Real Dogman Encounters in the USA and UK

In this episode of Real Unexplained Stories, we explore terrifying Dogman encounters from both the USA and UK.

From isolated roads to remote wooded areas, witnesses from different places have described the same kind of creature again and again large, fast, powerful, and disturbingly human-like.

In this episode, we look at eerie accounts, unsettling sightings, and the fear that stays with people long after the encounter is over.

Transcript

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Some encounters are strange, others are far harder to shake. Because when people from different places, different backgrounds, and different countries begin describing something with the same terrifying details, it becomes harder to dismiss. Welcome to Real Unexplained Stories. I'm Leon. In this episode, we're looking at dogmen encounters from the UK and the USA. Stories of something large, something fast, and something witnesses say looked far too human to be any ordinary animal. Story one. This happened in Manesty National Forest, Michigan 2004. He told me there's a kind of silence in the woods that doesn't feel right. It's not peaceful. It's heavy. Like something's close but staying out of sight and staying hidden. That's what the forest felt like that evening, he said. It was mid-September, the sun going down and the air turning cold. He was doing one last sweep for the day, locking up the sheds, checking trail signs. Nothing unusual. He was near one of the small campgrounds. The place was empty at this time of year, dead quiet. He'd just come off one of the foot trails when he spotted something up on the ridge about fifty yards away. At first he thought it was a black bear. It was standing on two legs, big upright, but it didn't move like a bear. Too tall, too thin, and the arms were long, way too long. He said the ears were pointed like a dog's, the shoulders were wide, it had dark fur, might have been black or brown, hard to tell in the light. But what got him the most, it was just standing there watching him. He didn't move. He didn't grab the radio, he didn't even breathe. Then it stepped forward, just one slow step, like it wanted him to see. That's when he put his hand on his sidearm. Didn't draw it, though something told him not to. The forest had gone completely still. No birds, no wind, just that thing. And then it turned and walked back into the trees. Didn't run, didn't make a sound. Just don't. He stood there for a long time after. Didn't tell anyone, didn't file a report, but he wasn't the only one. Other park rangers had seen it too. He said they called it the thing on the ridge. Nobody talks about it much, but they know and so does he. Whatever that thing was, it's still out there and it's still watching. The Watcher at the Fence by Travis. This happened in the late nineties just outside Lucidale, Mississippi. Out there it's all pine woods and old farmlands and long stretches of old dirt road. Travis had lived there all his life. He knew every shortcut, every turn off. He'd taken the same back road hundreds of times. It was late November. The air was cold, but dry. The sun had just gone down, the sky was turning that deep blue, just before it fades to black. He'd been visiting his cousin, just a quick stop off. He didn't stay long. He wanted to get back home before it got fully dark. He took the old logging road to shave off a few minutes off the drive. No lights, no traffic, just trees, an old barbed wire fence running along parts of it. It was dead quiet. Even the truck was humming underneath him. He said it felt too still, like the woods were holding their breath. It was about ten minutes from home. He saw something ahead near the right side of the road. At first it looked like a deer standing still by the fence line, tall and motionless, just watching the truck come. But as he got closer, he knew that wasn't what he was looking at. It was wrong. It was upright, not hunched like a deer or a bear. Legs were long, arms too. The whole shape of it just felt unnatural. When the headlights hit it full beam on, he could see it clearly. Broad shoulders, covered in short dark fur, long, muscular limbs, and the head was a dog's long snout, tall pointed ears, eyes glowing slightly in the light. Not from reflection, he said, more like something behind them. It just stood there calm still watching him. It didn't step back, it didn't blink, it didn't care the truck was coming towards it. Travis slowed down without thinking, foot easing off the gas, and that thing just turned its head and followed the truck with its eyes as he passed. It didn't move a muscle. He said the temperature in the cab dropped. He actually looked down to see if the heater was still on, and when he looked up in the rear view mirror, it was gone. No walking away, no ducking into the trees. Just gone, vanished. His hands were shaking. He didn't stop. He didn't breathe properly until he pulled into his driveway. He sat in the truck for ten minutes with the engine running, doors locked, just staring out into the darkness. He didn't talk about it at first, not for years. But then one night at a cookout, someone mentioned seeing something weird on that same stretch of road. They described it the same way. A dog standing like a man watching from the fence. That was enough for Travis. He never took that road again, not in the dark. He doesn't know what it was, but he's sure of one thing. That thing wasn't passing through, it