Edge #145, January 2005
FROM: William F. Bodkin, Assistant Director, Special Operations
SUBJECT: Transcript of interview with Eileen Peethe (Mrs), 9th November 1982
EILEEN PEETHE: I was hanging out the washing as I usually do when my husband <UNINTELLIGIBLE> his underoos (he has an allergy to nuts), and I heard this kind of weird sound coming from behind the outhouse. A kind of rattling — like how our mutt breathed when he got a quarter stuck in his throat. We had a few problems last fall with chipmunks, so I thought it could have been them come back around. As my husband was down the store buying grits I went in and grabbed me a baseball bat from the barn. But when I got round back I saw... I saw...
INTERVIEWER: Take your time.
EP: It was this kind of... oh, sweet Jesus. It was breathing. Its mouth was kind of lolling open and closed, and I could hear it breathing. I won't never forget that sound. I threw me a few stones at it, but they just kind of rebounded off its hide, with a rubbery, twanging noise.
INTERVIEWER: Can you describe what it looked like?
EP: It had no limbs that I could see - and once I was sure it wasn't going to bite me, I kicked it over with my foot just to be sure.
INTERVIEWER: You mean the limbs had been <UNINTELLIGIBLE>
EP: I'm saying it never had them. It was perfectly round, like a soccer ball. Yet it was alive. Anyhow, I kicked it too hard, and it got wedged between the outhouse and a rock. I had to <UNINTELLIGIBLE> it out using a hoe, I think I hurt it. It started sobbing like a child. Oh, sweet mercy...
INTERVIEWER: Would you like to pause?
EP: No, no. Sorry. We'll go on. So, yes. Its skin was this sickly yellow, and smooth, and it had these big, wet, black eyes, these totally black eyes, which just kind of stared out at me. I'm telling you, it was haunting, but as God is my witness I swear to you it meant me no harm. It was just laying there in the pumpkin patch, its eyes pleading for help, and a tiny pink tongue trying to form words.
INTERVIEWER: Words? You believe this creature was intelligent?
EP: You bet your ass. And when I spoke to it, it rolled over to face me, and tried to form a smile. <PAUSE> So, anyhow; I wrapped it in an old rag, and took it into the house to show to my old man when he got home.
INTERVIEWER: How did your husband react?
EP: He flew into a rage. Started yelling and all about how I'd brought the Devil into our home. At first he tried smashing it to death with a beer bottle, but when that didn't work he shoved the entire medicine box down its throat. We thought it might be poisoned, but the pills just seemed to send it into some kind of super-strong, psychotic state. It rolled right off the table, and started trying to take bites out of everything it bumped into, making this gurgling 'waka-waka-waka' kind of sound at the back of its throat.
INTERVIEWER: How did you stop it?
EP: My husband beat it repeatedly with a meat tenderizer. Split the sucker apart. We were covered from head to ankle in its blood. It looked up at me one last time as it lay on the floor, dying. Not before he had taken one last bite right out of my gumboots, though. That boy sure was hungry.
INTERVIEWER: You think it was a male?
EP: Hell, son. Didn't I mention? It may not have had arms and legs, but it had <UNINTELLIGIBLE> I've ever seen.
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