In December of 1969, my buddies and I were walking back to the house after a day of hunting.

We were crossing a holler when a large animal came out of the bush and began chasing us.

Shock and fear and adrenaline hit us all at the same time,

and we turned and started running for our lives.

Behind us, we could hear the monster crashing through the woods

on what sounded like two feet.

We were a group of 12-year-old boys scared out of our minds

by visions of that creature catching up with us and then

tearing us to pieces. We were moving as fast as we could, but it was gaining on us.

It was 15 yards behind us when one of my friends lost his footing and fell, and he sliced

his leg open in the process. I had to do something. There was no time to think

or make a plan, so instinctively I turned and fired my shotgun straight into it. That was enough

to knock it backwards, and then it turned and ran away, and we managed to get my friend on his feet and back to the house.

We didn't talk much about what happened. We were too shaken up. It was the last time that any

of my friends would ever come to my house. It took a couple of days, but my love of hunting

overshadowed my fear of monsters and I went

back out into the woods again.

When I got to the spot where I had shot that animal, I found a blood trail, so I decided

to follow it.

The thing had made it 200 yards and then it had died.

It was lying there face up on the ground, all seven feet of it.

I guess it weighed around 500 pounds. It was clearly a male and it had a face that looked more

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