity of an astounding and varied nature. I guess the best example would be Point Pleasant, West Virginia, USA. Most people would associate it with the legendary Mothman of John Keel’s classic book, The Mothman Prophecies. And they would be right to do so. But, when sightings of the red-eyed winged-thing were at their height in the 1960s, the Men in Black were also making their presence felt in Point Pleasant. Animal mutilations were reported. Contactee-style UFO encounters occurred. The weird list goes on. And, notably, so do the weird places…

One particular locale that I know firsthand to be a hotbed of on-going weirdness is the old village of Ranton, Staffordshire, England, located only 30 minutes or so (by car) from where I grew up. The History, Gazetteer and Directory of Staffordshire – published in 1851 - describes Ranton thus:

“Ranton, or Ronton, is a small scattered village, five miles W of Stafford, comprising within its parish the scattered hamlets of Extolls, Long Compton, Park Nook, and including 320 inhabitants, and about 2670 acres of land, belonging chiefly to the Earl of Lichfield, and Francis Eld, Esq., and the former is lord of the manor, which, at the time of the Norman Conquest, was held by Goderick, a Saxon nobleman, and afterwards by the Noels and Harcourts. Swynfen Jones, Esq., and a few smaller owners have estates in the parish.”

The book continues: “About a mile W of the village is Ranton Abbey, an extra parochial liberty of 700 acres belonging to the Earl of Lichfield. The ancient abbey was founded by Robert Fitz-Noel, in the reign of Henry II, for regular canons of the order of St. Augustine. Considerable remains of the abbey are still standing, including a lofty well-built tower, and the outer walls of the church. The abbey liberty contains 28 inhabitants and the Abbey House which is the seat of ED Moore, Esq.”

Ranton Abbey

Ranton has changed very little over the years, as can be firmly evidenced by the fact that according to the national census of 1991, the village’s population had by then only risen to 415. Yet, the amount of downright oddness in the area has certainly been considerable – and that’s putting it mildly indeed.

Back in the 1920s, for example, there occurred in Ranton a close encounter of the pixie kind, according to an elderly (and now, unfortunately, deceased) lady who personally related her account to me back in February 2000. It was in 1929, the woman recalled, and she was then five years of age when she witnessed the startling sight of a group of “tiny little pixies,” all adorned in dark green clothing, and all prancing wildly around the large and mighty oak tree that stood at the foot of her parents’ back-garden.

But what had begun as an overwhelmingly friendly encounter, with smiling little creatures that playfully tipped their hats in the direction of the entranced young girl, became far more sinister when the atmosphere changed dramatically and the little folk mutated into malevolent, sinister figures. The old woman explained that they slowly began to move towards her in a stalking fashion, complete with menacing frowns on their suddenly-wizened faces. Needless to say, the petrified witness fled for the safety of her home, never again to see the strange, unearthly parade.

Peggy Baker’s tale is a particularly notable one, too. In the winter of 1997, Peggy was driving through the village of Ranton with her daughter, Kathleen, when at around 11.30 p.m., the pair was shocked and scared witless by the surreal sight of a shambling, hairy man-beast that loomed out of the darkened fringes of the roadside,”threw its arms around in the air,” and proceeded to “shout at us, like a big roar.” Not surprisingly, the terrified mother and daughter did not once slow down to get a closer look at the creature. Instead, they fled the scene with the utmost haste.

And with the account of Peggy Baker now firmly fixed in our minds, it is worth noting that Ranton is in almost literal spitting distance of Bridge 39 on the Shropshire Union Canal, where a shining-eyed, violent “man-monkey” was famously seen, late one night in January 1879, by a terrified local. Then there was the glowing-eyed “black panther” that a resident of Ranton saw bounding across the road in front of her late one Friday night in the early 1990s.

But surely Ranton’s most famous story of a distinctly paranormal nature was that of Jessie Roestenberg, who, in October 1954, claimed to have witnessed with her children a classic George Adamski-type flying saucer-style object over Ranton that had built into its side a large “observation window,”  through which could be viewed a number of human-like entities with long-blond hair. In other words, the whole area seems to be a veritable hot-bed of over-the-top weirdness.

So, with that all said, if you ever have the opportunity to visit Ranton, I suggest you hang out there for a few days, get to know the locals, listen to their stories of high-strangeness and – who knows? – maybe you too will experience that very same high-strangeness. You will, after all, be in the perfect place…