The Blood Harvester of Rivesville, West Virginia: A Chilling Encounter from 1968

Frederick had been hunting for woodchuck that evening, unsuccessfully. The sun was nearly gone, and the shadows had started to stretch long and thin across the ground. Even though he was empty-handed, it was time to head home.

Suddenly, he heard a noise. It sounded like a high-pitched jabbering, much like that of a tape recorder running at exaggerated speed. Then he realized he was hearing a voice... or at least words.

Ok. He didn't actually hear these words. - at least not in the way voices are supposed to be heard. He felt the words coming to him. As if they were coming from his own mind. 

You need not fear me. I wish to communicate. I come as a friend.

The words came fast and smooth against the sounds of nature. Almost mistakable, but still, definitely there. The voice sounded like something was trying to mimic human speech but it was missing  something. Maybe the rhythm? Still the words resonated. 

We know of you all. I come in peace. I need your help.

The woods around him remained perfectly still. There was no movement in the trees, no shape stepping out from the shadows. Just a sudden mental intrusion, like a signal cutting through static, dropping directly into the mind of Frederick as he stood beneath the maple trees on the edge of his father’s property in Rivesville, West Virginia. 

Puzzled, and slightly disoriented, he felt sweat building on his brow. He reached for his handkerchief and that’s when the pain hit. It was sharp and sudden.

At first, he thought it was a briar - a wild thorn catching his wrist. But when he pulled his arm back, whatever had him didn’t let go. It tightened.

And then he looked down. Wrapped around his wrist was something that shouldn’t exist. A thin, flexible appendage - green, almost plant-like - no thicker than a coin. At the end of it was a hand. But not a human hand. It wasn't anything close. But there was no other word for what he was looking at. 

On the hand, there were  three long fingers. They appeared to have needle-like tips where finger prints would normally be. And if that were't frightening enough, it also had suction cups. 

It moved with intention. The suction cups took hold and gripped hard. And then the needles pierced. Everything was happening very fast. 

Frederick heard it before he fully understood it - a faint, wet pulling sound. Horrifically, he realized his blood was being drawn. 

Panicked, he turned. What he saw standing behind him didn’t belong in the woods of West Virginia - or anywhere else on this planet.

It stood upright, but barely resembled a man. The face carried just enough familiarity to be confusing. It had slanted yellow eyes, pointed ears, and features that hinted at humanity, but twisted away from it at every angle. 

The body was worse. This creature wasn't flesh and bone.  It stood tall like a stalk -  green, thin, vertical, and unnatural - like something grown rather than born.

Frederick stood and watched in terror. He struggled to understand what was unfolding around him... to what he was seeing... to what this creature was doing to him - This creature wasn't a product of the classic horror films, and most certainly, this creature didn't belong in West Virginia. Yet, there it was harvesting blood like a giant mosquito. To Frederick, nothing was making sense. 

Then, it got even weirder. Suddenly, the creature's eyes started to change. Yellow turned to red. The eyes began to spin. Orange rings spiraled outward from the creature's eye sockets, turning slowly at first, then faster - then too fast to follow. This actually WAS like those scenes from the sci-fi classics. Spinning, hypnotizing eyes. 

And just like that… the pain stopped.

It was replaced with nothing. There was no fear and no panic. There was no resistance. For the first time in several seconds, Frederick felt a calmness. 

He stood frozen, held in place not by fear -  but by the force of this creature's hand. It quieted everything inside him. 

The “transfusion,” as he would later call it, didn’t last long. Maybe a minute. "But it felt like something was being taken, and then it ended."

The grip released and the thing turned and sprung away. 

The gait didn't resemble that of an animal, but not like a man, either. In fact, "gait" is probably not the correct word. The creature launched itself away. One leap, then another. It covered distances no living thing should be able to, twenty-five feet at a time. It cleared a five-foot fence like it wasn't there. And just two or three seconds later, it was gone, disappearing into the trees at the crest of the hill. 

Almost immediately, the pain came back to Frederick's hand. Again it was sharp. There was no doubting what had just occurred. The pain provided proof that this moment was real. Honestly, Frederick was having his doubts. 

He stood there, staring into the woods where the thing had vanished, trying to convince himself that it hadn’t actually happened. But the pain and marks on his hand said otherwise. 

