UFO Experience

This is a story that was related to me many years ago by a family member. 

When I was a little girl, we lived on a small farm in Bethel. (This would have been between 1910-1920. -Wes) One afternoon in the late summer or maybe early fall, my oldest brother came running in the house yelling about something in the sky. We all ran out to the porch and we could see this thick trail of smoke in the sky. My brother said that there had been something bright flying across the sky and leaving behind all this smoke. It crashed into the ridge up the valley from our house.

My father and a couple of my brothers and a man who lived further down the road rode their horses up to the spot a couple of hours later and said they could see a hole in the ground that was glowing red and smoking something awful, and the stench was so bad the horses didn't want to go too near to it. They told us this when they got home that evening. I think my brothers went up there a couple more times before my mom made them promise not to anymore. I remember that the hole smoked for several days after it crashed. We had never seen an airplane, and I don't think I had ever even seen a car when this happened, so it definitely stood out as something out of the ordinary.

 It was probably a week after we had seen this thing crash in the woods.  I remember that my dad and brothers had gone to town for the day, so my mom and my sister and I were sitting on the front porch talking and waiting for them to get back. There was this strange feeling, like right before a lightning storm, but it was a pretty, clear sky day. But the air felt almost prickly. We could see something coming up the road towards the house. As it got closer it looked for all the world like an egg, but shiny. It was 3 or 4 feet long and seemed to be floating above the road. It didn't make a sound. It floated right past the house, probably 100 feet from us on the porch, moving a little faster than a man can walk. It kept going up the road until we couldn't see it through the trees anymore. This would have been in the direction of the thing that had crashed. I don't know what that thing was, and I don't know if the two things were related. Sure was strange though.

The first part of that story seems easy enough to explain (meteororite, etc.), but the second part is indeed quite weird. 

Post EVP Session Experience

Thursday night, October 8. I find myself hunkered down under a metal pavilion with Jeremy, the dull red lights of three separate voice recorders our only light. Well, that and the retina-shattering flashlight that Jeremy insists on sparking up every few minutes. That's right, folks, we're on a ghost hunt!

In the ongoing investigation into the 1928 murder of Deputy Claude Green and the ghost stories that surround his death, I decided to explore the more paranormal side of the story. Jeremy and I walked down to the old Balsam Community Center from his house and sat up our voice recorders and cameras. Unfortunately, environmental noise ranging from crickets and dogs to a higher than expected amount of traffic made our recording almost unusable. We walked back to Jeremy's house and relaxed for a few minutes, giving the audio recordings a cursory listen, glancing at the handful of images that we took, and discussing our next steps.

I left Jeremy's house an hour or so after we had finished our session, and something odd and startling happened to me. Jeremy's driveway is gravel and lined on both sides with heavy brush. At the end of the driveway, you must negotiate a very sharp turn to get back on the paved road. In my large truck, it usually requires some wiggling to avoid driving onto the railroad tracks on the other side of the road. As I came to the end of the driveway, with my windows up and my iPod playing through the trucks stereo, I was shocked to hear a loud screeching sound coming from somewhere in the woods up the hill and to my left. I can only describe it as the compressed screech of a train braking violently; metallic and harsh and sharp. It only lasted a second or so, but as soon as it was over, my stereo went silent. I was, if I'm being honest, terrified. I don't think I even realized that my music had cut out as I whipped the car onto the pavement. My only thought was that I was going to have to back up to make the curve, and the thought of looking back, looking into that dark forest behind me, was almost paralyzing. I dropped the truck into reverse and backed up blindly, and then threw it back into drive and onto the pavement. The entire drive home was full of dread, absolutely unwilling to look behind me.

I have no explanation for what I heard or felt that night. It's been a long time since anything paranormal has happened to me and I feel that I'm still processing the event. In some ways, it sounds like a UFO experience more than a ghost story. And no, no missing time for me. I'm interested if anyone has had a similar experience. Share in the comments or shoot me an email.

