Here's an encounter from a writer who wants to be anonymous and here's what he writes.

Listening to your channel has given me the courage to get this off of my chest. It happened

in 2003. I was living in a small town in the central

Piedmont of North Carolina and it was a modest brick home in a somewhat secluded area

and a heavily wooded part of Ardell County. My nearest neighbor was 200 yards away through

a small patch of pine trees. Aside from two cornfields directly across the road, everywhere

else was a mess of older hardwood trees. White-tailed deer were abundant, the most every evening

they would come and eat at the edge of the fields. I made it a habit to sit on my porch

and watch the deer before dark whenever I could. Twice I remember seeing them getting

spooked and scramble across the field after hearing an extremely loud sound that I can

only describe as part moan and part scream. At the time I wondered if the mountain lines

were in this part of the country. My neighbor was a few years older than me. He lived

in a beautiful 100-year-old Victorian-style farmhouse that was situated on 15 acres adjacent

to my land. His name was James. He was ex-military having been discharged in 1999.

We were pretty good friends. When he was away, I'd take care of his animals and property

and he'd return the favor when I had to leave town for work.

Since Saturday afternoon, James called and asked if I wanted to do some shooting with

my new air rifle. Of course, I replied. It was early October and the squirrel season was

coming up. It was five o'clock that Saturday evening when I walked over to his house. James

had an old barn that sat across the road in approximately 70 yards from his porch. He

hung an old cast iron-frying pan from a tree that overhung a four-wheeler trail beside

the barn that we normally use for 22 rifles, but we thought it might be fun to use it

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