Suddenly he heard a low hum. Then a rising wine, as if whatever it was that he was listening to was gaining propulsion. He imagined something mechanical, like an engine spinning in the dark. Later he said it sounded like something lifting off. 

Frederick made it home. He cleaned the wound and wrapped it. Then, for many years, he tried to pretend this occurrence never happened. 

Because what do you tell people after something like that? That something in the woods spoke directly into your mind? That it asked for help? Then it took your blood?

Though the wound convinced him he was sane and had actually expereienced the horror, he doubted anybody would believe him. So anybody who asked, he told them it was a scratch from a briar. He never sought the care of a doctor, for fear of disclosure. 

Somewhere outside Rivesville, in the hills and trees where the light fades quickly,  something seized an opportunity that night. Frederick couldn’t shake the bitter irony - he’d gone out hunting and returned empty-handed, only to find himself the one being preyed upon. His rifle hadn’t drawn blood, but the marks on his hand told their own story. Somewhere along that dark stretch of land, the hunter became the game.

Source: Humanoid Encounters 1965-1969 by Albert S. Rosales, Gray Barker 

Now Playing: "Vampire Blues" - Neil Young 

The Mysterious Case of "Amphibious Man" in Stephensport, Kentucky

Joe was only nine years old when the noise woke him.

At first, it was just a violent thrashing sound outside his bedroom window- loud, erratic, deliberate. The kind of noise that doesn’t belong to wind or wandering animals. Half-asleep and confused, he crept to the glass and peered into the darkness.

Nothing. No movement. No silhouette. Just the stillness of night staring back at him.

But the sound didn’t stop. It followed him.

Drawn by a mix of fear and curiosity, Joe left his room and moved toward the living room, where the noise now seemed to be pressing directly against the front of the house itself-like something testing the boundary between outside and in.

He reached the front door window and pulled back the curtain.

Standing just beyond the glass was a figure roughly six feet tall. It stood upright, was unmistakably humanoid, yet utterly alien in its design. Its body was covered in dark, brownish scales that caught what little light there was. Its limbs were long and thin, ending in webbed hands and feet that suggested a life spent in water rather than on land. Its eyes were small, dark and empty.

It's face... Joe would later struggle to describe it, but one detail stuck hard: along both sides of its head, gills flared outward like a grotesque crown, pulsing slightly, as if the creature were breathing. There were no recognizable human features - no nose, no lips - just a smooth, unnatural structure broken only by that ridge running from its forehead over the top of its skull.

For a brief moment, neither moved.

Boy and thing. Separated by glass.

Then, without a sound, the creature pivoted and bolted - running on two legs with startling speed, vanishing into the darkness toward a nearby creek less than a football field away.

Joe, frozen for only a micro-second, rushed to another window just in time to see it disappear into the night, as if it had never been there at all.

As an adult, Joe reached out to Charlie Raymond who heads the Kentucky Bigfoot Research Organization and filed a report with the KBRO. 

In his official report Joe stated, "Our house is located on an acre where Sinking Creek meets the Ohio River. Sinking Creek originates 15 miles “upstream” in Big Springs, KY. An interesting fact, this creek is the only natural trout/spring fed creek in KY. Just past the town of Sample it disappears 12 miles underground (thus the name “Sinking Creek”) and then resurfaces in an area further upstream in an explosion of bubbling water. As far as I am aware, nobody has ever dared to dive far enough down to determine its true origin. This creek is believed to connect to the vast under water system which connects the many caverns of Western KY, the most noted being the caverns of Mammoth Cave."

I reached out to Charlie directly and he told me that he found similar cases along the Ohio River. 

You can read about them here. 

Decades later, the question still lingers - what exactly was standing at that window?

Sources: Charlie Raymond at the KBRO

              Albert Rosales

Now Playing: "Big Lizard" - Dead Milkman 

The Others Among Us: Inside the Musical Mind of UFO Archivist Albert Rosales

Albert S. Rosales is a man who wears a coat of many colors.  Born in Cuba in 1958, his family migrated to Spain in 1966. A year later his family moved to America - first to New York City but eventually to Miami, where today he lives as an official resident of the United States.