Light on the Parkway

This is a story that was told to me several years ago by a coworker. He was a very honest and straight-laced type of guy, so while I can't verify this story, I can vouch for the teller. He told me this story one evening wile we were working, and even though the encounter had been several years in the past, he still seemed shaken up by the experience. I've changed the names to respect his privacy, everything else is as I remember it.

     My name is Bill and I live in Cherokee, North Carolina. I had a rare weekend night off (I'm in healthcare), so my wife, her sister and the sister's husband decided to head over to Asheville. It's a fairly long drive, so when we go, we usually make an occasion out of it. We spent the day shopping, had a decent meal and then caught a movie. We left the theater around 11 pm. It was a beautiful summer night, so we decided that we should take the Blue Ridge Parkway from Asheville back to Soco Gap and then on to Cherokee and home. This would almost double the trip time, but we were enjoying the day and didn't mind a late night. I want to point out that I do not drink or take any drugs. No one else in the car had been drinking that day either.

     The parkway was almost deserted; we passed a few cars early in the trip, near the Asheville side of the Parkway. For most of the trip, we had the road to ourselves. The sky was clear and the moon illuminated the road and forest. We were enjoying the drive, talking and looking down into the valleys that fell away from the road. Just past the Black Balsam overlook area, I noticed a light on the road behind us. At first, I assumed that it was a motorcycle, but after a moment, I realized that it was glowing red. I still didn't think much of it; maybe it was the brake light of a car that had pulled away after we had passed. A couple of minutes later, I looked up again and realized that the red light had gotten much closer. I motioned with a nod and asked my companions to look back. They all saw the light, but none of us were alarmed by it. Within moments though, the light had gotten close, maybe 200 yards back. I could see it illuminating the trees that frame the road. Everyone again looked back, and we realized that the light was much higher off the ground than a car or motorcycle would allow. It seemed to be just below the tops of the trees. This spooked us. I sped up, trying to outrun this thing while also avoiding driving us all of the parkway. My wife and her sister were frantic, staring back at this ominous red light that seemed to be chasing us down the parkway. Ahead, I could make out the silhouette of Devil's Courthouse. I knew this meant that we were approaching a tunnel, and the thought of being trapped under the ground with that thing terrified me. I sped up again, but this damned light was still behind us, maintaining that same 200 yard buffer.
   
     I hit the entrance to the Devil's Courthouse tunnel doing about 60 mph. Seconds later, the light slipped in to the tunnel as well, and the walls were suddenly bathed in red. The inside of the van seemed to glow with this unnatural light. As soon as we were out of the tunnel, I whipped the car into the Devil's Courthouse parking lot, ready for a fight. We all saw the light just behind us. It flew past us, still above the Parkway road, and then ascended to just over the trees before swooping down the northern face of the mountain, heading towards Sunburst. The tops of the trees were lit up for the few seconds that the light was there, and then all was dark again.

     We sat there in the dark, silent, waiting for this thing to come back. After fifteen or twenty minutes with no sign of it, I backed the van out of the parking lot and sped down the parkway towards home. Nothing else strange happened that night. I looked around online after this happened, trying to understand the experience. I didn't really find anything, but I did read some about UFO encounters and abduction experiences. We didn't notice any missing time, and none of us had any sort of physical effects from the experience. It was simply and utterly terrifying. I'm still wary of the Parkway, especially at night. As a Native American, I know that certain places are charged with power, either good or evil. I'm not sure what we saw that night, but I know that I never want to see it again.

Boojum of the Balsams

     There's an old legend here in western North Carolina that has been all but forgotten in the last few decades. The story of Boojum of the Balsams is sometimes cited as a peculiar Appalachian variant of the Bigfoot legend, but it's hard reduce this tale into something so simple. I've read several articles about the Boojum, both online and in print, and they all tell a very similar story, with only a few details changing between versions. I'll give you the condensed version of the Boojum story, and then we can discuss.

     Boojum is described as tall, between 7 and 8 feet tall, and covered in shaggy dark brown or gray fur, except for his face, which is long and human-like. His eyes are almost always noted as being somehow sad. Most of the reports of Boojum, however, are based on his sounds and vocalizations. Lip smacking, grunting, and heavy breathing are all hallmarks of the Bigfoot of the Balsams. A particular noise, something of a cross between an owls hoot and the growl of a tiger is a frequent report. 

