The Legend of the Ohio Grassman
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[Music]
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The Legend of the Ohio Grassman.
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Gather around, friends, and let the
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fires glow keep the darkness at bay.
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Because tonight I'm telling you a tale
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that'll make your skin crawl and your
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ears strain for every rustle in the
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woods. This is the story of the Ohio
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grassmen. A creature that haunts the
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rolling hills and dense forests of Ohio.
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A shadow that moves unseen but never
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unfelt. I heard this from my uncle who
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swore it happened to him and his buddies
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back in the summer of 78 when they were
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young and foolish camping deep in the
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Kyhoga Valley. So, pull your blankets
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tight and listen close because this is
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no ordinary campfire yarn.
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It was late July and my uncle Tom along
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with his friends Mike, Sarah, and Jake
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decided to escape the city for a weekend
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of camping. They'd heard the stories.
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Everyone in Ohio grows up with whispers
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of the grassman, a hulking ape-like
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beast said to roam the state's wild
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places. Some called it a Bigfoot cousin,
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others a demon born from the earth
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itself. The locals described it as 7t
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tall, covered in matted grass-like fur
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that blended with the underbrush, with
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eyes that glowed like embers and a
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stench that could choke a skunk. Tom and
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his crew laughed it off as folklore, the
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kind of tale old farmers spun to keep
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kids out of the woods. They were college
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kids full of bravado, armed with cheap
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beer and a beatup tent, ready for
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adventure. They picked a spot deep in
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the Kyahoga Valley, far from the ranger
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stations, where the trees grew thick and
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the ground was carpeted with tall grass
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that swayed like waves in the wind. The
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first day was perfect, swimming in the
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river, roasting hot dogs, telling dumb
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jokes under the stars. But that night,
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as the fire died down and the moon hung
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low, things changed. Tom said it started
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with a smell, faint at first, like wet
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earth and decay creeping into the
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campsite. Sarah wrinkled her nose,
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thinking an animal had died nearby.
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Jake, ever the Joker, said it was
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probably Mike's socks. But Tom noticed
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something else. A stillness. The
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crickets, the frogs, the nightb birds,
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they'd all gone quiet. "Guys," Tom
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whispered. "You hear that?" "Hear what?"
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Mike scoffed, cracking another beer.
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"The sound of you freaking out?" "No,
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listen. Nothing. There's nothing." They
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froze, straining their ears. The silence
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was unnatural, heavy, like the forest
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was holding its breath. Then from the
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darkness beyond the fire light came a
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snap. A twig breaking underweight. Not a
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deer's delicate step, but something
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heavy, deliberate. Sarah grabbed Tom's
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arm, her nails digging in. "What was
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that?" she hissed. "Probably a raccoon,"
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Jake said, but his voice wavered. He
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stood, shining his flashlight into the
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trees. The beam cut through the dark,
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revealing nothing but swaying grass and
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gnarled branches. Then the smell grew
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stronger, thick enough to gag on, and
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the grass rustled. Not with the wind,
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but with something moving through it,
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circling the camp. "Stay calm," Tom
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said, trying to keep his voice steady.
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"It's just an animal. Maybe a bear."
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There ain't no bears out here," Mike
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muttered, his bravado fading. He grabbed
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a stick from the fire, its end glowing
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red, and waved it toward the sound.
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"Hey, get out of here." The rustling
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stopped. For a moment, they thought it
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was gone. Then, from the shadows came a
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low, guttural growl, not like a dog, not
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like anything they'd ever heard. It was
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deep, primal, vibrating in their chests.
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Sarah whimpered, backing toward the
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tent. Jake's flashlight shook in his
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hand, the beam darting wildly, and then
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they saw it just for a second. Two
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glowing eyes, red as the fire's embers,
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staring from the tall grass. They were
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too high off the ground, too far apart
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to belong to any coyote or wolf. "Get in
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the tent!" Tom shouted. They scrambled
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inside, zipping the flap shut as if
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canvas could protect them. The smell was
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overwhelming now, seeping through the
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fabric, and the growling grew louder,
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closer. Something brushed against the
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tent, heavy enough to make the poles
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creek. Sarah was crying. Jake was
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cursing.
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