The Sale Creek Goat Man

Goat Man. Not exactly the most intimidating of names, but it’s a popular urban legend. Creepy ass half goat half men who roam the forests, out to murder your ass with an ax. Just an urban legend though according to most.

However, there was a Goat Man here. Or Goat Men. They’ll probably be long gone by the time I post this, so take what you will from my experience. Anyone who has a rational explanation for what the fuck I saw, you’re welcome to share.

The sightings started up a month or two ago, and I kept an eye on it all. I run a blog on the weird shit in the US. Haunted houses, aliens, and every sort of cryptid that crawls, swims, or flies. If there’s a story, I’ll be chasing it. So of course when I heard there was a legit Goat Man walking the forest, I knew I had to have a camping trip.

I dug out my cameras, dusted off my old tent, invited my friends Cecil and Roxanne, and we set off for a weekend of fun chasing a Goat Man.

One thing I’ve never done myself was actually see one of these bastards in action… To see the Mothman soar above my head or Bigfoot come out from the bushes. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.

Cecil got the tent pitched and I gave both him and Roxanne cameras. Our pact was to film, taking pictures, and find any conclusive proof there could be a Goat Man in Sale Creek. Of course Cecil took this opportunity to take a picture of me trying to take a piss ten minutes later. I called him an asshole and chased him around the campsite while Roxanne filmed that. My friends are dicks.

The first walk around the general area resulted in nothing except a few bug bites and Roxanne getting poison ivy on her legs. Cecil ran into town to get some ice and I made fun of her while she pouted and went over her footage.

Of course we got nothing. I didn’t expect immediate action. Even if I got a hoof print, I’d take it.

The next morning we got a lot of hoof prints, right at our front door.

The whole campsite was completely trashed. I don’t know how we slept through it. Roxanne started swearing when she stumbled across a used condom. That was disgusting. We threw it in the trash… after I took pictures of course. Because used condoms are gross and yet everyone would click to see them.

They weren’t exactly the clearest of prints, but I still snapped pictures of it all. It was absolutely going on my blog, even if the skeptics would call it ‘fake’. We had to search for the Goat Man though and we agreed to split up to cover more ground.

I mean my day was boring. I ripped my jeans on thorns. Got scratched up. Bug bites galore on my exposed skin. But that can’t be said for Roxanne.

For one thing, she stumbled into camp long after Cecil and I got back, and two, she looked properly fucked up.

I think she was drugged by something, her pupils were wonky as hell, her words were slurred together, and she couldn’t walk a straight line. More disturbing though, was the fact she wasn’t wearing a shirt and her jeans were unzipped. Her back was scratched to hell, like she’d rubbed it against a tree. Cecil freaked and had her sit down, giving her water and covering her up with a blanket. I asked if someone had given her something and if some creepo raped her. She didn’t respond.

When Roxanne became coherent again she told us what happened.

I was so thankful to find out she wasn’t raped. But she did have sex. A. Lot of sex.

Her memory goes foggy after she came across a campsite where a bunch of guys were playing music. I asked her several times if the sex was consensual, and each time she insisted it was. She just could not honestly remember why she had sex. The guys must’ve been really hot, she joked.

Still, she seemed a little unsettled, so we agreed she and Cecil should go home and get tested for anything while I stayed behind. They’d check in with me periodically to make sure I wasn’t dead. Cellphone service was actually pretty great out here.

That night I woke up to someone singing.

This wasn’t just someone singing some sort of cheery campfire song. Imagine every music star from history, Elvis, Frank Sinatra, Johnny Cash, David Bowie, Michael Jackson, just imagine all of them. And realize they all sound like tone deaf braying donkeys compared to what I was hearing.

Crawling out of the tent in only my Spongebob boxers, I stumbled through the dark forest with my camera, desperate to find the source, only to come across a Goat Man.

He was kneeling at the other side of the stream, washing his face. For a second, I was caught off guard by how normal his face looked. He was furrier than a Sasquatch, but his face looked like a normal person- he probably was not much younger than I am. The hair though. He was covered in it. It was thicker than a blanket and I realized he was entirely naked. Mostly because when he learned back on his haunches, I could see his giant dick and really, really hairy balls. Yeah. That sorta shocked me out of my stupor. I began walking backwards to my campsite. Maybe it was just a really hairy homeless guy, but either way, he was gonna be on tape.

Carelessly I snapped a branch and his head shot up.

I realized at that moment he had horns. Ones that curled behind his ears, like a ram.

I was looking at a real life Goat Man.

And he had seen me.

I took off running, at least I think I did. When I woke up the next morning I was right in front of my tent, covered in scratches and welts from the thorns. The campsite was trashed again, but this time the Goat Man hadn’t been content just to leave used condoms behind.

He was sitting across from me. In broad daylight. I could see his hooves. And in his hands was my phone.

The Goat Man was scrolling through Google. Yup. I’d officially lost it.

“… We’re not what you think we are,” He said before he stood. I was temporarily mesmerized by his honestly enormous penis, it’d probably be mistaken for a weapon during a pat down, but I jerked back to reality. Right. Goat Man was attached to that penis. Who had apparently stolen my phone.

I scrambled to my feet. Here I was. Right next to a monster of myth. And I still didn’t have my camera. “I don’t know who you are. But you’re… you’re real right?”

The Goat Man’s eyes flicked up to me, bright yellow with horizontal slit pupils. “I guess I am.” He smiled briefly before he tossed my phone. I barely caught it. “Go home. Nice boxers, think I used to have that same pair.” With a whistle, he jumped into the brush, and with a few bounds he was gone.

If I got any footage from that night, it’s gone. The Goat Man deleted all my pictures, erased all video, there’s nothing left. I have no proof that I met the Goat Man.

But I do have his search history.

Do any of you guys know this guy named Gus Katsoros?