     Most of this sounds like a typical Bigfoot story; the physical attributes and noises are found in reports across the country. But where Boojum departs from the norm is in his actions and in the particulars of his story. He has an insatiable affinity for shiny jewels, rubies, sapphires and beryls found in the clear mountain streams of his home. He is said to hunt the hills in his search for these baubles, hiding them in caves scattered around the area. Beyond this, he has an affinity for human women, especially women who have slipped off to cool off in the mountain streams. Many less-than-fully-dressed young women have reporte hearing the sounds of breathing or a rustling in the leaves only to look up and see those sad eyes, framed in a dense mat of long hair, peering down from the underbrush. 

     It is said that one of these lasses, (named either Annie or Maggie, depending on the source) found herself drawn to that forlorn face. She followed Boojum into the forest, becoming his companion and eventually, his wife. 

     The end of this story revolves around another grand hotel here in the mountains, although this one is long gone: the old Eagles Nest Hotel. Built by S.C. Satterthwait of Waynesville, this high altitude hotel catered to wealthy patrons who could afford to escape the oppressive southern heat. Stories about strange occurrences started almost immediately. Well-to-do patrons of the hotel reported occasional sightings of Boojum and numerous unexplained sounds. Fearful of this strange beast, they demanded that Satterthwait put an end to the strange occurrences. I haven't found much in the way of historical documentation, but on April 22, 1918, the hotel burned to the ground. Some say that Satterthwait finally captured Boojum, and that a lonely, heartbroken Annie (or Maggie) burned down the huge building in retribution. The stories and sightings have continued, though only sporadically. Maybe the Balsam Mountains are home to some offspring of Boojum and his bride, still searching for gems in those cold and lonesome creeks. 

     It's hard to say much about this story. It's so completely tied to local legend that it's almost impossible to tease out what is true and what is purely imaginary. There are numerous mythological archetypes in here as well, and parts of the story seem to be designed to either teach a lesson (young women shouldn't be skinny dipping alone) or impart a moral lesson (true love is blind). Normally, I regard these sorts of stories with caution, simply because I can't prove or disprove anything. But the Boojum story resonates with me for a couple of reasons: I lived on Eagles Nest Mountain as a kid, and a relative of mine was said to have had a physical run-in with the elusive creature. 

     The story goes like this: A great uncle of mine was a driver for a livery company that existed in the days of the Eagles Nest Hotel. He would pick guests up at the old train depot just below Main Street, Waynesville and load them into his horse-drawn wagon for the trip to the top of the mountain. He reported several instances of feeling watched, of hearing strange noises in the forest or seeing shadowy shapes disappearing behind the brush. But on one night in particular, his experience became much more real. He was taking a load of passengers to the end, and the sun had begun to set as they made their approach to the hotel. Suddenly, his horses became skittish and refused to move another foot up the road. He urged them to move forward, as his passengers were tired and more than ready to check into their rooms for some rest. Almost instantly, the source of his horses fear became apparent as a tall, broad creature broke from the brush, crossing the road not more than 10 yards in front of him. As quickly as it appeared, it vanished into the dense forest on the other side of the road. After a couple of moments of coaxing, the horses began to walk towards the hotel, as if nothing had ever happened. 

     Unfortunately, this relative died long before I was born so I can't ask him for more details. This story was passed to me by my grandparents, like a lot of good stories are around here. I don't believe this story was ever written down, but I've told it as best I can remember. It mimics a more traditional Bigfoot story, but the location places it firmly in Boojum territory. I'll be looking at some more recent western North Carolina Bigfoot sightings in an upcoming article, so it'll be interesting to search for parallels with the Boojum legends of years past. 

The Light

     I moved to Balsam in the fall of 2003, finding myself alone in a small house. I was only a few yards from the house of my best friend from childhood, and just down the hill from his brother, another close friend. This situation allowed us to see one another fairly regularly, and it wasn't unusual for everyone to congregate in one house for poker or video games or a movie. One summer evening in probably 2005, my friend, his wife and his brother and I were all sitting on my front porch.

