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What "They" May Have Done, plus Bigfoot

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An anthology edition of the Valley of Shadows

“Most people in the world don’t move anything more than the dirt it takes to bury them in.” Eric Kripke from the CW TV series “Supernatural.”

What “They” May Have Done

This story is, or was, a whispered take passed around a certain group of people back about a quarter century ago. I do not vouch for its veracity, but based on certain elements that, to this day, have yet to be stamped out completely, would not eliminate it from the realm of possibility; at least, the non-supernatural part.

According to this unsubstantiated account, back in the late 1980s a transient who frequented Sandpoint and the surrounding area disappeared and, in certain circles, was allegedly murdered for kicks by some “stoners.”

The man was tall, with mahogany-colored hair, and was reportedly a quarter African American.

The homeless man would often stand on a street corner, half-heartedly holding a written sign, asking for any help folks could spare.

Supposedly, he would often hang out around the Dub’s or Serv-a-Burger areas, so he could go get himself a hamburger with whatever he could panhandle.

He would frequently take refuge in the library, then located on Second Ave., while squatting in various abandoned houses around town.

One of his favorite haunts was Lakeview Park for its restrooms, where he could obtain minimal toilet facilities to clean himself. One time, he endeared himself to some of the fringier elements of town: those who partied a little too much, maybe smoked a little weed or tasted those little squares on their tongues, but who were nonetheless peaceful, let-live types who only wanted to listen to their music and not bother others.

This is where my knowledge comes in. In my younger days, I was taking care of elderly parents, and though I was several years older than the others, would occasionally brush the fringes of this world just to escape the isolation of my existence. And this was where I heard this tale.

It was one fall in the late 80s. I was at a friend’s house, where he told me that the transient had come to the notice of these stoners, and they had snatched him one day about a year before.

They took him up the High Drive and put a bullet in his brain, then tossed the body down an embankment and drove back to Sandpoint.

Now comes the... other part. One of the murderers began to experience things: visions of chaos, of a man’s head shattered and bleeding horribly, that haunted his dreams.

The second of this murdering pair apparently had ice water in his veins, as nothing would affect him. Except... he would stare endlessly forward, no matter what he was doing, as if he were keeping something at bay by looking at it.

Was something seeking retribution for a life snuffed out prematurely due to nothing more than thrill-seeking?

According to the story, one of the stoners died of an overdose; the other simply disappeared one day, never to be seen again.

Bigfoot Blues

This story was recently told to me by... well, I can’t say, as most of my sources like it. Small towns breed snickers and finger pointing.

Anyway, it was in the last several years that my source was up at the Sandpoint Rifle Range, target practicing. It was late summer or early fall, and mid-week. He was alone, and between jobs.

Out of ammo, my... man was contemplating cheap options for dinner. A Mexican frozen-food TV dinner from Wal-Mart, a bag of cheeseburgers from Zips for $3.95, or a couple of other cheap choices, like beans from a can. Being between jobs has its drawbacks.

Then he smelled it, and heard it. A rancid, cloying, rotten odor, along the lines of a million unwashed feet, along with an odd grunting that sounded remarkably human-like.

Now you’re going to say, “Not another Bigfoot story!” Well, yes and no. My source wisely retreated to his Ford pickup, but not before getting a quick glimpse of the source of the stench and sound.

From around a stand of birch came a figure; humanoid. At first he thought it was a bear... with blue fur! It stood at least seven feet tall and walked with a gait that humorously reminded my source of his last employer.

The blue was the color of a blue jay; the face reminded him of his aunt. It was female.

He hit the gas and all but flew down Baldy Mountain Road, breathing easier when he hit the intersection with Upland Drive.

Stories of Bigfoot are common in the Northwest, and even in North Idaho, several of which I’ve reported on here. But one with blue fur is something new. Could it have been a mutant Bigfoot, or maybe even a totally new species?

If you’ve seen something odd, drop us a note. 

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Author info

Lawrence Fury Lawrence Fury is an inveterate letter-to-the-editor writer, and a conservative conscience for this area of North Idaho. He's also an expert on local ghost stories, and is compiling a group of them for future book publication. You can read more about him in a Love Notes feature for the River Journal

Tagged as:

Valley of Shadows, Bigfoot, murder

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