was waiting. The breathing in the trees by Chris at Allegheny National Forest, Pennsylvania, 2009. Chris and two of his closest mates had gone up to Allegheny to do a bit of hiking and a bit of fishing, mostly just to get off grid for a couple of days. They were the type who'd grown up around outdoors. They didn't spook easy. Campfires, beers, long stories, you know that kind of trip. They picked a place miles off the main road, no phone signal, just trees, water and sky. Chris said the spot was an old one, a place his uncle used to take him when he was younger. He hadn't been back since. There was a clearing just big enough for a fire and two tents. The first night was fine. A bit of rain, but nothing heavy. They cooked, laughed, and stayed up late by the fire, just soaking it all in. It was sometime round about two or three AM in the morning when Chris woke up. Didn't know why at first. Then he realized he needed a wee. He didn't bother waking the others up. He didn't take a torch either. The moon was out, and the fire was still glowing just enough. He stepped away from the tent into the tree line, just twenty, maybe thirty feet. He'd grown up in the woods like these, so he didn't feel any nerves or anything. But something felt different that night. The air had that dense, heavy silence to it, like the woods weren't breathing. He finished, zipped up, and was just about to head back when he heard it. Breathing. Not his not close, but not far either. It was deep, heavy, slow. He stood still. At first he thought it might be one of the guys messing around with him, but the sound was coming from deeper in the brush ahead of him. It was steady, controlled, like something big, just standing there, breathing through its nose. Then came a sound that made his screen crawl. A single step, a crunch of leaves and sticks. One, just one, but it was heavy. Not a deer, not a raccoon. Something with real weight. Chris didn't move. He didn't speak. He just stared into the dark. He couldn't see anything, but he knew something was there. The breathing hadn't stopped. It was still going slowly, thick inhales through something long, like a snout. That's when he realized something else. It wasn't just standing. It was angled, like it was leaning out from behind a tree, just enough to see him. He couldn't see eyes, but he felt them. He took a step back, then another, and still facing forward towards it. He didn't run. He didn't want to give it a reason to follow. He backed all the way up to the fire pit and sat down on a log. He didn't wake the others. He didn't say a word. He sat there until the sun came up. He didn't sleep. He didn't blink. He just kept watching the tree line. The others woke up around six AM. Asked what the hell he was doing up so early. He lied and said he just couldn't sleep. They packed up by noon and drove home that day. But a week later one of them messaged him. He said he'd been going through the photos they took on his phone. There was one right before sundown showing the tent and the fire from a distance. But off to the left behind the trees, you could see something tall, dark, bent at the waist like it was watching. They didn't see it when they took the picture. They didn't hear it moving, and Chris said that's exactly what scared him the most. Whatever was out there didn't need to chase them. It didn't need to make a sound. It just stood there breathing close enough to touch. It ran on two legs by Mark near Lake Hartwell, Georgia 2011. Mark had been out fishing with his cousin, just the two of them, in a small lake near the Georgia, South Carolina border, down by Hartwell. They'd been out all day. It was a long drive back, and by the time they'd packed up it was dark, not dusk, pitch black darkness. The road they came in on was narrow, winding, and surrounded by thick woods. They parked nearly half a mile from the water line and had to walk it back on foot. No street lights, just the glow of their head torches cutting through the trees. They weren't talking much, just walking tired. Then Mark heard it footsteps not from his cousin, from behind them. Heavy at first. He turned nothing. Just woods. They kept walking. Another few seconds passed. The footsteps came again, louder this time. Thud, the thud, the thud running, and it was closing in, whatever it was. They stopped, swung the torches around. Still nothing. Then from the left side of the path, a shape burst through the brush. Mark said it was massive dark fur on two legs. They crossed the path for ten feet in front of them, fast enough to blur, but not fast enough to mess. They looked at them as it passed, long snout, wide chest, arms pumping like a sprinter, and then it was gone again. Back into the dreams. They stood there frozen. They didn't speak, they didn't breathe until they heard it again, running, this time coming from behind them harder, faster, like it had circled them. Mark shouted Go They ran. They didn't look back. They didn't care if they dropped the gear. They just ran full out towards the truck. He said he could hear it behind them, branches snapping one by one, footsteps pounding in the dirt. Not four legs, two. Whatever it was, it was chastin' him like a man would, only faster, heavier. They reached the truck, thumbled with the keys, heard it crash through the brush. Just feet behind them, they got to the door, opened it, jumped in, and slammed them shut. Mark turned the key, afraid the engine would clutch. It did, and as the headlights flickered on, he