I'm riding this, not because I'm trying to make believers out of everyone, those that

would believe what I have to say, probably already believe before I came along, and the ones

that don't believe me probably never will. I can't change that, not doubt if anything

ever will, but at least I'll sleep easier knowing that everyone, or at least everyone

who hears this, will know to watch out for things. Stuff is out there, more stuff than

you ever imagined, more stuff than I ever imagined, I'll tell you that. I was always slow

to make fun of people who told stories that were hard to swallow. I wasn't there, so I

never felt that I had the right to call any man a liar. I believed some of those storytellers

to be stretching things a little, but I always figured that something had happened, but

over time they just got better at telling about it. You can see in their eyes as they

told these things that whatever they had run up on had really rattled them. You can

make up stories, but you can't make up the look they had on their faces. Sort of like

catching a really good fish. There's no doubting that the fish was caught, but the more

the story gets told, the bigger the fish gets. Or it being cold on the opening day of

the deer season. Sure, it was cold, but after the 10th and 12th telling of what happened

that day, it'll be nearly below zero with the blizzard on the way. But what never changes

is the way a person looks when they're telling you their story. The look on their face

will tell you whether you need to really pay attention or not. It won't be the words,

it'll be the face. Just so you'll know, mine is as wide as a piece of cotton as I write

this. It always looks that way when I think about what happened. I've sat on my story

for more than a month now. I've only told it out loud just the one time, and even though

no one at the time said anything especially ugly to me, or just came right out and called

...