The Humanoid that is Albert Rosales

Besides English, he speaks fluent Spanish and in most cases, he can get through a conversation speaking Portuguese and can read Italian. He has said that he learned to speak English from watching television as a child, while growing up in New York City. He's a translator, an ex service member in the US Navy, a retired police officer, a book collector, and a well-known, highly regarded UFOlogist. 

What he might be best known for, however, are the books he's written, based on the the vast file of events he's catalogued throughout his life that pertain to encounters with otherworld humanoid figures. 

From an early age, Rosales devoured UFO magazines and books, developing an early fascination with unexplained aerial phenomena. Over time, however, his curiosity narrowed toward something more specific: Not the craft itself. But whom (or what) the occupants are.

“I figure whoever is driving the things are more important,” he told me. “I think that is the crux of the matter.”

Through decades of research, he has catalogued over 30,000 cases involving encounters with strange humanoid entities reported across the globe. Rosales IS the utmost authority on this topic, and the books he's written are the pinnacle source for researchers, podcasters, writers, the curious, and anybody else who has a reason to tap into the mysterious world of odd humanoid Forteana.

Each case Rosales documents is carefully classified using a structured system drawn from his Humanoid Contact Database, assigning encounters into categories based on proximity and interaction.

Close Encounter Classifications:

Type A: Entity seen inside or atop an unidentified craft

Type B: Entity entering or exiting a UFO

Type C: Entity near a UFO

Type D: Entity seen where UFO activity has been reported

Type E: Entity observed without UFO activity (such as bedroom visitations)

Type F: Psychic or telepathic contact without visual sighting

Type G: Direct interaction or abduction involving witnesses

Type H: Alleged crashes, recoveries, or captured entities

This system transforms thousands of strange stories into a searchable historical record.

Rosales’ monumental bibliography spans human history itself through his Humanoid Encounters: The Others Amongst Us series, covering reports from 1 AD through the modern era in meticulously organized volumes.

Among his notable works:

Humanoid Encounters: The Others Amongst Us (1 AD–1899)

Multiple chronological volumes spanning the 20th and 21st centuries

UFOs Over Florida: Humanoid and Other Strange Encounters in the Sunshine State

Together, and as a complete volume, they form what many researchers consider the definitive reference archive for humanoid encounter reports.

Interestingly, Rosales’ journey into the unknown has always had a musical backdrop. Born in Cuba, he was exposed early to Latin pop, salsa, and merengue - though he admits those styles never fully shaped his tastes. Growing up in America during the late '60s and early ’70s shifted his musical compass toward rock and pop.

The artists of that era became lifelong companions. He said the first album he recalls buying was “Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye” by Steam. Among the songs he says he has listened to the most during his life are Uriah Heep’s “Lady in Black,” many songs by Jethro Tull, and distinctive Beatles classics like “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away" and "Let it Be." 

When writing today, music remains essential. “I listen to a playlist that includes all sorts of music - mostly '60s through '90s, classic rock, some Latin ballads - especially Raphael from Spain” - he points out - “A lot of Led Zeppelin, classic rock, some 80’s tunes.” For Rosales, meaningful lyrics matter - songs that tell stories, much like the encounter reports he documents.

He even admitted to me that he associates eras of UFO sightings with musical periods, giving a special nod to '70s classic rock. “Music will always have a special place in all that is mysterious," he noted.

My latest copy of 'Humanoid Encounters'  - Just one in a
volume series of 15. The chronicles expand from 1 AD - modern times 

The mystery hasn’t diminished. If anything, it has deepened.

A decade has passed since Rosales last published a Humanoid Encounters book, but fans of the series may still have more to look forward to. Publishing challenges have slowed recent releases, but Rosales hopes to continue the work, beginning with volumes covering 2016–2020. Given the pace at which new reports continue to emerge, his archive remains very much a living project.

In a field often dominated by lights in the sky and debates over technology, Albert Rosales has spent a lifetime reminding researchers to look closer at the witnesses - and the beings they claim to meet. 

Because, as his work suggests, the real mystery may not be unidentified flying objects.

It may be the intelligence behind them.

Now Playing: "Waiting For The UFO's" by Graham Parker & The Rumour