saw it, standing at the tree line, not running anymore, just standing there, watching, chest heaving, steam rising from its mouth in the cold night air. He hit the gas. He didn't stop until they were back in town. They never went back to that spot ever again. They didn't talk about it for a long time, but he swears on everything he says. That thing ran on two legs, and it wanted them to know that it was faster than them. The thing on the lane by Paul in Shropshire, England nineteen ninety seven. Paul had lived in the same village his whole life. A quiet place, bit of farmland, some woods, not much else there. He worked at a sawmill back then, long shifts and early starts. Most mornings he'd walk to work down a narrow country lane that cut through the trees. One morning just before 5 AM he left the house as usual. It was cold, still dark, and not a sound but his boots on the gravel. He had about a mile to go. He didn't use a torch. He knew the way by heart, but something fell off that day. The birds weren't singing, no wind in the trees, just dead quiet. Then up ahead he saw something. At first he thought it was a tree stump near the bend, but as he got closer, it shifted. It stood up, and it had been crouching by the side of the lane. Not laying down, crouching, and it was tall. Paul stopped walking, didn't say anything, just stared. The thing was covered in dark hair, long limbs, shoulders that were too wide for any dog or deer. And the head, well it wasn't right. He said it looked like a dog, but stretched longer and sharper. It turned its head slowly and looked right at him, not startled, not scared, just calm, like it was used to being seen. Paul said he didn't move, didn't even breathe, then it turned and walked off into the trees, on two legs, slowly, steadily, making no sound. He stood there for maybe five, ten minutes, heart racing, pumping. Then he carried on walking faster this time, eyes flickering in the trees the whole way. He didn't tell anyone for years about this, thought no one would believe him. But later a mate of his who walked on that same road told him he used to hear something pacing the hedgerows before sunrise. He said he never saw it, but he'd always feel like he was being followed. Paul never walked that way again, started getting lifts to work instead. Whatever that thing was, it wasn't lost. It lived there, it was its home. It broke the hedge by Jamie. North Yorkshire, England 2013. Jamie had just moved into a small rental cottage on the edge of the moors. Quiet, cheap, and felt like a good place to clear his head for a while. He had a dog with him, aboard a collie, full of energy. Every evening after work he'd take her for a walk along the old track that ran behind the fields. That night had been the same as any other night. Bit of wind, bit of clouds, and stars starting to come out. They walked a little further than usual, right up against the hedge of the woods. The dog kept stopping, ears up sniffin'. Jamie figured it was just foxes, maybe a deer. Then she growled, low, serious, and she wouldn't move. He turned to head back. Just as they reached the gap in the hedge, something slammed through it. Full force snapped the branches, broken clean through, like it wasn't even there. Jamie didn't even see it clearly. Just a flash of fur, dark and fast. But the sound, that thundering sound of something running on two legs. It wasn't human, and it wasn't a deer. The dog bolted, pulled the lead clean out of his hand, and she took off across the field. Jamie ran after her, heart pounding. Behind him footsteps fast pounding the earth. He didn't look back. He didn't want to. He said he could hear it. Just behind Hedrow, keeping pace with him. Not crashing through anymore, just running alongside it. When he reached the gate he slipped, trying to open it. He went down hard, mud on his hands, chest burning. He got up, pushed through and slammed it behind him. Silence. Nothing came through after him. Nothing touched the gate, but the dog was waiting down the track, shaking like a leaf. They got home, he locked the door, sat there for an hour, neither of them moving. The next day he walked back to where it happened, just to make sure it wasn't his imagination. The hedge was torn open, like something had hit it hard from the inside. He still doesn't know what it was, but he never walked that route again, not after dark, and whatever it was, it wanted him to run. The Eyes in Broomfield Woods by Nathan. Nathan grew up just outside Maidstone in a quiet estate that backed onto Broomfield Woods. As a teenager he and his mates would hang out back there all the time. During the day it was fine, dog walkers, kids, old footpaths, but everyone in the neighbourhood knew you don't go too deep after dark. He'd heard stories over the years, weird sounds, strange tracks, and even talk of something big crossing the footpath near the clearing. Most people laughed it off teenage drama, rural gossip, but Nathan never forgot what he saw out there when he was seventeen. It was late August, about ten PM. He'd gone out on his own, wanted some space after an argument with his parents. He walked the lowest trail first, kicking stones, muttering to himself No torch, just moonlight. The moonlight was fallen off. The trees were close together, dense in places, but he knew the paths. After about twenty minutes he left the trail and cut through a gap in the trees to a clearing where they used to build dens as kids. That's when he heard it. A