     The sun was going down to the west, and the horizon was a beautiful palette of oranges and yellows. I looked to the southwestern horizon, and saw a large red-orange ball. It was probably the diameter of a pencil eraser held at arms length. I caught the attention of the rest of the group, and everyone stopped to look at this unusual light in the sky. The sun had slipped a little further down, so the bright light was in stark contrast to the darkening sky behind it. We watched it intently for about ten minutes.

     At this point, I had begun to think that it was possibly just a very bright planet on the horizon, maybe Venus. I slipped inside to grab my telescope, a cheap Meade that I had picked up a year or so prior. Just as I began to adjust the scope to try to look at this supposed planet, the light began to move rapidly across the sky towards the north. It grew in size until it appeared to be about the size of a dime in the sky. It's margin was ragged, giving the appearance that it was on fire. Within a few seconds it had moved far enough north that it was out of sight behind the tree line. It was completely silent for the duration of the sighting.

     I spent the rest of the evening trying to work out what I had seen. The planet hypothesis was clearly out, as planets don't tend to move rapidly across the sky. The duration of the sighting rules out a meteor. It's possible that it was a plane, as odd as that seems. If it had been heading directly for us, it would have appeared as a point of light, especially with the sun illuminating it from behind. Once it changed headings, it would have moved rapidly from our field of view. The flaming effect could have been simply a mirage as the light traveled through the atmosphere, and the lack of sound can be explained by the distance. This is the explanation that I've settled on. While it doesn't fully satisfy me, it does seem to fit the circumstances of the sighting. This is important for me; to understand that as much as I want it to be something odd, it may well not be. Or maybe that's what the aliens implanted in my brain during my abduction. Who knows?

Darkness

     The forests of the Smoky Mountains are often dark, wet places. Deep coves, numerous streams and a dense canopy of leaves creates an environment that can seem almost prehistoric. Some of the deepest valleys may only see the sun for an hour each day. If you hike here, you become accustomed to moving through a world that seems stuck in twilight at times, and it becomes comforting. The cool mountain air, the mosses and ferns that muffle every step, all of it seems designed to protect you from the larger world. But sometimes, there is a darkness that is unnatural and threatening.

     In the summer of 2002, I drove from my home in Asheville to visit friends in Balsam for a day of paintball. There's no playing field there, just a large expanse of uninhabited forest. We walked to the end of the road and then followed a barely visible path that took us past a vacant vacation home and into the woods. The only real sign of human activity was a crumbling foundation wall for a home long since gone. We played in this area for a while, testing our paintball markers and generally enjoying a beautiful summer day. There were only three of us, so we felt free to do as we pleased. We began to walk up the hillside, angling back towards the vacation home and the trail, but moving higher in elevation.

     A few minutes later, we crossed the ridge line and were staring into a typical mountain cove. Rhododendron and laurels crowded the sides of the draw where a hidden creek surely ran. Tall oak and maple trees crowned the ridge, with blue sky visible through the canopy. But we, this group of young men enjoying a warm afternoon, were frozen. The darkness in this little cove was threatening. It had a solidity, and it seemed to pulse as we stared into it. It was big, seeming to swallow up the ridge behind it. 

     I've seen darkness like this twice before on hikes in this area. It's a darkness that seems to hide palpable terror. All three times, I have fled in fear from it. If I ever see it again, I will flee yet again. There's a natural human fear of these wet, dark places I suppose, and that fear is probably well founded. Snakes, spiders, these are the things that have reinforced this fear. But this darkness, this particular darkness, is not of that kind, it is something else. Something more ancient, maybe.

     I can't really explain any of this rationally. It's hard to sit here and write, "Three grown men were afraid of a dark spot on a mountain in the middle of the day." But that's what it is. Spend enough time outside and you might see it too. I won't even begin to try to rationalize what we saw or why it affected us so powerfully. I'll just say that we left, quickly and without speaking, and we all seemed to realize that to stay meant to give up, give in to it and maybe not come back. The Cherokee that lived here long before us spoke of places of power, both light and dark. That darkness still seems to haunt the mountains here.