; Phantoms and Monsters - Real Cryptid Encounter Reports - Fortean Researcher Lon Strickler

Friday, March 09, 2018

Daily 2 Cents: Neighborhood Invasion -- The Beast of Tarpaulin Creek -- 'Hello Dave. You're looking well today'

Neighborhood Invasion

Louisiana: For the past two months I had been seeing a number of lights moving above my house. At first I thought the lights were drones. I noticed after watching them night after night they didn't move like drones I've ever flown. I got binoculars and a spotting scope and noticed a central white RGB type light in a V patterned small craft. I considered it to most likely be an alien drone or possibly a military drone. Possible since I'm so close to an airport. Well I decided one night to go outside and signal the small crafts with a flashlight. I've heard math is the universal language. So I flashed a couple sequences of prime numbers. I told my wife come outside quick. I could see a large ship approaching from a few houses down nearly grazing the tree tops. Turning and redirecting itself towards my backyard like it already knew my GPS location. I looked in amazement followed by shock and fear. It passed slowly like it was looking for a place to land. Backyard too small and too many trees around. But it passed so close I could have thrown a baseball and hit it. It slowly passed my yard and went over neighbors yard and I couldn't see it anymore after. I look up and seen about 10 same type of ships flying fast high in the sky in a sequence. Then I notice smoke everywhere. Like my neighbors house was burning down. Smelled like gunpowder. I looked for the source of smoke. I believe the ship popped off smoke before it was going to try and land one street over. I realized I would have had a heart attack if it did land. To describe them. Large square bronze looking metal. White lights around sides. Circle pattern red flashing lights on bottom. Craft looked Egyptian from my point of view. My wife says she had a hard time with glare of white lights and couldn't give definite description.

The next afternoon were all outside and hundreds of them are in the sky. I could hear the neighbors' kids making jokes of an invasion. I saw people looking up down the street. I called my mom and told her. She said I need help. I started to film one as it got dark. My wife and I are sitting in chairs in the middle of our lawn. One is flying over and I'm recording. The next morning before work I decide to watch video. Like usual when I record a UFO the video isn't what was thought to be recorded. To sum it up, I recorded a ufo landing a few feet from me and a little alien next to it. Looking right at me. Now the repercussion of this lasted 3 or 4 days. Dark entities manifested in a bunch of my photos on my phone, my wife's phone. Even pictures in other unrelated clouds. Needless to say I had to delete a lot of pictures. Alien photo editors. Please explain the physics behind that one. - MUFON


The Beast of Tarpaulin Creek

By Jon Wyatt

Did a rogue monster terrorize a district in north east NSW, Australia, in the 1880’s? If so, what was it?

In 1884 the monthly Illustrated Sydney News edited by Philip Holdsworth (1851–1902), published an original poem called ‘Tarpaulin Creek’ or ‘What Is It?’ by Duplex. The poet hailed from Bingera (today Bingara), NSW, 204 km (127mi) southeast of the haunted creek area.

The Tarpaulin Creek is a meandering waterway that flows seasonally south west from the Queensland-NSW border to the Boomi River; there is now a management dam at the head, so the monster’s cave “’mid impassable rocks” may be submerged. The surrounding plains are rich grazing and farming land, and suitable for sheep--easy prey for the monster. The nearest town today is Boomi, NSW.

The opening verses ask what is it? There is wild speculation in the district, many believe it is a supernatural being; however, from the description in the poem, it was a Yowie/Bigfoot.

The beast, we are told, resembles a man “a man he oft seems”, and it is huge with a frame like a “gnarled oak” and it can push over large trees. It has a dun or grey hairy chest, a clubfoot “his foot is turned backwards” and an attitude “At the gleam of his eye all courage is gone”. It has in the past “vanquished... rifle”.

It mainly emerges at night when its loud vocalization “curdles the blood and stiffens the hair” and God help those who encounter it: Poor Jehu, a young coachman, has aged overnight; one of the “riflemen bold”, presumably a police trooper, has tearful flashbacks; and the road carrier, insomnia and nightmares. The “bearded strong men”, likely prospectors, have wisely fled.

When the poem was published, critics labeled Duplex a liar and/or the witnesses drunks; however, the editor, a poet himself, told readers:“With the verse ‘What is it?’ we received the names of several influential residents of the district referred to, as collateral proof that there is something more than the semi-idiotic ravings occasioned.” So, there may have been truth behind it.

Certain words used may be unfamiliar: A hobgoblin is a wicked hearth spirit; lusus a freak of nature; potheen a traditional Irish liquor; dirk a knife; Gorgon in Greek mythology a dreadful female creature; Bluebeard in French folklore a serial wife killer; bole a tree trunk; termagent a violent overbearing person; and Banshee in Irish mythology a female spirit who heralds the death of a family member, usually by loud wailings.

