Here's a story, the writer wants to leave his name out of it, his or her name out of it.

But here's what they write, this is real interesting.

I'm not going to disclose our names because it's not important, but I have a story to tell

from 1978.

I was 14 years old at the time and I grew up in the deep woods of the Catskill Mountains.

My grandfather's 500 acre farm bordered many square miles of state forest.

It was very dense wilderness and it was dotted with old farms that were abandoned years

ago.

These details are important to give you an idea of how remote and desolate these woods

are.

I've spent my whole life hunting, trapping and fishing those woods.

This encounter happened in late October on a clear moonlit night.

I was cone hunting with my uncle who had well-trained cone hounds, and it was quite cold

out that night and so far the dogs were unusually unsuccessful after two hours of hunting.

Finally, they started barking and they were hot on a trail.

We were a mile from my grandfather's farm when we started in the direction of the dogs

barking.

They were across the gully end up on the next ridge.

My uncle and I were walking up a dirt road that would take us to an old abandoned farmhouse.

It was a straight walk down across the gully end up to the ridge where the dogs got that

raccoon in a tree judging by their barks, and they were steady and in one location.

By now it was 2am and we were 200 yards from the farmhouse.

...