branch cracking. He stopped, listened. Then another crunch, closer. In the same direction he was heading. He thought maybe a badger or a deer. It could have been anything. He took another few steps slowly, heart starting to tick a bit faster. Then from the tree line he saw eyes, not glowing bright, just catching the moonlight, reflective, set wide, too high off the ground. They didn't move, they didn't blink, and he realized whatever it was, it was watching him. He stood still. He didn't run. Then he saw a shape. It was tall, not towering like a bear, but tall enough to look down on him from where he'd stood. It was covered in fur, dark, matted, shoulders henched slightly forward, arms low at its side, and that head. He said it looked like a German shepherd, but longer, narrower, wrong. Its chest was rising and falling slowly like it was calm and in control. Nathan backed up one step. It didn't move. Another step, still nothing. The moment he turned he heard it shift. One heavy step. He didn't wait to see what could come next. He ran as fast as he could. Didn't care about the branches, the nettles, the mud. Just ran until he hit the estate fence at the back of the park. He climbed over it without thinking, scraping his leg, dropped into someone's garden and kept going. When he finally got home his parents were still arguing in the kitchen. They didn't notice his face was pale, or that he couldn't stop shaking. He never told them. He didn't tell his friends either, but the next day he went back just to prove it wasn't his imagination. He found the clearing quiet still, and in the dirt near the trees where it had stood were prints. Not full, not perfect, but shaped wrong. Too long at the front, too narrow at the heel, clawed. He left the woods then and didn't go back for a long time. Even now he says he still dreams about those eyes, not glowing, not snarling, just waiting. The one near the cliffs by Ellie, North Yorkshire Coast 2018. Ellie had driven up to the coast alone. She needed a break. She needed to get out of the city. She'd just gone through a rough breakup. Work was a mess, and everything around her had started to feel too loud. So she booked a last minute stay in a tiny cottage outside Staith, right on the edge of the cliffs, overlooking the sea. No neighbours, no traffic, no signal. Just the kind of silence she thought she needed. The first day was perfect. She sat outside and listened to the gulls, felt the wind off the water. She even walked down the cliff path to the beach. No one else around, just sea foam, rock pools and salt air. That night she lit a fire in the small burner and watched the sky turn black. There's no street lights out there, no glow from anywhere. When it got dark, it got dark. She went to bed early thinking she'd sleep easy, but her mind wouldn't shut off. She stared at the ceiling, listened to the wind against the window, thinking about everything and nothing. The kind of restless, hollow feeling you only get when the world finally stops around you. By half past midnight she gave up. She got dressed, pulled on her coat, and she figured she'd walk it off just for a bit. There was a narrow walking path that ran along the edge of the woods. woods and it curved down towards the bay. Not far. She'd walked it earlier that day. She took her phone, not for signal but to use the torch, and she stepped outside. The wind had dropped, the air felt heavy. Still. She couldn't hear the sea anymore. Just her footsteps on the damp grass. She walked slowly, her torch lighting the fog ahead. It was thick, the kind of sea mist that settles in off the coast without warning. It moved when she moved, hung in the beams like smoke. After about ten minutes she reached the point where the path splits. One way curves towards the cliff steps. The other cuts into the woods. She stood there for a moment, didn't know why, just hesitated. She turned to look back behind her, couldn't see the cottage anymore, just fog and dark. That's when she heard it a noise footsteps not close not right behind her, but heavy, deliberate, crunching on the gravel. She froze, held a breath, then she swung a torch behind her. Nothing. Just silence. She turned it off. She stood there in the dark and then she saw it. A shape not fully clear, just something tall near the edge of the trees. It stepped out slowly, controlled. She switched the torch back on, and for a split second she caught a silhouette two legs, long arms, broad at the shoulders, covered in thick fur. It didn't run. It didn't drop to all fours. It just stood there, watching her. Then it took a step forward. She took a step back, then another, and then the thing just stood there breathing. Not loud, but she could hear it like the sea itself had lungs. She turned and walked fast. She didn't run, not yet, just walked. She didn't want to look like prey. She kept her torch pointed low, trying not to panic, but the path twisted, she stumbled on the edge of a route. She caught herself and turned around it was closer. Still standing, still watching. The eyes caught the torch light this time, two dull reflections, wide apart, set forward predatory. She whispered no, no, no, no under her breath. Then she ran. Full sprint. She didn't care about her footing, didn't care about the cliffs. She ran until her lungs burned, until the path blurred beneath her, until the fog seemed to lift for just a second, and then she saw the cottage. She reached the door, her hands were shaking. She dropped the key, she