I'm a mountain man myself. Born and raised in the Ozarks, I'm honestly surprised I've never had

a fistfight a window go. Considering the window go fistfight per capita in this area is quite high.

Welcome back to unexplained encounters. I'm your host, Darkness prevails, and you can follow me on

Twitter. At Dark prevails, if you want to hear about how the average Neanderthal could probably rip me

in half. Today I've got some very scary and allegedly true stories that happened in the mountains.

There will be ghosts and there will be monsters, so be ready.

Also, I've got a couple of updates. Firstly, I'm trying an experiment. If you want to participate,

go to vokaroo.com, record your scariest story from childhood in one sitting without a script,

then copy the link to your recording and send it to me at eeriecast.com slash childhood trauma.

Secondly, I'm still in need of scary trucker stories, so send them to me at darkstories.org.

Thank you. Now, let's begin.

Warning. The following story contains depictions of violence against livestock.

The Man on Gal. From synonymous.

I don't remember a lot about my grandpa. I was only seven when he passed away, and we only visited

once a year. Grandpa was an immigrant from the mountains of the Philippines. He came over when

he was in his early 20s with my grandma. Before that, he lived on a small cattle farm with his family.

I remember the last time I saw my grandpa. I had a bad case of the flu, and back then,

my parents could not afford to take a week off work. So I stayed on the couch with my barf bucket,

watching TV with my grandpa, who quietly read a book next to me on the recliner.

Eventually, I turned off the TV because of the pain it was causing my head.

Grandpa wasn't much in the way of an entertainer. As a father, he spent most of his time working,

leaving the children with my grandma. When he asked if I wanted to hear a story, I was hesitant,

...