Is this verse a hoax or history? You be the judge.


A thing is reported on Tarpaulin Creek,
Most awesome, uncanny, it blanches the cheek;
Is it demon or brute? 'Tis matter of doubt —
Some call him a phantom, some beast out and out.

Believers in spectres, well versed in folk-lore
Say this is a common hob-goblin, no more;
But those who have seen, who have heard with their ears,
Assign a more animal cause for their fears.

Another Australian strange lusus is this,
Some aver, some make him the dead banned from bliss,
A ghost fratricidal, sore, stricken with guilt,
Who tells to the forest the blood he has spilt.

The sceptic, 'gainst both wage bantering war,
As rare samples of wits wool-gathering afar,
Each to him is but as a maundering Celt,
With potheen in his brain, or dirk in his belt.

But, jest on as he may, this Tarpaulin Creek
Is not a bad place the uncanny to seek,
For here an accord, both of women and men,
Has placed, at its head, this dire arch-outlaw's den.

Elsewhere, from a scrub that imprisons the light
At midnoon, he plunges gaunt into the night;
But here, not so far from meek pasturing flocks,
He dwells in a cave, 'mid impassable rocks.

The night is his portion, his kingdom, his home —
There he reigns, and appals whoever may come;
But the few who have seen him by the sun-ray
Pray that never again they meet such a day.

Ghoul, Gorgon, and Bluebeard, at various times,
Have each been the theme of sensational rhymes,
But not one of all supernatural three
Could prove a more dismal companion than he.

Weird dogs of the poets, the dragons of old,
But once look at him — seem not much over-bold;
Nay, the three-headed guard, in fable, of hell,
The classical legend scarce pictures more fell.

At the gleam of his eye all courage is gone,
His foot is turned backward, and his foot alone;
While, as to the grizzly dun hair an his breast,
'Twould scare the grim king of a cannibal feast.

Would you measure his strength, mark, through the bush glade,
The egress those sinewy arms have there made;
Scan the mighty free boles, once prone now supine,
Brief task for that hand as for child to count nine.

'Neath the clouded half-moon a man he oft seems,
But from no human throat come those eerie screams —
The roar of the man-eater, roused from his lair,
Just so curdles the blood and stiffens the hair.

The termagant, storming her husband quite deaf,
Quivers at that dread voice as quivers the leaf;
The hound, that would track fiercest men to the death,
Flies—like craven cur—from the grey adder's breath.

The night-coach, where road crosses creek, comes from town,
With passengers skilfully rocked up and down;
Poor Jehu, a young man some two years ago,
Now looks so quite altered, his years you can't know.

Not so many miles off are riflemen bold,
They shoot for high honour, they shun the base gold,
But the coolest, deadliest shot in the clan
Just touch on the thing—is no longer a man.

The carrier, by camp-fire beginning to dose,
Gets, only by fits, his much-needed repose;
Old Bloomer, the staunchest, most tried of the team,
Is off, quite a "flyer”; it can't be a dream.

And, most certain it is, that bearded strong men,
Who have met him but once won't meet him again;
They are wise—for, with frame like the gnarled oak stem,
He could treat, as mere playthings, a score like them.

Now read me the riddle, if read it you can,
What vanquishes thus rifle, horse, dog, and man;
Come, speak with discretion, and tell it to me—
This ogre of night ! — is he brute or Banshee?

Source: Illustrated Sydney News, 2 August 1884,p14


'Hello Dave. You're looking well today'

Fifty years ago next month, invitation-only audiences gathered in specially equipped Cinerama theaters in Washington, New York and Los Angeles to preview a widescreen epic that director Stanley Kubrick had been working on for four years. Conceived in collaboration with the science-fiction writer Arthur C. Clarke, “2001: A Space Odyssey” was way over budget, and Hollywood rumor held that MGM had essentially bet the studio on the project.

The film’s previews were an unmitigated disaster. Its story line encompassed an exceptional temporal sweep, starting with the initial contact between pre-human ape-men and an omnipotent alien civilization and then vaulting forward to later encounters between Homo sapiens and the elusive aliens, represented throughout by the film’s iconic metallic-black monolith. Although featuring visual effects of unprecedented realism and power, Kubrick’s panoramic journey into space and time made few concessions to viewer understanding. The film was essentially a nonverbal experience. Its first words came only a good half-hour in.

Audience walkouts numbered well over 200 at the New York premiere on April 3, 1968, and the next day’s reviews were almost uniformly negative. Writing in the Village Voice, Andrew Sarris called the movie “a thoroughly uninteresting failure and the most damning demonstration yet of Stanley Kubrick’s inability to tell a story coherently and with a consistent point of view.” And yet that afternoon, a long line—comprised predominantly of younger people—extended down Broadway, awaiting the first matinee. Read more at How Kubrick’s ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ Saw Into the Future


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