picked it back up, behind her footsteps again, not running, just walking, slow, measured. She got the door open and she slammed it behind her, locked it, bolted it, and she collapsed onto the floor, listening. Silence, but she knew it hadn't gone. She felt it. After a few minutes she stood and peeked through the curtains. There about twenty feet from the door it stood, still, steam rising off its body in the cold. It didn't move, it didn't charge. It just stood there. Then it turned, walked back into the trees, and disappeared into the fog. The next morning she found footprints in the grass, too long, too wide and clawed at the ends. She packed a bag, left the keys on the table and drove until she hit the A1. She's never been back to Staynth, never even looked at pictures of it online. She still doesn't know what came out of those woods, but it wasn't from the sea and it wasn't passing through. It knew she was there and it came to find her The Thing in the Cuttings by Alad South Wales two thousand four Allard was seventeen when this happened, living with his mum in a small town just outside Brecken Beacons. Nothing much going on, not many places to go. He used to walk the old cuttings, disused paths that ran behind the houses, once railway lines now overgrown with trees, brambles and collapsed stone walls. It was quiet back there, felt like being somewhere else. One Saturday afternoon late September he took the path alone. The cloud was thick that day. Everything felt damp. The air was heavy smelled like wet moss and cold dust. He walked for a while, hands in his pocket, hood up not much on his mind. But as he got deeper into the cuttings, the light changed, felt darker, like the trees had closed in just a little more. He slowed down, listened. He couldn't hear the birds any more couldn't hear anything. He figured maybe it was the weather or maybe just a quiet patch but something about it made his stomach tighten. He kept walking then he started to smell something not the dam. Something worse sharp metallic like old blood and wet fur. That's when he saw movement off the left just beyond the tree line a flash of something dark, big he stopped, looked nothing he moved again and so did he right alongside him tracking. He said it felt like a game at first then it stopped feeling like a game. He broke into a jog. The thing kept pace still out of sight but close then it stepped onto the path twenty feet ahead blocking the way you froze still it stood on two legs shoulders wide arms low fur black dripping from the rain its head long dog like but not a dog more narrow more human and it was watching him. He said he couldn't breathe he just stared at it locked in place then it took a step forward slow like it wasn't rushing just closing the gap he turned and ran hard as he could back the way he came heart pounding breath burning he didn't hear it chasing him not at first then he heard it louder closer two legs he glanced back it was behind him not right there but coming fast he ran until he hit the stone bridge near the old mining entrance scrambled up the path mud on his knees hands gripped and as he pulled himself onto the track he turned and it was standing on the slope didn't follow just watching again then it made a sound not a growl more like a breath forced through its teeth then it turned back into the trees gone. Ali didn't tell anyone not at first but then weeks later an old man at the bus stop was talking about the black walker again. He said it had been seen years ago by boys from the pit always along the cuttings always after rain he still won't walk those tracks not even in daylight he says it didn't just chase him it let him go The thing that followed us by Daz and Richie Midwales 2016 Daz and Richie had both served Afghanistan Iraq two tours each they'd seen things most people couldn't imagine. They knew what it felt like to be under pressure how to keep their heads when it counted they weren't a type to scare easy. Since leaving the army they stayed close checked in on each other and got into the habit of taking weekend hikes together just the two of them outside in the hills no phones no noise no drama. They said it's the only time they felt clear headed away from the traffic away from the pressure in early autumn 2016 they decided to head into mid-Wales somewhere remote a few miles west of Elan Valley the kind of place where you don't see other souls for days and they liked it that way. They set up camp just off an old forestry road flat ground tree cover and a small river nearby they built a fire cooked some food and by 9pm they were sitting with the boots off sharing a bit of whiskey listening to the wind in the trees then it got really quiet wrong quiet. Daz noticed it at first he was mid-story when he just stopped talking no birds no breeze not even a stream anymore just a pressure thick heavy they both felt it didn't say anything didn't need to their training kicked in eyes scanned ears tuned body goes still then they heard the first step off to the right not loud but solid too solid too solid to be a fox Richie stood up didn't reach for a weapon just stared alert daz picked up a torch and scanned the trees nothing then another sound behind them like weight shifting on damp earth still nothing in view. They'd been in live zones before both said it felt the same not panic not nerves just the sense that something was close and watching. After a while they tried to settle back in didn't show fear they didn't talk about it but they kept their boots on. They didn't touch the whiskey again and they both kept their knives close. Ten minutes later Daz looked past the fire and went quiet. Richie turned and there it was standing just beyond the tree line not charging not crouching just standing tall upright broad shoulders arms down by its side covered in dark fur and a head that was all wrong. Long canine snout tall ears but set on a body that stood too straight they didn't move. Then it stepped sideways just a little like it was adjusting for a better view and they heard it breathe low and slow rumbling like it came from a deep in its chest. Neither of them spoke they backed away from the fire slowly grabbed the bags, torches and blades, left the tent, left the food and started walking, not running, just fast control movement and behind them it followed they heard it in the trees staying just out of sight. Every time they stopped it stopped every time they moved it moved. It was shadowing them Richie turned and shunned the light and then saw it crouched behind a fallen tree still upright but low watching its eyes didn't shine but they were there focused forward set tracking them like prey that's when they ran boots in mud branches cracking. It stayed behind them never gained it never backed off it just followed pacing them. Richie said it felt like a drill only this time it wasn't practice. By the time they saw the gravel road they were soaked scraped and out of breath and the thing it stood just beyond the last tree still watching still breathing then it turned walked back into the trees gone. They didn't speak much on the drive home they didn't talk about it for a few months but when they finally did they both agreed on one thing that it wasn't some misidentified animal it wasn't imagination it wasn't panic. They'd both been under real pressure before they knew what fear looked like this was something else something intelligent something physical and something that let them leave it was already there by John Gateshead England 2011. John had been working his land most of his life on a small farm just outside of Gateshead quiet out of the way one of those places that's easy to forget about if you're not from the area that August morning in 2011 it started like any other cool air damp grass not quite light yet but the sky was starting to shift from black to that early grey blue. He was out checking the east field where the sheep had been off the night before restless making noises. Well past midnight he'd figured foxes maybe something had spooked them it happens he walked the field with his torch in one hand and crook in the other boots kicking up straw as he went. The silence hit him first not the peaceful kind the kind that makes your neck go tight like something's holding its breath he stopped, listened nothing not even the wind no bird song either. The sheep were bunched in the far corner of the field tight still facing the same direction that's when he saw it not moving, not doing anything, just standing in the neighbouring field, tall still unmistakable at first he thought it was a man, someone out early, maybe a lost hiker but no the posture was wrong the shoulders too high, arms long, too long and it was broad, wider than any person he'd seen. Built like something that shouldn't be walking on two legs. He flicked off the torch, let his eyes adjust the shape stayed there. It didn't flinch it didn't hide. He called out all right over there no response. It turned its head slowly that's when he saw the profile long snout, tall pointed ears, a face that wasn't human but wasn't fully animal either. It looked at him not through him at him and it stepped forward in one stride. That's all the sheep went mad, kicking and slamming against the fence and trying to get away from it the kind of panic you don't fake. John didn't move not yet just gripped the crook tighter felt the weight of the torch hit his hand like it suddenly wasn't there. The thing didn't make a sound just watched then came the breath low deep like it came from a chest too big for a man. It turned, not rushed, not frightened, just turned and walked into the bushes, disappeared like it had never been there at all. He stood there for ten minutes before moving. He didn't trust his own legs at first. When he finally reached the sheep they were trembling, some had blood on them, no wounds, just from scraping themselves against the fencing, no signs of a breaking, no tracks that he could make out, no smell, apart from a faint musk, wet fur and earth. He never saw it again. Every morning for months after he checked that field twice and never without his shotgun slung across his back. He doesn't tell this story often not because he's afraid no one will believe him but because part of him still hopes it was a trick of the light a shape in the fog something his brain tried to make sense of the dark. But he knows better it was there really watching him and the worst part it wasn't passing through. It was like it was already meant to be there. Across the USA and the UK stories like these continued to surface different places different witnesses but the same uneasy feeling that whatever was seen was not ordinary. This has been the real unexplained stories thank you for listening. If you'd like to hear more strange encounters eary mysteries and unexplained stories be sure to follow the podcast on your podcast at our choice. And if you enjoyed this episode feel free to leave us a review. Until next time